Monday Music Appreciation #9 -- The Davis Concert Organ and Nathaniel Gumbs

I've never really been a fan of organ music -- until now. As someone who grew up after church music was "modernized," I always found the dirgy stuff played at church was depressing, and the only time our church organist, Joe Rolheiser, made me happy was when he sometimes played a rollicking version of It's a Small World after mass ended. In days when applause in church was unheard of, we all applauded when he finished; he was that good!

Last week, my wonderful niece, Charlotte, made me into a definite organ music convert. She took me to hear Dr. Nathaniel Gumbs play the Davis Concert Organ at the Winspear Centre for music (where she and I both work), and I'm already looking forward to hearing that organ played solo once again.

The Davis Concert organ is a wonder in itself. It has 6,551 pipes that make more than that many different sounds. Remember Nimrod from my moodling on Elgar back in March? It also sounds beautiful on the organ. 

I never knew a concert organ could have bells and trumpets and soft harp-like tones. Here's a little video that kind of blew me away -- I had no idea the organ took up so much space behind the concert hall's back walls!

And Nathaniel Gumbs is a wonder, too. At Thursday's concert, his hands flew over the keyboards and his feet flew on the pedal board, even though he's recovering from an injury that messed up his ability to play a more complicated Bach piece. Charlotte was telling me that he taught himself to play piano, then started to sneak into churches to learn how to play the organ, too, and eventually got a doctorate. 

Dr. Gumbs is currently director of Chapel Music at Yale University, and holds posts in a few other places as well. In the video below, he plays the finale from Sonata No. 1 by Florence Price, an African American composer whose works were almost lost through neglect. It's a powerful piece, and I'm so glad he played it to show off the Davis Concert organ last week, and for the making of this video. I'm so grateful to Charlotte for taking me (still on crutches at the time) to hear him play live. Char, the next organ concert is on me!

Please enjoy Sonata No. 1 as your music appreciation for today. It's worth wondering at.

Ode to a childhood home

My wonderful parents recently made the decision to move to a home more suited to their needs, and their home of 49 years officially received its SOLD sign on Saturday morning. 

It's a momentous occasion for our family, and I sat down to moodle on the good karma of this place just over a month ago. Re-reading what I wrote today, I barely had to change a word (but Dad wanted baseball and bunnock games in there, and Mom wanted Ante-I-over somewhere...) 

Ninety-nine twenty-seven,

you've been the meaning of "home"

for almost half a century.

And what a beloved place you have been --

a place of comfort and joy,

of games and fun,

of laughter and tears,

of celebrations and challenges.

Your big old Mayday tree in the backyard

where we set up skipping ropes 

to ferry messages via ice cream pail

from one trunk to the next

(and where I once got stuck),

and your Snoopy and Woodstock playhouse

that Marjorie and Elizabeth 

decorated before we came,

always full of spiders

or neighbourhood boys

that we didn't like.

Your proximity to the school across the street

so early mornings didn't have to be 

quite so early.

The backyard tent 

built over your umbrella clothesline

and the dress-up clothes fashion shows

that entertained us on summer afternoons.

Slinkies walking down your stairs,

"hospital" played in your attic,

a "passion play"

complete with thunder and lightning

(when Jesus died)

enacted by puppets 

behind your basement bar.

Oh, and the school hamster who escaped

(don't panic, DON'T tell Mom!)

and somehow squeezed under it

to be discovered in the corner of a keepsake box,

happily munching a saved school report.

Ping-Pong in your rec room

with Dad, 

who played left-handed

(until we beat him),

card games around your dining table

with all the cousins at Christmas,

and watching The Wonderful World of Disney 

in your living room on Sunday nights.

Piano lessons from a neighbourhood babysitter,

twelve-string guitar songs floating down

from your pink and purple bedrooms,

Study No. 6 ringing through you

over and over and over,

til Mom sighed with pleasure.

