Early morning ponderings

Things here seem to be levelling out for the most part. Although the ideas for blog posts seem to be mounting, (I have literally four or five things I'd like to document)one in particular came to mind as I woke up this morning. It may be an ages-old story, I'm not sure, but I'd heard it a couple weeks ago and it's been sitting in the back of my mind burbling away.

It's the story of the University professor who is prepared for a talk in front of his students. In front of him is a tall glass jar filled with golf balls and two glasses of wine. The question he poses to his students is this:

"Is the jar full?"

The students all nod in agreement; of course it's full... of golf balls.

The professor then produces a container of small stones. He pours the stones over top the golf balls and they begin to fill in the spaces between the balls.

"Is it full now?"

The students look at each other, some laugh; of course, we hadn't thought of that.

The professor smiles and brings out a container of sand. Sure enough, the sand filters through all the remaining cracks between the small stones.

"Is it full NOW?"

Of course, they agree, the glass jar is finally full. The professor asks,

"Now, what's the point of all this?"

They're not really sure.

"I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things; your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favourite passions; things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else; the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first", he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the good things that are important to you.

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18 holes. Do one more run down the ski slope. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first; the things that really matter. Set your priorities.

The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the two glasses of wine represented.

The professor smiled, took the two glasses of wine and poured the contents of both into the jar over the golf balls, stones and sand.

"No matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of glasses of wine with a friend."

Closure

On Wednesday last week I took a trip to Vulcan to seek out my grandparent's burial plots. I arrived at the Town Office in the morning to fetch a map of the cemetery. I was surprised to note that the names of those buried there were actually all listed on the map. I must have given the clerk a look of bewilderment when I looked down to see not two, but four plots for "Hoskyn". For a split second I thought,

"Was Dad supposed to be buried here?"

It would appear that Grandpa Charles must have purchased a 'family plot'.

Knowing full well that Dad had made his burial request years ago, there should be no need to panic.

So, off to the cemetery I went.

Relatively in the centre of the yard is the Field of Honour, dedicated to the soldiers of the First and Second World War. I decided to use it as a reference point against the map. I was very quickly lost because this section sits 90 degrees out from the drawing on the map. Once I discovered this, however, Grandma and Grandpa Hoskyn's plots were easily visible from the dirt road that runs around the perimeter of the cemetery yard.







I took this journey (a little over two months after having taken Dad down for his birthday in August) mostly for me, but in a way for him too. I placed Dad's urn by the stones that stand for his parents, Laura and Charles. Regardless of what you may believe, I think it was something of a family reunion, on a spiritual level anyway.

I spent some time reflecting about Dad and the stories he used to tell about his folks. He'd lost his Mom when he was three or four and his Dad when he was twenty-five. I'm thankful that I was blessed with him for much longer, especially since my parents didn't start a family until they were in their fourties.

Charles, Frank and Connie Hoskyn c. 1929 (?)


Connie, Frank and Bill the Cat


Frank and Connie c. 1928


I took a tour of Vulcan including a drive by the Hoskyn house. If you look at the railing and lattice in the above photo, you'll see that not much has changed. I did notice that the house has received a coat of paint since our trip in August.



For Dad's birthday on August 19th., we road tripped to Vulcan to visit Dad's high school friend, Henry Hansen, who spoke about their 69-year friendship at Dad's service in September.


Dad with Henry Hansen c. 2004 ?

We attended the 50th. Anniversary celebration dinner and dance for St. Andrew's Anglican Church on Friday, September 12. Dad got in on a photo of the founding members of the parish. He looks positively happy.


The founding members of St. Andrew's Anglican Church - Calgary September 12, 2008
Frank stands second from the left, back row ; Margery is on the right hand side, front row

Dad's interment service was held on Saturday, November 1, 2008 at Mountain View Memorial Gardens. I had the honour of placing Dad's urn in the niche and although it provided for much closure for all of us, I have to admit it will likely be some time before life, for me, returns to normal.

