Sonja Ball (+ Chain) with Roger Sarazin playing Thursday 23rd at Capiche

Charlie Ghorayeb has done it again!

This time he is bringing in Sonja Ball and Chain to his lovely restaurant.

While the food and wine is fabulous, he is topping it off with a 'kick off the summer' terrace party.
People will be coming in from Ottawa, Toronto as well as the surrounding area (Chateauguay + Montreal) - many of those you may remember from High-School!

Topping the Bill will be Sonja Ball (+Chain) with Roger Sarazin on guitar.

You can come for Dinner or just for the entertainment.
I'm buying the dinner and entertainment combination ticket.
This is going to be great!

Good food, great wines and great entertainment ( hopefully on the back drop of a beautiful sunset).
For more information call Capiche Restaurant at 514-975-2665.

Now -to see the band playing, scroll down through the Archives here to December 2010 and click on it.

Then scroll a little way down in the actual entres to Dec 18 2010.

You'll see the "Hold On I'm Comin' MP4 caption with the arrow. Before you click on the arrow, make sure you plug your speakers into your lap top or standalone computer.
OK. Click on the arrow now and enjoy. Get up and prance around the room too-if the speakers are on...
There is another song just below this one I entitle"Circles and Wonder.MP4". There are two songs here not just one!

AHHH Thursday will be so cool!
Rumor has it that Ricky Rice might show up. Wow! Imagine if he got up to play something too!
(Hey Shel!.... if you are coming down from T.O....bring your guitar! Hope...bring your bass!)

Helping The children left after the HIV /AIDS affliction in Africa

To all my friends,
I’m taking part in Stride to Turn the Tide, a national walk organized by Canadian grandmothers and grand”others” for the Grandmothers to Grandmothers Campaign of the Stephen Lewis Foundation.
I am walking to raise funds for African grandmothers living in communities hardest hit by the AIDS pandemic. These indomitable women are not only caring for their grandchildren orphaned by AIDS , but leading the way in innovative grassroots responses to the pandemic – responses  that are transforming their communities and helping to turn the tide of HIV and AIDS.

Help me reach my fundraising goal! Every dollar counts! It’s easy to contribute. All you need to do is click on the link below - or copy and paste it into your browser - and then click on the Donate button in the top-right corner of my walk page.

Click here to sponsor me!
Go to my Event Page

Every dollar raised and put into the hands of African grandmothers supports their efforts for health care, nutritious food, emotional counselling and a hopeful future for their grandchildren. Thank you for helping me and the grandmothers of Canada Stride to Turn the Tide.
Check back regularly to see how I’m doing!

Thanks so much,

Leslie Mcconnell


Spread the word about my walk!
Go to my Event Page

Join a walk or register your own team to walk! Visit Go to my Event Page

The Stride to Turn the Tide is a Grandmothers’ Campaign initiative. All proceeds support grassroots organizations in sub-Saharan Africa run by and for African grandmothers and the children in their care.  To learn more about these organizations and how they are working together with African grandmothers to turn the tide of HIV and AIDS in Africa, please visit: www.stephenlewisfoundation.org

Mary Poland

Every now and again I will receive an e-mail out of the blue which takes me by surprise.

I received one of these two or three weeks ago from someone who I have always held in high regard.

There are some people in high-school I experienced head on, face to face and down right physically. With guys it was in sports, body checking, tripping, fighting, slapping on the back and in mock grown up style -shaking hands. With young ladies it was to perhaps explore worlds that were really quite unknown to me that had a more biological imperative, which during those years did not really go more than first or second base in my case ( if I am to mix metaphors). I guess that side of the contact while less pervasive on the physical side, did give me a wonderful look at the psychological and social.

Women in high school I found to be enticing new flowers trying on their colours and fragrances at the expense of, or despite the longings and pseudo agonies of the hound-dog side of the species.

Alas, I was able to discover an approach to things in grade ten and eleven which while not getting me any further ... in my would be sexual endeavours, did provide me with at least an intellectual sense of calm and insulation.

I tired to associate with women on an intellectual level devoid of the male/female pretense or mask over the smoldering lust beneath the social surface. I was able to occasionally develop an approach to the opposite sex which was like using oven-mitts in the kitchen on hot plates and yes, while cumbersome, did provide ample protection from harm in that arena or "kitchen". In short ...(as I was short) I dropped the idea of 'scoring' physically and began exploring the idea of connecting with 'minds' and watching modes of behavior - in class, the halls, doing the cigarette thing behind the church, at parties and dances, almost as if I was in a lab.

I tried (not always successfully) to objectify my presence and create a safety zone so that the vibe women would pick up on, would be less of overt silly teen sexuality and more an objective observer who would not cause any harm. I know -contrived, but socially effective.While this worked as I gained trust, it certainly also succeeded at a cost - a profitable sex life. Yet, despite my big mouth, I found I had developed a modest sense of discretion. However, I digress.

It was in that state of  would-be 'objective tourist', that in my observances, I could not fail to notice others that seemed to be like myself - adrift and yet connected, those who could link in to most groups without being an intrinsic part of any one of them; other 'observers,' patiently waiting for their respective time in the venerable institution to end so they could get on with what life had to dish out.

It seemed to me Mary Poland was a kindred spirit in this guise. But I think she was much better at it than I.

Her smile in the hall when passing, always conveyed a warmth buoyed by ever sparkling eyes, comments always couched in gentle sardonic wit with just a hint of intellectual prowess that promised far more if one dared to take up the challenge.

It is this impression in particular, -always evoked when I think of Mary Poland, another 'observing tourist' in the glass hallway, linking up, letting go, retreating back to the self-port and then back out to other academic endeavors and social distractions.

At the end of the day, even though I contemplate my memory of Mary, I think it would be accurate to say we all were somewhat caught up in the steps of this dance in the continual search for warmth in the night of transition- yet perhaps some got precariously closer  to the fire than others.

But the connection in the hallways with Mary was always in the smile, the eyes and finally in her comments to me- generous, but laced with sardonic intelligence underscored with a spirit of caring.

So when recently I received Mary's e-mail - ( message in a bottle) - to reach out to her and help in a personal quest to join the war on cancer by donating to her 'walk', my thoughts went back to that time.

I then checked out her website and invited her to lunch- which we did a week or two later.

Such courage and determination!

For those of us to whom mobility has been the norm, a 'walk' of such length around the city in this 'march' of determined souls, would be like a few rounds of 18 holes in golf, but Mary has an impediment to the fluidity of motion we all take for granted - even though she certainly could dance back then and gracefully in her way.

