Faith, Hope & Price

Below is the story that launched my fledgling career as a writer.  It made me what I am today.... a fledgling writer.  All joking aside, this story and its the main character, Jenna Salter, have inspired me to continue to write.  Words, once written, are timeless.  There is something magical about that.  Jenna's story is as magical as it is difficult.  For those of us not living it, it is difficult to comprehend the strength and faith that shines through this little girl and envelopes all those who love her.

So many of us are merely readers or voyeurs of her story.  Our job is to keep Jenna in our thoughts and prayers as she continues her battle against an unrelenting foe.  Jenna has her family beside her.  I think they know that we are there for them too.  I will continue to write, all the while thinking about the little girl I piggybacked up the hilly coastal trail by my house.  On that day, I gave Jenna a lift.  Little does she know how many times she has repaid me, by just being who she is.  Enjoy the story.  It was written on December 16th, 2010.

The Leafs are Priceless

Could it be that 10 year old Jenna may be developing a soft spot for the Canadiens?  Attached is a photo of Jenna and Carey Price, taken last week at St. Justine Hospital in Montreal. Jenna is there receiving treatment for a form of leukemia. The picture is proof that the Canadiens may have a new fan.

One year ago, that certainly was not the case.  In December, 2009, several Canadiens players, including Price, were making the annual visit to St. Justine.  They happened upon Jenna, but things did not transpire as they normally do at most of their public appearances.  Jenna was alone in the room at that moment.  It was one of the few times that neither her mom or dad were at her side.  The hospital escort for the players told Jenna that the Montreal Canadiens were her to visit her.  Jenna thought about it for a moment and replied "I don't think that's my dad's team, so no, they can't come in."

Jenna's dad, Ian, is a Leaf fan.  Jenna's a tough little girl with a strong will, so there was no changing her mind.  It was one of the few times last year that Carey Price was involved in a "shut out".  Maybe it's a coincidence that this year Carey Price was "allowed" to meet Jenna and his play on the ice has also been incredible.  I like to think that Price just had to elevate his game somewhat, in order to be at the same level as this incredible little girl.  In Jenna's world, only winners and battlers are allowed in.

Habs Hospital Visit, December, 2010

For You the Bell "Tolle"

"The realm of consciousness is much vaster than thought can grasp. When you no longer believe everything you think, you step out of thought and see clearly that the thinker is not who you are."

I cut and pasted this quote directly from the web page of author and spiritual teacher, Eckhart Tolle.  And no, I did not receive anyone's consent to do so.  As they say, it is easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.  Mr. Tolle has written two books on the subject of finding ourselves - The Power of Now and A New Earth - Awakening to Your Life's Purpose.  His writing is deep and I find myself having to read many paragraphs a couple of times to make certain I'm grasping what he is saying.  The nature of the subject, as well as his truly remarkable insights, lend themselves to having to be totally dialed in when reading these books.  Perhaps this was done on purpose.  Should anyone attempt to blaze through his writings, as if they were the Saturday Telegram or a Tom Clancy novel, then it is just as well that they never even started.  These books require, and deserve, reflection and contemplation.

I am almost finished A New Earth.  In a nutshell, the book is about our tendency to dwell too much on the past and on the future, all at the expense of the most important moment, which just happens to be this very second.  It is an awesomely cool concept.  Tolle is able to make it make sense too!  I think I was used as an unwitting case study in his book.  Maybe Eckhart was following me around for awhile just prior to publishing this book several years ago.  His words certainly struck home with me.

An interesting concept he proposes is that one of the results of our mixed up thinking is the physical impact it can have on us.  The body has to respond in some way to the negativity and disorientation that bombards it for years and in many cases, decades.  The result may be illness, unexplained pain, or general malaise.  Again, in my own life, I see examples of what he is saying.  I have had leg pain for twenty years that a myriad of doctors have never been able to explain.  Coincidentally, or perhaps not so, the pain first showed during a period in my life that was extremely stressful, brought on by the difficulty I experienced adapting to a new city and a new career.  As long as I remained a cop, the stress never really left and neither did the periodic pain.  I'm hoping that my recent retirement and learning from Eckhart Tolle and others of his ilk may be just the medicine to quiet the shooting pain.  I'll let you know how I make out.


