The Rivers Trail Journey

The Rivers Trail.  The sun was dipping low in the sky, it’s kaleidoscope of hues blanketing the horizon in a rose-colored canvas.  I’d been riding for 2 hours from one end of the city to another, following in the tire marks, footprints and paw prints of all those Rivers Trail fanatics that had gone before me.  Sweaty and fatigued, my hair pasted to my neck, I reveled in how ecstatically my legs were aching.  It felt like a fever had broken, leaving me renewed and exhausted all at once.  Stopping for a water break, I pulled the headphones from my ears, still humming to the Imagine Dragons adrenalin anthem playing in my head.  THIS was my “Happy Place”, and where I had once again found my passion.

In this frenetic world we’ve created it can often be difficult to find your passion.  Sometimes the challenge is in finding time to embrace it.  Other times it seems too much of a chore.  Depression, fatigue and the weight of responsibility can make a martyr out of each of us, stealing that passion – until a fleeting moment presents itself, when inspiration hits and reminds us how much we need to get back to the things we love to do.  It took 20 years for my fleeting moment.  I had spent the better part of those years allowing bad lifestyle choices and increasingly poor health to shape my reality, and the part of me where passion had once reigned seemed to shrink and wane with each passing year.   Eventually, as the breakdown of my body manifested in consistent back troubles, I signed up for yoga at the suggestion from a friend.  It was in that class, in the silence and peace of Shavasana (ironically translated “Death Pose”), when inspiration hit.  So I waited a few months until the weather cleared, and then I did something I hadn’t done in a very long time.  Choosing Action over Reaction,  I hauled out my bike and pumped up the tires.  And then I hit the dirt.

Each time I rode that trail it was like journeying through the chapters of my life.  When you ride like that, with music in your ears and the breeze on your face, there is nothing to accompany you but the beauty of your surroundings and the jumble of thoughts inside your head.  All of the ghosts I had run from over the years, the feelings I had buried, and some basic truths about myself I had refused to face, they were all riding there beside me, neck in neck, that first season.  At the same time, all of the beauty, the bounty of blessings I had been bestowed with over the years – family, friends, second chances – finally got the recognition they deserved.  It was blissfully painful.  It was liberating and cathartic.  And it was easier to reconcile all of those things, to acknowledge them and appreciate them fully, while my legs were pumping and my heart was bursting with passion and courage and effervescence.

When I talk to people nowadays about biking, there is usually some reference made to the Rivers Trail here in Kamloops.  It’s been two years since I first rediscovered how much I loved being on a bike, and since that time I’ve been on countless trails here and throughout BC.  But that particular trail is where I got to know the world again, and where I found the desire and the courage to do so.  So, until the day comes that my body and my bike are too rusty to hit the dirt,  I know I will try to make the first ride of each season on the same route I took that first time.  The ride back to health, and awareness.  The ride back to passion.  The journey back to me.

Thank you, Rivers Trail.

Life Lessons for $1000, please Alex

Growing up, I took a lot of things for granted. I knew for sure that my favourite sport was baseball (or softball, the girls version in a small town). I knew that even when my brother and I disagreed he would be my champion if someone else picked on me. I knew that my Mom wanted me to embrace my passions, to sing and play my life out loud, even if it meant listening to me banging on a drumset she was probably loathe to buy (but DID buy, knowing she would lose sleep and face the wrath of the neighbours). And I knew my Dad thought I was the apple of his eye, even when I visited him and fell further from the tree than he expected. I knew that my Uncle Bud understood all of those disconnected things, and tried to glue them all together for me. I just didn’t listen, because I was young and confident that I knew better. Being young and cocky robs us of the ability to appreciate the effort our loved ones put towards showing us the arrogance of our youth.