One of your rooms full 

(every wall)

of Edmonton Oilers newspaper highlights

painstakingly cut out of

The Edmonton Journal.

Renovations...

and your new family room

full of light.

Baseball and Bunnock games

across your street

and over the schoolyard fence

on which more than one of us

ripped our pants.

The sound of the adding machine

balancing the books for the business,

computer games,

and term papers being typed

in your basement office.

A boarder who didn't stay.

Birthday parties,

youth group gatherings,

graduations, 

and meetings of all kinds.

A first kiss for a future husband

on your front step,

and a wedding's second day party

in your newly built garage.

Campers and trailers 

of various sizes and shapes

parked in your back yard.

New babies

and doting grandparents

building couch cushion forts

for them to crawl through

as they grew.

Your dress up clothes

for another generation,

and costume jewelry besides.

Your huge piles of raked leaves

into which Grandpa

threw his grandchildren

over and over again.

Church music practices

in your front room

once a month

(turn up that bass, Aaron!)

Your Harry Potter party,

complete with costumes

and Grandma's creations --

chocolate marshmallow frogs!

Wild games of ante-I-over

with tennis balls flying over your garage

and leaving marks on your sunroom windows!

Running freshly cut homemade noodles

up and down your stairs

and all over the house

to dry on your beds.

Your much-loved sing songs --

King of the Road 

and Darktown Strutter's Ball

(turn up that bass, Aaron!),

bellowing 'Enery the Eighth I am, I am

or softly singing

Love Can Build a Bridge

with forty of our favourite people

(a few different ones every time).

Lots of splashing in your heated birdbath

and Grandma helping a grandchild

to rescue a bird 

who froze to your chain-link fence

one very cold day.

Surprise kids' art

and handprints

on your walls 

near the treadmill.

Kartoffel und gleis,

chicken noodle soup,

Christmas dinners and Easter suppers.

Playing Christmas game gifts, setting puzzles,

and watching 

Bing, Danny, Rosemary and Vera-Ellen

in White Christmas

every year.

Visiting through your window screen

or sitting around your firepit 

properly distanced

during Covid times.

A little black dog chewing pork bones

or napping

on your back rug

during coffee visits.

The company of so many

friends and relatives, 

and Uncle Fred sleeping

in his favourite bed.

And now it's time,

sad as we are to say goodbye,

for us to let you go

so another family can enjoy you.

Just looking at you,

ninety-nine twenty-seven,

they'll never know

how much good karma

is in your bones 

and in our hearts.

Thanks for the memories!

The pear tree blooms again

We are keeping our fingers crossed. After really cutting our beloved pear tree back last year because of fire blight, we weren't sure she would survive. This week she has shown her usual beauty, and we are keeping our fingers crossed, offering a bit of extra compost and deep watering her roots in the hope that she'll share with us a few more seasons of shade and tasty pears.

She has been a gift all her life, and we will do our best to treat her gently for as long as she's with us.

Things I take for granted

There are too many things I take for granted. And for me, walking is a big one.

There are too many things I take for granted. And walking is a big one!

I'm realizing it because I'm not walking today. At work yesterday afternoon, I misstepped on a dark flight of stairs and heard a bone in my foot crack. Six hours later the emergency doctor confirmed that I fractured my fifth metatarsal bone, and that I need to stay off it for two weeks.

Today I'm thinking about yesterday's early morning walk with Button-dog, who has been staying with us for the past two weeks. I'm remembering my dash after the bus that I nearly missed. I'm recalling the dry city street smell -- that made me think of the Champs Elysees in Paris for some reason -- as I strolled through downtown to get to the Francis Winspear Centre for Music.

I'm recalling climbing the stairs to the Upper Circle of the concert hall, and standing around chatting with my usher colleagues about the school children coming for the concert. And I'm wishing I hadn't allowed myself to be distracted by a flash on my closed circuit radio as I returned to the darkened chamber, where I had only four patrons who were counting on my help for the planned fire drill at the end of the show (which went well, though I only ended up watching it from a wheelchair parked next to the building).

