^{One of the “stupid birds” - they fail so quickly it’s hard to catch them in action}

All of this I enjoy from the comfort of our safe, warm home, and for this I say many words of gratitude. Every time we drive to work, we pass by Pandora and Quadra which is ground zero for the homeless community here in Victoria. Every city has one. Although I must admit that there have been a few times in my life where I knew I was one paycheque, or one calamity, away from being on the street myself, I have never not had a roof over my head and food in the cupboard. My heart breaks for those living rough, especially as the season changes, the days shorten, and the weak sun never warms the pavement. And the rain… I made a comment the other day that, in the same way I once learned that, in the country, you can tell when it’s going to rain when all the cows lie down, in the city you can tell when tent cities get haphazardly draped with tarps.

I have on occasion taken food down to share with as many on the street that I could manage - Subway sandwiches, peanut butter and crackers, oranges, bottles of water… but it all feels like a tiny drop in a vast sea of despair and anguish. It’s time for me to do more. It’s time for us all to do more. If we all took a good look at our lives and decided to do a little something for those less well off than us, incremental change could happen. No matter how well off we are, or not, there is always someone out there who could use our help. Some of our food. Some of our time. Some of our compassion. Can you think of some small change you could make, right now, to help another?

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When I was in high school, I used to make my mother crazy. When I would come home with a C grade, she would despair, knowing all too well that I was capable of a much higher grade if I just “applied myself”. My response was always, “Yes but so-and-so did their best and only got a D”. Instead of comparing up and aspiring to do as well as, or better than, the achievers in my class, I was content to accept my status in the classroom and pity those who struggled lower down the list. Throughout my career I followed a similar path. I didn’t aspire for Stratford (did last one season there), or major touring musicals, or Broadway. I did fall into a couple of big-status positions - Royal Winnipeg Ballet, Pacific Opera Victoria, Ballet BC but mostly I have continued to be content with my career and my status, always aware of those who could use a little help along the way. It’s only as I have grown older that I find myself looking at friends who have been more driven in their work and who now enjoy the luxuries of prosperities, exotic holidays and extravagant purchases. Then I am reminded of the Buddhist concept of mudito: one of the four Brahmavihārā (sublime attitudes), representing the ability to celebrate others' achievements without envy or greed. In all honesty, a tough one to live by for most of us but once you’ve experienced it, a much more pleasant one than the alternative of living with the big green monster in your belly

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So, I’m continuing to grow and learn and do what I can to help others. And in return, trying to learn how to accept help from others as well. Is this something you can relate to? While I am grateful for the many people I have in my life that love me, I struggle with the idea of just saying, “Have you got a minute? There’s something I would appreciate your help with.” The down-side of being aware of those less fortunate than me, I guess, is the unwillingness to burden others with what seems to me to be small problems compared to the heartbreak going on in the world we live in.

Oh well, time for another session with the therapist, I guess. I know that’s not you, and I apologize if this felt like over-sharing, but I am certain I am not alone here, and if any of this resonated with you, I would love to hear from you, either in the comments or a private message.

Or if you know someone else in your life that feels the way I do, please feel free to share this post. I am so grateful for every one of you, my dear friends. I never take that for granted.

Finally, to my American friends and, frankly, the rest of the world, my heart is with you tonight and godspeed.

Till next time,

Sandy

^{”Madrugada”, a painted scenic backdrop, by Gordon Smith & Sterling McLean}

We performed the piece in Vancouver and in a few major cities, but the backdrop was too huge for many of the venues we toured into. Many years later, Judy asked Bruce (then my ex-husband) to help her preserve the drop. At the time he was the General Manager at the Port Theatre in Nanaimo BC, and hung it on an unused lineset in the theatre tucked away high in the air, out of sight. It only came into view at Bruce’s memorial after he passed away. But then the question arose: what to do with it next? The Port asked our kids what they wanted to do. Judy and I both asked around at various art galleries, but all quite fairly and regretfully declined due to lack of a giant space to show the work. So, what do you do with a work of art, by a world renowned artist that is too unwieldy? Or possibly too controversial? Or too - let’s call a spade a spade, because there are examples of this out there - ugly? What is the line in the sand that makes art be Art?

