Words

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If you expect me to know some fancy words because I call myself a writer you are wrong. Not many unusual words come from my little brain. It’s the joy of dyslexia and the joy of keeping things simple. In fact, one of the reasons I like writing more than speaking is because I can check the dictionary before committing. If I use a word I want to use it well.

I am fascinated by the meaning of words. Many of us use them incorrectly. It’s probably just a bad habit but it can make you look foolish. Darn embarrassing at times. My editor can tell you horror stories about my mistakes. Too bad she doesn’t check over my blogs before they go out.

But go back to my point about the meaning of words. Why do certain words become popular? Not everything is worthy of “awesome” or “epic”, yet oddly enough, so many things today are one or the other. Interesting.

I have favourite words and purposely like to use them. I go through phases and when I reread my blogs, stories and even journal entries I see the different tendencies. “Indeed”, “intent” and “lovely” have had top billing lately. Another new one I adore is “torque”. I enjoy saying the word, I like how it sounds. I believe I’ve convinced my friend to call her new car “Torque.” Hopefully that will get me over this word obsession.

My other longtime favourite words are “juxtaposition” and “interesting.” Both can be perfect ways to comment on how I view life at almost any given time.

These days it seems we are constantly being misunderstood. Maybe the trouble is the words we are using. Or maybe it is the intent.

What are your favourite words? And when is the last time you actually looked up a definition? Do you use them to impress people or to make yourself understood? Has someone ever said something that hurt you, or made you cry, or made you fall in love?

Words are powerful and precious. Use them wisely.

Torque

The Oxford definition of “torque”

Alex Left His Ties

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The quilt is on the bed in the meditation room. I hadn’t seen it for a long time. Beside it is a framed “story” I wrote years ago. I had forgotten about writing the story but I will never forget the quilt. And to this day, Alex still holds a profound place in my heart…

“Everyone should have had the chance to meet Alex. He was witty, charming and brave. We met in the midst of a difficult time for him. His health was failing. During our time together he tried to teach me Cockney Slang, we told lots of jokes and close to the end, discussed how to die. I was honoured to be with him as he left this world.

After Alex’s passing, his dear wife Tina and I became friends. She told me about “tie quilts” and her thoughts about having one done for Alex. I told her I knew how to quilt. (Ha, little did I know what that comment would turn into…) After many conversations it was decided I would take on the project to make Alex’s quilt.

First there was the task of finding a design to showcase the ties. Then the hours and hours deciding which ties to use and how to group them. Tina’s input was invaluable. The underlying thought was always Alex. What did he like? How would he want us to do this? I thought about Alex during the entire process.

Next came the piecing and the quilting. All the different types of fabric made it a challenge. My fear of sewing machines led to every stitch being done by hand. I admit that my need for perfection meant many parts were sewed, taken apart, and sewed again.

All the fabric except for the border and backing were from Alex’s wardrobe. Ties, jackets, shirts, cummerbunds and vests. The amazing crests and buttons… those came from his RAF blazer. The last recording of Alex’s singing was “The Bluebird of Happiness”, thus came the idea for the centre square and his bird tie.

And now it’s done.

I hope Alex approves.”

Quilt for web

 

In The End…

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In the end, it all comes down to the experiences you get to share with the people around you. And maybe more important, did those experiences bring some happiness, to you, and them?

Or maybe, just maybe, in the end I’ll know a little more about Robbie Burns?

Today is the last day of my contract working with the tremendous group of people at the Centre for Scottish Studies at Simon Fraser University. – Leith Davis, the Director, and “my boss” (she brought me on board), John Craig, our Dean, (and go-to man when you need a great speaker) and the lovely Kaila Langevin (was always there!).

I can’t believe it’s been two years.

I can’t believe SFU actually let me be a part of this great place. Thank goodness no one ever asked for my educational background. Some things are better left unsaid.

It has been a blessing and an important piece of the puzzle in my Scottish life.