She has had to endure much discomfort in this life, that we will never have to deal with. I have known only two friends who experienced Polio and they both seem to have a greater sense of life appreciation than me. They also have developed the ability to keep their mask on without perhaps shrieking at my complacency and that of many who take our existence and lack of 'discomfort' for granted as we complain about the red light days in the traffic of our lives.
I invite you to click on the link below to visit Mary's web site, -see her picture...and while you are there, do as I have done - find your way up the screen to the big green 'donate' button and donate some money to a worthy investment to our society, children's future and higher cause. L.

Click here to visit my personal page.
(Mary Poland)

Dispel Shadows for the Now

I know it can't just be me who needs to dispel the shadows of the past and see you ...
as you are now.

Feel it in your Heart, know it in your dreams.

The sense ...between the spaces,
side long glances ...of just missed faces,
those moments after a touching movie or
having read a book that holds a nuance
that sparks the mind,
the song, your song, our song...
to go back - just for another glimpse
held prismatic
in memory.

I heard the brook-trickle magic laughter,
turned my head to catch it...
Was she here?
Was he there?
I know that lingering fragrance.
Is that her daughter?
Is that his son?
The spitting image, the twinkle in the eye,
the curl in the corner of the smile,
the suggestion of an overbite...
and it all comes rushing back.

While for many of us it is the need
to see her or him
just one last time
before we go.
-No recrimination, no judgement
-we were kids back then,
trying on what we thought to be grown up.

My what a shock
reality to be
later on.
Sometimes a disappointment, a shattering spell.
Why go back to the past?
It is not.
Reunion is a move forward to the now of future
ever after
- settling.

But then it is beyond one person too.
It is the sense of unfinished business.
There is the guy  teased mercilessly or spoken ill of behind his back.
I must show him I am not that little child
and that I have a soul that has grown.

It is to come full circle
simply by being in the presence
of those who were very young
but have now come of age
and are wise.
To see them now.
Can they still laugh
and cause me to split my sides in pain
or give me a bleeding nose
simply hearing one of their own funny jokes.
Jack? Steve? Ricky? Debbie? Jackie? Jimmy? Bart? Art? Barry? Cathy? Donna? Kathy? Susan? Ian? Brian?
Graham? Frankie? Michael? Linda? Layla? Shannon? Roddy? Lesley, Lorraine? Hopeton, Vera? Herb? Ron?

And so many more who haunt
the center world.

Can they still dance?
Do they still have the magic?

I have seen for myself,
despite the grown up shape,
years after child birth
definitely not the spry young thing,
and
him with gut of age and shining top;
I have seen for myself,
some of those we held so high
of grace and beauty at 17 now somewhere between
parent and grandparent arthritic guise;
I have seen for myself
that look peering out from those eyes!
You are still there!
In side ...
come let me see you
let us all
know our smiles
from within the other side
the looking glass of life.

Feel us in your heart,
know us in your dreams
those of us who are
remaining.
We wait for you-
may it not be too late
to hold you in our smile
just one
last
time.

But alas,
some prefer the prison
of imperfect and unblemished past
fixed black and white and
fading sepia illusion.
Come forth
into
the light.

LM

Go Slow Wins the Race

We have Two Years

Yes there is a movement afoot to have another good sized reunion like the one in 2007.

It is a modest movement like the beginnings of a camp fire.
We are getting the kindling going and it is not yet time to put big logs on.

As in any 'beginning' we tackle the small questions first - who will do what in the time leading up to the event. As we see reality being woven from the fabric of activity, we are then able to best gauge what can be properly handled if success is to result.

For those who know not what the last one cost in time, energy, planning and coordination, -in real terms-suffice it to say -considerable. Many moments of our 'life time' were devoted, earning us some luck and breaks and as a result we succeeded.

The aim for the next one is to allow for some expansion so that those who attended the last one can do so once again, and further, -for those who chose not to come last time but then heard later how much fun was had - well, they too can now attend. It is after hearing from so many of these people - who may have graduated during the years indicated in the previous post - that we are taking this action.

Now, if there are friends form the years on either side of '72 like the many who attended last time, there should be no problem as long as once tickets are issued in future months people pay for those in advance (like last time) and reserve their spot -since there is only so much room in a large hotel salon.

As we go forward and hear from you all -(to remain organized, by e-mail only) on your intent to join the party, then we shall have a better position from which to negotiate with whichever size hotel we need. The factors that will be considered are :
a) decreased cost for increased volume,
b) but then for increased volume the necessity for more room and meals,  which again
c) increases cost.

But as with nurturing a camp fire to it's full potential, we must be very careful how we go about our planning. Some campfires if we pour gasoline on, go right out of control, burn people and then burn out prematurly before fufilling it's true function.... providing sustained heat and quality of life.

So an approach of optimism,balance and patience will be required from all, as the answers emerge from the detail of planning that has just begun by the planning group.

So the next one is in two years. More details from the planning team will come out later. But certain topics are simply premature to discuss 'out there' by us, at this moment.

For those who show motivation to help us get this event to take place, we encourage you to contact us by e-mail only. You may contact Les McConnell with questions at L.mcconnell7@sympatico.ca. A response will be forthcoming to all e-mails received. Yet the answers you seek now may be premature for this early stage.

Thank you for your understanding.

L

Did you know?

Still Alive and Kicking '72 and Friends

There are people in our lives who affected us in subtle and not so subtle ways.

Some were teachers, others friends, and others - those with magic in their smile and magnetics of the eye..

Life is fleeting.

And ...for many, the moments of magic from the past have an even stronger hold now than when they were children. Oh, they know that the light transfered by laughter from a boy to a girl or girl to a boy is but an echo. And yet the echo is forever in the heart and dreams of fancy somewhere in between the spaces.

Many are haunted by past moments, not just happy but tragic as well. As adults we know there are some things that cannot be put right or as we might prefer them.

But - there is still a lingering belief in those moments; treasured - even if we know that those dreams have wafted away on the breeze of lost opportunity and youth - leaving us as we are now, who we are now, as others see us today but on the inside still that magic being.

I discovered at the last reunion in 2007, well beyond the 30 something years since high school, some having  become parents whose children have flown, some have become grandparents, some having careers and perhaps success and money, or having experienced failure, degradation, divorce, disease, depression....

I discovered at the last reunion that when I met up with friends and acquaintances who knew me as a child of 15, or 18, or 20 - that the person I was then, still exists- in others. They remind me of the silly things but also of things I had not realized, the positive effect I had on some...I did not know. How could I - I was a kid!

I discovered that some people look to a moment when they can allow 'today' to blend into 'yesterday' to see who we are now, listen to the sound of our voices- laughter and be recognized with a rush of familiarity -the smile, handshake or hug, to share perhaps one last moment; the stories, buried, long gone -come rushing back, one last chance...

I came away knowing the value of the time spent in those days despite my attitude of wanting oh so desperately to get away from it all and to never ever come back.