Today I am crutching rather than walking, asking my very good neighbour to please get the lily beetles off the martagon lily that I can see from where I sit with my foot on ice, and marveling once again how life changes in a split second.

As life changes go, this isn't a serious one. I have to keep my weight off my foot for two weeks, hobble around in an air boot for another four, and I should be fine after that. I might even get to work a shift or two yet before the Winspear closes for the summer. I'll be slow to plant the garden, the housework probably won't get done to my satisfaction for a bit, and Suzanna will have to help harden off the greenhouse plants and take Button on the morning walks I can't take for now.

But if I was totally dependent on an income that a broken foot would prevent me from earning, or if something worse had happened to me health-wise, I wouldn't even be sitting here moodling about how I usually take doing so many things for granted.

It seems that sometimes my life needs to be tripped up so that I can be truly grateful for all that is gifted to me by our loving Creator. Cracked metatarsals, though frustrating, can be a blessing in disguise, especially since I'm blessed to be able to take the time needed to recover.

Today I'm praying for all those who have no choice but to work through their health crises. God, bless them, heal them, and give them the support of people who help and care.

+Amen.

Music Appreciation Monday #8 -- Ode to Joy

Beethoven was completely deaf by the time his ninth and final symphony was given to the world, which makes it all the more amazing. The fact that he wrote it simply because he wanted to lift the world up to receive joy, to encourage people to live in harmony and love is also noteworthy -- he composed it not for money or fame or legacy or any other number of reasons that motivated the composters of his time. He did it because it simply needed to be done.

This past week, I was able to hear it twice at the Winspear Centre for Music where I work, and the 150 voices of the 6 combined choirs gave me goosebumps and brought me to tears simultaneously. It's an incredible piece of music, carrying a whole lot of unifying sentiment.

Of course, the 67 or so minutes of Beethoven's 9th deserves to be heard in its entirety to get the full impact of the emotion and joy it can carry. But here's just the choral part of it, for your enjoyment. And especially for Eleanor, who is, perhaps, my most regular Monday music appreciator.

Enjoy!

What are you voting for?

Yesterday, one block north of
the downtown Police Station

The writ dropped today, and Albertans are facing another election. I'm not going to get into partisan politics here, but I do want to bring my readers' attention to a critical issue to consider when voting.

Or maybe you've already noticed there's a housing emergency going on. If you spend any time in downtown Edmonton, or walk our river valleys at all, you'll know that our homeless population has been growing.

And I can't tell you how many conversations I've had with inner city friends about landlords jacking up their rents because their buildings need a lot of work -- and the work doesn't get done.

What you might not know is that, up until about 30 years ago, the provincial government did an excellent job creating good, affordable housing so that people didn't have to live outside or in tumble-down tenements. 

Unfortunately, our politicians' priorities shifted, and public money hasn't been spent on affordable housing since the late 80s. In fact, some social housing has been sold off to private interests who don't take care of it. As a result, affordable housing is scarce, and suddenly, you don't have to watch the news to see the resultant increase in community safety concerns or physical and mental health issues in many of our neighbourhoods across the province!

What is someone like Yolande supposed to do? She's a young mom with two school-aged kids, and she's fled a situation of domestic violence. Her little family is now safe in a small apartment, but her rent costs more than half her wages, so she falls short of money for food, utilities and other family expenses every month. She called our local conference of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul (SSVP) for help, but if she had affordable housing, she wouldn't be scrambling to pay her bills and feed her kids all the time.

Yolande’s family is only one of an estimated 35,000 households in Edmonton alone who are in core housing need, meaning that they are paying more than 30% of their incomes to rent their homes, many of which are in poor condition, or do not meet their space or accessibility needs.  And volunteers with SSVP and other agencies meet many seniors and people with long-term illness or disabilities who are in that same boat. 