I am now 43 years old. Arthritis has robbed my hands of softball (I’d be glad to play the girls version of baseball, if even for a game). Even when I disagree with my brother I wish I could be his champion when heart problems pick on him. I want my Mom to see that even without that drumset I am singing my life out loud – and still pissing off the neighbors – and thanking her for encouraging me to do so. I hope my Dad appreciates that although I fell far from the tree, I now see where my roots are, and I know what kind of apple I am. And I hope Bud is watching from somewhere while I apply the glue to all of those things, creating a scrapbook of lessons I have collected since the day he left us.

Life Lessons for $1000, please Alex. xo

Let It Be – The Magic of Music

Have you ever heard a song that made you want to crank the volume loud, close your eyes, and hold the rest of the world at bay, your arms in the air, your head thrown back, while the sound just carried you away to a place that no one else could touch?

Now, imagine it backwards. You have no memory, no recollection, of anything or anyone in your life, until that moment. The rest of the world has been held at bay without your consent. Your arms are thrown in the air in frustration. Your head is thrown back in anger. There is no release, no communication. Only loneliness. Until the moment that song plays and carries you back to a place where you can feel the touch of the people and the past you have lost.

On May 8, 1970, The Beatles released their twelfth and final studio album entitled “Let It Be”. In my estimation, the title track from that album is one of the most inspiring songs of all time. To this day, the first sweet refrain can play on a beat up set of car speakers; the first few notes can whisper from a looped soundtrack playing overhead in the mall; or, the plaintive lyrics can come from the lips of a busker on the street. It doesn’t matter the source; each and every one of these instances always stops me in my tracks. And when the stresses of the day weigh heavy and I’m feeling particularly lost, playing a few piano chords of Let It Be can be just what’s needed to lead me back.

I’ve felt an affinity for music my entire life. One of my earliest memories is hearing a melody from a music box, a simple toy, when I was no more than 4 years old. The recollection doesn’t include what the music box looked like, but when I glance back on that moment behind closed eyelids, that beautiful, inexplicable melancholy greets me anew. I don’t know about you, but when I was four I could barely tie my shoes. Amazing, really, that shoe-tying took a second to music appreciation.

So, it came as no real surprise to me on Saturday morning when I saw a clip from a show about the power of music on dementia. Entitled, “Alive Inside”, it documented the story of a social worker named Dan Cohen, and his work with nursing home patients afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease. The initial clip I watched focused on an elderly gentleman, Henry, who spends his days lost in the throes of Alzheimer’s, tragically confined to a wheelchair while silent in his deteriorating vegetative state. Below you will find a link. I hope you will watch it. The basic premise of the documentary is to demonstrate the power of music when the power of words, and the gift of memory is lost to someone. Henry had a set of headphones placed in his ears. The angelic, ethereal expression on his face as the music of his past was played to him made me weep. Suddenly, his voice rang out, clear and strong, singing along to his favorite musician, Cab Calloway. It was breathtaking.

Hans Christian Andersen is quoted as saying, “Where words fail, music speaks.” This documentary is a testament to that. I find myself reciting the final lyrics to “Let It Be” while I’ve been typing this blog entry. Sing it with me, won’t you?

“And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, …..”

― Paul McCartney

Watch the clip here:

ALIVE INSIDE

Feel free to post your thoughts here, or on my FB. The full documentary is on Netflix. I encourage you to watch it and share your own experiences. Thank you.

xo

The Art of the Drive By Spicing

My Mom is a fantastic cook. Some of my best memories involve being in the kitchen with her when I was young. We had occasional cook-offs and bake-offs where we would each pick a recipe and then work side by side on our creations, sharing stories and giggling. Then we’d sit down and test one another’s recipe, making suggestions or just trying to out-ooooh/aaaah each other with complimentary eating noises. I know that my lifelong love affair with kitchen gadgets and exotic ingredients can be traced back to those times in the kitchen when Mom taught me the art of the “Drive By Spicing”. She never relied too heavily on recipes – My Ma knew how to wing it,and she did it exceptionally well, mixing spices and a little dash of magic when something didn’t taste quite right…and she encouraged me to do the same.  I smile to this day when she and I are in the kitchen together and she hands me a spoonful of the stovetop bounty and asks, “What does it need?” By giving me the freedom to put my stamp on those creations she taught me the value of trusting my instincts, both in and out of the kitchen.