'Reunion',  has long ago for most of us transcended from a silly show-off of materialistic name game, to a process- where people are eager to find out who the inner you is- and if the 'you' they knew still exists in there.

Are you ready for the next REUNION in Chateauguay /Montreal, Victoria Day Weekend 2013 for those who went to HSB during 1967 through prime 1972 and then on perhaps to 1975? The same group that put on the last big one ('72 & Friends) are doing it once again.

Check off your calendar. We sincerely look forward seeing you once again. Get all your big travel plans done next year but 2013 May, must be reserved to come HOME. We guarantee you will come away with more of yourself than you came with...even if you did not graduate, you were part of the family and always will be. You will have one last chance to make good!

SKÅL

It was winter grey in Chateauguay, - a morning actually.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011.

I cleared my schedule, sending e-mails to those who were expecting to meet with me to go over their investment policy statements or have me collect their RRSP cheques for investment.

Fortunately when one invokes the excuse of a funeral, there is very little anyone can say, except perhaps, "Sorry for your loss."

This day was special. It was the day of Mr. Per Gurholt's memorial. The next day would be his funeral per-se. (1923-2011)

His name- Per Ivar Gurholt. I recall the way he used to

say it to me with such underlying enthusiasm and vim, especially the 'Ivar', I-VAR, sounding a little more like I-vour, but not quite.

His accent was a wonderful thing. My mother in law is Danish and she has an accent of sorts, but the Norwegians have something really distinctive, that loop-de-loop up and down song to the the cadence; that 'hoo de soh de so? questioning sound- just wonderful.

It's not like I knew him that well or anything. He was my neighbor from around the corner living over near the Bobbitt's (remember Judy?), just off Tulip on des Margeurite in the Terrace. But my time in this area coincided somewhat with his. He was a founding member of the Terrace Recreation Association (The Terrace Pool) composed of some 200 families in it's 'hey day' back in the early sixties.

Many years years later, after I moved back to Chateauguay from 'the city' with Jane and my new daughter Rosemary, the Association's leadership of the time, Dan Cooney, Danny Roy and Peter McHardy pursuaded me and Dave Mclean to take over from them to run the pool.

Elections were held and in we went. Peter Wares even managed to get in with us. It was nothing at all like you would imagine - you know, campaigning and pursuading people to let us run or anything. Nope.

What shocked me was that in a big annual general meeting you would think there might be others who would vie for the position of President and Vice President of such an association. At least that was what I had thought. But no! There was no one- many people showed up to meet, but wanted nothing to do with taking responsibility for the goings-on and running of this organization. It was almost like a simple rubber stamping. It turned out that the previous administration had been fearful that they might be stuck with the job for another summer.

But that is another story.

My point is, Mr. Gurholt along with Mr. Bobbitt over that summer became like surrogate fathers to me, coaxing me along to recognize the things that were truly important about running a 200 family organization into something that would create wonderful memories for members while ensuring safety and securitiy and hopefully enough money to cover the cost. On that point alone, I was suprised to discover that many people erroneously thought that a non-profit company is not supposed to make a profit. They had never heard of such a thing as 'retained earnings'. Ah well! Again - another story.

Ann-Christine had called me on Monday, " Les you knew my father when you worked with him on the Terrace Pool right?"

"Yes - that is true, however not closely as he was retired and basically gave me some much needed advice."

" But you knew him to some degree and if you have any stories of him and how you perceived him as a 'man' outside the realm of our family, it would provide another perspective to add to our occasion."

"You mean you would like me to get up and give a little talk on how I remembered your father?"

"Yes," she said, "Randi Lisbeth has organised this time at the memorial where she will be leading off telling his story from his birth in Trondhjem Norway in 1923, came to Canada and she'll tell some of our family story as it relates to 'Papa' and if she will invite various people to stand and say a few things."

"OK, I definitely have a few stories".

So that day had arrived. I had not yet figured out what I was going to say, but that preperation would not take long.

In the back of my mind I could not help thinking that if there is one thing he and his wife really succeeded at, was the creation of some very attractive flaxen haired young women.

It was 8:50a.m.

I picked up my pen and began thinking of what I would say. But as always happens when sitting down to focus, the little distractions begin. Maybe I should make the coffee first, perhaps I should make a call to the Peak back-office, maybe I should call Charile Ghorayeb and see if he wants to play some tennis next week. I rolled my office chair away from the notes over to my computer at my L shaped desk and got onto my e-mail...always a great time-waster.

"Perhaps I'll check out what's new on FB." I thought.

Then the thought of Rick Rankin emerged- "Ah! Right a good friend of Ann Christine! I'll send an e-mail and tell him what I'm up today. Who knows?"

Within 4 minutes, the phone rang. It was him. He was coming down from Ottawa. Nice to have these professions where we can be limited bosses of our own time. He is a Lawyer and from time to time is able to close his office and get out for a spell.

Three hours later he arrived bringing the sun and a beautiful blue sky with him. We went off to the Funeral Home down beside H.S.Billings near the old Arena. That afternoon and evening was an eye opener for me. I was expecting the usual maudlin type of dirge where everyone becomes firklempt, choked up and teary eyed. Not here!

This became a celebration, a recalling of past happy days. The focus was not on endings of times, but rather on the savoring of rich moments of life. Before the stories though many neighbors and friends had shown up to pay their respects- Richard Beauchamp, Bob Oliver, Judy Makhauser, Cheryl Maude, Louise Lacey, Eric Hyland, Janet Zimmerman and many neighbors old and young. From Toronto Lorraine D'Aguilar and Saskia Hart. There was even Robert Hallam who used to be a teacher at HSB. It was a veritable reunion of sorts centered around this family.

The family and some of us took a break for dinner over at Capiche's - the beautiful restaurant owned by Charlie Ghorayeb. He, his lovely wife Celine and son Michael (in the kitchen) hosted a delicious dinner for the family.

Returning afterwards, the 'Memorial' continued, the stories were incredible, revelations of a family culture rich in Nordic Norwegian tradition; pictures on the viewing board showing Movie Star Liv Ullman shaking hands with her first cousin Per-Ivar Gurholt, with Ann-Christine proudly looking on, in another as Per the ski jumper flying high up through the air, ski tips pointed skyward towards his forehead, body rigid in it's rocket-like trajectory high up over a valley before coming to perfect landing, then in another, a distinguished man receiving the King Olaf medal for promoting the culture of Norway in Canada. In all the pictures, this man is celebrated for his contribution, the giving of his 'life time' and positive spirit not just in everyday life but volunteering in so many areas.