The City of Edmonton estimates that core housing need will rise to 50,000 households by 2030 unless our provincial government returns to building affordable housing the way it used to, up until the 1980’s.

This is a housing emergency! And it's time to do something about it! 

The election will happen on May 29th. I usually don't know what to say to the electoral candidates who come to my door. But for the past couple of weeks, I've been sharing 3 questions that anyone can ask our wanna-be-politicians:

1.   Too many Albertans struggle to feed their families each month because their rent costs more than 30% of their income. How will you address the affordable housing crisis?

2.   The Alberta Government has not made significant investments in affordable housing in the last 30 years. An estimated investment of $600 million per year for the next 10 years is needed simply to catch up with present needs. Will you support this? Why or why not?

(Maria's note: $600 billion is a drop in the budget bucket of a province that had a $12.3 billion surplus in 2022 alone. For more information on where I got this estimate, see www.ecohh.ca)

3.   Appropriate housing is a necessary solution for homelessness. How will you support this goal? 

If enough of us ask candidates these kinds of questions, leaders are more likely to take notice of the public's concern, and hopefully the housing crisis can be averted. Every question on the doorstep has an impact. Believe it!

So copy, paste, and keep these questions at your door for when electoral candidates come to visit. We can stand up for those in need before the housing emergency gets even worse. 

It's worth asking a few questions, no question!

Keb Mo' sings a song for Earth Day

I missed posting anything about Earth Day last weekend, though I was very aware of it for a lot of different reasons. Every day should be Earth Day, really, so it's not to late to share our feelings about our wonderful planet in different ways.

Here's Keb Mo's way. If you've never run into him before, I recommend having a listen to his other music. My best pal, Cathy, introduced me to him some years ago through his song, God Trying to Get Your Attention, and I was hooked.

But his Earth Day song this year is something else altogether, backed up with so many images of earth's beauty and her struggle against single-use plastic. I love the images of the kids doing what they can to make a difference, and though we have a long way to go, the song is brimming with hope. Enjoy!

A different kind of Sunday reflection

This morning at our Sunday service at Community of Emmanuel in the Inner City, Pastor Ruth spoke about how the downhearted followers of Jesus must have felt on the road to Emmaus, and how they were puzzled by the Stranger who walked with them, and surprised when he broke the bread.

Then, instead of singing as he usually does, Farley simply recited the words to Leonard Cohen's Anthem, and his voice cracked with emotion every time he got to the words, "there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." It was the perfect touch for today's remembrance of the Emmaus event. Those two disciples were stumbling along in the darkness after good Friday, but the Light found them on the road.

I leave you with Mr. Cohen's song. I'm so grateful he penned those words, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.

Simple Suggestion #287 -- How to make kefir

Make what?

Kefir (pronounced kee-FEAR) is a yogurt like milk drink, slightly fermented, made with kefir grains and full of probiotics, or so I'm told. I used to make yogurt smoothies, but kefir is actually easier to make than yogurt, and I love how it tastes blended with a banana, some frozen berries from last summer, and a tablespoon of peanut butter. The banana gives it enough sweetness, the berries a bit of tang, and I just love peanut butter for the sake of peanut butter. Kefir smoothies are my daily breakfast, quick, easy, and nutritious, with the bonus of being my daily dose of calcium.

I received my first kefir culture from my L'Arche friend, Honey, in a small jar, and kept it going for probably ten years -- until the day Shadow-dog died, actually, when I used up all of my culture because I was distracted by losing him.

Running out of kefir that way gave me the opportunity to try to make it from a store-bought culture, as Honey no longer uses kefir, and I don't know anyone else who does. So I bought a bottle of it from a grocery store, the least expensive variety, and used some of it to try to make more. And voila, it worked!

Why make my own kefir? Why make my own anything? Because it cuts out packaging that clogs our landfills. If I can grow or bake or somehow make something from scratch, you can bet there will be less garbage left over. And if I'm about living simply and leaving less of a footprint on our planet, weekly plastic kefir jugs are not the way to go. It's also generally much less expensive to make things from scratch. I think I paid $6.99 for less than a litre of kefir in a plastic bottle. I can make it for under half that!

