I dwell in possibility

With the latest news release, Alberta government is celebrating 75 years of Alberta being rat free, but I’d argue the biggest rats of all are sitting in the legislature these days.

I wanted to mark this day in some memorable way… A year ago today was Dad’s Celebration of Life and afterward we laid him to rest with roses at his grave. My heart urged me to post this poem, and audio recording of a reading by Dad- please meditate on its beautiful words and enjoy. ❤️

Death Is Nothing At All

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used to.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, 
somewhere very near, 
just around the corner.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

-Canon Henry Scott-Holland, Canon of St Paul’s Cathedral (1847-1918_

(1910, from sermon “The King of Terrors”, read while body of King Edward VII was lying in state at Westminster)

How I ache
To climb your leafy rungs
Heading skyward into azure possibility

But I remain grounded today
Paying plumber bills and waiting for unreaponsive banks

Yesterday the song playing on repeat in my head was the wistful “Stones in the Road” by Mary Chapin Carpenter, the first chorus of the song as below:

And the stones in the road
Shone like diamonds in the dust
And then a voice called to us
To make our way back home

The wistfulness in this song, with its themes of lost childhood innocence and the harsh realities of adulthood, resonates deeply.

Until now, memories have been submerged beneath the overwhelming floods of grief, except fot those uninvited. When a memory surfaces, I often relive the experience through the lens of my mindset at the time – happier, joyful, feeling compelte. I find returning back to the present after a remembrance is severely jarring – the contrast brings an extra arrow to the heart. Until now I’ve not been strong enough to willingly seek out and revisit memories, knowing the painful price, and have only been able to endure the waves of those those that come uninvited. Slowly as I continue trying to heal, I’m inviting memories to return—memories that have until now been submerged beneath the overwhelming floods of grief.

I found myself reflecting on that familiar question we so often ask about celebrities: “Where are they now?” That led me to look up what Mary Chapin Carpenter has been doing lately. I was delighted to discover she’d released a new album, joined by two Scottish singer-songwriters, Julie Fowlis and Karine Polwart. The album was recorded in England, and Polwart noted that the songs weren’t “pre-produced to within an inch of their lives.” The result has been described as evocative, dreamy, and contemplative.

I was thrilled as I listened to the beginning of the first track, Gràdh Geal Mo Chridhe, sung in Gaelic. I sampled a few more songs, browsed through the lyrics, and instantly knew—this would be my first album purchase and full listen in over a year. My finger hovered over iTunes, but once again, that quiet inner voice nudged me toward the physical CD.

Dad was a devoted fan of CDs, and I’ve come to share that sentiment. There’s something uniquely meaningful about holding a tangible bundle of art in your hands—a personal experience waiting to unfold, shaped by your own perspective and life’s journey.

The next morning, it had arrived. I had to scramble to find the plug in cord to the CD player Dad had given me, as the player had been out of use the past year. In fact, I haven’t listened to a single album since before Dad passed away. I knew he would want me to have music and so I’ve listened to jazz and ambient music, but there have been no albums with lyrics, no songwriters, that part of my life had fallen silent, until now.

I love the CD and its celtic flavours, bringing me back to many beautiful weekends at the Edmonton Folk Music Festival over three decades. Sitting on the tarp in the summer’s blazing heat, with the beautiful strains of ancient sounds from overseas wafting through the air. In fact, the harmonies and vocal tonalities of the songs were described as reminiscent of The McGarrigle Sisters who Dad and I loved listening to. The lyrics are beautiful. I followed along until I made it to the title song, Looking for the Thread.

I’m absolutely in love with the CD, its Celtic flavors evoking memories of countless beautiful weekends spent at the Edmonton Folk Music Festival over three decades, starting in the 1980s. I can almost feel myself back on the tarp, the summer heat blazing down, while the rich, ancient sounds from overseas drifted through the air. The harmonies and vocal tones of the songs were even described as reminiscent of The McGarrigle Sisters, a duo Dad and I cherished listening to. The lyrics are exquisite, and I found myself following along, lost in the music—reaching the title track, Looking for the Thread.

