There is an ease in the lifestyle out here in British Columbia that makes an old libtard like me feel right at home. I feel a true forwardness in philosophy and a conscientious effort on the part of the people to live their best lives. Now, don't get me wrong. I would abhor the 200+ days of dreary, rainy weather, but I find the adroitness of the creativity and naturality out here most appealing.
Those qualities were on full display in our two major stops today. Wandering through the luxurious florals at Butchart Gardens in Victoria reminded me that the gift of natural splendour is greatly enhanced when guided by a gifted creative force. There was very little that seemed out of place in the gardens that Jennie Butchart bequeathed to the people of British Columbia. Vibrant colours bursting out of all species of flora were placed in perfect harmony with a brilliant architectural design. I could have sat for hours in the rose garden or quietly meditated in the Japanese garden. But I think that I loved the old Victorian English layout the best. Crafted out of an old quarry, the place gave off the impression of a grand fairyland filled with leafy vines and colours of all varieties. There is a sense here that the outside world can wait for just a bit while one's consciousness is renewed and reinvigorated. Sigmund Freud once said "Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts."
And if that wasn't enough to stir the environmentalist in me, we decided to visit Capilano Suspension Bridge Park just as evening was setting in Vancouver. The jaunt across the 450ft long and 230 ft high bridge that is described as "reassuringly wobbly since 1889" was a motion-sickness nightmare. My equilibrium was off immediately as I set foot on the expanse and I felt appropriately nauseated, but I wasn't about to let it deter me. The rainforest ecosystem must be properly viewed from above else it is lost in muddled descriptions. The Treetops adventure of seven suspension bridges through the enormous Douglas firs is enough to bring even the worst acrophobic to his knees, but it is a must experience. As is the cliff walk that is suspended along the granite cliff faces of the canyon, but my height-fearing friend chose to sit that one out. Vancouver has really figured out how to live green and the park at Capilano is a testament to that resolve.
Finally, I would be remiss if I didn't mention my heart on his birthday. I can't think of a better way or better place in which to celebrate his day. We finished off a wonderful jaunt with a wonderful meal at an amazing vegan joint in Gas Town. Happy Birthday to The Husband. May all of our days be as lovely as today.
Today I had an extraordinary experience that was totally random and entirely unexpected, and the best part was that I got to witness the joy through the eyes of a four-year-old.
I had great trepidation as we boarded the ferry for Victoria. As I have mentioned in this space more times than I care to remember, I have motion-sickness angst every time I board a sea-going vessel. As we would be trapped like hamsters on a wheel with no escape in sight for almost two hours, and the weather out here in British Columbia has been more like mid-summer, we headed immediately to the outdoor deck at the stern of the ship. I figured that if the crossing was rocky, at least I could hang my head over the railing in relative peace and not disturb too many other passengers. I chose our location well, for not only were the seas very calm but immediately after launch we were treated to my joy of joys; a pod of at least a dozen orcas was right beside the boat. When the announcement came on over the intercom informing everybody else of the whales' presence, we were already in direct view and had a front row seat to the show. We saw several breach and more than a few displayed their flukes for us. I sobbed with joy knowing how special this was.
But, my exuberance was intensified by my partner at the rail. Standing beside me was a young boy named Colton who rushed over to see the show with his mother and older brother. He was desperate to see the whales, but due to his size and excitement was having some problems finding them in the water.
Colton: I want to see the whales, Mommy. Where are they?
Mom: Straight out there. Look over there Colton.
Colton: I can't see them. I want to see them!
Mom: Straight ahead.
I totally understood his problem. Being of stunted height myself, I am often left behind when the world is having a collective vision.
Me: Colton...follow my finger and look straight where my finger is. Do you see them now?
Colton: YES!!! Are they killer whales?
Me: Yes. Yes, they are.
Colton's mom then told the both of us how very special this experience was. She recounted that in all her years taking this ferry back and forth from Vancouver to Victoria, she had never once before seen the whales. Colton jumped up and down with the glee that only a child could get away with, and clapped his hands in absolute delight. I desperately wanted to jump up and down and clap right along with him.
It is a wonderful thing to be able to have a once in a lifetime experience and have it come entirely at random. It is even better to view it with the unqualified purity and unmitigated joy of a child. What a gift I was given today.