Graham and I had coffee last week with our friend Robert Rawson, who is a very talented mosaic artist. His work is stunning! And - a total plug here - he is going to be doing a show at the Brentwood Bay Village Empourium through November, so if you have a special place for a gorgeous piece of art or are looking for a Christmas gift for someone special, make sure you go take a look at his work (plus the Empourium is a fantastic spot for a coffee, a sweet treat and lots of curated, often local, smaller gifts as well).

^{my favourite piece by Robert Rawson}

Anyways, the three of us got into a discussion about his work, and art in general. For instance, how do you put a price on it? Is it simply a pragmatic equation of materials used plus hours spent plus additional expenses like framing? How do you factor in that unknown element that is the artist’s skill, their craft, their recognizability, their creativity? In my own world, I struggled with this question when I brought out my novel, Circling Butterfly. Because I am self-published, I chose my own price. I knew what Amazon, or AbeBooks, or a local bookshop would take as their percentage. I knew how long it had taken me to write it. I knew what the going rate for a new paperback novel was. Factor all that together and you hope you come up with a dollar figure that is fair to both the reader and the author.

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Okay, so what exactly is Art? One of Merriam Webster’s definitions is: the conscious use of skill and creative imagination especially in the production of aesthetic objects. But then what determines “aesthetic objects”? I remember the long discussions back in 1990 over “Voices of Fire”, the painting by Barnett Newman, controversially purchased by the National Gallery of Canada in Ottawa for $1.8 million (now estimated to be worth $40 million).

^{Voices of Fire by Barnett Newman}

Is it Art? And what about much of the public art on display in all our cities? Here is one in Victoria, on display since 1997, called “Night is for Sleeping, Day is for Resting”, that seems to depict a flesh-toned mattress on edge and a banquette-type of couch, waiting to be picked up by the moving truck.

^{'Night is for Sleeping, Day is for Resting' Sculpture by Mowry Baden}

I’ve been driving past that piece for many years now and I still don’t grasp the aesthetic qualities. Maybe one of you can explain it to me? And what is your favourite “Is it Art” piece of public art out there?

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Anyways, it’s an interesting subject for discussion. I’m sure there are people who come into our home, look at the art that covers pretty much every open inch of wall space, and think, “Hmmm really? You think that’s Art? Eye of the beholder and all that. So, if there is art on your wall (or a book, or a piece of music) that brings you joy, be grateful for it. If you can, remember to thank the artist for their skill and creative imagination. And don’t be afraid to unleash your own skill and imagination. You too can potentially bring someone joy, and what a wonderful gift that is.

As always, I would love to hear from you. And if you find this a topic worth sharing, or any of my other meanderings on previous Substacks, please feel free to share with your friends.

Till next time,

Sandy

We watched, along with millions around the world. We saw the second plane hit the tower. We saw the footage of the third plane in the rubble of the Pentagon. We saw the report of the brave passengers sacrificing themselves in Pennsylvania. It was a day filled with horror and heroism. From that day forward, the world would never be the same. Certain events in history stay burned in your memory, ready to be recalled, complete with all the emotions attached, at a moment’s notice. D-Day. The Kennedy assassination. The first moon walk. September 11. So, if you’re like me and are feeling some extra feels today, acknowledge them, take your time to mourn the lives lost and recognize those continuing to carry the weight of physical and psychological impact from surviving that horrific event. Remember to live a life filled with gratitude and love, being always mindful of life’s impermanence.

