Rodney McNight
Class of '72

One of my favorite people I like to remember from highschool.

Some of us were mean to this young man either to his face or behind his back- and he took it - when he should have given us what we all deserved.

But he was so kind instead.

These days when I contemplate Bhuddism, the Dali Lama and the ideas, courage and action required to actually grow in life, I think back to people in highschool who embodied kind heartedness like this man.

..we were kids and many of us still are.

I'm certain the memory of High School is not warm and fuzzy for everyone.

Before Pierre Lacroix died the month or so before the reunion of May 2007, he wrote to me and brought this point solidly home. Rick Rankin will remember that week. I was really bowled over. I actually thought Pierre was being a little heavy handed, but I had no idea the pain he was enduring at the time. I only found out later he knew he was soon to pass on.

Things become very clear in that light. One gets to the point quickly and dispenses with those lacking in at least an element of depth or resonance with what is important in this gift we call life.

I remember bringing Pierre's comments to my wife - I was feeling a little sorry for myself, given that someone was actually raining on my parade. And Jane responded in her usual well thought out counter-point,"Well you can't expect everyone to feel the way you do."

Then she told me about how she had called a girlfriend of hers from John Rennie High (where they had gone to school) asking if she would like to go to their reunion. " I think I'd prefer to stay home and stick HOT needles in my eye." was the response, ever so calmly.

It is good to remember there were many kind hearted souls in High School who were bull dozed aside by the cliques, who were not stars, not clever tounged little devils. They just had to be who they were and try to get by and beyond that phase as soon as possible. Back then it seemed minutes would pass like hours as we watched that clock ...get to the end of a day.

Not so any more I'm afraid.

From One of our Readers

Robert Leonard - Class of 69 if I recall correctly

(... who else do we recall from that year?> Shannon McManus, Dale Kiperchuck, Andrew Mutch, Debbie Mizener, Valerie Mumford, Anne Wells, Shirley Ascroft, Carren & Carrol King, Muncey Oliver, Wayne Skelhorne, Ferenc Somogyi, Klaus Tiefenbrunner, (the late Heather Bedard?), the late (and great) Eddie Quinn, Bob Marsh, the late Blake Jennings, Susan Hague, the late Russel McKoy, and there was Kendra Redden, Ray Mcleod, Shirley Bulmer, Bev Jones, Carla Klop, Paul Enros, (Edson Phipps -the great and wonderful), Norman Leroux, Dave Noel, Larry Busch, Peter MacHardy, the inimitable Scott Pashley, Janet Boudreau, Sue McInnis, Ted Kirschberger, Florence Lanigan, Judy Lawless, Brent Timms, Amelia Agnew and Mitch Morrison, Barbra Allen, Michael Pierce, Lousie Ranger, Randy Phillips, Debbie Leedham and of course Medelaine Stevens, Don Walker, Gail Brophy, Don Tatry, Hal Thwaites,Phil Seary, Cornelia Wesslow and Anja Mechielsen...just to name a few...I used to look up to and/or observe from afar, many of these people. I was just a twerp from grade 8 or 9 while they were all graduating! Some seemed like movie stars and greatest athletes, some seemed like personalities unto themselves, some seemed lost others found. And they all seemd so grown up already!)

Say's Robert...

I just want to thank you for bringing back those memories of days gone by.

And it is true - that when we get old all we have are the memories.

So thanks again.

Robert Leonard
5:46 AM

You are most welcome Robert.

Your comment was a response more or less to the entry on home territory, swimming pools, Seigniory Park, the Canoe Club, and I guess to our old memories of home and growing up in Chateauguay and through the "Chateauguay High/HSB" experience etc.

Aging is one of those strange things in life isn't it?

We become -perhaps a little smarter, due to the bruises of experience. Then we leave our past behind with some of the people we loved and will always love.

Down the road, we have all this wisdom to dispense to our children, who cannot seem to "hear" and in the end, must experience for themselves their own mistakes and glories.

When our memories play themselves back in our dreams or fantasies, there just seems to have been so much adventure, fun and excitement in making the mistakes - in class, in the hallway, on the playing field, on the ice, at the dam, at the dance, the basketball court, the Canoe Club, "his appartment", the tennis club, at the Beach, the Alamo, the Railway bridge, the Pines, the Curb, behind the Church, in her house when her parents were out, while she was babysitting, in the basement, the Freeman, the Raja Mood, escaping out the basement window as her parents came in the front door - all this and more, before the serious consequences of life set in.