I have come to the conclusion that the worst thing to happen to travel in this generation has to be the invention of the selfie stick. I have never witnessed so many people in the presence of so much incredible beauty so totally oblivious to their surroundings because of their collective obsession with capturing their own faces in pixels. Today I stood before one of the most stunningly exquisite visual natural sights I have ever had the privilege to witness, and I was shoved aside by a miniature woman from a tour bus, armed with a selfie stick who complained that I was messing up her shot. I wish I had had the cojones to tell her to look up at the awe-inspiring magnificence that is Lake Louise, but instead, I slunk away in abject embarrassment.
If I could do it all over again, I might have told her that these images are fleeting, and viewing them all exclusively through the back end of a camera can't possibly do them justice. I believe that one day that woman will look at her collection of selfies and ask the very real questions "Where was that taken?" or "Was I there?"
So, in that vein, today I offer a post for the senses. One image, smell, sound, taste, or touch from our day as we left the Canadian Rockies and travelled through the Okanagan Valley.
Sight: It is truly impossible to describe the colour of the water at Lake Louise. Never before have I seen water the colour of turquoise crystals. As the morning sun hit the glacier-fed lake, there was a teal hue that reflected off the brilliantly off the white snow-crested mountains in the background. A myriad of red canoes silently at paddle offered a prismatic multitude of crisp pigments. It was stunning.
Lake Louise
Smell: The fragrance comes from a garden outside of a restaurant in Banff. As we walked through the parking lot, the air was filled with the aroma of flowering sage. While I normally would abhor scents as powerfully sweet as this, there was something wondrous about the idea of it blooming wildly. In the words of John Denver, "It filled up my senses."
Sound: As we walked through City Park in Kelowna, I was moved by the buskers adding their voices to the summer sounds of the city. One guy, in particular, stood apart from the others, and his clear guitar and plaintive vocals were just the tonic needed to wash away a long day of driving.
Taste: I have never been one to fully appreciate the flavours of a good glass of wine, but today the vintages I tasted at the two wineries we visited in the Okanagan Valley were sublime. The cool crispness of the white and the tanginess of the red brought the heart of the region into clear focus.
Touch: The rocky lake bed that has been exposed by evaporation at Lac Moraine, is difficult to traverse, but worth the effort. The stones have been smoothed by decades spent underneath the water and the driftwood littering the beach felt uneven and somewhat featureless.
Photos are important memories. Selfies are fun and have a place in today's social media experience. But there is no doubt in my mind that the trend towards inflating one's ego is leading most people to miss what is right in front of them. I am desperately trying to absorb it all.
me'ayin yavo ezri I will lift up my eyes to the mountains. From where does my help come? Ezri me'im Adonai, Oseh shamayim va'aretz My help comes from Adonai, who made heaven and earth. (Psalm 121)
I spent a huge chunk of my time today believing that I was staring into the face of the Almighty.
How could one feel anything less when gazing upon the majesty that is the Rocky Mountains from the summit of Sulfur Mountain in Banff Alberta?
God exists for me here because here I feel the natural presence of creation. Here I feel the need to utter words of thanks and prayer for the simple beauty that comes with the wholesome, the unrefined, the organic. Here I remember the music of benediction, the rhythm of invocation, the beat of devotion.
I will lift up my eyes to the mountains.... Today on the top of a mountain I saw God.
From where does my help come? Today on the top of a mountain I felt spiritual strength manifest into physical strength.
My help comes from Adonai, Today on the top of a mountain I knew unequivocally that I was not alone.
Who made heaven and earth. Today on the top of a mountain I saw heaven and earth touch and together become infused with an intense spirit of holiness.
How does a Type A, list-making, ubër-organized, and overly methodical middle-aged woman successfully procrastinate the massive amounts of cleaning and purging still necessary in order to successfully facilitate a summer move without suffering from massive amounts of self-immolating guilt?
By taking off for Alaska, of course.
There is method to the madness.
You see, here's my theory.
If I travel far enough away from the mounds of still-to-be-completed tasks on my to-do list, I can happily reside in a fantasy world of my own creation whereupon my return, the packing faeries and rainbow-coloured relocation unicorns will have magically occupied the house and taken over all remaining tasks in anticipation of our August deadline. It may sound immature and irresponsible, but please indulge my world of make-believe. It is all that seems to be holding me together right now.
And so....
