The Sound of Loneliness

Every human has felt loneliness when friends aren’t around, friends have moved away and friends can’t come out to play. Evolution allows us to experience these ambiances to learn what comes next. Are we ones to falter, ruin an evening, a week-end, or muster joy in what we might have missed had our friends been around. It is these treasures that the spirit places in our midst. Most often family members that we might not wish to spend time with come alive allowing us to appreciate them for who they truly are, God’s blessing to us.

As age comes upon us pressures mount words are spoken or not, leaving hearts hollow cavities to fill. Some turn to the bottle some to limbs others to remedies cursing legalities engulfing their sorrows. Never finding the bottom of what truly ails them they run to catch the wind. Decades pass then one day a gesture resonates that piercing pain and if lucky would play they stop, linger, fight the embarrassment and shame and face the bastard straight on.

The sound of loneliness can only be felt at the bottom of one’s heart. Dropping a coin in a tin it reverberates the echoes of emptiness. Alone on the ocean with only sky above sea below screaming thoughts of what hasn’t been stares at you in ghosts. Stirring visions migrate into your soul across water evaporating long after consuming your fear.

How to go grasp what was once your true being. You reach out and hear

“You’ll figure it out?”  

You’re instantly back at the first blow that took you away to the depth of despair. Yearning like a babe simply to be held, to return to when you understood. Vacuity envelops you, drowning, unable to breath of what could have been. Ocean floors provide no consolation exits to rise in. Wide eye you float unconsciously unable to rescue your dream. What was it you were to do? To become?

This is your last chance to ride that train. It’s leaving the station with one destination your lungs need to expand or be crushed by twenty years of weight. Time forges ahead, it is the one constant. It knows not your aspirations nor does it care, it’s only purpose is to rhyme. Your job is to capture seconds into devotions, intentions and dedications.

To make a story of your life, rich in depth, shallow in distress and regrets.

Sometimes it is those that seem unlikely/ That do things that no one can imagine

Isn’t this what God asks of us every day? To be all that he has created each one of us to do? Somewhere in life our rush, our haste outdoes our imagination, our greatest gift to one another. Let’s make a plan to do something so wonderful for ourselves every day that we anticipate the morning to create for another entire day. Springing to life in all of us the joy that plants a seed so deep that the world can't undo.

Do you ever wonder what someone on the other end of the world is doing? And in 2006 when I was in Ghana I met 2 people that changed the world for the better, my life was forever changed. Anna was a 65 year old teacher that was devotedly religious. Church was at 6:00 prior to our teaching day and at 6:00 at night. Her words were few yet fierce. When discussing gender issues and men thought it alright to fondle their high school female students. Her force came alive. I was asked to mediate and quickly relinquished the floor to her. Quietly, serenely her words cut through color, gender and skin.

“God is our witness, our compass, and in times of temptation, CRY TO HIM, SCREAM TO HIM, yet never let your hands touch another woman.”

Silence was deafening.

 There are few people that followed God as closely as she did. I feel so blessed to have met her, listened to her wisdom, and pondered her silence. She died 6 months after we left Ghana. The world will truly miss her.

 An elderly man, that is a proverb, as there are so few with the onset of aids. Walking in the side street on our day off I met him days prior to leaving. I was chewing on a raw carrot I’d bought at a road side stand…..not fully paying attention….I noted that he cocked his head as I passed by. I stopped and drew near. Boys were playing soccer with a make shift ball made out of plastic bags wrapped around and around in the background. Hunched over with grey hair he said.

“The saddest day in a man’s life is when he thinks he can do it on his own.”
When I returned a superintendent at work asked me the most profound thing that has happened in Africa….. 70 years of discretion fell on deaf ears, how utterly tragic.

Their motto is “And this shall pass too.” Referring to principals that will leave schools for their tyranny is unsurpassed. Another is “It is my way or the highway.” Proverbial said by most principals and superintendents, too utterly scared to face their own demons, themselves, those that lean solely to use them as climbing limbs. This district sees differences as threating.
A week later I was asked in to this same man’s office.

I wanted to know if he was man enough to tell me the truth……when we met for my review for an advancement. God has graced me or cursed me with the gift of discernment. I already knew that he, would never hire me. I prayed while he found minuscule comments to speak about..... He asked why how excited I was? Without taking my eyes from his I said, “My work for God is not done.” He knew then that I knew that there was no job.
When our chief of staff left there was a reception and I congratulated the same man on his speech.