Randi-Lisbeth, backed by mother Gorgette Wouters Gurholt, sisters and brother Ann Christine, Hans-Eric and Ingrid Ellen, invoked the tradition of standing tall and telling the family story in pride, remembering magic moments and some less so, of their father, pre-deceased by their younger brother John Frederick. This 'telling' involved welcomed interjections at certain moments by neighbors, friends and family in the audience, laced with the occasional singing of a song of Norway by the girls. I had my opportunity to contribute my memory of 'the man', the neighborhood legend, followed by Sheldon O'Connor telling of his 'son-in-law' experience marrying into the family through his wife Ingrid Ellen.

This truly was a celebration. I learned something here. I learned how I would like it to be for my parents when it is their turn, rather than something terrible and mournful to something natural and to be honored with grace, courage and acceptance.

We who graduated Billings back in the seventies are right in the 'sandwich generation' between our children and our longer living parents and our turn is coming.

This experience of passing gave me a new vision of 'this time of life' and death, a passing on of tradition; the final act as the recognition and acceptance of one's family traditions and rituals whether of Norway or anywhere else.

A person's passing, in this case not an end, but rather, a continuance of family strengths and the acceptance of certain family weaknesses to be worked on and the commitment to go on and live our lives with the lessons learned and re-learned from our memories of those who gave us life and came before.

The family did him proud this day. As a neighbor to Per Ivar Gurholt, acquaintance of the family-perhaps (and I hope) even friend, I realized how the sisters and brothers Gurholt came to acquire such dynamism.

Skoal!

A New Blog

"Les McConnell -Not Always In Plain Sight" at http://asisabove.blogspot.com

While this blog site you are reading right now is oriented towards Chateauguay, things pertaining to the high-school life that took place years ago and even sometimes today and releated to some degree to what used to be Chateauguay High and then HSBillings, I have begun a new blog that has to do with my thought processes on other topics ranging from my observations on life and people, through to providing the inside story on how you can save money or even make money through processes I have learned in the world of investment.

The idea is to focus on something of interest while using the KISS principle 'keep it simple stupid'; which is not to say I 'dumb-down' the topic, but I just try to keep the language to the point.

I will write with an eye to explaining certain things in the world of investment which sometimes can be even complicated when reading about in the newspaper. But then newspapers are written by reporters and not people necessarily in the field. But then there are some who are in the field that do write too.

The new blog 'In Plain Sight' will answer questions in an easy way which will sometimes cause you to ask- how come they don't teach this in school? - or why didn't they?

Of course some of these concepts are taught in private schools, but that is another topic.

I am still going to write here- about all kinds of things, but I am just informing you of my new blog which will allow me to go outside the field of 'Chateauguay and High-School' to an area which is my passion in life and how I make my living.

I am an advisor in investment and finance. I endeavour to teach my clients what they need to know to become independant of 'having' to work to survive and make a shift to selecting an activity which they would like to spend their 'life moments' on which may not pay, since their investment struture will pay them now (passive income). On the other hand these activities might also pay quite well. At any rate this new blog allows me scope go beyond that which I stick to in this blog and I hope you will investigate it from time to time.
Again the link is http://asisabove.blogspot.com/.

Les

DEEP SLEEP!

Writing this blog can have some interesting results.

You will notice that occasionally I'll toss into the mix, a thought or two about a product or tool that helps me in life.

Months ago I wrote about one of these. Jane and I are cat owners, or rather, the cats own us, something like Rick Rankin and his wife, who are loyal servants to their to their Shelty Collies.

I am the assigned pooper scooper, -yes my lot in life. As such I am always looking for systems that will make this task easier. A while back, I wrote about the LitterLockerII system which has made this task far easier and even pleseant!

As a result of that entry, one of my regular readers sent an e-mail asking for more about this product and as a concequence, we developed a correspondance, which led to another blog point.

One of the interesting things about corresponding is that I also find out about patterns of existence that tend to affect many of us at one time or another. In this case, the person keeps late hours due to insomnia.

Insominia can be a blessing or a curse, depending upon what you do with the quiet time. Back when I was afflicted with this condition, I found it great for writing yet beneath my writing effort was the constant yearning for blessed deep sleep.

Every night -for the most part, -even these days, I wake at around 3:45AM or 4:00AM. And I know why. I have a tendancey for nibbling things as I watch TV before I go to bed. As a consequence, there is a point in the digestive cycle which I later become aware of if I am lying down. This awareness gradaully pulls me out of REM sleep to 'light-just-beneath-the-surface' sleep and then I become totally awake and irritated.

I found an effective way to get back into the 'deep sleep' without taking prescribed pills and potions and also without staying up for two or three hours. Instead I get up for twenty minutes only and then get back into bed for a nice deep sleep.

One of the things I have maintained since the age of 18 is the practice of YOGA. From that practice I have selected 7 or 8 simple stretches that when employed with good breathing, will send me right back to sleep. They also do more than that, but the focus of this entry is to provide a solution that works (for me) to get a very heavy and satisfying sleep. I do not say it is guaranteed to work for you, but, -hey- you never know.

So, when I am rudely forced awake by a light internal itch in my intestines, I get up and walk down the hall to the living room so as not to wake anyone else. I unroll my mat and then begin. NEVER RUSH...

(And PLEASE PLEASE check with your Doctor before you try these)


(Position Stretch) PS1.

start/ Kneel on all fours, arms straight and shoulder width apart, keeping the back parallel to the floor, knees apart, directly under the hips, neck relaxed and face toward the floor.

next/ Slowly gently lower elbows as if bowing on your knees, but lift chin and head. Feel the slight tug stretch of the lower back and gently breathe in; -feel the air fill the bottom of the lungs and allow the filling to continue inflating to the the top of the lungs. Take your time. Do not

over-do it. Just enjoy the feel of the filling. Think "fresh air in".

next/ As you slowly allow the used air and toxins to flow gently out through your nostrils, straighten your elbows, gently lower your head so you are looking at your knees as you push your back arched upward in a cat stretch. Hold it there for a while; feel the stretch through the fiber, muscle and tissue as you complete the exhalation. Once the air has left the lower and upper chambers of your lungs begin to slowly breathe in again as you go back into the first position lowering your elbows. Think of the body as housing your own spark of divinity.

Repeat the sequence four or five times.
-------------------
PS2
Lie on your stomach. Face to the mat. (I use a mat since I don't want to breathe in any dust from the floor. I'm allergic to dust mites.)
Rest your hands flat down beside your shoulders, elbows aimed to the rear as if ready to push up.
Tops of feet flat on floor with toes pointing back.

Now, breathing gently into the bottom of the lungs, lift your chin and head slowly without strain, looking up and out to the wall where it joins the ceiling. Slowly push up the upper body with your hands, keeping your wrists and fore-arms on the floor providing support. Hold the breath for a second and feel the gentle pull on the small of the back. Hold this for a moment or two and then gently bring yourself face down again.