During my time at SFU I was given the opportunity to create and put on some amazing events. No doubt some future blogs will probe into the outcome of some of the endeavours.

The most important was the Burns Marathon, the Robbie Burns Day Reading Marathon to be exact.

It’s the reason I got to work at SFU. My insane idea to set a world record for the continuous recitation of Burns’ poetry and song. Leith OK’d the premise and it grew from there.

It is the people I met at the Marathon that have had the biggest hold on my heart. They are the reason this ending is a little bitter sweet. For three years we came together to celebrate a man’s creative and personal statements. Robbie is the Scot the Scot’s love. I loved to watch as people took their turn at the podium and I heard in their voice a true affection and collaboration with the words. I got to hear the heartfelt stories about why specific poems were important. I witnessed many tears. I shared many smiles. Above all, I hope the Marathon made a great many people happy.

I believe Mr. Burns would have loved every minute.

I know I did.

With Rob MacNeil from the SFU Pipe Band at the 2014 Burns Marathon

With Rob MacNeil from the SFU Pipe Band at the 2014 Burns Marathon

Write a book

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Anyone can write a book. Put a pen to paper or get those fingers moving on your computer’s keyboard. Type or print or write a word. Then another. Now a sentence, then a paragraph, put together a chapter and repeat. Do this over and over again. At the end of it you will have a book. See? All it takes is time.

That’s the easy part.

The hard part is writing a book people want to read.

I finished what I hope is the final edit on my book yesterday. And I’ll be honest with you, the process was not easy. At some point you decide you want the story to be well told. And that meant I had to throw out most of what I had written and start again. The first version was a mere shadow of this final draft. Thank goodness.

And thank goodness I’ve had the help of so many people over the last year with the process. When the time comes I will spend hours writing the acknowledgment section of my book to make sure I include all those precious names. My heart has not forgotten one of you.

Here’s the sad part.

I have done what anyone could do. I wrote a book. No big deal. Anyone can do it.

Here’s the tough part.

The next step is to find an agent. And with luck, to find an agent that finds an interested publisher. Yes, I know there are other endless options but it all comes down to the same cold, hard fact: “Will someone want to read my book?” and maybe even more so: “Will enough someones want to read my book?”

That is the crazy making part.

It’s why I called my book “The Long Game.”

Long Game pic web

Really?

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After my blog last week a few people informed me that while they enjoyed the story, they needed to point out Humza Yousaf was not Scottish. This counter information was passionately given as to why a dark skinned man that Wikipedia proclaimed was “Islam” could not be considered Scottish.

Really?

Everyone is allowed their beliefs.

I might have balked and argued more if I had been told I was not Canadian. (By the way, I did balk and argue in Humza’s defense; how could I not?)

If you follow their line of thinking, I am not Canadian because I’m a Tibetan Buddhist. Even though I was born in Vancouver, my religion supersedes everything.  Does this mean I must now hand over my passport? Or give up my spiritual practice? Such a dilemma.

Does it come down to DNA and not where you are born? Yippee I say to that… then I get to be Scottish! But wait, I love being Canadian. We are a good folk. (Sorry, but I just have to point that out.)

How about what we love? Can we decide where we belong on that basis?

I’m positive Humza loves Scotland. But then again, he loves his family and friends. Maybe we should go back to my point from last week’s post. I believe he is a good man.

This leads to another angle. Shall we start giving out passports based on kindness?

I would love to see how and who would decide the credentials for that.

I’m Canadian, Humza’s Scottish. Get over it. No piece of paper can or will ever show what is in our hearts.

 

Intent with Integrity

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I love politics. Even when I’m getting knocked down with the drama and challenge that comes with a political game, I still love to play. There is a little bit of politics in everything and for me it’s the ultimate show.

Human nature plays a big role in politics. At least it does from my perspective. Good or bad, right or wrong, yes or no; the decision will come down to a person’s integrity.  And my vote will always come down to how I perceive it.