Tomorrow we embark on our latest adventure, or as I have taken to calling it, "Our Pacific Coast Procrastination." The bags are packed, the camera is charged, and the anti-emetics are safely within reach. (This trip will see us board a myriad of planes, automobiles, ferries, buses, cruise ships, and possibly a train or tram. I place the odds of projectile vomiting at even-money.) We will be travelling through a variety of temperatures and frankly I feel I deserve high props for not escaping to the safety and coziness of tropical climes. Ok. It won't be sub-Arctic, but it is June and I am going to a land of rapidly-melting glaciers. (This space does not tolerate climate change deniers, so keep your dismissive comments to yourselves, please.) Can you say "Deviating from the comfort zone?"
And...once again I will be chronicling our exploits in this space. I hope that maybe one or two of you might follow along if for no other reason than it would be nice to know that I have an audience approximately the size of a minyan. My ego is in sorry need of some stoking.
It is a funny and slightly ironic thing, but as we have been continuing the plodding process of cleaning and disposal, I came across this.
Apparently it has always been my modis operandi to record travel experiences. This particular "blog" was a 1980 high school music department trip to the UK. Leafing through it made me wince just a bit at the juvenile language structure and the horrendous penmanship, but the memories it inspired are priceless. My parents, also in the throes of their own move, have come across several cassette recordings The L'il Bro and I made documenting some of our family vacations. Journalling and me, we go way back. I find comfort in archiving my experiences. Memory is a fleeting thing. These records bring them flooding back. Social media has made the process so much easier, but the daily exercise of transferring my emotions into words helps me keep the experiences alive forever.
So off we go. Now if somebody could contact the packing faeries and rainbow-coloured relocation unicorns to inform them the coast is clear, I would be eternally grateful.
I spent some quiet time with a friend yesterday and we talked extensively about changes and timeliness. She told me that she was making a concerted effort to tackle the decades-long procrastination of wading through the mountains of "no longer relevant" stuff that was cluttering up her home and mind. Given our impending move, it is a task to which I am intimately acquainted. Sifting through the clutter of our lives has been a year-long process that has been draining on both body and soul. But, the conversation with my friend got me to thinking about the nature of timeliness and how and when we make momentous decisions in our lives.
I have always been in awe of those of us who make "five-year life-plans" and stick to them like shoes to tar. We all know the type.
Year One: Get Married and save some money.
Year Two: Get that dream job.
Year Three: Buy our dream house.
Year Four: Renovate said dream house.
Year Five: Have first dream child.
When it works, it's amazing; clean and straightforward. But, life is all about the curves and how we react to them. Show me the person for whom this type of planning has been successful and I will counter with ten who have had to alter their projections.
Now, I am certainly not suggesting that we shouldn't have a plan. What kind of Type A personality would I be if I did that? (I have moving lists that are longer than Santa's at Christmas.) I am merely proffering up the thesis that there are times in our lives when we should do something because it feels right in that space and time. Case in point: By today's standards, we had our children when we were relatively young. We absolutely made a conscious choice. We certainly weren't financially secure and we sure as shit didn't have a clue as to what we were doing 90% of the time. (A deep and heartfelt apology to my sons.) Most of our friends back then were still in their partying and very single '20s, some were backpacking the world, and on many occasions, we were left on the outside looking in simply by virtue of the changed nature of our family status. And yet, I didn't regret my choice then and I still don't regret it today. My boys were and continue to be the best that I have done with my life. The Husband and I instinctively knew that the time was right to start a family (even with all of the obvious obstacles) and with any luck at all, we would reap the benefits of young parenthood in our middle age. Timeliness.
But as I have aged, (gracefully, I might add) I have come to realize that time has a nasty habit of flowing in only one direction. When people around me today talk of five-year life-plans I wince and attempt to bite my tongue. I have seen and experienced too much to pretend that life isn't in the here and now, and that if circumstances allow, those momentous decisions we have been putting off should be made while we are still able to reap the benefits.
Hence our upcoming move to the urban jungle of Canada's largest city. We have talked about it for years. For the sake of timeliness, the time to stop talking is now. (with a hat tip to Rabbi Jordan Pearlson z"l) Over the past two years, we have been rocked to our core by changes. Births, deaths, illnesses, retirements, weddings, new jobs, new businesses, new relationships, new understandings of old ones, aging, and most of all, a deep-seated understanding that life offers no dress rehearsals. Moving is difficult. I won't pretend otherwise. It has dredged up much emotional turmoil and physical pain. (My back and knees might not survive until August.) But as my conversation with my friend, yesterday reminded me, I have passed the long-term planning stage in my life. I am living for today because tomorrow might bring a shitstorm.