I also have hearing loss and ringing in my ears, much of which is likely attributable to my career as a cop.  Thankfully, the loss is not because I did a lot of shooting at drug traffickers, as that would mean they were shooting at me too.  I did do a lot of shooting of all types of guns at the range over the years, worked close to jet engines too often, and had my drug dogs barking in my ears for 3 years. Yesterday, I went for a routine hearing test.  To my amazement and to that of the doctor, my hearing was slightly improved from one year ago.  The doctor had no explanation for this.

I have to sign off now as it is getting close to my bedtime and I'd like to read a little before turning in.  I'm thinking that if I finish the rest of A New Earth tonight, then maybe when I wake up tomorrow, I won't need my glasses either.

Finding Myself in the Fog

I haven't been good of late at keeping my promised dates with a very faithful companion - the solitary walk.  It's very forgiving though.  It will be there the next time I decide to show up (or not) and it'll keep being there for me whenever I need it.  This solitary walk thing sounds very much like how I would describe my closest friends, although I may challenge the strength of even those relationships if I insisted on their company during downpours, wind storms and winter white outs.  The solitary walk never complains, takes whatever I throw its way, and always challenges me to be better.  Hmmm.... now it is sounding more like my wife.

I did venture out this morning after Lynda and the kids left for work and school, respectively.  Despite the time of day, there was a freshness and peacefulness about, which is usually reserved for that special hour that bookends the sun's rise.  Perhaps the layers of fog that have enveloped us these past few days is the reason.  The fog brings a stillness and it seems to amplify the sounds of nature and man.  Today's fog also ensured that my walk of solitude would not be interrupted by hikers, sightseers or lovers seeking their own form of solace.  The normal draw to my chosen path is the chance to observe nature.  With steep cliffs rising from the ocean, timeless coves and beaches hugging the not-to-distant shores, swooning hawks and the occasional Bald  Eagle soaring so high yet never having to flap its wings, the scenery is stunning.

On this day, the fog ensured that I saw none of this gifts of nature.  The fog is seemingly our enemy.  So many bad events are blamed on it, from car accidents to missed flights.  Everywhere one goes on the Northeast Avalon the first topic of conversation is the cursed fog.  Our weather experts tell us this particular batch will stick around these parts for at least another week.  The CBC TV weatherman is a well liked young fellow by the name of Ryan Snodden.  Poor Ryan seems to take being the bearer of bad weather somewhat personally.  He also seems to grimace a little when he tells us the Canadian model shows the low pressure system as being stuck just off the east coast of the province.  Perhaps some watchers do blame Ryan and may have tossed a shoe or two his way, albeit only when he was staring at them from behind the television screen.  I see Ryan often as he goes to Tim Horton's for coffee next door to the CBC studios.  If any of you need to apologize to him, I'm sure you can catch up with him there.  He's taller than he looks on TV, so he'll be the guy with his head in the fog.

With no sights to take in on my morning walk today, my other senses naturally took center stage.  The result was something quite amazing and just as breathtaking if the sky had been clear blue.  The songs of the birds seemed so much sweeter and captivating.  The gentle, yet persistent, tidal action against the rocks far below provided a nice rhythm for my stroll across the coastal trail.  The new growth of the the wind bent trees and hardy shrubbery gave off an unmistakable odour.  It was the smell of hope and of faith that everything can prosper, if it only has the will to do so.

My faithful dog, Jasper, joined me today, but he never really walks with me any longer.  He has forged his own walk of solitude in the wooded areas that run adjacent to my preferred route.  Every so often, he will make an appearance, large rock in mouth, make eye contact and then melt back into the serenity of the woods.

The fog thought that it would win today.  It thought that it could hide all of nature's goodness.  It's goal was to keep me at home or better still, to keep me cursing it as I wondered what lay behind its veil of secrecy.  The fog failed.  It did not spoil my walk of solitude.  The fog actually provided me with an opportunity to see things in a whole new light.  It was wonderful.  I'll be back out there tomorrow.  Perhaps I'll run into some more people who have become more enlightened because of the fog.  As I was just ending today's walk, I thought I glimpsed a familiar figure heading onto the trail.  It sure looked a lot like the stringy stature of Ryan Snodden.  Could it be that Ryan has become enlightened?  It is more likely that he looking for a good place to hide out until the weather breaks.  Good choice Ryan.  You can't see your hand in front of your own face out here and if they can't see you, then they can't hit you with their shoes.