I guess some of the mistakes I truly regret are those "actions not put into motion" which in retrospect I could have or should have. But then -we were kids...and those kids still live inside us don't they? - no matter how far away we go.

On the otherhand there are those mistakes I'm sure we all regret which turned out to be the "wrong roads taken" or the hurtful things said in spite, even when our conscience whispered clearly to our hearts "don't do this!"

There are those things we can never "un-do". But maybe we can be forgiven? We'll never know unless we have the itch and the courage to find out -consequences bedamned. As long as he or she is still alive, the possibility does exist. It is only too late, if one waits too long. And then we become haunted by regret.

But then, yes... we still have all the memories...
Be well.
Les

From Tom Lauder on the Passing of Gerd Weigel

I lost a friend today.

It is with great sadness that I tell you that Gerd Weigel lost his battle with cancer today.

Gerd was one of the good guys.

I hadn’t talked to him in a while; sent him the regular email jokes every now and then, and the too infrequent phone calls, but he was still my friend. And a very good one.

I’ve known Gerd since we were 6 years old.

He was someone I always looked up to and I thought that he was the smartest person in the world when I was growing up. If you wanted to know how or why something worked, you would ask Gerd and he’d tell you.

And he wasn’t showing off, he just knew and thought nothing of it. No conceit, no ego, just happy to answer your question and pass on the knowledge.

I give him credit for influencing me and making me want to know the answers to questions that people had. I wanted to be like Gerd. That is how he influenced me and probably why I am the way I am today.

I've cried a couple of times since hearing the news, but on Wednesday, I'll be making my way to Montreal to celebrate his life and remember all the good times we had growing up together, and I'll be laughing and smiling and so will Gerd.

I'll miss you, my friend.

Tommy Lauder

Just For Laughs Rue St.Denis dream sequence.
(check out the video clips below)

Just For Laughs

-Rue St.Denis 'dream 'jest fest' -seulment comme ca a Montreal.

University

OK, so half the summer is gone.

My daughter has finsihed with University, graduated and has a damned fine job already lined up. Great! I am proud of her.

My son is in year two of University.

Why am I starting out with this topic?

Well, Jane has a friend over for dinner tonight and we've been talking about her daughter's book list in first year University, Liberal Arts program and I am thinking back to my Under-Graduate program at McGill some 30 years ago.

In Highschool I was not oriented to Math or French.
Too bad. Those are really the things I use the most today. Thankfully years later, I went back and paid a highschool math teacher to take me back through the Algebra curriculum I missed.

In CEGEP (Prov Que) I was in Social Sciences /Political Science and Psychology as my base of study with the sincere intent of entering into Law School in University after completing what was called the "undergraduate program" (Bacelor Arts.... Bachelor Science. etc)

The reason for the entry is just to tell a story that might help some of your children who are entering such a program. (If this does not pertain to you, skip it. Conversely, if you are simply keeping tabs on me and my past, read on, this might be of interest or might send you off to sleep.)

I remember my first day of the '101 Polie Scie class'. - That is, "Political Science".
Professors Sam Noumoff, Charles Taylor and Hal Sarf were at the front telling us the magic and wonders of the course to come this year (1975). I was intrigued ...in that I actually made it in and that I was in something as sophisticated sounding as 'Political Science'. Sounds important to a high school grad doesn't it? The girls in the class were hot too. (No I had not as yet changed. I was always on the look out. Once I met my wife a few years later I could allow myself to focus on living rather than always being on the ready.)

(Google- Charles Taylor- very interesting.)

In that year I learned many things, the first of which was that 'reading' was my prime tool and ally. If you had not read Aristotle, Plato, Bacon, Hume, Hegel, Rousseau, Schopenhauer, Nitsche, Swift, Johnson and various others, then there was lots of catching up to do....but I only just got here! Agh! You mean there's homework?!

So fortunately in year two of CEGEP at Dawson, I had learned how to apply 'discipline' to my schedule. Every hour of every day of my 7 day week had a function.

I scheduled my sleep for rebooting and rejuvenating, eating, to recharging batteries/ energy, 'a little time-off' to partying and what was left, the most part of my time, I divided between each of my subjects for pre lecture reading, then re-study and "typing" of papers (with copy tissues between).