HOSKYN _ Frank William
August 19, 1924 - September 14, 2008

Frank William Hoskyn, beloved husband of Margery of Calgary, passed away on Sunday, September 14, 2008 at the age of 84 years. Frank was born and grew up in Vulcan, AB. After attending Normal School, he began his teaching career in a one-room schoolhouse in Dorothy at age nineteen. He trained as a navigator/bomber in the Royal Canadian Air Force and then earned a B.Ed. from the University of Alberta. Frank continued his teaching career in Calgary where, over the years, he was teacher, Reading Consultant, Elementary School Principal and Resource Teacher. He was also active in the Canadian Teachers' Federation and the Alberta Teachers' Association. He was President of the Provincial Alberta Teachers' Association in 1966/1967. Frank retired in 1986. As an active Anglican, Frank was a member of the Cathedral choir and played an important role in establishing St. Andrew's parish where he participated as a member of the Choir, Treasurer and Vestry member. He also cared for the gardens and grounds at the church. After retirement, Frank continued to be active in the community. He was Chairman of the Calgary branch of Save the Children Canada and was involved in the establishment of the Nose Hill Branch of the Calgary Public Library. He also enjoyed the personal pursuits of gardening, reading, classical music and travelling. Frank was predeceased by his father, Charles, and mother, Laura, of Vulcan and sister, Connie, of Calgary. He is survived by his wife of forty-two years, Margery, children Laura May (Doug), David and three grandchildren. Funeral Services will be held at St. Andrew's Anglican Church (1611 St. Andrew's Place N.W.) today, September 19, 2008 at 11:00 a.m. Forward condolences through www.mcinnisandholloway.com . If friends so desire, memorial tributes may be made directly to Save the Children Canada, 4141 Yonge Street, Suite 300, Toronto, Ontario M2P 2A8 (Toll Free 1-800-668-5036. Email sccan@savethechildren.ca) or St. Andrew's Anglican Church, Calgary, 1611 St. Andrew's Place N.W. (Telephone 403-282-3234). In living memory of Frank Hoskyn, a tree will be planted at Fish Creek Provincial Park by McINNIS & HOLLOWAY FUNERAL HOMES, Crowfoot Chapel, 82 CROWFOOT CIRCLE N.W. Telephone: 403-241-0044. Published in the Calgary Herald from 9/17/2008 - 9/19/2008

DYLAN THOMAS
Fern Hill

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honored among wagons I was prince of the appletowns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, and lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying stable
On the fields of praise.

And honored among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house-high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky-blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow-thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

1946

The Pterygoidal Torturist

Her name is Allison.

She is my massage therapist.

The other day she introduced me to muscles above and along my jaw that I had no idea existed. I'm sure that the Pterygoid's sole purpose is to provide an outlet for inflicting pain. You can find it if you place your index finger behind your earlobe and against your cheek. The outter Pterygoidal muscle runs along your jaw. I've never known such excruciating pain in my life as for the several minutes Allison spent working on my jaw.

Everyone carries stress in different parts of their body. It would appear that I've found where my stress is harboured!

At chiro, Dr. Mike suggested a few simple stretches, and THESE are ones I rarely forget to do!

Turns out that the world is indeed a small place. Allison's Mom is living in the same extended care facility as my Mom -- and, they know each other.

Yesterday's massage therapy was cancelled because Allison had a conference to attend.

Ah, spared...

The system of things

This in by email - thought it was pretty amusing:

A Christian Democrat:
You have two cows. You keep one and give one to your neighbor. Then you covet it.

A Socialist (or a Canadian New Democrat):
You have two cows. The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor. You form a cooperative to tell him how to manage his.

A Republican (or a Canadian Conservative):
You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. So what?

A Democrat (or a Canadian Liberal):
You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. You feel guilty for being successful. You vote people into office who tax your cows, forcing you to sell one to raise money to pay the tax. The people you voted for then take the tax money and buy a cow and give it to your neighbor. You feel righteous.