Speaking of gratitude, I have always been more than grateful for a career as a stage manager, spanning over 40 years, almost every province in Canada, and many places around the world, working with extraordinarily creative people in the fields of dance, opera and theatre. A year and a half ago, I had the honour of joining my dear friend Melanie Teichroeb when she presented what we knew was probably her final performance of Shield Maiden in London, England in celebration of International Women’s Day. I had been Melanie’s stage manager for several years, and, along with it likely being her final show, I recognized that it quite possibly was my final stage management gig. “I guess that’s it,” I thought to myself. “I guess I’m finally aging out of my career.

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I still had my work in Victoria, in front-of-house, ushering and bartending at the civic theatres here, so I wasn’t totally settling into the BarcaLounger with my needlepoint and my soap operas. But it definitely felt like the end of an era for me. I did have a few one-off type events, mostly with the wonderful Kelly Kurta, but theatrical stage management seemed to be over.

Then came the call from Dance Victoria, last March, asking me to work with Boca Tuya, an amazing dance troupe from New York, performing at the Royal Theatre. It felt so good to be back in my chair, stage right, calling a show! Then in June, via Tom Heemskerk’s recommendation, another call, this time from Banff, to jump in last minute to run the Hawaiian company Tao Dance’s Waihona Kino. And now I am just home from another stint in Banff, this time for the International String Quartet Festival. And this time, as an added bonus, I got to share the stage manager’s position with my husband, Graham Croft, and a young rock-star SM named Conner Bustamente. We had a blast together!

A week of rehearsals and performances by some of the greatest musicians in the world, all of whom were not only supremely talented but lovely human beings as well. And I had the honour of SMing one concert that included a quartet, three singers, two dancers, and Neshama Nashman, a young choreographer based in Germany. Oh, and an accordian, because, why not? To be able to call a dance piece, set to Samuel Barber’s stunning Adagio for Strings, performed live on stage by the string quartet Opus 13, was my idea of heaven on earth.

I have come away from this past nine month, grateful for the employment and the comradery of my front of house work, and overjoyed that my experience and my skill in the profession that I love will continue to open doors for me occasionally, where I can walk across that expanse of floor, to the desk at stage right and say the words, “Standby house lights to half and out, standby LX cue 1, sound cue 1. And standby on the main.”

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I hope you also have something in your lives that brings you joy, that you can say, “Yes, this is something I am good at.” Maybe it’s your job. Maybe it’s your hobby. Maybe it’s raising your family. Today is a good day to recognize it, be grateful for it. And be grateful for the people around you who love you. The ones who would drop everything to help you if you needed it. Whose lives would be less joyful were you not in it. Because they are out there. We are out there. I am grateful for you. When I get the statistics that tell me that you have opened and read my meanderings, I am filled with love. I hope you will stay with me. And maybe share with friends. And, if you feel so inclined, consider stepping up to becoming a paid subscriber. Sooner or later I will have to finally retire from that work I love. So receiving a small income from the other passion, putting words on the page, will be a gift greatly appreciated.

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As the days grow shorter and the air grows cooler, in past years I have found my emotional state growing darker with the skies. But this year, having just celebrated the first anniversary of my marriage to a generous, loving man, feeling supported by family and friends, getting to be a Mum and an Oma, being thankful for work, both in the theatre and here in my writings, where I feel joy and validation, and acknowledging the good fortune of mental and physical health, I am stepping into my future with true joy.

What about you? What brings you joy? What can you say you are grateful for? And where were you 25 years ago today? Do you remember? I would love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Sandy

YOU CHOOSE peace

by what you choose to ignore,

- BRUCE LEE

Several years ago, I was seeing a therapist who invited me to recognize certain traits within me, name them and give them distinct personalities, as a way of acknowledging things like anxiety, sadness, and - on the other end of the scale - wisdom and joy. I think she borrowed the idea from the animated movie that was just out at the time, “Inside Out” but wherever she pulled it from, my creative mind loved this concept and I have had these characters with me ever since. It works to remind me that THAT VOICE IS NOT ME. I can say to myself when something begins to trigger, say, anxiety, “Uh oh, there’s Fred. Fred, you’re overstaying your welcome. You need to go back to your room and stay there.” Fred looks a bit like the frog in a top hat from the old Looney Tunes cartoon, without the smirk.

