I went for a walk today. That is in some ways not remarkable as I am 54 and have been walking for more than 50 years. In the early years of course, the distance, place, and time were somewhat restricted by parents and my own strength and ability. But eventually walking became almost a throw away “given”. I could walk where and when I wanted. Things like common sense and the law prevented walking on the 401 for example, and walking in a raging thunder storm was plain stupid, but walking was something that I took totally for granted.
But with my surgery coming in just over two weeks I am starting to appreciate the freedom and ability that I will, at least for a while (I hope!!), be ceding. I went for a walk today. I put on my boots, coat, gloves, and hat effortlessly and with no thought. I opened the door easily and stepped off the porch and along the sidewalk and then onto the road. One step after another – no struggle, no deliberation. I had my Nordic Walking poles and I was as coordinated as I ever am with the things.
The red squirrels scolded me for no seed being in the bird feeder and the chickadees and finches just glared. Step, swing, step, swing, step, swing. It was minus 12 C with no wind so I was more than comfortable in my down parka. The snow was Wenceslas Snow: laying roundabout – deep and crisp and even. Well not even because the wind of the last few days made the snow in the fields look like waves on the beach. (except for the fact the waves were not moving and were white and not blue) The white was television commercial clothing detergent white – bright, bold, sparking, glaring, jarring, blinding, florescent, glowing white – in fact one could say the snow was snow white.
And on I went; step, swing, step, swing, step , swing. Walking is amazing. It gets you from point A to point B. There is no out of pocket expense, the strain on the environment is minimal, you consume few carbon fuels, and you do not need a license. The view is breathtaking. There are no General Motors designed blind spots; there is no need for a window seat and the worry if you got the one on the better side. When you have to stop, you just stop. ABS brakes are not needed and neither is traction control ( as a bit of a sidebar – traction control is sometimes needed a little and I swear by my Yaktrax, thank you Santa, and what the hell – it is my blog so I will demean myself to a commercial link - http://www.yaktrax.com/).
I only walked a few kilometers but enough to climb a hill and look at The River that actually froze up on Friday night. The River looked like she was at peace. No boat could of course venture on it, and only the most foolhardy pedestrian or snowmobiler would try the ice. I have spent many, many hours on the water as a kayaker, snowshoer, or skier, but somehow letting her rest for at least a few weeks a year seems so right and proper.
Walking up the hill was easy and so was the trip down. I walked closer to the river’s edge, saw some fresh work by the river beavers, and looked at a hole they were trying to maintain. It was effortless and painless to breath. One of my spiritual advisors advised me to really concentrate on breathing, doing stretches, and getting my lungs in shape for the wounded sternum that is yet to come. I sort of half enthusiastically did that, the lazy, denying part of my brain telling me that it is not such a big deal.
But it is a big deal. Going for a walk is a big deal. Smelling and seeing and sensing winter is a big deal. In fact it is a valuable commodity and gift. If nothing else, as I am going through this journey, I am getting the eyes to see what is of value.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
More book ideas from a real book lover (music to follow) :
- The Ascent of Man by Jacob Bronowski
- Civilization by Kenneth Clarke
- The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers by Paul Kennedy
- The Clash of Civilizations by Samuel P. Huntington
- The Sweet Enemy by Robert and Isabelle Toombs
- God and Gold by Robert Russell Mead
- Lenin's Tomb by David Remnick
- The Defeat of the Spanish Armada by Garrett Mattingly
- Easier Fatherland: Germany and the Twenty First Century by Steve Crawshaw
- John Maynard Keynes by Robert Sidelsky
- Churchill by Roy Jenkins
- Truman by David McCullough
- The Defeat of the Spanish Armada by Garrett Mattingly
- The Meaning of Everything by Simon Winchester
Aarrgghh!!! I am having a bypass!!!! Aarrgghh!!! It will hurt. It could kill me!!!! Aarrgghh!!!! Deep breath, shallow breath, deep breath, shallow breath …..