So this is how it works. For my first new batch of kefir, I filled about a quarter of my glass quart jar (pictured above) with store-bought culture and filled it the rest of the way with milk. Then I covered it with a small piece of flannel (in case of little fungus gnats who sometimes live in my house and like to unsuccessfully go for a swim). I set it on a sunless kitchen shelf, and waited for it to thicken. The first time, it took two overnights, and I stirred it to be sure it was activated when it didn't thicken quite as quickly as I expected. (Good trick to remember).

For my second batch, the thickness of the first batch convinced me that I could probably get away with using less culture, but just to be on the safe side, I used the same trick, and it thickened over night. For my third batch, I only used a table spoon of culture. It didn't thicken up over night, so I stirred it (that trick again) and waited a second night. Sometimes thickening can be slow, perhaps because the tablespoon of culture I use doesn't hold enough kefir grains, but I just give it a stir and another night on the shelf. Once it has thickened, I keep it in my fridge.

If you've never tried kefir and live in my neighbourhood, I'm happy to share some culture to save a friend from buying a single-use plastic bottle. For that matter, I'd be delighted to make you a kefir smoothie anytime!

Everyone and everything will rise again

The last month or two have been really tough. Losing my friend Arthur, and my little walking buddy, Shadow-dog -- as well as a few friends I didn't moodle about -- has me thinking a lot about death... and resurrection. My friend Ruth, who died on Easter Sunday morning six years ago, is also on my mind.

There's a lot of death happening in the world right now simply because death happens, but also because we human beings seem to think we're in charge -- and cause death without thinking. I guess too many of us have been playing God. The problem with putting ourselves in charge instead of God is that we don't see the whole picture for all of creation, and too often we miss the small but critical details. Like I didn't notice, until this morning, the greening of my periwinkle vine...

The hope that comes with Easter is that the risen Christ, the anointed one, has anointed all of creation with him. Everyone and everything is holy, and it all will rise again with him, no matter how bad we mess up. Of course, the trick is not to wait until the resurrection on the "last day," but to change our hearts and start repairing our messes now!

Once we internalize that everyone and everything is holy, and start living like we believe everyone and everything are holy, prejudice, violence, war -- and the rest of the pestilences that plague us as a human race -- fall apart. Resurrection becomes the norm, and positive, grassroots changes start to happen, and everything rises. Or at least that's what I'm hoping, praying, and working for.

In the meantime, I'm thinking about places where injustice, broken ecosystems, war, and disaster presently have the upper hand, and I'm remembering the friends I've lost. I'm imagining all the world, past, present, and future, coming together, and becoming fully aware of our holiness and the sacredness of all creation. Now is the time to start working to change our hearts and our world, so we can all, together, reclaim our ability to wave our hands, stomp our feet, and sing a lot of alleluias as we work so that everyone and everything can rise again before that "last day". 

This song, We Will Rise Again, written by Ben Keyes and sung by folk acoustic trio, Ordinary Time, is my theme song for this Easter Sunday. Roll that stone away from us, O God, and help us all to change our hearts and do what needs to be done!

Enjoy!

Bees and coffee grounds

Don't throw away those coffee grounds! They compost easily... and bees like them too (apparently, caffeine affects bees like it affects humans, giving a bit more edgy energy).

My compost pile is buzzing with happy little bees today! Has anyone else had this experience?

Monday Music Appreciation #7 -- for Holy Week

I wish I could post the slightly funky, bluesy Palm Sunday song that Farley sang yesterday for the Community of Emmanuel, but I can't find it online because I can't quite remember the words, and he couldn't remember where he learned it either. It was a sweet recounting of the story of Palm Sunday and the week following, and how everyone there was wondering who this Jesus was -- a madman, or the one they'd been waiting for. If you recall a song like that, please let me know!