For those with good strong flexible backs, you may now do this again but instead of leaving the wrists and for-arms on the floor, push the upper body up and extend the arms so that they push the shoulders straight up off the floor and you are supported by your hands. Breathe deeply filling the lungs slowly and hold at the top of the position. Let the air out slowly and come back down. Rest for a few moments.
-------------------

PS3
Lie on you back.
Raise the arms over your head and reach as far back as you can without straining.
With you toes pointed up, jutt out your heels and have them also reach out as far as they can without straining.
While in this position, with one hand reach a little further while the heel on the same side should do the sam. Then change and allow the hand and heel on the other side to do the same. Do not strain, just slwoly do this and consciously enjoy the stretch.

Just do this for perhaps 4 - 6 deep breaths. Remember when breathing, to inhale slowly allowing the bottoms of your lungs to fill through to the top slowly. Try hold the breath for a few seconds once the lungs are full and then holding them empty for a few seconds before pulling in new air.
---------------
PS4

While still in the 'arms-outstretched' mode on your back, slowly raise up to sitting position with your arms now raised in the air to the ceiling.

Pause for a moment and think about bringing the arms and hands slowly down to grab hold of your ankles or calves - which ever is more comfortable, and in the same motion, allow your upper back and head to lower gently to face your thighs.

Pull gently with you hands so you attempt to bring your face and chest right down to the knees.

The challenge will be to try to keep the backs of the knees on the floor and legs straight without bending upward. Perfecting this comes with time, so don't be over ambitious. The key is to just do the stretch as best as possible.

Hold the position for a deep in and out breath. Allow your head to come up for a second and then pull yourself gently back down into the stretch and breath all the way in and fill up and out in same fashion. Let your head and chest come up again half way to sitting position. You'll find that there is some strain if you are not used to this, but pull yourself face down again to the knees.

When I do this stretch, I can actually feel and hear a small "crick" in the 'small' of my back, as if my back has been accumlating tension all day and storing it in the muscles and tendens along my spine and this suddenly releases the tension.
--------------------------
PS5
Come up into sitting position, back straight, top back of the head pulling skyward, legs out in front un-bent.
Lift the left leg over the right leg and plant the left foot on the floor toes aimed to the front.
With your right hand, reach over and gently hold of the back of the calf on your left leg.
To make this easier, with your left hand, reach back and supoort yourself by pressing the floor. You should now be facing your left and feeling the stretch of this 'twist' on your upper body.
Hold this for one or two deep full and slow breaths.

Now bring yourself back to the start, sitting with legs on the floor, face forward, back staight.
Now we equalize and bring the right foot over the left knee and plant the fight foot on the floor , toes pointed forward.
With your left hand, reach over and beside the right knee to hold the calf of the right leg.
With right hand, reach way back and and support yourself holding the floor. You should be faced to the the right in 'twist' position. Breathe deeply once or twice and then let go bringing yourself back to sitting position.
Breathe easy and deeply once or twice.
------------------------------------------
PS6
Now we are coming close to the end of the sequence, things get really easy.

Turn over again.
This time keeping your head,neck and trunk straight up, sit gently in kneeling position with the top of your feet on the floor, buttucks resting on the backs of your heels.

Next/ Bending from the hips, bring your face gently forward and down in front of your knees until the stomach and chest rest on the thighs and the forehead touches the floor in front of the knees as you exhale.As the body bends, slide the hands back. Relax the arms, tops resting on the floor on both sides, palms face up to the ceiling and fingers pointing behind. Do not lift the thighs or buttocks off the legs. Keep the arms close to the body. If you have a heavy frame, you can spread your knees spread apart a bit. If you feel some discomfort you might want to extend the arms above the head -shoulder width apart. If so, keep the plms on the floor and arms straight.
This is called the child pose. It is quite relaxing. Just stay in this position for a little (1-2 minutes) while enjoying your soft slow breathing. Definitely do not go beyond 5 minutes as it reduces circulation in the legs.

When you come out of this position inhale deeply as you come back to kneeling position.
----------------------
PS7

This is the final stretch position before going back to bed.

Lie face down once again with you hands face down beside your shoulders as if getting ready to do a 'push-up'. Keep the legs together and straight and relaxed.

Just think about what will come next... think about pushing up with the hands and arms and shoulders as you keep the head down, your feet curl under to eventually standing flat as you will lift your bum way up to be the highest point as you end up having your arms, shoulders and hands pushing up and stretching -supporting. Your backside will be the top of an upside-down 'V'. OK you have thought about it...

So- begin by pressing the feet to the floor so that the toes point forward to ward the hands. Straighten the arms pushing the buttocks high in the air. Bring the head between the arms and try to press the heels to the floor. To get the best inverted 'V' position you may have to walk your your hands back a little. Breathe deep and slow. There will be positive stress in this stretch, but just sustain the position for as long as you can without hurting yourself. It gets easier the more you do it in subsequent sessions..

In North American Yoga terminology, this pose is called the 'Downward Dog' or 'Downward Facing Dog'.
------------

Now the crowning part of the process.
Go back to bed.
Since I sleep on my side and stomach, I get back to that position.
Now, inhale slow and deep filling from the bottom of the lungs to the top.
Slowly -very slowly, let the air gradually empty, so the lungs are completely out of air. You'll actually feel your diaphragm. Breathe in deeply and slowly filling up again and repeat the emptying process allowing the impurities from your bloodstream to come out.

I do this 'diaphragmatic breathing' sequence perhaps five or six times, then allow myself to breathe normally. I just think about the deep cleansing breaths only, that is my only focus -nothing else. This is important. And then the normal slow relaxed breathing.
Then I am gone,- to the depths of the deep sleep pool.

(Again Please check with your doctor before you try any of these as your particular condition may not take so kindly to this!)

If you are interested in an audio of this you can record your own voice softly with soft back-ground music, or if you wish, send me an e-mail and we can discuss my sending you a recording of my voice doing the same. There will be a modest cost though for mailing etc. On mine will be some modest back-ground of the theory and practice of these forms as well as some of the other benefits derived from these and other positions.

Chateauguay & Cross Country Skiing

Chateaugauy has a thin blanket of snow today.

I think I just might get my skis and head over to the Parc Fernand Seguin for some cross country. There are 17 klm of trails now through the woods and over fields.

Where is this you ask? Oh that's right, Chateauguay has progressed and changed since your time.

You might remember West End?

Go across the green bridge to Rue Principal through to the new Highway "Rene Levesque" which connects to the new Route 30. You remember this roadway as the one to the right going to Woodlands and on to Beauharnois. If instead you take a left, you will come to the new big Hospital 'Anna Laberge' just beside the Leo Crepin Arena. Yes we have two arenas and a hospital these days plus a big library.