Thank goodness I had taken typing in highschool. I had listened to Scott Johnson who said I had better get this talent down pat. My mom also was a great help on this. She is and was a great typist. Know this- scribbling is not writing.. typing is writing and even more important, going back and editing is 'writing'.

After a year and some into the undergrad program my G.P.A. (grade point average) was a dismal 2.8%. The people at the top of the class were at 4.

What was it that they had that Idid not have?

For one thing, I should have somehow made it my business to follow certain rules.

Rule 1
If the class size is larger than 20 people, locate and get to know as soon as possible, the TA. The TA is "teaching assistant".

Rule 2
If you are taking a class like 'English Literature' or 'Philosphy' as an "elective" and not part of your core of concentration simply becuase it sounds like you'll be able to breeze through...think again!

Rule 3
Take a course on writing a term paper or writing as a craft.

Now if we examine Rule 2 just for an example:
I took English Lit figuring it would be something similar to what I took in HS Billings Highschool, where this lovely young teacher sat on her desk in a mini skirt and silk stockings chatting about someone called Arsitophanes and some birds. Did I mention her protrusions and tight sweater?

Anyway, in McGill, I entered an English Lit class of about 50-60 kids and a lecturer.
He talked of Falkner. This is Southern USA Lit. It was good!-Hey I mean, I saw the movie 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. I figured I got it! So I read the Falkner books - 'As I lay Dying' etc. Great stuff! Wow! I figured this was going to be a real breeze!

So the lecturer was blabbing away at the front and I'm thinking "..yah da yah da yah.right right". And he stops, looks up and suddenly asks us..., "Are there any questions?"...

I'm thinking -"No, this is all quite straight forward, I mean, the old lady is lying down and dying, for heaven's sake! What kind of questions would I have? Cancer? What?"

All of a sudden, all hands on all sides shoot up! What the hell!
I've entered the land of waving hands, MEEEEE! OOOH Pick MEEE!

"Sir -would the archtypal myth of the 'old lady' be akin to the metaphorical demise of the Old South?" asked the gorgeous number with the black glasses, sleek blond hair and shapely legs.

"What the hell language is this?
I mean, I don't blame the professor when he asked her to repeat the question. I didn't understand the langauage, but I suspect he just wanted to see her breathe some more as she spoke. Marilyn Munroe with brains!

My point to you, is this, --English Lit has a lexicon (language) all of it's very own from James Joyce through to Falkner. Every word you read is code for something/someone else. A color refers to something in someone elses book and/or the BIBLE. Allegory, metaphore and similes! If you do not know the language and if you have not done the background reading and study -(and there's lot's of it) do not go there.

On the other hand, if you have the time, go ahead. It's actually wonderful...but only if you can take your time, make some friends who can guide you to the realm of Archetypes and established Myths. It's kind of like Stats but with dream and story woven in.

Then there is rule 1.
For a whole year and a half I struggled with Polie Scie. I scored far higher in Pshycology in CEGEP and then I dropped that in University to take the Polie Scie. (Why? I think that to my infantile 19 year old mind, the 'Political Science' tag sounded most impressive. The truth is that if you are doing well in Music Class (getting great marks), you have a good shot at Law School. Just do the L-SATs first with a team of buddies. The Team of buddies is really helpful.

At the end of year one in Political Science, I was struggling. My TA, Greg Claeys came to me and said, "You look like you're having a hard time. I have read your writing. You are doing the reading, but your are not picking up on what it is you need to grasp."

"I need help." I said sheepishly.

"What you need is a set of conceptual handlebars to hold on to as you ride through the obstacle course, and I will give them to you now - a gift, just two words - 'empirical' and 'normative'.

I don't know what he expected. Did he think I would put my finger to my strawhead and say"Eurika?". I stood with a blank stare and nooded. "HMMM".

"You don't 'get it', right?" He asked.

"Uh - No."


So, he explained ..."There are those who put forward ideas based upon actuality or 'what is'- "empirical', versus those who base their ideas on what "could be if"...if humans were nicer or whatever... 'normative'.

So if you can write your papers on each philosopher, from now on identifying which form is being used, you will "get it" and understand what kind of change upon the world the author is proposing.

WOW! I GOT IT!
This was the tool I needed to pass and excel.