Whew, that is better. My plan is to have this surgery only once, not a thousand times but once in a while I have these little flights of panic but they pass. Here is a list of things that help:
Rubbing a beagle’s nose
Scratching a tabby cat’s belly.
Carrying a black cat while you rub his toes.
Scuffing a mainly white with orange patches cat’s ears.
Letting a calico cat nuzzle your hand.
Walking against the wind and then coming inside to warm yourself by the fireplace.
Listening to Christmas Music for almost the last time until December 1st, 2010. (I refuse to count what I hear in the malls before that)
Eating 80% cacao chocolate
Watching your wife Google.
Drinking Moroccan Mint Tea.
Opening the mail box and seeing no bills.
Having neighbours stop you on the street and telling you that they will help you with anything.
Having the mayor tell you that she will be checking in on you.
Gratitude that the University of Ottawa Heart Institute does not prorogue.
Being able to send a three imposition e-mail to friends and not worry.
I feel so much better. It is good, I think, to panic a bit, in fact a good panic is exhilarating, sort of a Edmund Hillary / Tenzing Norgay thing. But at the end of that it is not to return to the good old Serenity Airfield and do this one day at a time.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Guernsey Literary Society and Potato Peel Pie Club
Mary Ann Shaffer
Annie Barrows
2008
The Trust Estate of Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
No sooner then I finished Every Man Dies Alone when I was obliged to jump into my book club book : The Guernsey Literary Society and Potato Peel Pie Club. I have a small and narrow mind so my natural inclination would have been to avoid this book. It is Chick Lit. It is Mass Marketed Lit. It is Book Club Lit. But thank SOAPE that even a mind matched only in narrowness by my coronary arteries, was expanded by the muses of my book club.
Guernsey Literary Society and Potato Peel Pie Club takes place in the aftermath of World War II. Somewhere in my brain I was dimly aware that the Channel Islands that belonged to the British were occupied by the Germans during the war. The book is a work of fiction in the form of correspondence (snail mail we call it today) from a author Juliet Ashton to her publisher, her “old” friends and “new” friends that she makes on Guernsey. The wartime occupation is recounted in the letters and this ranges from the funny (how the Guernsey Literary Society and Potato Peel Pie Club was formed to the tragic (the desperation of a Polish slave worker that leads to horrendous consequences to those that showed mercy on him)
The same thoughts that I had while reading Every Man Dies Alone sprung into to my mind. Would I be an informer to attain favour from my occupiers? Would put my money on the Germans being there forever so I should back the winning side? Would I hide my extra rations? Or would I risk all to stand up for truth and the right thing? I don’t know and I am too much of a coward to want to find out.
Every Man Dies Alone gets more intense with the turning of every page; there is no rest, no lightness, the descent accelerates and there is no turning back. Even ceasing the read would leave a hole in you. The Guernsey book is more like being in water that is too deep at times for your comfort level but sandbars let you take a break and enjoy the ocean. And there is a cabana on the beach.
The most incredible part of the book for me: Mail that is posted in London on a given day gets there to your London recipient the same day and you receive the answer later the same day. Now that really must have been the authours’ imaginations gone wild!
Mary Ann Shaffer
Annie Barrows
2008
The Trust Estate of Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
No sooner then I finished Every Man Dies Alone when I was obliged to jump into my book club book : The Guernsey Literary Society and Potato Peel Pie Club. I have a small and narrow mind so my natural inclination would have been to avoid this book. It is Chick Lit. It is Mass Marketed Lit. It is Book Club Lit. But thank SOAPE that even a mind matched only in narrowness by my coronary arteries, was expanded by the muses of my book club.