A Communist:
You have two cows. The government seizes both and provides you with milk. You wait in line for hours to get it. It is expensive and sour.

A Fascist:
You have two cows. The government seizes both and sells you the milk. You join the underground and start a campaign of sabotage, which ultimately blows up the cows.

Democracy, American Style:
You have two cows. The government taxes you to the point you have to sell both to support a man in a foreign country who has only one cow, which was a gift from your government.

Capitalism, American Style:
You have two cows. You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd of cows.

Bureaucracy, American Style:
You have two cows. The government takes them both, shoots one, milks the other, pays you for the milk, then pours the milk down the drain.

An American Corporation:
You have two cows. You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an IPO on the 2nd one. You force the 2 cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when one cow drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts that you have reduced your expenses. Your stock goes up.

A French Corporation:
You have two cows. You go on strike because you want three cows. You go to lunch. Life is good.

A Japanese Corporation:
You have two cows. You redesign them so they are one tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk. They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains. Most are at the top of their class at cow school.

A German Corporation:
You have two cows. You reengineer them so they live for 100 years, eat once a month, and milk themselves.
Or
You have two cows. You reengineer them so they are all blond, drink lots of beer, give excellent quality milk, and run a hundred miles an hour. Unfortunately they also demand 13 weeks of vacation per year.

An Italian Corporation:
You have two cows but you don't know where they are. While ambling around, you see a beautiful woman. You break for lunch. Life is good.

A Russian Corporation:
You have two cows. You count them and learn you have five cows. You have some more vodka. You count them again and learn you have 42 cows. You count them again and learn you have 12 cows. You stop counting cows and open another bottle of vodka. You produce your 10th, 5-year plan in the last 3 months. The Mafia shows up and takes over however many cows you really have.

A Mexican Corporation:
You think you have two cows, but you don't know what a cow looks like. You take a nap.

A Swiss Corporation:
You have 5000 cows, none of which belongs to you. You charge for storing them for others. If they give milk, you tell no one.

A Brazilian Corporation:
You have two cows. You enter into a partnership with an American corporation. Soon you have 1000 cows and the American corporation declares bankruptcy.

An Indian Corporation:
You have two cows. You worship them.

A Taliban Corporation:
You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which is two. You don't milk them because you cannot touch any creature's private parts. At night when no one is looking, you milk both of them. Then you kill them and claim a US bomb blew them up while they were in the hospital.

A Polish Corporation:
You have two bulls. Several people are killed while attempting to milk them.

All the questions come at 5:00 in the morning

...like, "Why the hell am I up... now???" It doesn't matter what the answer is, as long as it satisfies the question:

*Your Dad died and you're clearly not at peace with it.

*Your relationship fell apart, and all you can come up with right now are more questions, not answers.

*In a purely reactive move, you layed a whole bunch of stress on a good friend and now you wish you could press rewind... or apologize, or put that shell to good use.

*You're struggling to find the balance between what to share and what to keep to yourself.

or likely,

*You drank too much coffee yesterday, dummy...


...speaking of coffee, my Mom called yesterday. She invited me down for coffee and cookies. The coffee they serve at Mom's is exceptionally average, so on the way I stopped at the neighbourhood coffee shop for some Cochrane Coffee Traders coffee... it truly gives Timmies a run... and the best part? It too, is Canadian.

We talked about Dad, his absence, his presence, his love and his grace. We talked about who he is - not as a result of his Dementia, not as a result of the worldly factors of stress and social pressure that change or stifle who you really are, but exactly that: who he really is.

The other day I shared with a friend a spiritual experience I had a while back in which Dad's spirit - the essence of who he is - was with me. It was one of those life experiences that would likely have one committed if the details were leaked too freely. Simply put, my Dad and I spent some quality time together. He was free of all the encumbrances of the world, and it has me thinking what life might be like if we all strived to live free while we're here. There seem to be so many petty things that become major life intrusions that, after consulting with Dad (the part that could have me committed, yes?) has me re-prioritising a few important bits.

