Tart Day

Tomorrow is “International Tart Day”.  You should celebrate it. Yes, Christmas is a great holiday, but if you want something truly joyful, try Tart Day.  You might just discover your new favourite holiday.  It might be the best day never noticed.

Here’s the background.  “International Tart Day” is a fake holiday I invented.  It falls on December 26th every year.  I told the triplets everyone has the power to make up an official day of celebration.  My day was going to be Tart Day.  And I got to make sure it would be filled with decadent fun.

The day’s motto is, “It’s not because you want to, it’s because you have to!” Certainly this line refers to eating tarts.  You get to eat as many as you want…  And if someone has the gall to ask if you’ve had enough or infer you are eating too many, you can simply say, “It’s not because I want to, it’s because I have to!” At this point any person not indulging in Tart Day must simply walk away and mind their own business.

As the years went by the kids and I added more traditions into the day.  For some reason we decided to watch, “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” as we ate our tarts. Reciting the lines of the movie while putting another tart in your mouth just seemed so festive.  And who doesn’t like watching killer rabbits on an international day of celebration?

This year will be my first “International Tart Day” without the kids here to make it all worthwhile.  It will be heartbreaking, but I’m sure no harder for me than the countless other people facing a holiday without the people they love. I would like to think the kids will notice the day and even if they don’t eat a tart, they will reminisce of Tart Days in the past and the fun we had.

Whether you have butter tarts, lemon or pumpkin, large or even bite size, make sure you have your favourite tart this day.  Give a gift to yourself. You deserve the tart that will make you happy.  Try spreading the happiness by sharing tarts with your friends and neighbours to show you care.

“It’s not because you want to, it’s because you have to.”

 

Politically Correct

So many times in the media, and even with the people I talk to every day, the notion of being “politically correct” rears its head.  Where do we draw the line?

I wanted to share a very funny story about a card I made for a client.  I have been so busy these past few months and even these last few weeks have been a frenzy.  But in the midst of all that, I spent hours making a card for a client yesterday. And I have to admit the card was not “politically correct”.  It wasn’t malicious but taken out of context would not go over well in the public arena.

So here is the dilemma.

I wanted to write this blog about how I took a big chunk of my day and diligently worked on this project.  How I searched out pictures, added costumes to the figures, threw in a little religious connotation and voila, made a classic original piece that made me absolutely gleeful.  I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time.

The time and effort away from my more pressing “serious” work seemed acceptable.

My client’s reaction was priceless.  She thought it was hilarious.  But she has read an early version of my book where one story paints the picture and reason for the images on the card.

Again, telling you about the exact nature of the card would only make me look bad if you didn’t have the entire back story.

So why am I even sharing this?

Yesterday was fun… I needed to blow off steam and I know my client also needed the giggle.  I’m willing to bet even you would have laughed.

But in this world where the smallest hint on being insensitive can bring on a tsunami of anger I was hesitant to share any specifics.

Odd, my book is full of questionable subjects and I don’t give it a second thought…

Maybe I’m just nervous because people can comment on my blog.

 

 

Aaron Sorkin

Somehow Aaron Sorkin’s words are making a bigger impact on me now more than ever before. And mostly it’s the famous Leo Quote…. You know the one…

“This guy’s walking down the street when he falls in a hole.  The walls are so steep he can’t get out.  A doctor passes by and the guy yells up, “Hey, can you help me out?”  The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down the hole and moves on.  Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts out, “Father, I’m down in this hole, can you help me out?”  The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on.  Then a friend walks by.  “Hey Joe, it’s me, can you help me out?” and the friend jumps in the hole.  Our guy says, “Are you stupid, now we’re both down here.”  The friend says, “Yeah, but I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.”

I always thought I was the person walking down the street and would willingly jump into the hole to show a friend the way out.  These days I think I might be the person that has fallen into the hole and I’m desperately calling out for help.

The problem is that I’m still waiting for the right person to come along and shine some light on the situation.  The person to jump in and say “Yeah, but I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.”  So far there have been some likely candidates but not a leap.  No one person to say “I got this”

Aaron Sorkin didn’t create the world where I live. Maybe there is no friend to jump in to save me.  Maybe I don’t work at the West Wing.  Maybe life is real.  Crap, I was so hoping we might all win Emmy’s for our performances.