The clincher is when I find “intent with integrity” and that is what I heard and felt listening to Humza Yousaf at SFU last week. I had attended a private event the night before and had the opportunity to speak with him one-on-one… my overlying thought was, I want to vote for this man. I want to follow his path. I like him. And how come we don’t have these types of politicians in Vancouver today?

Humza is a member of the Scottish Government. Google him, you will be amazed.

I’m in a lucky position to personally know some people that have made politics their life’s work.  They are good, decent humans wanting to do what’s right. The public throws politicians into the same garbage can, and that’s ridiculous and racist. I can guarantee you the people I have become close to are upstanding types (and you know I would be quick to call out the scum.)

But back to Humza. He’s young, and intense and clearly making the most of what he does best. His plate is full with the mission to make Scotland a better place. He was here in Vancouver to attract business to Scotland as well as preach the “yes” vote in the upcoming referendum.

I agreed when a friend said, “We are seeing the future of politics in Scotland.”

For me, it will always come down to how we relate as human beings…

That first meeting, Humza leaned in and listened as I shared my story of how his government helped locate my birth-family history in Scotland. I saw empathy and a touch of pride in his eyes. But most of all, I saw a man caring about another person’s life.

We need more people like that.

Humza and me web

 

 

Who Knew?

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The boss appeared at my office door and said we needed to talk. I followed him into a small boardroom, we sat down, and then he proceeded to tell me I no longer had a job. One of the seventeen people laid off that fateful day.

April 2, 1996.

Hard to believe it was eighteen years ago. Hard to believe what happened changed my life direction in a way I did not see coming.

I dislike the joyful proclamations of “a door opens when one is closed bla bla bla”. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is good about losing your job. The shock and hurt and panic are mind-numbing. I was a big time TV and radio producer at one of Canada’s top ad agencies. There wasn’t a huge opportunity to ply my trade at other places. I thought, no, I knew I was fucked.

So I went and got very drunk.

Then in an alcohol haze I decided to become a personal trainer.

The decision to become a writer took a few more years to manifest… though I was most likely drunk when I made that declaration. (Crazy ideas while drunk seem to be a trend with me… thank goodness I don’t drink often.)

April 3, 1996 was the day I started the quest to change my profession. Many twists and turns have filled and sidelined the last eighteen years. They have been challenging and exhilarating with many mutations in between.

Fear and a tenacious attitude helped me those first few months. Luckily I had the support of some steadfast friends. I believe luck and fate were mixed into the scenario. And also good karma.  To be honest, I think karma was more of a factor than anything else.

Many people show up at work to find they will lose their jobs that day. I hope they have a drink and fantasize about what life might have in store for them.

Each and every April 2 I think about what happened to me all those years ago. Today I was busy with six incredible personal training clients and two writing projects.  Not a great deal of time to ponder the past.

But maybe just enough time to pour myself a drink.

Location, location, location

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There has been lots of on-line chatter about Amtrak adding a Writers Residency program on their trains. Free trips to authors working on manuscripts. I jumped on the bandwagon and send out little notes to Via Rail and Rocky Mountaineer in hopes these two Canadian companies would follow suit.

Then I took a reality check. If any of these companies offered such a program what would be the chance of winning a ride? I’m not on the cusp of being well enough known to get any mileage out of such a program so why would they pick me?

Already losing the golden ticket, I thought about where I do my best writing. Then I knew a train had never produced anything worthwhile. So why waste any more brain power on the pursuit?

I already have a “location” muse. And guess what? All winter long and well into the spring they give as close as it gets to a writer’s residency. Long Beach Lodge offers rooms at a huge discount to solo travelers. And that makes for a writer’s paradise.

I’ve done some of my best writing siting in their “great room”.  The staff have become friends and indulge me with endless cups of coffee until noon then endless pints of beer until I leave at night. The respect they show for my writing space is endearing. Their encouraging words as they place another drink at my side are cherished.