I also have a sweet little girl in pigtails named Sally who is my naivety, Sandra, the jealous one, and an old woman just called the Crone who lives in the back of my closet and is my wisdom. I’d like to say that she walks at my side but mostly she lives in the back of the closet.

All this to say that Fred has been peeking out from around his bedroom door lately. It isn’t like he doesn’t have good reason to show up. Daily, I watch Graham deal with the pain as he waits, oh so patiently, for hip surgery. Although it strains my compliance, I admire his willingness to allow thing to unfold as they shall and his generosity in believing that he waits because others in more need must go before. I want to storm the surgeon’s office, gun blazing.

The summer is also a particularly prime time for Fred and financial worries. The civic theatres - our primary source of income - both shut down for most of July and August. This year presented the added challenge of several of our regular music festivals shutting down.

This has left us with my once-weekly Sidney Street Market (Thursday 5:30-8:30 - if you’re in the Victoria area, it’s a wonderful market to explore) and thankfully a couple of gigs in Banff. One of Fred’s favourite things to fret about is money. (I thank my parents for this, but that is a whole other story, best left for my present therapist) Well he doesn’t actually fret. He gets up in my face and does a little top hat-tipping dance to an annoying trumpet tune. I read something by Timber Hawkeye, a very wise, often funny, Buddhist who sends an email monthly called “Buddhist Bootcamp”. He taught me that Fred’s schtick is FEAR - False Evidence Appearing Real. That lit up a little lightbulb for me today. Yes, money is tight, but allowing Fred, my anxiety, to dance way-too-close does nothing to help.

Okay, I have to admit that I went away for a bit after writing that and folded some laundry (displacement activity!). I hope that did not feel uncomfortable to any of you - it certainly did for me - but if you’ve been following me for awhile, you should know by now that I have few filters here…

So, what else is new? Graham and I spent a couple of nights at what has become our favourite “resort” on the island Point No Point. I use quotes because it’s not much of a resort. Cabins overlooking the ocean with fireplaces and private hot tubs on the deck. No wifi, no phone, no TV, just unplug and relax. We played cribbage, read books, enjoyed a fabulous dinner at their restaurant. Previously we have walked down to the beach, but this visit we did not risk damaging his hip or my knee any further. On our drive up there, we stopped in at a tiny brewery called Checkerhead Brewery. Turned out that Graham and the owner/juggler/busker had multiple friends in common, including a woman sitting there at a table with a gang of people. She and Graham had gone to UVic together. The coincidental meeting got weirder as we realized that they were all friends from Banff in the ‘80s and I knew some of them from those days as well. One recognized us from our wedding pictures which she had seen via my dear, dearly-departed friend Jacquie Dawson, whom they all knew and loved. They all also had known my ex-husband Bruce Halliday from those Banff days. We raised a glass to Jacquie and Bruce. And of course they all knew our good pal Tom Heemskerk. And the icing on the cake was when we discovered that one of the gang was the mother of our house-mate’s girlfriend! We spent a raucously fun couple of hours with these new friends. Under the category of small worlds, do you know anyone here?

As for writing, because many of you regularly ask me how that’s going, well… I haven’t been putting words on the page but I have been active in other ways. I attended an online course on short story writing with Manuel Gonzales which was very informative. Afterwards I decided to be forward and emailed him to ask for advice on how to best market “The Harveys”, my sweet short story that defies all genres and rules. Haven’t heard anything back - I’ll let you know if I do. And then, while I was feeling bold and cheeky, I took it a step farther. I have been a follower of Garrison Keillor’s blog for years. Last week he sent out a post saying we writers could ask him anything about writing or publishing. I accepted the invitation and then some. I sent the entirety of “The Harveys” to him. Who knows? Maybe he’ll love it and put it in the hands of his agent or his publisher. You can’t win if you don’t buy a ticket, right?