Anyway, the arena backs onto the woods which has miles of perfect cross country ski trails maintained by the city. Also they have built up a rather large hill for toboganning. There is also skating .

Before and Beyond - Chapter 1

Passing the frozen vegetables, she caught herself sigh.

It was one of those moments.

Thirty six years seemed to have passed as a dream. Even the dreaded flashes had come and gone. No more monthly episodes -what a relief. And she had her life, children who were older and on their own for the most part, a beautiful house in an enviable neighborhood and her husband - a good man.

She could not help be connected to her children. She loved them more than her life, but then, lately, she had begun to feel that loving anything more than her life was an easy achievement.

Her husband -typical. She knew he had gone behind her back. She knew that he was probably aware of her sensing his outside interests, but neither of them broached that territory. It was too late now wasn't it?

But that was not what tugged and burned within. No she had grown used to the idea of his infidelity as a possible playing card that could be used if she wanted but at a later date.

No. It was her life itself. It used to be so vibrant -as her startling beauty.

There was no hiding it. Her life was passing; not just her looks, crayon resemblances of what had once been reminding her and old friends she might bump into occasionally downtown. She could see their faces. They knew who she used to be way back then - when she had Him - back home when times were good and times were bad; good because of Him and bad because of her father. Mom understood, but her father-another Mediteranean, could not see past the myopic haze of his own world, one he felt he controlled.

"No daughter of mine is going to be allowed to have boyfriends that are not of my approval. Find a good boy whose parents come from the old country. Make your family proud. Don't bring shame upon us and upon yourself. It's not good enough to simply have a boyfriend, but you have to step out with one of them?" He screamed.

Tears welled up in his eyes. She had never seen her father this hurt or enraged. Even when he was angry before there was connection to her father. Oh there had been times, like after the school dance. The close call with the cigarette pack or the time when she had tried some Rum and they could smell it on her.

But this. He looked like he would have a heart attack.Normally Mom would be able to at least act as a buffer. But this time was different. Even she had retreated. And now her father saw her as an enemy. It would never be the same.

Ah,- but she had given in. She found a right man who, yes- was a 'hunk' and of the right blood and at first she was happy and even 'in love' for a while. He'd even taken her away from small town Quebec.

Those were times when she still looked into the future as one looks to the horizon and sees Emerald City. So much to look forward to, distracted by purchasing homes and having children and making the right friends. But all this had become, - ordinary. Now it seemed she only looked back - back to a time.

She reached for a frozen Lasagna. A tear fell off the tip of her nose into her shopping cart as she headed for the cash.

Standing in line she glanced at the magazines, trying hard to forget and push the moment back down. She looked around, sunshine out the front window and caught her breath, the world seemed to stop, her mouth became dry, as the shadow of the short dark stranger who -yet, was so familiar passed as if in slow motion. Was it the shape of his head? His walk? She had not seen his face. There was no need to. Her whole being knew.

A nice old lady was just entering the store, thinking of her list, 'Is it in my purse or my pocket? Where are my glasses?' all the while hoping the young men would pack her groceries right this time and not try to fit too much into two bags. Then out of nowhere, look of desperation and- something else, a younger woman in her forties or early fifties, actually ran, full tilt, knocking her purse startling her as she rushed by.

"But it's o.k. ," she thought.

"What else was in that look?

I know that look!"

" Yes - Hope."

Cathy Gulkin

There was this girl - no, a lady -no, a vision to my teenaged eyes -Yes, who seemed to walk on her own cloud. She was in her own world.

I would see her float by our house, her long coat, long long hair swaying in the breeze, her mind in thought or deep concentration, books held up to her chest.

"Wow. There goes Cathy!"

Sometimes I would run out of the house and catch up to her and try to think of something amusing to say. She would put up with me too. That's how gracious she was. She never let one down with a crash, just a lovely smile.

Later, I got to know her thoughts a little more in Cegep. We were all so sophisticated young men and women back then, discovering who and what we were -and were not, -by knocking our heads on things that life dished out.

Today she is in Toronto, a business woman, Editor of Motion Picture, Video and Telelvision,- Gemini Award winner no less.

She has maintained her focus, taken it to the next level, propels her ideals through the internet and her network and puts them forward, knowing that the six degrees of separation can be used to good and substantive ends.

Today Cathy is a person I am very pleased and proud to be associated with on a number of levels. She has been a good friend for more than 40 years. She is a model worth emulating.

Idle Subjective Conclusions on the Nature of Human Existence

And so.

Another round has been completed.
Another 365 days, multiplied by so many minutes and seconds.

And so -what?

Time does not pass in fact.
It goes through us.
We ingest it; consume it.

In the digesting of life 'time' through our being, we imbue it with meaning.
That is our true function, to give the universe multiple reflections and nano bursts of recognition of it's varied, refracted and wondrous kaleidoscopic being.

We are mere bubbles of limited existence gifted with the mirror of consciousness to be able to reflect back to the universe that time experience which is and has been ingested.

Our function is to appreciate each bite and moment, in short, be 'aware' or better yet - awake whether in life or dream. For all too soon we join back with the universal 'all', having had our turn to experience - Love, Pain -Life.

So, in the passing of the moments do not stop being sensitive to this function, this responsibility. Do not take experience for granted.

And remember, by honoring wife, husband, daughter, son, brother, sister, mother and father, friend or stranger - you honor the force, that is life.
And in our death, no matter how soon or late in the eternal day, the universe completes itself in it's cycle of conscious being once again.

Remember to be kind, compassionate.
Remember that no matter what you own or have, it is temporary and must be returned one way or another.

And so.

In this existence know that the highest form is to live consciously -in awareness- of the 'all' and and to act through appreciation and enjoyment of this; to be kind, that is, to shine the colour and light of our inner bit of the 'all' on others through dignity and respect of their same 'right' to miraculous existence.
There is no past, there is no future coming for us. There is only the eternal now, the tip of our own burning fuse of life, the length of which we cannot determine or know.

So make it count. Do not waste it.

And so.

A Special Day

Every day is a special day - I know.

Last week the exisitence of the special-ness of each moment became even more pronounced when my car slid off the road and into a rather steep and deep irrigation ditch. Yes. I was still in the car as it swerved and slid sideways, down, down, down... pushing through the soft topping of powder snow, to settle and sink beneath into the deep dark liquid mire.

I was on the diver's side, which became bottom. The passenger side stuck out above me. How very strange to be face to face with dark water, bubbles and loam peering aquarium-like, down through the side window in a quiet place, and be aware of the tricle in from the back seat area.