Now in Philosophy proper, OH-OH-
I chose this as an elective thinking it would be easy as long as I wrote long papers. This is where Rule 3 applies.

Isubmitted a piece that I thought was quite clever from my then 'High School/CEGEP 19 year old point of view'.

I got it back soon after. 'DRIVEL!" was scrawled in red at the bottom. Cut it all and just get to the point! Provide support to your premise!

It was this instruction, that taught me my greatest of educational lessons.

I had never taken a writing course in High school or CEGEP. I should have.

Writing courses teach you to state in each paragragh a point supporting your "thesis", then how to back-up to that point and finally, conclude with a statement that reinforces the logic overall. Simple right? Yes -if you had taken the writing course.

There is just no "finessing" your way through university.

You pay the big fees (cheap in Canada), put in the long hours, minimize the partying, talk to teachers and TAs after class where need be, without wasting their time and create allies with smarter students than you.

Usually- if you fail in University, there is only one person to blame.
It is not 'the system', it is not racisim. It is not an 'A for a lay'.
There can be the odd class where you disagree with a professor at your own risk. But they 'all' can't be wrong.

If you listen and make absolutely certain that you understand what is being asked and then organize your time and do it, you will be just fine.

Finally, having a group of friends and supporters around from your classes, to help you as you help them, is a good bet.

So- final rule! You must work on that team of friends from the 'get-go'.

University is no place to be in a vacuum or be too proud to ask for help. There is always the Guidance office too.

(Oh- yes I graduated with my B.A. but I chose not to go into Law. Who knows, I could go back. It is never too late.)

Fred Left us this week. Well Fred - Your last years in the end were not the easiest for you to bear. And you never really complained. You stayed in touch with Jimmy Williams and with me collaberated sometimes on some writing projects.

Despite the distance from us you were a dear and wonderful friend.

In Highschool and afterwards be it in your music, humour, thought provoking articles on CBC, jamming (Season of the Witch at the Carnival by the arena or out at Bill Howes in Gaspe) simply 'hanging out', -your soul shone.

Fred Sailor you were one of the most philisophically cool people I had ever met.
I know a bit of you will always be with us. You gifted us with your presence.
Fly on Godfrey.
We'll miss you.
Les

Black and White and shades of gray.
Barry Jones, Steve Poirier, Scott Johnson.

(I'm afraid I cannot remember the name of the person sitting beside Scott Johnson.)

This is extracted from a class picture from grade 8 if I am not mistaken.

Photography is fascinating. It captures a moment and beyond that, it chrystalizes certain character traits and moods.

What makes a place a home territory?
Perhaps it's a time and not the place in and of itself?

I remember first moving to Chateauguay in 1963 in wicked mid February.

My parents purchased a model home next to and slightly to the side of Seigneury Park Country Club. The roads were full of pot holes then and the the trees were many. It was a very new development with some very new home models -more vertical in orientation rather than the spread of a New England or Ocean side bungalo. They were novel for Chateauguay.

After a number of years, this area became home to me and the centre of my being with many friends and acquaintences. The neighborhood community was focussed upon the pool and club house both in winter and summer.

I found that the rest of Chateauguay with it's separate neighborhoods - Colonia, Terrace, Parkview, The Heights, West End. Chateauguay North , The Basin all had similar cohesion and I believe it was due to the community activities surrounding water, pools, canoes, and rinks. But in each area I entered, I felt like a stranger. These places were not home to me and not until very much later in high school did I feel that greater Chateauguay was part of my being. This was of course, due to the fact that I was becoming more aware of other neighborhoods outside our collective environment - Ville de Lery, Woodlands, Maple Grove, Beauharnois to the west and Kahnawake to the North East.

Once again, as I ventured forth and met new friends in their domains I felt as a stranger in strange lands, pushing the limits of my awareness yet at the same time causing me to take posession in a sense, of Chateauguay as a whole with it's differing neighborhood parts.