“Looking For The Thread”

Mary Chapin Carpenter, Julie Fowlis & Karine Polwart

A dark road up ahead, the light in late September
The music in my head that I’ve memorized forever
Words I should have said and doors I never should have entered
I’m just looking for the thread
That ties it all together

Old letters never read, old grudges burned to embers
Migrations overhead, the beating wings of purple vespers
Did you jump or were you led and does it even really matter
You’re just looking for the thread
That ties it all together

Against silver skies of lead
All the lives we learn to shed
Like leaves from trees before the winter
I made a prayer from what you said
That no one is ever dead
Because time and love remember

With that final line, everything suddenly clicked into place. I knew, without a doubt, that I was meant to hear this song at this very moment—that it was meant to be the first album I’d listen to as I returned to music. And then, these lines:

There are dark roads up ahead, tie your compass to some leather
We are marching to the edge in every kind of weather
If life is but a pledge I have made mine from a feather

I had to read and reread the last line. Feather. The profound meaningfulness of this singular word can not be overstated… the feather motif has followed my writings in this journey the past year. And so the song went on until the end-

I had to read and reread the last line. Feather. The depth and significance of that single word were impossible to overstate. The feather motif has been a thread tying my writings on this journey over the past year together. And so the song continued–

And a ribbon for the thread that ties it all together
I’m just looking for the thread
That ties us all together

Looking for the thread
That ties us all together

After getting ChatGPT to fix circular references in an Excel spreadsheet, I offered my thanks, and so it sat, “thinking”, for an astonishing 46 seconds before offering a response.

No one tells the time like Mickey and his spinning arms! We have a rich family history of Mickey Mouse watches. This one Dad bought for his Mom. Likely a man’s watch so the hands can be read easier, she wore it for many years, especially when out gardening. In the spring of 2024 Dad gave it to me in case I wanted to keep track of the time while gardening, too.

Woke up with Johnny Clegg’s “Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World” running through my head. A song beloved by Dad and I, and the electricity of those concerts we attended still crackles in my heart. Like many songs, different parts speak to you at different times in your life. Lyrics resonating in the 90s are different from what is hitting this morning. The song is dedicated to Jesse, his son…

Cruel Crazy Beautiful World

You got to wash with the crocodile in the river
You got to swim with the sharks in the sea
You got to live with the crooked politician
Trust those things that you can never see

Ayeye ayeye, Jesse mfana, ayeye ayeye
Ayeye ayeye, Jesse mfana, ayeye ayeye

You got to trust your lover when you go away
Keep on believing tomorrow brings a better day
Sometimes you smile while you’re cryin’ inside
Just once you’ll turn away while the truth be shinin’ bright

Ayeye ayeye , Jesse mfana, ayeye ayeye
Ayeye ayeye , Jesse mfana, ayeye ayeye

It’s a cruel, crazy, beautiful world
Every day you wake up I hope it’s under a blue sky
It’s a cruel, crazy, beautiful world
One day when you wake up I will have to say goodbye
Say goodbye, it’s your world so live in it
Goodbye, it’s your world so live in it

Beyond the door, strange cruel beautiful years lie waiting for you
It kills me to know you won’t escape loneliness
Maybe you lose hope too

Ayeye ayeye, Jesse mfana, ayeye ayeye
Ayeye ayeye, Jesse mfana, ayeye ayeye

It’s a cruel, crazy, beautiful world
Every time you wake up I hope it’s under a blue sky
It’s a cruel, crazy, beautiful world
One day when you wake up I will have to say goodbye
Say goodbye
It’s your world so live in it
Goodbye, it’s your world so live in it

When I feel your small body close to mine
I feel weak and strong at the same time
So few years to give you wings to fly
Show you the stars to guide your ship by

It’s a cruel, crazy, beautiful world
Every day you wake up I hope it’s under a blue sky
It’s a cruel, crazy, beautiful world
One day when you wake up I will have to say goodbye
Say goodbye, it’s your world so live in it

It’s your world so live in it (it’s your world so live in it)
It’s your world so live in it (it’s your world so live in it)
It’s your world so live in it (it’s your world so live in it)
It’s your world so live in it (it’s your world so live in it)
It’s your world so live in it (it’s your world so live in it)
It’s your world so live in it (it’s your world so live in it)
It’s your world so live in it (it’s your world so live in it)

I’ve just come out to the deck in 29c to enjoy a bowl of organic BC bing cherries. I am immediately transported back decades to a family trip to the Okanagan- Mom and Dad’s Grand Beach Winnipeg upbringing influenced the decision to travel west so their kids could experience a proper beach. Exploring the courtyard back of the Motel while adults were adulting, I was thrilled to find big, fresh, juicy cherries just begging to be picked. It was a miraculous discovery for a child coming from a northern city with cruel winters in Alberta.

(Picture from April 24, 2024)

Today is a physical and mental recovery day from the whirling firestorm of emotions yesterday. An autoimmune flare has me forced to hop beside the treadmill of life today and rest – I am suffering from too much joint and fascia pain. Although my pain tolerance has a healthy tolerance, when I start making mistakes because too many resources are being diverted to try to manage the pain, I know it is time to rest.

Dad would LOVE the irony of the image of the rats appearing to fall from the sky in this screenshot (below) of my weather app today. He would also be keeping us all apprised of the upcoming meteor showers and reminding us to look to the sky.