Moi on the radio

Hi friends. Sometimes an impulse will bring surprising results. For a while now, I have had the idea off and on of asking my friend Fritz, who has a morning radio show at our local university (and on which show I appeared to talk about my e-book, Heart of the Matter), if I could come on his show, say, once a month and read one of my spirituality columns on air.

Well, today I e-mailed him, expecting to get an "I'll have to think about this" reply.

Wrong. He bit. Last Friday of the month, around 8:15-ish AM, one column. He'll reconfirm next week.

Wow. 

I have ten years worth of columns (@ 10/year, do the math), of which the majority, I feel, are worthy of airing.
And someday, I'll get around to republishing the e-book in a friendlier environment.

Good impulse!

Have snow, will walk (or shoe...)

There is nothing quite like a walk or snowshoe in nature, such as it might be, on a mild sunny day in winter:

It's a chance to explore parts of our own neighbourhood inaccessible in summer, by following a frozen stream bed as far as it will take us.

 Here you can see what the true owners of this land, the wildlife, have been up to. In the picture below, several birds and at least one mouse have been to this now-frozen water-hole to get a drink:

 Other times, just find a cleared path at a local park, and walk to your heart's content:

 

There is a lot to see:

 

 

Not the easiest walking, even with a cleared path, but very enjoyable:

 

New Hymn

N.B: I am reading Reynolds Price's book A Whole New Life. What power and acuity he had:

Even our own feeble hands
Ache to seize the crown you wear
And work our private havoc through
The known and unknown lands of space

Absolute in flame beyond us
Seed and source of Dark and Day
Maker whom we beg to be

Our mother father comrade mate .

This is my prayer, too.

Still as beautiful

Today, after church, I went cross-country skiing in a park 5 minutes' drive from our home (eat your hearts out, big-city people!). I had a wonderful time, so much so, that when Joyce was dropped off home after her church council meeting, and after lunch, I suggested that we both go back to the same park and snowshoe--in other words, get physical to take your mind off mental exhaustion.

Having already exercised, I was in a mood for what I call a "stroll"--no stress, no sweat. Just enjoy. Joyce decided to try it, and we loved it.

The forest at the park is full, as woods are in our part of the country, delightful little "secret places" as I call them, places like little tiny clearings hidden under boughs, or bald spots back in off the path, barely visible.  We love peering into them and seeing what we can. With snowshoes, we can travel off the path into one or two of them, and that's what we did.

And always, we were surrounded by landscape out of a dream, snow like spun sugar on the spruce boughs:

This is but one reason why we love where we live.

A rest

It is time to give rest to the daily Poet-Journal, an activity which I have found life-giving as well as challenging (as in, a poem first thing in the morning without warm-up). I may keep up the Saturday Poem--we'll see.

Life is commanding some new directions, and I do not quite know what they are. In the search, it is time to set down some of my burdens, and view the way before with clear eyes.

To all of you who have read these, my appreciation, and my especial appreciation for those of you who chose to comment. Although I wrote them for me and you, it has at times felt like tossing stones into a moving river, whence they disappear without a trace. Who was touched by them? Who saw them? Anyone?


Thank you all, and God bless.

We're back

Relaxing on a snowshoe trip, Sibley Creek trail.

What we did on our winter vacation...

True Hiatus

On Jeopardy!, there is the phenomenon of the "True Daily Double", an all-or-nothing wager. We are not wagering, but we are going for a break away for 4 days/3 nights, at a cabin in Sleeping Giant Provincial Park.

A True Hiatus, if you will.

No phone, no tv, probably no radio. Yes electricity and running water. And pin-drop quiet. Scrabble and a laptop (for movies only). Snowshoes. White-tail; deer for neighbours. 

Without internet, there will be no published Poet-journal until maybe Friday or Saturday.

Peace, friends. 

Poet-Journal January 9, 2012

The setting

full moon

staring as though

confused

at the world

she lights.

Saturday Poem January 7, 2012

Time spent 

in nickels and dimes

over a puzzle's

myriad pieces,

delighting in

discovered patterns

while your pensive

humming strokes

my heart like a hand

petting a cat's head.

Time shared

in unimaginable

wealth...

Poet-Journal January 6, 2012

I would one day

take a long walk

along the road

near our home

until the road 

becomes 

Odysseus's oar,

only I am the one

asking what it is,

never having

seen this place.