Guernsey Literary Society and Potato Peel Pie Club takes place in the aftermath of World War II. Somewhere in my brain I was dimly aware that the Channel Islands that belonged to the British were occupied by the Germans during the war. The book is a work of fiction in the form of correspondence (snail mail we call it today) from a author Juliet Ashton to her publisher, her “old” friends and “new” friends that she makes on Guernsey. The wartime occupation is recounted in the letters and this ranges from the funny (how the Guernsey Literary Society and Potato Peel Pie Club was formed to the tragic (the desperation of a Polish slave worker that leads to horrendous consequences to those that showed mercy on him)
The same thoughts that I had while reading Every Man Dies Alone sprung into to my mind. Would I be an informer to attain favour from my occupiers? Would put my money on the Germans being there forever so I should back the winning side? Would I hide my extra rations? Or would I risk all to stand up for truth and the right thing? I don’t know and I am too much of a coward to want to find out.
Every Man Dies Alone gets more intense with the turning of every page; there is no rest, no lightness, the descent accelerates and there is no turning back. Even ceasing the read would leave a hole in you. The Guernsey book is more like being in water that is too deep at times for your comfort level but sandbars let you take a break and enjoy the ocean. And there is a cabana on the beach.
The most incredible part of the book for me: Mail that is posted in London on a given day gets there to your London recipient the same day and you receive the answer later the same day. Now that really must have been the authours’ imaginations gone wild!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
A Blog is odd in that there are no rules to it. You are not restrained by word counts or topics or anything else. The fact that it is not private and there is a very limited audience does play a little in ones’ mind. It is my intent to read a lot during this time (again intent and actuality are different sides of the same coin) so for my own satisfaction, I am going to write about what I am reading.
Every Man Dies Alone
By Hans Fallada
first published in 1947
English Edition 2009
Mellville House Publishing
A book as cheerful as the title sounds. Berlin, early in the Second World War: Germany is flush with the thrill of victory over France. Victory over England is at the time and whim of the Fuhrer. But a letter is delivered to Otto and Anna Quangel. Their only son, Otto, has died a hero’s death for Fuhrer and Fatherland.
Unlike the Persickes, their Nazi, Hitler-loving neighbours, the Quangels know there is no glory or honour in Otto’s death - just sorrow and blackness. So they embark on a quiet campaign of writing and dropping post cards that offer simple messages in public places. The first one is typical of the remainder:
Mother! The Fuhrer has murdered my son. Mother! The Fuhrer will murder your sons too, he will not stop until he has brought sorrow to every house in the world.
Retyping this in 2010 seems almost banal, the words are not particularly powerful or interesting. But of course in Berlin of 1940, writing the words was a death sentence.
The story tells of the dropped cards, the horror of those who found the cards, the search by the Gestapo for the writers, the petty informers, the common thieves, the desperation and fear of the people, the guilt, the arrogance of the elite, the compassion and bravery of the few.
The Quangels are the heroes of the book but they are nothing like the heroes of Hollywood. They know their fate before they start and in the end still accept all that they must endure before their deaths. The book really shows the success of the Nazis. By creating a society that runs on fear, the informants are like starving dogs and will do anything for the smallest scrap. Goons and bullies rise to the top like witches cream in the devil’s dairy. Decency, fairness, compassion, truth, integrity, and anything vaguely good are as rare as a blossom in the January snow.
The thing that really makes me uncomfortable is how I would fare in that place at that time. Would I have the courage to be an Otto Quangel and swim against the stream despite the continual risk and danger? Would I be like Judge Fromm and be unflinching from the high standards that have governed my life so far and not let a new order change them? Or would I be like young Baldur Persicke who embraces every evil as the new normal and the only way to get ahead? Or maybe I would be the bottom feeding rat that does anything to anybody just to live another day? I do not know the answer and likely do not want to know the answer.
This book was written by someone who was there and I have no reason to think that this work of fiction , based on actual Gestapo files, is not a realistic picture of the way things were. If this book has a lesson, it is that we must do everything to avoid descending into the world described. It would be nice to think that that is impossible, but as we move into a future of reduced resources, radicalization of religion, nationalism, and willingness to have our lives monitored, it is not the time to reduce our vigilance.