By discovering outsiders and new places, Chateuaguy as a whole was becoming smaller to me and far more comfortable as names such as Houston, Hillock, Moody, Cushing from WestEnd or D'Aguilar, Mitchell and McGurk over by des Marguerites past the Centre or, Doumaraesque, Martin, Duchene, Holt, Kaye, Birch, Packer, Leroux, Robichaude, Starkey in Colonia, Ranger, Bushe, Deliva, Daze, Garnier, Craig, Ross, Crawford, Sailor, in Parkview, Perry, Fletcher, Farmer, Bissonette, Rennie, Hewitt, Poirier, Toth, Jones, McManus, and Gulkin in Seigneury Park, Finnerty, Wilding, Larsen and Birch in Northern Circle and Oliver, Boshart, Hart, Gilmore, Butt, Artagnon, Behrens, Mountain, Stuart, Rankin, Riley and Reid in the Heights and many others gave shape and texture if not a wonderful character to the Chateauguay we called home.

Today I was cycling around the bike paths of Chateauguay with Jane pointing out things which mark my memory.

I pointed out what used to be the pool at Seigniroy Park now buried beneath a Hyundai dealership. We passed through Colonia on Craik street where there was eveidence of a pool where the ball park still stands.

We returned to the Terrace, passing by the two new houses which sit atop what used to be the baby pool their respective back yards with fresh green sods covering the memories of the shallow end and deep end of our old community Terrace pool.

We stopped our bikes and remembered how Dave Maclean, myself along with Danny Cooney, Peter MacHardy, Peter Roy and many others from the neighborhood (Bobbit, Gurholt, Meaney) year after year ran that community pool with it's outdoor activities- swim lessons, racing team, camp nights, movie nights and dances.

"God we were lucky." Jane said . "Our kids were lucky. Nowadays there are pools in many back yards. And people have their own private domains just outside the back door."

This, while not bad, is not quite as good as what the children once had.

There is something to be said for heat build-up, the walk or ride over to the local pool, nearing it, the screams of excited children, whistles of the life guards, the sound system with the latest songs, 'eau de pool water' blended with fragrance of ice cream, popsicles, hot dogs and suntan lotion. You just never knew who would turn up at the pool.

And there was something else too- something significant. Older people would talk to younger ones. We were all together and exposed to varied social, cultural elements; English, French, men women, boys, girls, small, big, shaply or not, white, black, rich and poor - we were all together at our community watering hole, which helped to develop our outer natures as community beings.

But nothing could beat just lying on the hot concrete as the sun baked the water off one's browning limbs as we talked with our summer friends. It made going home in the evening all the better after a bar-b-q at the pool.

It just seems that Chateauguay and all developments with community pools were enriched - the whole being far greater than the parts. There was a belonging where now there is fragmentation.

I do not know if the Canoe Club still exists or not. I often hear stories of the times the people of 'the heights' had over there. I never really knew about this place until later. Most unfortunate. But I did belong to the Carlyle Tennis Club. Herbie Hart taught me how to serve!

There was a magic in the summer for many of us, perhaps the magic of a time. But I'm afraid that -that time -has gone.

Ah -but we can remember!

Jacob Sings "Over Malta"

This clip is taken at the "Grannies For Africa" Beaver Lake Picnic

Jan McConnell, Dr.Klaus Mindi, Dr.Nina Mindi, Linda, Hazel Finlay appear as Jacob sings one of his originals. He did a set of 10 songs ranging from covers to his own works.

Grannies from Canada along with the Stephen Lewis Foundation send supplies and support to the Grannies in Africa who have become the parents to Grandchildren. The Parents of the children have been massacred by AIDS. A whole strata of their society has simply vanished and continues to vaporize. While the cure exists to a great extent and the preventive knowledge is there, cultural, economic, commercial, physical and political realities subvert the timing of solution.

Life is short

and fragile.

Take care of the gift -the spark inside you

and those sparks inside the ones

who care for you.

As the trajectory

of the firefly etched upon the dark

or shooting star upon the night

the way is lit but not long

to our sight.

Take no one you love

for granted -

treasure, share and respect each moment of their being.

Avoid those things that would cause you

to lose your way.

LM

Happy Birthday Barry Jones
(Nice to See all the Jones clan and some friends Sharon, Greg and Tom.)

We now have kittens!

Do You Know the Inner You?
(I ask myself...)

So, how can one change the world if you have no controls on the world within?

If the outer YOU is nothing more than a 'persona', connected to the outer world through behavioral responses we like to call 'personality', then who or what is inside, driving this outer presentation shell?

Have you taken the quiet time to get to know that inner self?

Or is that "inner being" doing things in a reactive pre-programmed way? You know, -go to work, make money, pay the mortgage, buy food, meet Mr. or Mrs. Right, have children (fulfilling the prime objective), then get fancy by becoming competitive to see how much better than others one can be at growing our own little ball of dung and perhaps doing some traveling?