His exact words were, “Thanks…..and good luck with your future career.”
As if I needed his permission to move forth….. this wearing scales he remained blind.

I learned more about him in those few words than a life time of his good intensions.
He has stood before me speechless at numerous engagements. It is not I that has lost years of advancement it those that he has misused of God’s….and those can’t be supplanted.

Looking for Wonderful

I wrote a list of five main projects I wanted to complete while taking a year away from teaching. What I have learned is the order of what I had suspected would constitute my daily hours has changed. Grasshopper is learning to listen. …………………the rest of this blog should be blank yet the cocoons still needs to be unveiled butterfly has sprung new wings.

The internal search for peace took me to church, I mean literally to church. I wake with anticipation of darkness to suppress racing thoughts. Pray until my mind is bursting with lists and walk along hard packed paths unwinding. Reflection, presence, contemplation, deliberation are taking me on wild adventures. People ask for obvious trips…..those less drug induced……and without a plane, train, or automobile don’t register on the sex, violence, and Nazi scale. I’ve gone further in 6 months, clocked more mileage a

Forgiveness of myself has increased. Making conscious choices to reach out at every chance to those I didn’t heed, that didn’t transmit. Beating down demons that 30 years of routine have ingrained memory is hard to recall. I have speeded up to slow down. Prototypes are my friend. Listening records stories. Observing humans for their gifts, only their gifts, leaving pain for those in search. Finding truth when asked what I am most proud of. Not any accolades what others have shown me of themselves, their vulnerability to risk all has soared my gratitude and brought me to my knees.

Asking others who they are, what their passionate about when no one else is around, listening to the pause……then pure delight in someone truly being interested in who they are. No letters, no cards, simply joy.

Blinded by fear, hearing voices that push creativity into the recesses of graves are fading. They were the norm for a time and now free there are days I allow my mind to ruminate at how entombed I’d become.

Appreciation is what allows me to live each like it is the last.

My father frail in body said, “With the time I have left I want people to know I am open to them” I recall my grandmother telling me she was ready to go. My father cried in my arms for hours. Now here he is knowing there are more years behind than ahead, the raw exposure calms me before my head can truly grasp the loss of hearing his voice daily. I record our conversations.

Wisdom throws laughter in the heat of a moment drawing sagaciousness from still waters.

The silence that surrounds me shrouds me to hear what is truly there.

Risk

26 letters of joy filled tears of wonderment at how shapes can create sounds, morpheme, the traditional meaning of a word, can conjure images, pigments, roughness, memoirs, reservations, and the naggings of what might have been. Then tell me you abhor literature as I have heard from friends and students. No photo, capturing a 100 words that drip insults, insolents, and audacious behaviour come close to the sentiments of the warmth of a Mississippi summer evening sitting on veranda sipping lemonade looking out of cotton fields, white tailed cotton balls on brown popsicle sticks.

Listening to the eyes of a black man that has just been fired for pulling over a governor, asking his superior on the CB what to do and being given full authority to drive him home, tow his car, and let it go and then the next day being fired by a black boss trying to make heat, throw someone else under the bus to get a promotion. Without a thought he was out the next day looking for another job, not a county in the district would hire him regardless of his righteousness.

His voice weighed heavy in his throat as we spoke quietly in the back of a small, very small 12 by 12 foot gas station being staffed by a woman that had worked for 20 years, not by choice yet by necessity at the local factory, to feed her children, feed her life, her spirit, to keep going, even when for the last 3 years she had been promoted to a supervisor without a pay raise. Never mind bringing it up with her superiors, she had several times and each time they asked her if she knew where she worked, whether she could appreciate that she had a job.

Now for the first time, she was asked by some white woman trying to wrap her head around something that was so foreign breathing through gills seemed simpler. Her stature spoke more of who she was as a citizen, a human being, a human that flourished this damned planet and yet she was condemned because of color. I knew if I listened much longer I was going to scream in this tiny compartment in my mind. Get out and deal with your own mess, you got enough of it, why the need to be here and deal with them. The lilt in her voice brought me in like a babe to midnight milk there was little holding me back. I vowed to stay in touch and I made good. She has never left the factory after 2 more attempts to increase her pay or go back to the floor where they wouldn’t allow her to go because she knew too much. I felt her eyes asking probing me what to do, a woman 15 years my senior. I had no right, my place wasn’t there,