That’s where I’m at. Trying to ignore the politics of the day - both sides of the border (have you seen the new leader of the BC Conservative party???). Spending as much time as possible with friends. Hanging out with my son up-island. Going to find a route past the wildfires to see my daughter up north. Wishing they both, with our beloved grandchildren, lived closer.

How are you? How’s your summer going so far? I’d love to hear! Since we’re not getting out and about too much, I could enjoy the adventures vicariously through you.

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And along the same vein as earlier in this post, if you know anyone who might enjoy the meandering path through the meadows and forests that is my life, please connect us.

In the meantime, enjoy the sunshine, but wear your sunscreen. Get out and support music and/or theatre festivals wherever you can so we don’t lose more of them. Do like I did yesterday and pluck a cherry tomato off the plant and pop that beauty straight into your mouth. Feel the burst of summer’s sweetness on your tongue. Dance in the glow of the full moon. Dip your toes into the salty healing of the ocean or the smooth silkiness of a lake. And come on back into my world when next I appear in your inbox. I so appreciate you being here with me and I love every one of you.

Till next time,

Sandy

So, a plan like a driving trip to Williams Lake to see Kate and the grandson has to include a contingency plan of Graham flying home on a day’s notice while I follow in the car if he gets the call. Everything is tentative these days: a planned visit to Halifax to see my sister; even the Christmas vacation in Mexico.

I guess I really shouldn’t complain - at least we won’t have to remortgage the house to pay for the operation (thank you, Tommy Douglas!) And once he has the new hip, from everyone I have talked to who has gone through this, the chronic pain is briefly replaced with post-surgery pain and then he’ll feel like he has his life back again. Assuming that the wait time hasn’t done enough damage to his other hip that we start the process all over again.

There’s a big old thunderstorm passing overhead here in Victoria this evening. They are rare here, and the deep rumbling and brilliant flashes of light pull me back to my childhood in Ontario. Thinking back, there must have been a lot of storms in the vicinity of our family farm, about 1 1/2 hours drive north-west of Toronto. Many of my memories from the homestead are of being safe and warm in the house while Mother Nature shook the landscape beyond the walls. I was never scared, though the occasional sudden crack might make me jump. More I was just in awe of the power, the electrical tingling that made my skin prickle, the heady anticipation in the air. I still love it. The sparrows at the suet feeder are seemingly oblivious to the noise and the electrical charge, as is the little family of rats living in our huckleberry hedge (I know, ewww, but hey, we live in the city so… rats… and the babies are pretty darn cute).

So, while we are waiting, am I taking advantage of this time to work on my next novel? Um, nope. Short stories? Uh uh. The theatrical adaptation of the short story, The Harveys? Hard no. I do love writing to you all here. And I am slowly trying to make sense of a new and improved website - one that I can actually manage to design and format and write and not need a team of professional developers just to put myself out there. I really am a luddite. I have gone with a company called Articulation, which my friend Carolyn assured me was super easy to navigate. Wish I could say this has proven to be true, but I will continue to stumble my way through and see what comes out at the other end. So far it feels a bit like what is coming out is what we discover on the floor when our cat Lucy has developed too big a hair ball in her tummy.

The civic theatres are shut down for most of the summer. We had a good run of Kinky Boots early this month and now there is nothing until Spamalot at the end of August. Time was there was always a summer run of theatre - first Colin Skinner’s farcical romps, then some Arts Club shows out of Vancover, and more recently Blue Bridge Theatre used the Mac in the summers. But that was long ago and now the old buildings get some much needed maintenance, but otherwise feel vacant and lonely. I’d say “but what about the thousands of cruise ship visitors?” but I guess they get more than enough theatre onboard and besides, who really wants to be indoors when you have a lovely summer evening in beautiful Victoria?