That stuff is there by default, part of the prime objective.

I suspect there is something more once we get to know the inner essence that drives the vehicle of our body.

Since the "thinking I " is the inner being, and not simply the ego sensor that perceives the world, the key would be to develop methods of being in control of this "I "; to minimize the reactive and accentuate the proactive. Say like knowing through our collected information that smoking is not good for the body.

Pro Active is actually being at the inner center of self and making positive healthy decisions that lead to positive healthy action. It is taking control of self.

Pro-active is overcoming the 'temptation' to have another chocolate chip cookie when no one is looking, or understanding that by smoking, one is simply a part of the cash flow equation for a cigarette company while slowly killing oneself.

Pro-active is deciding to get in shape and then taking the right actions.

Pro-active is taking one's life in hand and doing the best that one can do with it.

Pro-active is refusing to give in to the temptation that delusion offers -saying one is too old to lose excess weight, or "this is the way I am so if you don't like it bug off".

Pro-active is turning off the TV and writing the book, screen play, calling your relative who you know would love to hear from you, doing some simple stretching, or walking or training to run a marathon.

Pro-active is consciously acknowledging you have a habit of eating chips, drinking beer and then making the decision to stop.

The big problem is, that if we cannot take control of ourselves and save our own inner and outer world, how can we ever hope to change the the earth? The scientists and activated individuals cannot do it by themselves. We cannot just let others do it. We are all part of the greater whole.

What do we want to teach our children?
- That we inevitably are going to kill ourselves and our planet so get used to it?
Or is there something else we can do?
I suspect it begins with acheiveing the little things within the self.

Can you quit smoking? Can you exercise?
Can you control the temptation to say something bitchy or to laugh at someone else?
Can you stop the small habits that lead to big problems later?

I suspect that by setting these kinds of goals from the simple to the more demanding, we learn the power of "NO" with temptation and earn the discipline to take control of ourselves. I am inspired to run by the lesson my fifty-two year old sister Gaye has shown - running the Boston Marathon -twice! Up until a few years ago she never ran at all.



These are some of the things that I hope are being taught in school these days... understanding who and what the inner being is and the relationship that exists between it and the planet.

Center Circle

Have you ever taken a quiet moment to ask yourself Who you are?

Think about it for a moment.

Our outside persona is made up of a transport system, equipped with tools that enable us to travel and gather data about our world. We 'do' all kinds of things and collect experience like ants collecting prize bits of leaves or chunks of cookie droppings.

The data is transmitted bio-electronically through to our central processing units (brain) for decision making.

Our primary 'goal-setting default or bias' is biologically 'set' towards continuing the species and surviving individually. Emphasis on "individually".

Our 'ambulatory' or walking transport systems have a fuel entry point and a spent fuel refuse ejection system.

We are gifted with arms and hands to manipulate the world around us and our meagre creations and re-creations. Our eyes and noses further refine the vision, quantifying and qualifying our findings, the most notable saved for adulation, discussion and academic digestion.

But all this describes the outer shell of our 'being'.

So who are we?

We are individually oriented so that as we attain our inevitable passing from this sphere, those left behind can continue on without too much bother.

We are therefore 'self centric' and endeavor to be self sufficient within the systems we have created for ourselves on this planet. Again, the outside 'shell'.

Who am i?
If my body (and it's internal parts that support the ambulatory vehicle) make up the outer side of a circle, the inner me would be the inside of the circle.

So the 'i' or inner voice within the circle would be the center transmitting desire and direction to the outer me via synaptic pathways . But 'who', is that 'i' or inner voice?

Where does it live?
In the brain? The heart? The chakras? The solar plexus?

That 'consciousness' carried about within the bony container, the 'i' or 'me' cannot be seen.

It,-- that invisible center of the inner circle, is evident, only so long as the outer shell is 'alive'.

So, that consciousness at the center within, drives the outer vehicle- with the intent of getting from here to there through space to achieve self oriented goals of survival and continuation as a point of necessity.

Is that inner 'me'-- my personality? Soul? Spirit? or just arbitrary electrical impulses?

Once I stop 'doing', cease activity, calming the outer and inner motion, who am I?
Yes- the outer shell is still recognized by others by it's given name, social status and difference to others. But what of the inner core?