Sir William has just arrived to remind me that feeding the cat is good stewardship... of the cat. Therefore, I shall tend to Sir William and will write more later.

Turtle out.

Cats are good therapy

As I make my way through this rather exhaustive week, I'm acutely aware of how I'm feeling emotionally, physically and intellectually.

The most obvious of all is my physical being. I'm a wreck. All that work I've done with yoga, chiro and massage seems to have been for not this week... or is that "knot"? (sorry, bad massage humour!) I was saying to a friend today that I really must get on the physical fitness bandwagon big-time, because look at what a few simple downturns has done to me! His response?

"Dave, there are four things that are rated the top most stressful events in a person's life: A breakup or divorce, loss of a loved one, moving and changing jobs. You've had three of these in the last two months... you're entitled to be a wreck for a while!"

Doesn't change the fact that I feel "less-than" physically right now, and a little focus on my well-being is certainly in order. I'm also spending less time with my business these days: putting in half-days, not covering all bases, and in general looking for ways to get other people to do the work. OK, that last part is a fundamental of business in general, but for a guy who's "done it all" most of his working career, it provides for a dynamic shift in daily ops.

Emotionally, I'm a lot more stable than I had anticipated. Over the last number of years I've chosen to look at what I have rather than what I do not, and what's really great rather than what's going wrong. I think that this shift has been paramount in my ability to deal with all of life's little stresses as of late.

Intellectually, well, I'm surveying the whole thing in my mind a lot more than perhaps is necessary, but also looking at all of this with an open mind and a view to a learning experience like no other. It's no secret that things like a death in the family or a breakup will bring friends and family closer together, and indeed it has. In the last two weeks I've spent more time socializing with my closest friends and family than I have in a long, long time. That's something, considering I'm a pretty social guy on a regular day anyway!

So time will pass, pain will diminish and life will carry on.

I was working away on the sound system at the church the other day, and as is my custom, I throw in a cd to have on in the background while I'm there. My copy of Compadres "Buddy Where You Been?" has taken up residence in the sound rack there, and as I was listening away (while drilling holes in the pulpit... who gets to do THAT and get away with it, I ask you!?) these words caught my ear:


Mother and Father are both now gone;
Brothers and Sisters they are carrying on:
Try their ores in different waters,
Looking out for their sons and daughters.

It's all about carrying on, really.

What does this have to do with cats? Nothing. As the title of this post suggests, they are indeed, good therapy.

Blog Therapy

I haven't blogged seriously in ages, mostly because I've been so busy with life as it happens that there's been no time to document it.

Over the last six or eight weeks, the stressors in my life have been mounting. Each on its own is completely handleable, but as they continue to add up in a seemingly short period of time, I'm noticing a physical change in my body, lowered energy levels and an emotional unwellness akin to lonliness, heartache and depression.

The biggies are:
Tiki went out in a rainstorm back in July and hasn't returned.
My Dad passed away on September 14.
Nathalie returned to Quebec on September 26.

Each of these probably deserves a novel of a post each, but suffice it to say I'm really not up for that, and it's probably best to keep most of it out of the public realm.

As the last four or five days have gone, my sleep pattern has evolved into something of an 11PM to 5AM cycle with a frenzied sense of "I gotta do it all, and now!" in between.

Today, however, I slept in to the point of missing my 7:30 Chiropractic appointment. Two hours later, I was in his office, ready for a much-needed adjustment.

I then found myself in Chapters killing time before an eye exam at 11:40, wandering around aimlessly looking at books for no apparent reason, sucking back a half-coffee-half-whole cream pick-me-up. Then it was off to COSTCO for some kitty liter because...

I returned home to find a new resident feline in the window:




Meet Sir William. He hails from the Hanna SPCA, and he's the sweetest guy!
(the orange paper in the window is to keep the birds from cracking their wee beaks... Sir William would be happy about that, I'm sure!)