It’s also funny that I wanted to play the part of Sam Seaborn. (but I digress)

But back to life and that dreaded hole.

Right now I do feel like I’m the one stuck in it… and dammit I know I will get out of here even if I have to figure it out myself.  (I might be starting to accept this isn’t a Sorkin universe) And even if it feels like there are people throwing rocks down on my head from above, don’t you worry, I know how to duck and cover.

I could just say to myself, “I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.”

 

Visions

Hanging in my front entry is a handmade poster.  Right there for everyone to see.  It’s hideously personal yet out on display.  A “vision board” I created during a course with the inspirational Kelly Benson.

It’s a montage of the dreams, hopes, aspirations and goals I hope to accomplish.  A tapestry of pictures from magazines, my own photos, and lots of words; all to represent a vision of what I want from my life.  Or maybe need from my life?  Well, whether it’s want or need, the story this poster holds is a commentary of the dreams I hold dear.

I pass it countless times each day and it always captures my attention.  I have contemplated each idea and wondered if any will come true.

I don’t know about the power of vision boards, I bet many people make them and then never take another look at what they’ve put together.  Having to face mine every day pushes me forward.

It might be like the advice Billy Connolly gives out.  Write down three things you want on a small piece of paper and keep it in your wallet.  Make sure you can see it.  He proclaims that if you do this you will reap the rewards and get what you want.  Again, it’s a reminder of your intent. The jury’s out on this idea but if you look in my wallet you’ll see my list.

I don’t believe in the soft talking, hocus-pocus positive aspiration agenda.  I do believe you must work hard and control your karma. For me these are simple reminders and props I’m not able to ignore. A constant nudge to never forget where I want to go. A map.

A tiny bit of me thinks it’s working… but only time will tell.

 

 

Ian Rankin

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

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

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

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.

A Writers’ Conference

How can two accomplished, well-known writers critique the same story and give such different feedback?

One person loved it.  The other told me to change my style and start over again.

This simple fact became the dilemma for my weekend.

I wrote 364 words and they gave 2 opinions.

Which voice will be stronger?  The positive or negative?

Don’t get me wrong, I never expect everyone to enjoy my stories.  That would be silly.  But I’ve been lucky to share my work with readers that appreciate the intent of my thoughts.  Very lucky.

Or maybe most hate the stories and are too kind to say.  Ah, there is the old negative pattern trying to worm its way into my psyche.  This time I won’t let the bad review creep into my thoughts.  I will look the other way.

And let’s be honest.  I don’t think I can change. I write the way I write.  It is my voice. It is who I am.

Over the four days I met with agents, attended workshops, chatted with famous writers, drank with wannabes, learned about “dino-porn” and connected with as many people as I could.  I loved every second of the conference.

I even loved the bad review.  It taught me I won’t be devastated by a negative.

Well at least not this time.

 

Connections

Tomorrow I head to the Surrey International Writers Conference to learn more about the fine art of writing and publishing a book.  The goal is to also make some valuable connections…  (of course I wrote a piece about that very topic)

Connections

Are we all connected?  I don’t know about this.

Sometimes there seems to be the six degrees of separation.  Sometimes it feels like we are all alone.

And what about the fine art of networking?  How does that fit in?

Isn’t it drummed into us that to get ahead these days you need to network? Mine those contacts. Milk each connection. Master the art of making it work. Speak up!

And where in all of this is our basic integrity?

That is the question I keep asking myself.

In a life that craves the magic of everything networking can achieve, how do I do it without seeming insincere and plotting?  How do you balance the need to utilize all the people you know to push your agenda to succeed?  Then there’s the Canadian tendency to be humble and unassuming.  And don’t ever forget I practice Tibetan Buddhism. We are meant to be quiet. We don’t push our agendas.

Where is the balance?

Even with all this contemplation I will continue to connect the dots.  I will always be amazed I get to know the people I know.  Even more shocking is to know the people they know.  It boggles the mind.

Networking…. yes, I do it… and I like to believe I do it well.

We are human, what are we if not people who talk to people?

And if this is true, why at times do we feel so all alone?