Speaking of Victoria, we have municipal elections coming up in the fall. Do you have them upcoming in your town too? Do you plan to vote? Do you know enough about the people on your council to have an opinion on whether they should continue to represent you? How’s your mayor doing? If you are unclear on any of this, perhaps it is time to start paying attention. If you have thoughts on such issues as homelessness, development, bike lanes, municipal taxes, then who runs your city should matter to you. And don’t complain if you don’t vote. Sorry but you abdicated your right to bitch. End of rant.

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This weekend we are excited to be going to see The Odyssey in IMAX. Should be an epic movie! And soon, barring surgery, we are off to Williams Lake. Of course, whenever possible we also run up to Nanaimo to see Will and the gang there. The grandkids are both 3 now, healthy and happy, full of the wit and wisdom of that age.

I hope your summer is going beautifully and you’re spending lots of time with loved ones. We are… well, waiting. And getting out to have fun as much as we can. Here we are with our friends Kelly & Rory at the West Coast LeagueAll-Star game this week.

The storm has petered out. It is good to get some rain - the garden is singing, and heaven knows that BC forests could use a lot more where that came from. Be well, and when the sun returns, be sure to let his rays caress your skin.

Till next time,

Sandy

Banff is a stunningly beautiful place though the weather is the most unpredictable of anywhere I have ever been. We had rain, sun, more rain, wind, sun… temperatures went from around 10 to 26 degrees and that was just in the daytimes.

The staff of the Centre was warm, welcoming and supportive, led by the wonderful Ami Gladstone (another old friend), Production Manager, Andrew Smith, and awesome Senjuti Sarker. The crew and the wardrobe department went above and beyond as this was a work in creation so things were constantly in flux but in the end we had a wonderful performance and Tau has a useful record of what was done, for future growth and - hopefully - touring. (Fingers crossed that he can manage to bring all of us together for this!)

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But today, Solstice, I am happily going home to Graham. As much as I love the work and the travel, I love him and Lucy the cat (even when she regularly scratches the couch and vomits on the floor) and our home more. Graham has been diligently tending our garden, and I look forward to seeing the Shasta daisies that were filling the back garden, in full glorious bloom. These simple flowers have always been my favourites, ever since the hippie daisy-chain-making days of my youth

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Solstice, or Litha, is a blessed day. We welcome the sun at its peak. As a sun worshipper (don’t tell my dermatologist!) Litha always feels like a new beginning. The world around me is warm and green and full of life. Of course, in other parts of BC, the heat and sun are not necessarily so welcomed. I hear that the poor people of Lytton are on evacuation alert again – only five years since the last major fire destroyed most of the town. Many people there, who lost their homes the last fire, have only in the last year or so managed to get rebuilt and moved back in. But the community is rallying together and no matter what happens, they are resilient and will come back stronger again. With fire season upon the more northern parts of the province, this is a reminder to those of you there (and frankly anywhere, between fires, earthquakes, floods…) to please have your “Go Bag” packed with enough essentials to leave your home in a hurry.

And it’s Father’s Day today! A day when I remember my dad, forgive him his foibles, and feel gratitude for the love that I know he felt for his kids, even if he was terrible at showing it. He was proud of all that my sister and I accomplished and got to know and love his grandchildren. He and our mother had a … complicated… relationship, but they stayed together until Mum died in their home after a long illness. He kept the beautiful urn that held Mum’s ashes, in the cardboard box it came home from the funeral home in, on his dresser to his dying day. It kind of defines their relationship, that he needed her to be near, but didn’t really want to see her. Plus, much to our mother’s undoubted frustration in the afterlife, that cardboard box often became yet another flat surface for his mountains of paper – newspaper clippings, correspondence, subscription magazines…

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about living and dying and this whole aging thing. My heart has been hurting for two friends who are fighting the good fight against cancer, one brain, one blood. And my heart breaks for the friend who is losing her fight and is calmly and with great grace waiting for the time to come when her transition out of this mortal plane happens.