Penelope would 

not weep,  nor 

would suitors

importune,

for somehow

I am always 

wrecked on 

my own doorstep

in good time.

Smiling, she

opens the door

and lets me

back in.

Poet-Journal January 5, 2012

Seize the day

when you've hands

and arms

and will, or failing

all that,

simply being.

All the days

are the best

you'll 

ever find.

(Allan Fergus: 1943-2012)

Allan

My brother-in-law struggled with schizophrenia for most of his life. Despite that, he graduated as an electrician and worked for International Nickel as a mining electrician before his condition became unmanageable. He enjoyed scuba diving and photography in his younger days. 

But while living alone in his condition, he was assaulted by persons unknown and robbed. He suffered brain damage.

Eventually, he was moved into a care home, where he was well looked after, and where he treasured visits by his family. Although Sault Ste. Marie is a full day's drive from where we have lived for 13 years, we missed only one occasion when passing through, to pay him a visit.


Visiting Allan was an exercise in precision. Allan would name each of us in order, tell what we did for a living plus a bit of family history concerning us, with precision. He would smile, and name the day of our visit as the "happiest day of my life" without fail.

His condition and medication contrived to blot out his short-term memory. He would telephone his nearest relative, my other brother-in-law, up to a dozen times a day, forgetting that he had already called. After a while, my other brother-in-law took to letting the answering machine field the calls. Yet Richard always made a point of visiting him at the home, and frequently had Allan over at his own home, to Allan's inexpressible delight.

Allan was the quintessential vulnerable, damaged man who would never hurt a fly. He was so good-natured and so interested and sociable that even his Member of Parliament knew him.

The last few years hadn't been good to Allan. His health broke down several times, requiring surgery and extended care. In the last few months, dementia set in. This evening, he died peacefully.

As I write this, his sister Joyce is writing his death notice for the newspaper. There have been phone calls. Arrangements. His body will be cremated and a graveside service, with his minister sister Joyce presiding, will take place in late spring. 

We will miss Allan very much. If anyone has the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven, it is Allan. Save a seat for us.  

Voters

Voters, originally uploaded by er1danus.

Being good citizens of Finland, my wife and daughter check out the internet to see the candidates and get a handle on the parties for the Finnish presidential election.

Poet-Journal January 4, 2012

Awakening,

I thrust aside

the blankets,

toppling the peace

of the dawn:

I do not

know my own

strength.

Poet-Journal January 3, 2012

We have been friends

and friends remain,

though sometimes

in a caught moment,

we wonder, how long

could this be?

The years stretch

like a hand

offering blessing.

Poet-Journal January 2, 2012

To my lover

your name

is solace

against

the snow,

welcome

against

the cold--

I open

my arms

to you

to return

the blessing

Poet-Journal December 31, 2011

How is it

that awakening 

and rising up

this morning

is a miracle?

Poet-Journal December 30, 2011

Each year

a little death

something like 

the one 

after coitus--

but somewhat

grimmer,

as though

for real.

Poet-Journal December 29, 2011

World hugs itself

in snow--we seek

to reassure

with shovels.

Poet-Journal December 28, 2011

Who knows one's own depths?

Not a time for diving boards: 

there must be a 

gentle slope somewhere,
and a hand to hold.

Poet-Journal December 27, 2011

Winter wondered

when the switch

would be thrown:

so did we.

It's time,

said the winds.

It's time, 

said the sun.

Winter yawns

and stretches,

little cat feet

of cold

on our hearts.

Poet-Journal December 26, 2011

Morning anti-climax,

soft rains of sleep,

groggy wonder

at disarray

of our house:

love has come

and stayed,

as we awaken

to each other.

A Christmas present to us all

Good news in 2011 that has gone largely unreported, and why we ought to feel good about it. Thanks to Toronto Star.

Saturday Poem, December 24, 2011

Cold fingers,

sluggish heart,

winter sleep

is stubborn,

refusing sunlight's

stirring.

Your warm 

breathing nearby

invites longer

repose:

summer can wait.

Poet-Journal December 23, 2011

It's tipped: the sun 

silently frolicking,

wobbling in its movement

like an enormous

obese dancer,

tripped lightly

though ponderously

over the line

that brings the days

longer and longer.

I hear no

clanking of chains,

gears, servomechanisms'

throaty whines,

only a sort of music

available to

the deaf, available

to me.