Having just entered the Zion Missionary Baptist Church that holds 3000 black folks wondering where the progress has come from the 1960 and crying in my room at the Regency Hotel that his hosting a whopping 4 guest because the crime rate of Jackson is so high no one will stay in the center of town. I never understood how a heart was broken until Jackson. I wondered around in my mind every aspect of life I wanted to be a part of changing, why me, why here. What was my connection and why was I so damned in need of helping these folks that truly wanted nothing to do with a white child of ignorance from the north. Why had the governors of Georgia, Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee crept under my skin shingles on hold as anger seeped like oil in Texas bubbling irrepressibly irresponsibly where it didn’t belong. Hours of listening to their decrepit voices on the radio in my hours, days of driving from state to state, from reminder to reminder of what hasn’t changed. Whatever happened in the north, regardless of the positive effects on the economy they weren’t interested in it. The blacks were simply a commodity that were in the wrong place at the wrong time for what the last 400 years. No wonder they were outraged fighting back breaking shadows nightmares of what 15 generations had experienced.

Presently I reside in Calgary like a caged animal trying to figure out what my purpose on this planet is and how to live out the remaining days. Sure easy enough to go back to the same old, yet what my soul yearns to do is make changes outside of the affluence of my surroundings. Finally decide to walk the talk living out the remainder of the years with those that Jesus would have treated like God’s at this table. The question is how to do it without breaking the decree, breaking my psyche, my family and friends? They don’t deserve my guilt, my intents, my needs, or desires, they deserve the best of what God can conjure up in me. Yet unlike Madison County I can’t stay and do nothing. All the volunteer work here isn’t going to make changes where it is truly needed in areas that don’t speak up, where a voice needs to be written, not spoken.

Balance what is it, when for the first time in my life that I haven’t stopped and accessed my purpose on a metaphorical level. Equilibrium is the measure of a man’s life. Hal and I walked down the street and wondered what if we won, we truly won the lotto, not that we miss the immeasurable and necessary step of buying a ticket, yet what if we won, why aren’t we doing what we would do if we won, right now? Is it money that is truly stopping us, or time. So here is my new year’s resolution.

No, not to lose weight, nor join a gym, those are first world problems, the more you think about it. Why isn’t everyone in the developed world trying to heal this miraculous planet of ours? When did we become so removed from mother earth that plastic inanimate objects fill our void, or synthetic psychotic drug kill the rich. How many millennium have taught us that relationships, connections to another mortal permeates, satiates, all fallacies. Each summer my fingers long for the grit of our backyard mire to teach them how to grow our victuals. Never a season passes that I am not amazed at the wonders that come forth from our garden.

Human spirit is all we have left as a world. Nothing more, nothing less. It is the groove in Stella's that crazes us to do the unthinkable, love the unlovable, and be the unbelievable. Each childhood dream is a reality that screams to be performed. Every adult plunges another opportunity to earn another buck, for that has become a dream, and what we do with it.....memories without touch.

God has taught me to surge without thought, leap without doubt, and fail valiantly. Risk, a four letter word, a board game, an illegal act in the first world saves lives everyday in far off lands where choice isn't an option.

 

Christmas 2 - Dec. 25th

My father began telling stories of his childhood, “When I was about 6 or 7 my mother would send me from Montreal on the train to Welland, Ontario to visit my grandmother. The post master of the train would have to make sure I got off the train in Toronto and got onto the right train for Welland. The local boys would invite me to go swimming at the pool. I knew I didn’t know how to swim but the lure was too great. And, sure enough someone pushed me into the pool. I recall floating down to the bottom and seeing all the sports teams he has gone and seen and his parents love, not truly recognizing that he was drowning therefore no panic struck him to flare about. All of a sudden he was plucked out of the pool by the back of his shorts by the lifeguard.”

Then Harvey, 82 years old carried on. “I recall being young and living on a farm when my mother said I needed to go the local school gym to see the doctor. When I arrived there were several beds set up around the gym. The doctor came and took me by the arm, asked me to lie down and proceeded to take my tonsils out.”

“Was there no antithetic?” said Taylor cringing.

“No, we simply had the operation in the gym and were asked to stay for a while and then sent home.”

“Do you remember how much pain you were in?” I asked.

“I recall getting a nice cold coke on the way home.”

Hal began telling stories of the myriad of times he and Bill, his best friend were getting into trouble. “We were trying to place new seat covers on, when the latch sprung back and hit me in the eye. I knew something was wrong when Bill said nothing, and when I looked in the mirror and couldn’t see my eye. Off to the hospital we went and they kept me there for 2 weeks. I had hemorrhaged my eye. I didn’t want my mother to worry so I told Bill to tell her I was at his house. Days later the hospital called my mother and asked if there was any heart conditions in our family. She couldn’t figure out why the hospital would be questioning her about her family’s hearts. They told her Hal was in the hospital and had been for some time. She freaked.”