With the help of a man who climbed down onto the passenger side and hauled open the door upward, I was able to climb out. Tough choice though - do I leave behind my coffee still sealed tight, car keys, or business brief case. After all I only had two hands. It was time to reach one out to grab the hand of the man stooping precariously down to help me.

I live my life acutely aware of three sharp lines or planes that converge. One is the moment to moment 'woken' reality during the day; then, 'dream/symbolic' reality in sleep and finally 'sparkling moment' realities. These latter times are akin to finding a special shell on the beach, or looking into the eyes of my wife, son or daughter, or reading a poem that touches the soul, or singing with someone and encountering a harmony. They are otherwise called 'numinous' experiences since they have a transcendant element that channels your 'inner being' with the universal 'outer'. These occasions are kind of, sprinkled into the other two realities.

If you would like a very pure example of music that reminds me of this state, I would ask you to find some quiet time in order to listen to (HEAR/FEEL) the sound of Sweetfield Music by Sonja Ball and Roger Sarazin - their own music, not covers of other performers/artists... -
at WWW.myspace.com/sweetfieldmusic.

You will not be disappointed. Keep in mind that this place is where you would listen once to a song and decide if you might like to buy it. The first listen is free. My personal favorite is the song 'Sweetfield'.

Hold On I'm Commin'.mp4

Sonja Ball & Chain - Roger Sarazin and Sonja with their band last night at Burbon Street West Club doing covers -very nicely... but the best is yet to come. Soon they will be issuing their own cd with -if I am not mistaken, their own creations.

Circles and Wonder.mp4

Ladies & Gentlemen -Sonja Ball & Chain

A Shadow Known

I'm sitting on the stone benches between McClennen and Redpath Libraries at McGill, scribbling notes.

I glance up.

Coming from the Leacock Building is a familiar figure. Not the same but familiar. He is walking between two buddies, intent, as if a decision must be made. To be or not to be.

I recognise him now. He has lost much of his body weight, resembling more his brother Barry, lanky and tall; now older with two day growth on his face.

"He was always the darker of the two" I think to myself coversationally.

He passes by.
I stand and peer at his back.

I say out loud, " I remeber you."
There is a pause in his movement.

" I do know who you are."
He stops at this.

"I remember the pool."
He turns now and looks at me, unsure I am talking to him.
Perhaps I don't look the same. Surely I have grown so much older. After all I was only fourteen back then.

" You remember too, the days in the sun, and how you cut dolphin-like, in and out of the crystal flicker of the afternoon water, the momentum beats of your flutter kick, propelling you up and out ward, your browned bicepts slicing back down to complete a cycle of the butterfly."

He steps toward me now, unsure but with a look of wonder.

"Just fantastic you were to behold, muscles ripped in sunscreened definition, beads of water falling away as you gripped the diving board rail in prepartion. So golden in your moment of Speedo splendered contour."

He moved closer to me but now eyes closing, feeling the vision.

" Your mom and dad watched with pride, in their whites, over by Claire and Ken P. Your sister Sandra standing with her friends all watched you. Even your brother Barry had to pay attention. You were the epicentre of a summer life moment.

He held his hand to his brow. He was there living it now.

I walked to him, put my arm over his boney shoulder like a long lost pal.

" I know you recall the days horsing around with Chuck B., both of you chasing Linda P., the variety show nights - Hello Mudda, Hello Fawda, her I am in Camp Ranata, and the movies across the pool."

We walked and I spun the story of his memory through the eyes of little boy watching his bad-boy-devil- may-care hero from afar.

"And here you are- alive! You fooled them all! And they all said you died. But you are very much alive- in me you always will be.

The whole time he had not said a thing, but just held on to himself,
straining to ...
remember.

It was still dark.

Instinctively, I tried to swim back through the void, back to the world I had just been pulled from by my clock radio into this realm of darkness before the dawn.

There was a little groan at the foot of my bed. Elfin, one of the cats warned me in her own way not to disturb. I wondered for a bit if it was Saturday. No such luck. Ah yes - I recalled through the fog, the reason for waking so early- get to the city by 7:30 a.m.

How bloody uncivilized.

Proceeding from shower, shave and dressing, padding my way down the hall past empty bedrooms which used to house our children, loafers suspended by two fingers, ninja business dude still struggled to wake up, yet endeavouring to allow Jane and cats to continue sleeping.

Glancing at the mirror in the hall, everything seemed to be in order, hair in place -neither too long n'or too short, a dash of gray on the sides now, brown corduroy jacket reminiscent of grade seven, but on the man in the mirror, somewhat academic, not quite the financial advisor, but what the hell- I was off to a 'roadshow' not to see a client.

Today was to be TD Bank's turn at Place du Commerce in Old Montreal.

At least there were no patches on my elbows as some of my professors of thirty-five years ago- McGill U.

It seemed back then, irrespitive of the wear and tear of a given jacket, one had to have the required look offered up by patches on the elbows, somehow offsetting the mustaches, sideburns, long V Motown collars, wide leather belt and buckle with the 'just so'
worn-in desert boots emerging from stove-pipe Levi jeans. Ah- but that was then and this is now.

A 'roadshow'-. The word has always brought to mind a carney act; the snake-oil salesman mounts the steps, at the back of his wagon, extolling the vibrant virtue of a bottles blue glass elixir, held up delicately between digits, capturing the gleam of the sun, one dash melted shoe polish, to generous measure of spit and vinager, said to be sourced from a lost tomb beyond the veil of Isis, that of Queen Nephretiti herself.

But in today's financial industry, the 'road-show' is where manufacturer/suppliers of financial products from ETFs, Mutual Funds, Flow Through Shares, IPOs, and Insurance products gather advisors, planners, brokers -otherwise known as 'retailers' in one place, with the lure of a free breakfast or lunch offering their latest take on the markets while hinting at new and improved products in hopes that we will serve them up to our individual end user clients...people like you.

I let myself out into the cool November darkness, slipped into the welcoming embrace of heated leather seats. Do I listen to radio news and road conditions, or blast myself into consiousness via 'Brown Sugar' on the CD, or simply cruise along and try not to compete with the idiots vying for sumpemacy of the road? What shall it be? Accept the challenge of the 4 cylendar twits and zoom another twenty feet in traffic on the hybrid V6 magic carpet. Why spend more money on gas?

"Pace yourself, " I say out loud. "Don't even turn on the phone.- Cool. Let the fools go. You don't have to prove anything."

Ok. There's the underground parking . Pay the $15 and find a spot, ticket left on the dash. Leave the coat in the car, up the escalator to register, receive my plactic name tag and today's agenda. Ah! A deserted table. (I am a rock, I am an Island sing Simon & Garfunkle in my stereophonic mind...and an island never crys...good song) Sit -coffee -eggs- no bacon thanks, I'm off the meat and hopefully off the Lipitor.

