The Case of The Faded Shell

Shell case among shells
Sun bleached red almost turquoise
Striking a contrast

Barnacles

petrified chorus
of baby bird's mouths singing
silently of sand

Windswept

sudden visceral
understanding of the word
windswept swept o'er me

Fish Hook

Shiny little fish

I mistook

You for a

Shiny metal hook.

Glimpses

We go through
our lives
our days
our minutes
and sometimes
we see glimpses of clarity:
what is important
why we do
what we do;
lost amid
the rush
of everything
these
little glimpses
help us
lead
better lives.

Crystallized Thoughts

I took this photo on Friday evening when I arrived at the cottage and headed straight to the beach for a walk, even before I unlocked the door to put the groceries in the fridge. It was cold enough out anyway, the air itself was a sort of fridge, and I had to use my Hok skis to get from the car to the cottage as our long curving driveway lined by leafless Poplars still had two feet of snow even though we are well into May. Plus I needed the skis to get to the beach, and they were already on my feet, so I thought, let’s go. The sky was grey and I knew it would be even "greyer" for the next two days; heavy rain and strong winds were forecast. But, quite frankly, I was glad; this was the perfect weekend to work on some projects that required dedicated time and space. 48 hours with no television, very little Internet since I was using the 3G on my phone, a tiny bit of radio during meals, and only the dog for conversation. I kept a fire going in the wood-stove to cut the humidity and take off the chill, and the crackling pine logs provided a cozy close-up sound for the background of the rain on the metal roof, roaring waves and whistling wind. I hunkered down for a weekend of thinking.

June is conference season for college teachers. I am attending two in Montreal at the beginning of next month, SALTISE and the AQPC. I love immersing myself in gatherings of hundreds of people who are passionate about pedagogy. I get to learn from my colleagues about their research and experiences, and I also like having the opportunity to share what I have discovered with others. This year I am scheduled to present three different times. You might wonder why someone would want to give workshops. It isn’t lucrative; I get half price on one conference because I am presenting, and the other two shorter presentations I am doing simply for the joy of it. And it takes a lot of time -hours, maybe days if I add up all of the thinking, planning, preparing of slides and texts, and then practicing. All for a few minutes; the three presentations range from 7 minutes, to 15 minutes, to 75 minutes. The longest one I have a partner to work with, but even that means synchronizing schedules and collaborating. So where is the gain in all this “pain”? The big payoff in presenting your ideas to colleagues is in the crystallization of your thoughts on a specific topic. 

We hear of writer’s retreats and I can understand why the combined aspects of isolation and proximity to nature can help people focus and be more productive. I feel lucky to have this cottage on the beach to escape to. To have a place where I can be alone with my thoughts and give them time to crystalize.

The Wink

The last thing my father did before he slipped into the coma that would lead to his death a month later was wink at my mother. They were at their cottage on the lake, it was morning, and he didn’t feel too well, a headache –in reality bleeding on the brain—so he was going to lie down for a bit. He caught her eye across the room and he winked at her. They had guests, old friends from long ago, a neighbour couple from back in the day; friends who had been there to help them get through the death of my brother so long ago. Now they would be there to help my mother through another sorrow.

The wink spoke volumes. The wink said, “I love you. I am fine. I will be right back. It’s okay. Take care of yourself. Enjoy the sunshine.” The wink was a long-standing pattern of communication between them. Always from my father to my mother. Never the other direction; I am guessing that my mother, like me, never mastered the art of the wink, could never carry it off with the naturel complicity and genuine affection it demands. I look like I have something in my eye when I attempt a wink.

The wink was their way of communicating in a crowd, across a room, without words.

My father was a quiet man, but he believed in the power of communication. He belonged to the Toastmasters Club, and made clear to all his children the importance of effective communication. Think about what you want to say. Write down a few notes. Be prepared. Being nervous about speaking in front of a group is unnecessary. The key aspect is the people you are talking to, let go of your focus on yourself and think about what they need to hear.

My father even managed a metaphorical post-mortem wink. He scrawled a few point-form notes using a black Sharpie pen on the outside of a manila file folder. The folder was labeled “In Case of Death” and we came across it in his desk drawer a day after he died while looking for the inevitable paperwork death brings on. He had written these lines a few years before his death, perhaps after his first brush with melanoma, or maybe after the death of someone he knew.  My uncle made plaques with these words so we could all carry them forward with us. When I read them I feel like my father is winking at me.

Yesterday my son came to get me in my office at the college where I teach and he is a student. He noticed the plaque. “That’s really nice!” he said, so I told him the story of the file folder. I hope the wink can get passed on to another generation. Today would be my father’s 92^nd birthday. He has been gone for a quarter century. I can still see him wink. Here are his words:

-cry a little, but please, not long

-celebrate the good times, which were many and often

-be thankful for all the love that kept us going in the bad times.

-family ties are very special and precious
-people, not things, are what matter