In summary – a dire, depressing, great read.
Every Man Dies Alone
By Hans Fallada
first published in 1947
English Edition 2009
Mellville House Publishing
A book as cheerful as the title sounds. Berlin, early in the Second World War: Germany is flush with the thrill of victory over France. Victory over England is at the time and whim of the Fuhrer. But a letter is delivered to Otto and Anna Quangel. Their only son, Otto, has died a hero’s death for Fuhrer and Fatherland.
Unlike the Persickes, their Nazi, Hitler-loving neighbours, the Quangels know there is no glory or honour in Otto’s death - just sorrow and blackness. So they embark on a quiet campaign of writing and dropping post cards that offer simple messages in public places. The first one is typical of the remainder:
Mother! The Fuhrer has murdered my son. Mother! The Fuhrer will murder your sons too, he will not stop until he has brought sorrow to every house in the world.
Retyping this in 2010 seems almost banal, the words are not particularly powerful or interesting. But of course in Berlin of 1940, writing the words was a death sentence.
The story tells of the dropped cards, the horror of those who found the cards, the search by the Gestapo for the writers, the petty informers, the common thieves, the desperation and fear of the people, the guilt, the arrogance of the elite, the compassion and bravery of the few.
The Quangels are the heroes of the book but they are nothing like the heroes of Hollywood. They know their fate before they start and in the end still accept all that they must endure before their deaths. The book really shows the success of the Nazis. By creating a society that runs on fear, the informants are like starving dogs and will do anything for the smallest scrap. Goons and bullies rise to the top like witches cream in the devil’s dairy. Decency, fairness, compassion, truth, integrity, and anything vaguely good are as rare as a blossom in the January snow.
The thing that really makes me uncomfortable is how I would fare in that place at that time. Would I have the courage to be an Otto Quangel and swim against the stream despite the continual risk and danger? Would I be like Judge Fromm and be unflinching from the high standards that have governed my life so far and not let a new order change them? Or would I be like young Baldur Persicke who embraces every evil as the new normal and the only way to get ahead? Or maybe I would be the bottom feeding rat that does anything to anybody just to live another day? I do not know the answer and likely do not want to know the answer.
This book was written by someone who was there and I have no reason to think that this work of fiction , based on actual Gestapo files, is not a realistic picture of the way things were. If this book has a lesson, it is that we must do everything to avoid descending into the world described. It would be nice to think that that is impossible, but as we move into a future of reduced resources, radicalization of religion, nationalism, and willingness to have our lives monitored, it is not the time to reduce our vigilance.
In summary – a dire, depressing, great read.
Friday, January 1, 2010
I had asked for a listing of books and here they are so far. I have a wonderful range of tastes in my friends. (Two Years Before the Mast, Moby Dick, and Caine Mutiny I added myself - hey I am my own friend after all)
1- Claudia
Brett Holmstrom
2-A Team of Rivals
Doris Kearns Goodwin
3-The Invisible Man
H.G. Wells
Robert Lewis Stevenson
5-The Time Machine
H.G. Wells
6-Tarzan
Edgar Rice Burroughs
7-A Tale of Two Cities
Charles Dickens
Alexandre Dumas
Maureen Coppinger
10-A Good House
Bonnie Burnard
11-Walking Since Daybreak
Modris Ekstein
12-Gold Compass Trilogy
Phillip Pullman
Stephanie Meyer
14-Tao of Pooh
Benjamin Hoff
Stephen Dubner and Steven Levitt
16-Moby Dick
Herman Melville
Richard Henry Dana, Jr
Herman Wouk
19-The Curious Incident of the Dog In the Night-Time
Mark Haddon
20-The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie
Alan Bradley
Elizabeth Kostova
22-The Lamb
Christopher Moore
23-The Listening Book – Discovering Your Own Music.