Kohlman and Taylor had been listening to one story after another from the elders and must have been thinking. Either that their dad was accident prone or that no one ever cared for youth back in the day, or that there were no boundaries. They also must have wondering that the mere bruises, bumps they had endured were nothing compared to the broken bones, lacerations, and near death experiences of those around the table. Knock on wood that none of us would have to sustain these incidents.

Hours rolled by, food was eaten, gifts were exchanged yet what was so amazing was how 12 people that I love were present, no phones, no necessity to leave, experiencing one another’s lives. Kohlman and Taylor sat quietly listening and I hoped they were absorbing the adoration they were surrounded by they were a part of. 

Christmas 1 - December 13th

The family is to bare down on our home on the 13^th of December. Could we have gathered on any more of a superstitious day or have fewer stars align in our constellation. Bare down might not seem joyous yet in all families Christmas tension weighs heavy when we yearn for something that might not be, in our power to control the outcome. Weeks prior I began praying fruitlessly as my daily daydreams where filled with nightmares. I recalled not a piece of scripture, a parable. ‘Look for goodness and you will see it, seek mistakes and they will surely arise.” Like a junky I was roll playing every possible scenario -trying to be the heroin that was going to solve it all. In reality I wasn’t looking for the best, only playing out how I would control others. 3 days of attending early morning mass brought this to my attention. And, like all recovering addicts I needed God to realign my fraudulence. When I have been accused of needing God by non-believers I am fervent when I express my crutch for the Lord, my daily dose of reason that I crave, for my mistakes are many.

Epicureanism flows like the Ganges at Christmas in the western world, and our home was no different until a myriad of calls like a spider’s web drained the elements of surprise from the day. It was now sanitized. Like a world that wants to know what they will experience on their travels, the element of the unknown is becoming the norm. Ah…..the joy of satiating new flavors, scents, textures, and sights was gone.   

Yet God always has a way of challenging those with open hearts. I prayed daily prior to the 13^th with extra fervency as the day approached trying to rid my need to control and God never disappoints when I release my grip. A Chinese gift exchange, everyone was to bring a gift, or a re-gifted present of $10.00 or less.  12 members of my family jostled over unopened gifts in the living room after a lengthy meal. Hearing the rattling of gifts, laughter, and pure jubilant mirth resonating in the room for long moments still rings in my ears. Nothing could have replaced these precious hours together.

I watched my family, those that had frustrated me, angered me, and loved me for whom I was enjoying one another’s company. There is no gift that can replace this, absolutely nothing. For hours we reminisced about old Christmas’ amongst the hilarity of gravelling to figure out what to steal from one another with these unopened gifts that we were dying to find out what was inside. When the preserved duck eggs where finally revealed, along with the 72% dark chocolate, books, mini growlers, leather covers, and Filipino candy what struck most was the essence of peace we had found in one another.

Christ had arrived in our home mainly in my heart. I hadn’t ruined the day with my necessities. I had allowed the fluidity of a tributary to weave, interweave naturally seeping into crevasses, clefts, and cracks overflowing itself with amity. 

An Etherieal Measure of Time

A finishing carpenter doesn’t truly describe the expertise Sean has. His work is displayed in the numerous million dollar homes around Canmore, and the mountain villas of Alberta and B.C. and equally important in an expert is the ability to put up with a neophyte like myself. I’d missed the wake-up call holding a steaming cup of coffee at my computer anticipating several moments to play as his car pulled up. I watched for several seconds as he moved into gear, there was no warming up, his movement were deliberate, calculated, like the climber he is, his harness was on for a multi pitch day.

The evening before Hal and I had finally read the boxes, all 14 of them piled up in the living room for the last several weeks. Remove the contents for 72 hours prior to installing for the wood to acclimatize……WHAT???? To late the deed had been done.

I’d gone to 7 flooring showrooms in town to check out the stock, quality and learn the business. I knew nothing after 2 weeks on the job. Sure I’d learned that there was a grade to wood depending on how much grain you were interested in seeing names like– Tavern, Junior, Bare – meant you saw it all then there was Mill Rate – where you saw some grain, then there was Best and Select where the grain had been stripped out of the wood.