Maybe all writers are looking for a magical place to help the words flow. Or maybe writers are just people and the thought of a free train ride seems like fun.

I could go on for a long time talking about the rooms at the Lodge, the view of the beach, massive waves, surfers, endless walks, comfy chairs and soaker tubs. Then it would all sound like a commercial for an upscale resort. So no more promoting the place. The last thing I want is for other people to be booked into my favourite room when I want to be there.

This is more a comment in never forgetting I already hold the answer. I know where I write well. Long Beach Lodge or my favourite Vancouver lounge listening to my favourite music, or at my desk at 3am when an idea has woken me up and the need to tell a tale has to be played upon or forever lost.

I think waiting to get a ticket for a train ride is only giving the power to someone else.

Long Beach 2010 #33 web

Small Stuff

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This week, a prompt for our writing group asked, “Do you sweat the small stuff?” My answer was that I no longer wanted to sweat the small stuff; I’m much more interested in the big picture. I default to the broad view and even more so, the important ideas. We all wondered if part of getting older meant you let go of the little things? Or maybe we don’t care as much?

I think we start to care even more but our perspective changes.

And even if I try not to sweat the small stuff I know how to deal with the tiny bits and value all the little things that make up the big picture.

Anyone who knows me knows I love Yo-Yo Ma. I got to see him play live this past weekend and watching him is as much as an experience as hearing him play. The joy on his face and in his entire body oozes as he plays. I feel he loves the moment as much as the audience does. The passion is palpable. Taking away that thought is a huge lesson in itself.

The privilege of seeing Yo-Yo Ma is a reminder of how fortunate my life is.

But back to those little things… We better not sweat them but they are important.

I’m aware cameras and recording devises are not permitted at these events. This is a performance put on by the Vancouver Recital Society at the Orpheum Theatre. This is not some pop concert where a sea of cell phone screens follow the star’s every move. No one was taking a selfie here. But as Yo-Yo finished his second encore and took his last bow, I pulled out my phone and grabbed one quick shot. Then because it’s what I do, I tweeted the picture and comment out into the world.

The next day comes the email from the Vancouver Recital Society. They noticed I took the picture, (and how could they not since I added their name into the tweet!!) They politely noted my lapse in following the rules. Then they asked if they could use my picture in their newsletter. How cute is that?

There were lots of little things that made the Yo-Yo Ma concert note-worthy. Sharing the experience with a good friend that loves classical music even more than I do. Crossing off a bucket-list item.  Seeing and then “turning the other cheek” when I saw a person best left in the past. Spending two hours transported to a melodic, creative place I sometimes forget exists. Getting my picture included in the Vancouver Recital Society’s newsletter.

The big picture?  Appreciating all those little things adding up in a very good way.

Yo-Yo Ma web

 

Basic

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The phone rang, I recognized the name so even though it was late I picked up. This was a very good decision.

“What’s up?”

“I was just telling a friend how much you had helped me today and I thought the best thing to do was to stop talking to her and to tell you. And to say thank you.”

“Wow, thank you, you’ve made my day… seriously, thank you.”

And there you go, it is just that simple.

Her taking the time to share those thoughts with me changed everything. A day fraught with stresses faded away. A sense of purpose was reestablished. A lovely reminder of what counts. A reminder of what really matters.

Yes, we should all have a healthy sense of self-worth. We shouldn’t need to be praised and fawned over. This isn’t about a crazy need to have your ego stroked.

A sincere giving of thanks directed at you can feel really good.

You try to be kind and helpful. It’s just the basic living of a life. To get kudos for it is a lottery win.

All too often we are given critiques and boundaries. All the “should” and “should nots.” The people around us tend to take things for granted. We are all so busy. Who has time to say “thank you” when there are so many things to correct?

And then the phone rings and you are reminded how good it feels to be appreciated.

Pretty basic.