W.A. Mathieu
Today was a perfect Ottawa Valley day. There was little wind, the temperature was a balmy minus three and there was a continuous very light dusting of snow as if some heavenly baker was finishing off the gingerbread men. There was an amazing silence; no snowmobiles, no cars and no snowplows. The only sound came from the river where the changing ice went from grinding to silence to whale songs all in a matter of minutes.
But Nature is a harsh mistress. The front yard was festooned with little clumps of feathers. Very likely the hawk had , in a fell swoop, snagged one of the chickadees. As McDuff said:
All my pretty ones?
Did you say all?
O hell-kite! All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?
Our hell-kite was not so all devouring. The rest of the chickadee flock was at the feeders. Our feeders do indeed feed a wide swath of animals, including the red squirrels.
Last night was New Year’s Eve and we attended a pot luck with some friends between seven and nine. That was good fun and the only “problem” was trying to decide what to do with the excess food. It is so wonderful to have that as a concern. What most of the world’s population would not do to have that to worry about. I had one of those coincidence / god incidence moments where I was suddenly given vision of something I was only meant to see that night. If there are readers out there reading this I know that sounds like gibberish but it makes sense to me and I need it to be part of the record.
We then went to a party at one of our neighbours. It was a small gathering and again there was a coincidence / god incidence moment where my wife figured out that one our neighbours had a sister who my wife had worked with years ago. Clearly a night of eyes opened. We stayed there to welcome in 2010 and then went home, off to bed and then to wake up to the day.
2010 – a New Year. In 25 days I will have had (subject to the possibility of change) my surgery. I am looking forward to it and just hope that I have the strength and soul and intelligence to fulfill my obligation to my healers, my caregivers and myself. I really have been thinking about the parable where the landowner goes on an extended journey and gives a gold coin to each of three servants. I am sure all know the story: Servant I turns his Gold Coin into something like 10 Gold Coins, Servant II turns his allotment into 5 coins, but the third guy just buries his coin. He doesn’t hear the end of that!
So, here is my single New Year’s resolution. To NOT bury this great gift I am getting but to do all that I can with it. Here’s looking at my self ……
But Nature is a harsh mistress. The front yard was festooned with little clumps of feathers. Very likely the hawk had , in a fell swoop, snagged one of the chickadees. As McDuff said:
All my pretty ones?
Did you say all?
O hell-kite! All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?
Our hell-kite was not so all devouring. The rest of the chickadee flock was at the feeders. Our feeders do indeed feed a wide swath of animals, including the red squirrels.
Last night was New Year’s Eve and we attended a pot luck with some friends between seven and nine. That was good fun and the only “problem” was trying to decide what to do with the excess food. It is so wonderful to have that as a concern. What most of the world’s population would not do to have that to worry about. I had one of those coincidence / god incidence moments where I was suddenly given vision of something I was only meant to see that night. If there are readers out there reading this I know that sounds like gibberish but it makes sense to me and I need it to be part of the record.
We then went to a party at one of our neighbours. It was a small gathering and again there was a coincidence / god incidence moment where my wife figured out that one our neighbours had a sister who my wife had worked with years ago. Clearly a night of eyes opened. We stayed there to welcome in 2010 and then went home, off to bed and then to wake up to the day.
2010 – a New Year. In 25 days I will have had (subject to the possibility of change) my surgery. I am looking forward to it and just hope that I have the strength and soul and intelligence to fulfill my obligation to my healers, my caregivers and myself. I really have been thinking about the parable where the landowner goes on an extended journey and gives a gold coin to each of three servants. I am sure all know the story: Servant I turns his Gold Coin into something like 10 Gold Coins, Servant II turns his allotment into 5 coins, but the third guy just buries his coin. He doesn’t hear the end of that!
So, here is my single New Year’s resolution. To NOT bury this great gift I am getting but to do all that I can with it. Here’s looking at my self ……
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