Have you ever tried to - stop all doing- even for 30 seconds?

Try it! Stop all movement, seeing/looking, talking, thinking, planning next steps -all activity... except for breathing.

Now shine the flashlight of your mind on where the identity of 'you' is .

Where are "you"? - locate it .

Stop the needs voices " What shall I make for dinner, I wonder if he/ she still loves me, What should I get at IGA...stop shhhh! (Make the thoughts stop just for a few seconds. )

Where is the 'i'? Where does it go when your body sleeps?
The outer identity vehicle is in bed...but where is the 'i'?
Perhaps the question might better be...'What' is 'i'.

I 'think' I know you. You 'think' you know me.
How presumptuous of us all! I am still trying to understand who or what I am and where my 'attitude' originates. Why do I knee jerk 'react' to some things while with others I am able to calmly 'respond' with applied inner discipline?

Such clever beings are we, gifted with the ability to 'discern' that which is agreeable and that which is not...gifted with the ability to choose what action we will apply in this life and those actions we will not.

What is the purpose of 'i'...
another question...
How will WE save our world?

Once Upon a Trek To Lery

Dial a Picture? and other reflections...











Transcendent Lines of Ascension.











Don't try to find a corner in this building.

Good Neighbors in Our Home Town















Mrs. Gurholt and Mr.Gurholt




Mrs. Bobbitt

Roddy and Jim Cuddy (Blue Rodeo) ...don't they need someone new on Keyboards?

Roddy McManus giving George the pleasure of his company.
Well done Roddy!
Les

All That Glitters is Not...

What is it about the past that has us so fascinated?

On Facebook we are fascinated and amused, for a short while at least- especially with the pictures. This place allows one to be a social voyeur, peering at pictures of those we knew or sometimes thought we might have considered 'getting to know' - but way back then.

Reality hits home and quickly. Those people are just not adding up to how we see them in our memory mind's eye. They have become older, mundane and far less fascinating. In short, (I) we have become, dare I say it, -'normal' in our middle to upper middle age. Many of us are down right boring compared to the Shakespearian Midsummer night's Dream- like hyper sexual selves we flaunted from the Age of Aquarius. (Steve Poirier is now saying -"Speak for yourself".) But those inner fantasy projections were worn by youthful beings striving and rebelling to emerge from a chrysalis childhood to a new world of awareness yet having to wear school uniform and keep hair short.

So therein lies the rub! The real nostalgia is about who we once were and not who we are now. It is perhaps about who we wanted to be and how we wanted to be seen.

I guess this is why a reunion is most effective perhaps every ten years or so and not every two or three. At age 16, fundamental change occurs every two weeks or so while at age 45 and onward change is somewhat less sought after. (I am a rock, I am an island -and an island never cries.)

The memories are golden or horrific depending upon the reality that we sprang from. And there is no going back. That is the value of memory. (All That Rises Must Converge.)

Greeting/'poking' people with ditty Facebook comments replaces taking a walk in the Chateauguay Shopping Centre ('mall' nowadays) or strolling down the hall back in Billings-mode, familiar faces passing by. But if they were never really your friends or even acquaintances, you're not about to invite them home right? One can nod and just keep on going. Actually not so with Facebook, depending on how you set it up, your family life and pictures and real friends are now open to others to gawk (or steal pictures without asking) whether you like it or not.

Hmmmm time to adjust my FB settings.

To remember in a moment of nostalgia is one thing. To meet up with those who never really had anything in common(in cyberspace), is something else indeed. ('Un Nouveau Monde', mais faux!) It distracts from the activities in life that we really value - that is, if one has a life with valued activities.

But then my real friends communicate by phone or direct e-mail or yes!- even hand written mail which still contains it's archaic charm.

A Whispered Dream

Sometimes
I close my eyes
and I'm back there.

The night closes in
and the magic plays
and I'm back there.

Sunshine On Your Love
Born to Run, Thunder road,
And I'm back there.

I'm on the bus
I'm in the pines or behind the trains
And I'm back there.

I smell your hair,
the autumn to winter air
And I'm back there.

The waxed floors in the halls
The lockers, the dance, the high gym walls.
And I'm back there.

The twinkle smile in your eyes-
the moment frozen and with you, gone.
And I'm back there.

L.McConnell
March 4 2009 link to 1969-70-71 & 72