Rav Hillel famously said: אם אין אני לי, מי לי? וכשאני לעצמי, מה אני? ואם לא עכשיו, אימתי
Im ein ani li, mi li? U'kh'she'ani le'atzmi, mah ani? V'im lo 'akhshav, eimatai?
If I am not for myself, then who will be for me? But when I am for myself, then what am "I"? And if not now, when? (Pirkei Avot 1:14)
Hillel understood the struggle we face trying to find a balance between self and others. Living a life of complete selfishness or selflessness never works. Both must be factored into the equation. But, Hillel went one step further. He acknowledged that since we are uncertain as to what each day of our lives might bring, we must look at each opportunity as a "once in a lifetime" opportunity since we really don't know if it will ever come around again, and even if we think it might, the context will have certainly altered. Timeliness.
This is one of my favourite songs of the past several years. Do yourselves a favour and spend 4:30 minutes listening. You won't be sorry.
"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in."~Robert Frost
We sold our house last night.
It is something that we've been talking about for several years but haven't actively pursued until the past several months. It has been a veritable whirlwind of paperwork, open houses, cleaning, purging, and the scouting of possible new landing spots for The Husband and me. Last night, we finally made it official.
We high-fived each other and hugged our wonderfully diligent agent; we immediately called the boys and our parents to let them know the news; The Husband poured himself a dram of one of his favourites, and I immediately retreated into silence to watch the wretched series finale of Castle. (Don't you just hate it when your favourite series devolves into frustrating and unapproachable storylines that moronically deviate from the original premise? But I digress.) The Husband, ever the concerned and caring partner, worried about my distance. I assured him that I was just overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation. The idea of planning, downsizing, and packing was daunting and that I just needed a bit of time to process it all.
True. All of it.
But there is more.
It would be easy to claim that I am overly sentimental about this house. After all, this is the house in which our children came of age. This is the place where we hosted countless holiday gatherings, seders, Shabbat dinners, birthday parties, and poolside get-togethers. We've sat shiva here and we've celebrated an engagement and a wedding here. This house has been overrun by teenagers on numerous occasions, (and a bevy of wholly unwelcome squirrels) and it has been the seat of learning for more B'nai Mitzvah students than I can accurately count.
And yet....
That isn't the reason for my melancholy.
In truth, I view the house as merely a vessel for the memories and those memories will endure no matter where I next choose to park my tired middle-aged carcass.
Instead, I am struck by the sheer magnitude and enormity of the change. For the first time since the early days of our marriage, we are making a lifestyle decision that is solely about the two of us. We aren't moving with an eye toward good schools, playgrounds, proximity to health care professionals, or even synagogues. For the very first time, we are forgoing the practicality that comes with raising a family and we are choosing for just us. And that.....is where the seed of my discomfort lays. There is something uniquely unsettling for me about that turn towards self.
I suppose that I have become conditioned (not always healthfully) to worry about how my decisions will affect others; parents, children, friends. Throughout this process, I found myself in uncharted territory, abandoning those restrictions, and embracing a freedom that I really had forgotten existed.
Selfish?
Perhaps, but isn't that ok? Our children are grown and off on their own paths. We are extremely proud of the people they have become, but they are living their own lives and pursuing their own varied interests. They AREN'T coming home. (I used to joke that Older Son would sooner beg on the streets and live in a garage rather than deign to move home. Such is the extreme independent streak so obviously apparent in his personality.) They may bitch and moan about having to clean out and dispose of the shit they've left behind, but they certainly aren't interested in inhabiting their old rooms with all of that stuff.
So, this is our time and this decision reflects that feeling of self. I am nervous and nauseated, but I wouldn't be me if I wasn't. The Husband keeps telling me that if we wait for the perfect time to do that which we want, we might never get to do it. Life has a funny way of evening up the score. We still plan to have family dinners and parties and maybe the occasional seder. Our friends might miss the pool, but we can offer them front row seats for the CNE airshow. We hope that our near and dear will enjoy making the trek south into the vast urban wilderness and us, in turn, have no qualms about re-visiting the North Jewish Ghetto. My house is the place where I store my stuff. My home is the place where I store and make my memories.
**I will have much more to say about this move in the days and weeks to come. In the meantime, we are purging and downsizing. If anybody has knowledge of individuals in need of housing supplies, please contact me offline. We might be able to help.