The Brain Game

If you have a lot of time on your hands as I do, then you seem to think about some fairly obscure things.  Here is my latest conundrum - Does playing chess make you smart or do you have to be smart to be good at chess?  It's a real "chicken or the egg" type of question.  I'll do my best to solve it and I'll use one of my unwitting family members to do so.  That's the fun part about being an amateur writer, I don't have to ask permission and I don't usually worry about offending anyone.

How chess came into my life is no longer a part of my memories.  My parents didn't play, so I must assume that it was another habit picked up in the hallowed halls of St. Bonaventure's School.  The ability to play chess and learning to tie a tie are two of the more important life skills that followed me out the doors of my alma mater.  In terms of chess, my brother Bill and I had differing learning opportunities as kids.  He is 2 1/2 years younger, so it is likely that much of what he learned came from me.  I must have been a really good teacher because, before long, Bill was beating me regularly and he even became chess champion of his class.  I don't ever recall having the confidence in my chess playing prowess to want to have played in any tournaments.  As his chess mentor, I saw that Bill was a quick study and that he had a few brain cells kicking around inside his melon.  Even today, he is able to tackle the Sunday crossword and does calculus in his head the way the rest of us use our fingers and toes to count to twenty.

In1982, I was a member of the last class in this province to complete high school after only grade 11.  Those that came after me, including Bill, had to go for an extra year but they seemed to do in three years what took me only two.  To disguise that fact, they renamed grade 10, 11, and 12 to Level I, II, and III.  The high school curriculum also took on more of an university flavour, with the students earning credits and having much more choice in the courses they were taking.  The other similarities were the free time between classes and teachers not giving a damn if you pipped off from class.

Bill always seemed to breeze through school.  Our home was across the street from the high school we attended.  Bill was a prisoner there when I was beginning university, but it seemed like he had a standing pass from the warden to be absent as often as he desired.  I never skipped a class in my life until I began university as an extremely immature 17 year old.  As a first year MUN student, it was a rite of passage to hang around in the TSC or sit in the tunnels with friends and play hookey from classes that we actually paid money to attend.  Now that is higher learning

For the first time in my life, attendance wasn't being taken and those "profs" didn't give two hoots whether I was in class or not.  I took full advantage by often staying in bed in the mornings.  It also allowed me to be well rested for my all important hockey games and practices.  Unlike English 1000 class, I'd never ever skip anything to do with hockey.  Back to Bill - As much time as I spent at home in those years, Bill seemed to be right there too.  He was sleeping in just as late as I was, had a two hour lunch break that allowed him to watch Sportsdesk and to make his coveted weiners and beans on toast.  To make it more painful for me to accept that this was the "new" high school that I had missed out on, Bill was always always home by 3:05 pm.  Some of my afternoon classes didn't end until almost 5 o'clock and I then had to trudge home for 25 minutes, often in rain, drizzle, fog or slush.

As a result of his high school experience, Bill was much more prepared for university than I was.  His marks were better and he didn't fail English 1000 as I had.  I took 6 years to finish my 5 years business degree, whereas Bill finished his more technical mechanical engineering degree in the normal 5 year time frame.  He also seemed to sleep in a lot, have 2 hour lunches at home and never have an evening class.  It was a mirror image of what he did in high school!  I still don't understand how he made it look so easy, especially when studying for midterms and finals while watching reruns of his favourite television show, M.A.S.H..

Bill is grown up now.  He has a wonderful nuclear family, a nice home, and an interesting, well paying job.  I think it is time that Bill gives recognition to what has brought him his success.  It wasn't 20 years of schooling and countless hours of studying.  It wasn't his prowess in softball, which brought him provincial notoriety and the opportunity to travel across the country.  His success is because of me.  I taught him to play chess and he has refined and maintained his smarts by conquering me and my army ever since.

I'm certain that prior to learning chess, Bill just wasn't that smart.  Before chess, Bill broke his arm trying to karate chop a piece of 2" x 4".  Before chess and as a preschooler, he wandered away from the sitter and was found in a wooded area by a man who called the local radio station.  The rest of the family heard the announcer say that a little boy with freckles was found in Pleasantville and all they were able to extract is that he answers to the name of Billy.  We knew it just had to be my baby brother.  Since learning chess, Bill hasn't broken any bones, nor has he gotten lost and needed the radio's help to be found.  Bill owes a debt of gratitude to me and to the brain expanding game of chess.  Without us, he just wouldn't be that smart. Checkmate, baby brother!