Nowadays, you’ll find me cooking with my own kids.  They’ve both got a passion for spice, and they come by it honestly.  Number 1 Son has been a foodie since before he could tie his own shoes, and there is no need for me to even ask him, “What does it need?”, as he’s usually already hit the pantry by the time I think to ask.  Darling Daughter quietly wrests the whisk from my hand and stirs the pot in her gentle way, while simultaneously dipping a tasting spoon and asking if “maybe it needs a little something”.  They both have amazing palates, and they are adventurous and open-minded when it comes to ingredients.  Watching them at the stove fills me with a ridiculous joy, and it’s occurred to me on many occasions that perhaps that is exactly what Mom felt when we had our cook-offs.  Just pure, ridiculous joy at doing something she loved with someone she loved, who loved it too.

We live in an ever-changing world. Technology has robbed us of simplicity and the pleasure of being fully present in one another’s company.  We eat at the drive-thru, we eat in front of the TV and we eat at our desks.   But there are a few simple, tried and true things I hang onto, things I learned in the comfort of my Mother’s kitchen.  Creating something beautiful from the ingredients in the pantry is cathartic and soothing.  Feeding it to the people I love is extremely rewarding and fills me with gratitude and peace.  And lastly, family mealtimes are golden.  When Sunday rolls around and those fantastic young people I am lucky to call my children are coming for dinner, I always hope they will arrive a little bit early and join me in the kitchen.  Not because I need their help, but simply because I want to watch as they provide a Drive By Spicing.

And now I am off to make a pot of soup.

Cleaning out the Closets

You know those mornings when you wake up, looking around at the mayhem you created the night before when you ripped through your closet trying to find the tshirt/jeans/missing sock that you knew was buried somewhere in the rubble of unfolded laundry?  If you are anything like my former self, you may have rolled over, pulled the covers over your head and berated yourself for your shortcomings.  And for the mess lurking behind the closet doors, the stuff you piled in there when impromptu company arrived last week then you never quite got around to pulling back out.   You may have told yourself that once you felt better, more motivated and less depressed, that you would clean up the mess and By George, you’d have your clothes sorted and organized once and for all.  Soon.  Once you felt better.

Through much closet searching and an equivalent amount of soul searching I’ve since discovered something rather remarkable.  An epiphany, if you will.  It was like the time I realized that I could, in fact, fold my towels differently than I had done my entire life without something terrible happening (call me superstitious, or perhaps a little off balance). What I discovered was that I could, like the folding of the towels, step out of my comfort zone and embrace change and chaos at the same time.  And so I did.  I cleaned out my closet.  And then I cleaned out another.  This led me to the bathroom cabinets where I cleaned out all the old half dried bottles of shampoo and hair products (and the gimped up Q-tips lurking in the back of the “everything drawer”).  An hour later I was cross-legged on the hallway floor sorting through boxes of miscellaneous “one day” items, most of which ended up either at the bottom of a glad bag or in a box marked “pass-it-on”. Before too long my bookcase was finally organized by author, my cups and glasses were on separate shelves in the cupboard and my hope-chest beside my bed had become a hope-chest again instead of a store-all.   And with each task I took on I felt, well…I felt better.  More motived.  Less depressed.

Nowadays, when I begin to feel bogged down, when the clutter around me creates noise inside of me, I remind myself of that remarkable discovery.  I know that chaos will always be a part of who I am.  I embrace it because it isn’t going anywhere.  In keeping with that I have a junk drawer in my kitchen that is overflowing with the items I haven’t found a home for or that I can’t bear to part with quite yet.  There is still a lot of improvement to be made, “A place for everything and everything in it’s place”.  But I know one thing for certain.  I know that chaos won’t determine what my surroundings look like.  When I feel a maelstrom building, ready to overwhelm me, there is something I can do about it.

I clean out my closets.