Ian Rankin

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Not much time to write this week… and today was busy, capped off with seeing Ian Rankin speak at an event this evening.  Always nice to chat with Ian! Even he enjoyed the story about how we first met… (Second part of the Rankin trilogy that appears in my book)

Confirmation

I wanted to know.  Standing on the edge of the cliff, overlooking all of Edinburgh, I wanted the answer.  Was this Salisbury Crags?  Too bad the weather was blowing in bands of rain with a mad wind.  It all seemed deserted.  No other hiker to answer the question.

But on the far edge of the cliff there seemed to be some equipment and a few people.  My eyes are bad and I couldn’t make out what they were doing but they must know if this was Salisbury.

As I headed towards them I realized it was a small film crew.  Very small.  Camera, crane, piles of gear and only three people.  I ambled up and tried to play the polite Canadian tourist.

“I’m from Vancouver, Canada, and a huge Ian Rankin fan.  Ian wrote in one of his books about a man being thrown off the Salisbury Crags and I’m wondering if you could tell me if these are the Crags.”

Everyone here knows of Ian Rankin, the Scottish writer made famous by his series about the Edinburgh detective, John Rebus.  I prayed these people would take pity on a fan who only wants to stalk the book’s locations.

They looked at me and laughed.

“Ask him yourself… we’re a BBC film crew doing a documentary on Ian and he’s heading up the hill any minute.”

What?

That is how I ended up spending the afternoon with my favourite writer.  Total fluke.  Or fate.  I don’t care.  He is my writing God.  And I got to hang out with him.  From the cliff he pointed out his neighbourhood.  The street he shared with JK Rowling.  “Writers Block” he told me.  Ian wanted to come back to the Vancouver Writers Festival and asked me to plant the seed.  He was chatty, and kind and very very normal.  And he put up with a fan intruding on his film shoot with grace and humour.  A gentleman.

It was so much more than Salisbury Crags.

 

 

Homage

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The stage was set.  A car parked under the awning at the foot of the stairs.  A man stood next to it as if guarding the space. This seemed required as many people were beginning to gather.

Thrangu Rinpoche, spiritual teacher and head of this monastery was on his way back to India, his home since his withdrawal from Tibet. We were not sure he would ever return to Vancouver.  His age and failing health were taking its toll. The crowd amassing to wish him safe travels was growing.  We all wanted to get one last blessing before he left us.  I wanted one last smile.

A line formed to pass in front of Rinpoche before he headed down the stairs. I made my way forward.  He put out his hand and smiled, my heart grew. I lightly drew his hand in to touch my face.  A gesture not planned but needed.  I smiled back, content knowing this might be our last meeting.  At least for this lifetime.

After the blessing I moved to the waiting car wanting to catch a final glance as Rinpoche drove away.  I stood by the man still guarding the car door.

The blessings complete, and time to go; two monks helped Rinpoche as he started down the stairs.  All eyes were on him so none of us saw the man standing next to me drop to the ground and lay flat, covering the pavement between the bottom step and the car. As we turned at the commotion there was a collective gasp.

Two Lamas came to his aid and encouraged the man to get up.  Huddling over him.  The man did not move.

It was his obvious intent from the beginning to do this. An extreme supplication.

Rinpoche came down the stairs and with the monks supporting him; he stepped on the disciple’s back and maneuvered into the car seat.  The crowd stayed silent.  The door was shut and a monk patted the man’s back and whispered, “Get up, get up, say good bye to Rinpoche”.

We just watched.

He jumped to his feet as Rinpoche’s window came down.  I was close enough to see their eyes meet.  Both men nodded.  I felt the love pass between them.

The man stepped back and Rinpoche waved to the crowd.  We all bowed.  The car drove away.

The mystery man stood next to me.  He looked content.  I reached out, touched his shoulder and said, “That was lovely”.  He turned and walked away.

I was humbled to be a witness to such homage.

Rinpoche arrives back in India...

Rinpoche arrives back in India…

 

 

Kindness

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Kindness is never a problem.

The reaction to kindness is a growing concern.

People don’t seem to know how to handle someone showing them kindness.

A modest “thank you” can usually suffice.

Try this.  Hold a door open for someone. Many people will not know how to acknowledge this simple move. They shrug, mutter something, a few smile, and if you are lucky a few do give a quiet thanks. Now imagine doing something much bigger. If people are not used to the simple acts of help… how can they accept the life-changing ones?

I am a very kind person. Overly kind at times. I step up.  I’m comfortable with this position.  It can cause a few problems but it’s better to deal with being “too kind” than “not giving a shit”.

Some people try to take advantage of my basic nature.  I won’t let them.  I give when and where I want.  I am fully aware of what I’m doing and why.  I am also fully aware of when I fail and when I could do better.

My religion asks and implores me to be kind.  It is an Eastern philosophy and maybe that is why the overriding gestures seem suspect here in the west.  A sad commentary.  If we were all as kind as the Dalai Lama just imagine the state of mankind? Everything would change.

But we don’t all act with kindness…

My religion also asks me to give without expectations.  That’s much harder to do.  Be kind but don’t wait for a “thank you”.  I find this much more difficult but I’m getting better at it. I can also see the rewards. Having no expectations and you will not be hurt. A very valuable lesson.

Don’t always assume there is a hidden agenda to someone’s kindness.  They may be like me; trying to do their best, following their basic nature, attempting to be a better person. Don’t cloud a positive with a negative. Sometimes good is just good. Not everyone has a corrupt agenda.

If someone is kind to you please give them a heartfelt kindness in return.  Whether a friend, family member, co-worker or random person on the street.  A “thank you” can mean everything.

Kindness is a way to live; it is not a commodity to be bought, sold or bargained away.

The best way to react to kindness?   Be kind.

 

Whisky and Beer

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I drink whisky and beer.

It’s an odd line to start off my blog.  I’m sitting here in the Mallard Bar up at the Chateau Whistler; I’ve written in my journal, checked Facebook, sent out a tweet and read my emails.  There’s nothing left but work on this week’s blog and this is the best line I can write?

Whisky and beer?

Clearly there are other more pressing subjects to talk about… but in this bar, at this moment, there is only whisky and beer.

Sometimes scaling everything down and blocking out the world is the best option.

And for those who are curious, the whisky is always Glenkinchie, from an Edinburgh distillery, and the beer is either Stella or Blue Buck.  I am predictable.

I’m not a big drinker.  Though for the past few months I have found myself in many bars and lounges, drinking, listening to my favourite music and writing.  Always writing.  It seems many writers end up in coffee shops to scribble or type their words.  I tend to chat too much at my local Starbucks. And I like to write while sipping something a little stronger than a latte.

I also like to watch people.  When I’m not writing I spy.  Right now there is a big crowd around the long curved bar. It looks like a company event. Everyone is talking and laughing. Well everyone except the man at the end. He’s drinking a martini and intently watching the bartender. I wonder about him.

I’m sure there are people here who wonder about me.  What is she doing in the corner, writing in her little book and occasionally stopping to watch the singer?  Yes, I bet they have questions.  A young man comes over and invites me up to the bar for a shooter.  I laugh and say, “No thanks… I’m working, and I only drink whisky or beer”.  He chuckles as he walks away.  A few minutes later he’s back and says he’ll buy me the drink I want.  I smile and accept the offer.

This bar and hotel are famous.  I can imagine a writer taking up residence here.

It would be a life gently filled with writing and whisky and beer.