I felt like I was teaching Biology 30 once again, learning all the variety of trees I’d just seen in Tennessee some of which were being sold here. There was Oak, Ash, Maple, Fir, Cherry, Balsam, Birch, Pine, Walnut, Wedge, Willow, Aspen, Beech, Elm, Poplar, and Sandalwood just to name a few. Did you want prefinished or not, spice, stained or rough matte? Maple alone had 16 choices of color and then you had to decide who to order from there were no fewer than 8 companies within each showroom. It is a labyrinth that only the hearty should tackle.

The hardness scale was simple enough yet the humidity was anyone guess. Between 7 shops not one was consistent on where to set the meter in our home, it ranged from turning it off completely to 50% all year round. Hal and I weren’t interested in opening a conservatory garden just yet. With little time to play around with the dial we choose 25%.

When I brought home the 2 X 3 foot pieces of wood samples to view what was vogue, in style and selling in new homes, again the fashion was as varied as Prentice caucus.  What you brought home didn’t elicit the true color. We were routing for Hickory as it was harder than Prentice integrity yet once seen on a large floor Hick was how we were feeling. So Maple it was – Mill Rate- which meant you saw some grain yet it wasn’t dancing with knots. The charm, class and there lack of in some establishment was pretty consistent, except when it came to Windsor Plywood and Timbertown.

When we finally chose to work with Timbertown the boys knew me by name after my forth visit. Bashful in an unfamiliar environment I meandered around to find the products I needed with superlative advice. Price, quality, service and a smile was what I received. No the wood wasn’t free, yet we felt relatively comfortable until Sean found out the price.

“Man that is expensive they should have given you a better rate.”

“Sean I got the 10 % discount and then bargained for the women’s rate and got another 4 % off, I thought that was pretty good.”

There was always a crux in flooring, the cold air return, the lack of 90 degree angles to a square room, bowed wood, curved wood, and our bodies. That was the hardest crux of all. I was so excited it probably took a good 4 hours prior to comprehending that my spine wasn’t designed to move in this space and shape.

Sean was a professional while he moved along with the airgun hammer thumping nails into the wood, I scurried along like a scandalous politician trying to keep pace placing boards into place. I held a piece of wood between my thumb and forefinger and hammered the wood into place just ahead of Sean. The only problem was that I wasn’t able to run fast enough to find wood lengths whose seam wouldn’t line up with the previous row. I blew it once and the zigzag pattern was visible.

“Kathryn, Dan is going to see this and he won’t be please, tell him you did it”?

“No problem Sean, don’t want to ruin your reputations, mine hasn’t begun, at least not in this industry.”

Secondly, I wasn’t able to find 7 new pieces of wood in time to get back and gently, which is an exercise I had to learn graciously from Sean’s, tap them into place before Sean was upon me. My thumb and forefinger twitched uncontrollably for 3 days after this drill. Massaging it during church service was an indication that things weren’t going well.

Then the questioning began. I’d seen so many you tube video’s I felt I had to comprehend why he wasn’t dragging the gun along the floor as they had shown to conserve energy.

“Kathryn, see this pad on the bottom. I’ve placed it there so the tiny bits are not scratching the floor. If we drag the machine a tiny specks might scratch the floor.”

This became my first and last question. I rested in his expertise, much like a wise courtesan resolves to unravel in the company of great lover.

By late afternoon the curvature of my back was permanently hunched. I texted Hal to come home immediately forgetting the parent that so desperately needed to see him, I was on my last leg. 10 hours with two short breaks did the trick. At 3:00 p.m. when Sean said he had to be gone by 5:30 I looked at the floor and then at him, said nothing and moved.

Sean’s alacrity was still engaged. “Look Kathryn a bird’s eye.”

I looked at the piece of wood without the joy he was showing me.

“Don’t you see, some people seek out these pieces and demand an entire floor made of these?”

Our speed had depleted, the rambunctious conversations had diminished to grunts on my part. He handed me wood, I placed it in and we worked for the remainder of the afternoon in silence.

When Hal did arrive I was overjoyed to teach him what to do, yet he wasn’t picking up the technique and with a mere meter to go to the back wall, it resided in finishing while he lifted the heavy boxes for me and found wood. I would continue hammering yet in his presence there was some relief. His joy and excitement at the final product was jolting me back to reality, as my mind was now wandering to Japanese bath houses, saunas, massages and acupuncture.

Sean left to volunteer firefighting training before we could fully appreciate his work. I fell onto the floor yearning to sob yet my bones were literally too tired to weep. If the notion to do this again ever came upon me regardless how enthusiastic I wouldn’t……find a carpenter…if you can.