So aging… To do it well apparently takes more work than those who came before us ever warned us. How did previous generations just grow old? Not with CBD, supplements, aquafit classes, hip replacements, computer courses at the senior centre, or over-priced long term care facilities, I am sure. One thing is clear in my mind - they certainly seemed to grow much older much sooner. I look back to my grandparents and old photos of my great-grandparents and they looked and acted much much older at the age I am now. But they also didn’t all need canes and walkers. Were they not all dealing with arthritic joints like we do? I go to the pool every second day and alternate between swimming lengths and doing exercises in the rec pool. When I am exercising I often get to talking to the other folks, all of whom are my age or older. (Who but the elderly is awake with nothing else to do at 6am every day?) The one consistent thing we all have in common is that every one of us is either post-joint surgery, on the list, or preparing to get on the list. No wonder the wait time is up to two years. It seems like half of Victoria is hobbling around with at least one joint past its expiration date.

So, yes, our bodies - and our minds, let’s admit it - might be sliding us down to the lower 50% of the gym class, but the majority of us are heading there with spirit and dignity and humour intact.

I am hitting a milestone birthday at the end of this year. We will, assuming all things go to plan, be celebrating it in Mexico, where I have every intention to spend the day riding a horse on the beach, walking through town to a restaurant by the water, and maybe even a little dancing. I am hoping some people I love will be there to join us, but if not, Graham (on his new hip) and I will celebrate my day in fine form.

My goal is to stick around long enough to see the world swing away from its present inclination for the ugly, fascist, far-right trend we are in right now, and toward the compassionate, peaceful humanism that we are capable of. Call me an old socialist hippie dreamer if you want but I hold out hope that we can find our way back to altruism and mercy before it is too late. I wish this for my grandchildren.

In the meantime, I refuse to let age, or politics, or grumpy co-workers get me down. As a relatively new member, and a re-elected executive, of our trade union, I am constantly learning everything I can about unionism and how I can better serve our membership. The pool and a new-to-us stationary bike are helping take some of this excess weight off to hold at bay the need to join “the orthopaedic list”. Work continues to give me joy and I am so grateful to have the opportunity to mix it up between ushering, bartending, working events and stage managing. And then there’s SubStack and all of you! I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you are with me here. You allow me my TMI, my wanderings through past and present, my celebrations and my losses, and you keep showing up. You hold me accountable, even if you are unaware that you do. Thank you so much!

So what about you? How do you visualize life in the final quarter of the game? Maybe you are too young to be thinking about such things, but now is the time to put the ball in play by setting up those long term investments, life insurance, and it is never too early to have a will in place. (You know who you are…) For those of you who are anticipating or enjoying the BC Ferries “seniors travel free” perk, now is the time to live strategically.

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I know I don’t want to end this life with a pocketful of regrets. I want to have done most of the things on that bucket list, let go of most of the things that don’t serve me, and be able to say that I had a life well-lived. I hope you will continue to join me here as I document that life. And if you enjoy my meanderings, I would hugely appreciate if you would recommend me to your friends, and consider becoming a paid follower. It would mean a great deal to me!

Till next time,

Sandy

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He was dressed in his usual unique fashion. This night’s ensemble was a black vest over a white shirt - traditional enough, until you realized that the black vest morphed into a stiff crepe over-skirt down to his knees, over a full white, ankle length skirt, below which were a pair of lime green ankle socks and THOSE SHOES. It was his feet that held my rapt attention for the entirety of his performance. The shoes at first appeared to be standard black patent oxfords. Except the toes lifted up above the soles at about a 45 degree angle, like an open mouth. This was a design choice, not a matter of “Dear God, someone buy the man a new pair of shoes!” I thought at first they might be Fluevogs but the catalogue doesn’t offer up this unusual style, unless it dates back to an older, wilder day of Fluevog design. Whoever the designer, it was so much fun to watch Sedaris’s feet as he read. He rocked back and forth from one foot to the other, balancing the back foot on its strange tip, then stepping back onto it before rocking back forward to the front foot again. His feet reminded me of a young school girl waiting nervously for a boy to ask her to dance.