And it begins - blah blah blah, the economy this, the market that, the fund managers -who I agree have done a damn fine job this past year, more coffee, good we're almost done, time to go...

Oh oh..someone approaching in peripheral range on my right, lift my head, adjust my glasses, it's ..WHOA!

"Don't she look good man!" exclaims my pre-ten o'clock investment adled mind.

Well, I had to wake up sometime.

Quick! Who is that- you know her.. my memory zaps back - way back.. to 'The Pit' just behind the family compounds near the lake at Ville de Lery. A thin attractive girl and her handsome sister watching me teach YMCA skiing as they rest elbows on their own ski poles.

"Well good morning Les - forgotten me already?"

Ah! Gail Goodfellow.

Look at her -little girl grown up, neat, trim form and quite professional - grown ever so effortlessly Fifth Form and charm into a natural grace and light. That smile, the eyes. Her mom and dad would have been so proud.

What a way to start the day.

This is one of the benefits of having stayed in Montreal.
One is always bumping into one's mirage montage past.

Summer at Thirteen
When I was 13, summer was crazy. I would wake up, wash, brush my teeth, get my white shorts and t-shirt on, slip downstairs for my white tennis shoes, grab a banana and head out. Dad would have already been up and gone to work at CN.

I would get on my bike and go - two or three miles off to the Heights from Seigniory Park to take my tennis lessons. Herbie Hart and Blair Watson were the teachers. Man, were they sleek in their style and grace.

I would compete with Tommy Gilbert. We were fairly even , but I knew inside he had more control, discipline and was somehow more able to hide his frustration and anger at his own mistakes. Tennis seems for the most part to be about one's own mistakes, similar to golf. While you play and compete against someone else, the real opponant is yourself.

I was older than Tommy by a couple of years; infact probably just a little shy of his sister's age. She played organ and piano at our church. She was pretty hot back then with her nubile presence, strawberry blond hair and that smile which curled just in time to highlight the twinkle in her eye. Their parents were pretty cool too. They played in the Sunshine Singers or somesuch band with Mrs. Kemp.

Two days a week I would spend late afternoons at Mrs. Kemp's house in the Terrace learning guitar..."3/4 beat, Down In The Valley , ...the vally so low, hang your head over, hear the wind blow.." C- G7- C-G7-C..." She was a lovely lady and wore her soul on her sleeve as many did in that church, Mr.Longley and others. Church...hmmm...never seemed much to do with transcendance. Ah well the music was nice.

Do you remember Gordie Kemp? That was her son. She had some daughters too (Karen & Brenda?). My sister Gaye hung out with one of them. Poor Mrs. Kemp. She died a year or so later.

That summer people from our highschool also died at the dam.
Death.
Life can be one long death or you go suddenly. People and things change.

But summer for a thirteen year old boy back then was crazy.
I discovered a girl who loved to laugh at 'the club', (The Seigniory Park Country Club) - where after tennis every day, I would consign myself to the sun, sparkling water and diving boards. We'd watch the antics of the older teenagers, Blake and Barry Jennings, Linda Perry, Anne Farmer, Sandie Mustill, Heather Bedard or the life guards. Leslie and Lynne Butler were always interesting to behold. But everyone had to watch out for the frolics of Chuck Baronovski. One just never knew what he was up to until it was too late, but impishly funny.

Of course there'd be can-opener competitions off the high board by the likes of Norman Larue, his brother Michel, Barry Kaye, Dave Poirier, Robin Hewitt and others, many of whom chose early morning race team training with Cameron Grout rather than doing the tennis thing. Ah yes- afternoons of Red, Green or striped Speedos and tans. To see Blake Jennings doing the butterfly pulsating through the lengths of the olympic pool was a treat. 'Like Young' TV show on Saturday was broadcast live over the TV back then. Jimmy Tapp of TV 12 could be found with his wife tending their child in the baby pool. The club was just where it was all happening that summer - Heather Bedard and David Cooney doing the shimmie! Wow! Things were just becoming HIP! The Haunted even played live 1-2-5, Jurgen Peters and gang.

I think my mind in the mornings at tennis was beginning to wander prematurely into afternoon delight...watching all those tanned bikini bodies striding by. No wonder Tommy had more discipline. His mind was on the game. I think my mind was drifting into another game. I would be humming a song called the 'Sugar Shack', thinking about how this girl minus her sister might like to join me in my tree house down Maple, in the Heights, in the field beside the Sumacs which divided the old farmer's field from the cemetary. She had such an infectious laugh which brimmed into a giggle, just fulll of character and life. I think she owns a fishing boat now. Out Rupert way? I wonder if she still has that giggle? Love is more attraction at 13. Love is more being captured by another's light. She had light. Such is memory.

Summer was crazy when I was 13.

Tout Va Bien

The night is lit by a phospherescent moon.

The ashphalt presses, imprinting my thin soled moccasins, soft and pliable worn treadless, perfect for tracking in the mid places between wood and field where the animals hold court. I hunt secret moments there, perfecting the slowest of silent motion.

This evening we make our way down Ashmore, still, after some 25 years, always towards the river at the end of the street. I think ever since Prince Rupert by the Skeena, I've been hooked on life by the water. Or, perhaps it's just been that way since Sea Scouts at St.Andrews in the Heights?

It's August and the levels are down. The warm stink of algae, exposed rock bed and dead sunfish waft along Rue de Salabery past the football field at St.Francis. But it's not bad, no it's even charming. Well, perhaps not so much charm, but dependable, as an old welcoming blanket of familiarity.

In the faster parts where the Heron stands guard studying runes delicately etched in ancient polished stone beneath the surface, seeking signs, omens, of that which has passed before and will never pass again, the flow of things known and unknown trickle and whisper, the secret just on the tip of the tongue. Still, so very still, he stands, calm, listening, -hearing the river's mantram, at one with the flow where his eternal present melts a visible future into eternal escaping distant past, memory- an illusion to allow some peace before certain end.

The song by Beau Domage plays in my mind - 'Harmonie Du Soir A Chateauguay', Les pieds pendants au bout du quai,...La riviere joue l'harmonica, Les mouches a feu font des folies...', what a lovely tune, the soul of Chateauguay.

If you ever have a chance to come back to Quebec, Montreal, to really explore, not as a tourist, but as a cultural voyeur, go to Rue St.Denis and sit in a cafe, not in front, but find one with an interior court yard and yearn to recall the words left behind in faded books, the code that opens the door to that other solitude within our cultural looking glass. You might hear strains of 'Ginette' -the song of a young quiet man whose soul is opended to the maigic of the night by a dancer "...avec tes seins pis tes souliers a talons hauts...".

Ah! Surely I will die an old man in this Province, smiling as the sun tries in vain to kiss the moon.