I came away from an evening of watching David Sedaris’s feet, fully aware of how fortunate I am. Not just that I live in a world where I have the opportunity to sit backstage for such a brilliant writer’s event (even if I only did catch part of it - what I did was brilliant and funny and so very insightful), but that I have the ability to find joy, gratitude and humour in what are sometimes the smallest, least significant moments in life.

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Atop one of the many, many, many condo buildings under construction in Victoria, for several months there was a giant teddy bear. Someone on the crew attached him to a piece of rebar, at first at the 3rd floor level. As the building grew in height, the teddy continued to rise as well, on the top of the 4th, then 5th, then 6th floor under construction. Sometimes he was almost obscured by walls or equipment, but if you searched as you sat at the nearby light, you could eventually spot him. He always made me smile and I hope that, now that the construction is tall enough that you can’t see the surface of the top floor any more, he’s still up there somewhere, just for the pleasure and amusement of the crew.

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What have you got in your life that reminds you to be grateful? Is it watching your children (or grandchildren) grow? Is it the sincere appreciation from someone for a simple gesture of kindness? Is it that peaceful morning cup of coffee, or the laughter shared at the afternoon coffee break with co-workers? Is it the familiar feel of your loved one’s hand in yours?

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(image from Jemaa-el-Fna Square in Marrakesh)

My very first piece of writing that I remember, and that I also remember as being something I was proud of and wanted to share, was from about age 7. It was titled “How the Earth got its Equator” and it was about the North Pole and the South Pole having a fight and they can’t settle the argument. Finally the…

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https://drjonicewebb.com/cenquestionnaire/

Childhood Emotional Neglect is a painful and life-altering situation that many of us experienced. I have learned through years of studying Dr. Jonice Webb to not blame my parents for raising me under these conditions. They were…

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There have been many interesting conversations over the past week I have been here, but last night Kate mentioned that she had taken the RAADS test that supposedly lets you know where on the spectrum of autism you sit. She rated fairly high in the probability scale. Now I am a firm believer that everyone sits somewhere on.the spectrum of being “differently able”. We are, after all, all different. I wasn’t surprised by her self-diagnosis - she has often seen the world from a unique perspective, one that often has made me look at things differently as well

.After our talk I, of course, went into my room and took the test as well. On the scale from 0 to 250, I landed neatly almost at the middle at 113. Some autistic tendencies, it suggested. Perhaps that explains my discomfort in social settings and my inability to make small talk. Or perhaps that comes from an upbringing where my parents basically isolated themselves and any necessary visits by friends or family took anxious preparations on the part of my mother, and some long solo time with her cigarettes and her book afterwards.

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Anyways, interesting bit of personal discovery to tuck away in my file of “why am I like this”. LOL.

None of it really matters. What does matter is a person’s capability to love. I love deeply - I’m just not all that good at showing it sometimes. Graham, my kids, the grandkids, my sister, my dear friends, all live in a place deep in my chest. It feels so full most of the time and gets dark and heavy when I worry about someone in my circle. No, circle isn’t the right word. I visualize that as me and all my people out in a field all holding hands forming a big wide circle, and what I feel is far more intimate than that. My friend Mary calls her people her “tribe”. Better, but, well, cultural appropriation and all…. I have tried for years to come up with a word that incorporates everyone that I love. It includes so many, from so many periods in my life. All of whom have for some reason stuck with me, through good times and bad. (ah, the Stratford days :) )

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I don’t know what has triggered this thought process. Is it that most Hallmark of holidays, Valentines Day? The day that still makes me twitch when I think of those little paper Valentines cards that all the kids in Grade 6 gave to the other kids in the class (usually with a Disney motif) and which I would dutifully sign, one for everyone in the class, and which I would receive a small handful in return - wasn’t exactly winning any popularity contests in school. No, I have pretty much ignored Valentines Day since those early disappointing days.

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