Instead, I'll leave you something a bit more sublime for this Holy Week, Lift Thine Eyes from Mendelssohn's Elijah, a grand retelling of the biblical story of the prophet, which I heard for the first time on Friday night, sung by the Richard Eaton Singers, accompanied by the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra. The women of RES gave me goosebumps -- they started so softly, and built into something really beautiful.

The version below is a "covid version" that brought together women from different eras of the Seattle Girls Choir. Enjoy!

If you're in the neighbourhood...

Please consider this an invitation to join us for these two in-person Good Friday events, the first since the pandemic began: 

The Outdoor Way of the Cross is an ecumenical prayer event marking the suffering and death of Jesus. It is a time to reflect on how the gospel values of Jesus apply to individual and public life today. This year's theme is based on Micah 6:8 -- "And what does God require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." 

People of all faith traditions are welcome. The 2 km walk is reasonable for most ages and ability levels. Free street parking is available near the start location. Light refreshments will be provided at Hope Mission after the final station. 

For more information, search "Good Friday Outdoor Way of the Cross Edmonton," or use this link.

Good Friday Prayer Around the Cross is an ecumenical and musical evening of meditation with scripture, silence, and the songs of the Taizé Community, much like what happens in the Church of Reconciliation in Taizé, France, every Friday evening. It's an opportunity to allow beautiful, meditative music to wash over us and bring us to peace, to remember that Christ knows what it is to be human, and to understand that God accompanies each of us in our own struggles as we look forward to resurrection for ourselves and all of creation.

See https://www.facebook.com/events/1329978891255015

These are two of my favourite events of the year. I hope you can join us! Bring friends.

Monday Music Appreciation #6 -- You're Amazing!

For this Music Appreciation Monday, here's something completely different. Martin Kerr is a local guy. And he's pretty amazing himself. He performed this at the Winspear about a year before I started working there.

Unfortunately, I'm away from my computer and my smartphone isn't smart enough to let me embed the video like I usually do, but trust me, the link below is worth a look, and I'll be sure to fix things when I get home from a wee mountain break with my sisters.

This is a song and video that I really like, and Martin was recently tagged in a video of a carload of folks bopping along to this tune somewhere in Kenya, so you might say it has universal appeal!

 Enjoy! 

Lazarus again

It's my favourite Sunday of Lent, Lazarus Sunday. But this year, as I think about Lazarus, who, for me, is forever linked to my friend Richard from L'Arche, the story is even more poignant.  

Richard (whose pseudonym was Harry in my other Lazarus Sunday posts) died unexpectedly a few months ago, leaving a gaping hole for those of us who loved him, but most especially for Hiro, our Japanese assistant who was Richard's most faithful and best friend. 

I spoke with Hiro recently, and he's still grieving, a sure sign of his love for Richard.

So today's repost of the L'Arche version of the Lazarus story is for Hiro. When Hiro reaches Resurrection and leaves his tomb, Richard will rush to meet him, unbind him from his sorrows, and they will both go free.

Please click here to revisit the story of Lazarus as some people in L'Arche know it. Many thanks to my friend, Carmel, for bringing it to my attention some years ago.

Blessings on this Lazarus Sunday.

An uncomplicated friendship -- a tribute to Mr. Ski

Mr. Ski explains a game

Mr. Ski was a one-of-a-kind friend in my life, for many reasons. His nickname among his students was an apt moniker for a Phys. Ed. and Grade 5 teacher. He was the only male teacher in St. A's elementary school when I was there, and a guy that the kids really looked up to. Though he didn't say it in so many words, he loved his students, and they knew it, which is how a teacher truly makes a difference in the lives of those entrusted to him.

I looked up to Arthur (his real name), too. When I began my teaching career in small town Alberta, Art was the guy who thought to check up on me during my second week in the classroom. He punched me on the arm, asking, "Are you gonna make it, Rookie?" and when my eyes filled with tears because of his empathy and kindness, he immediately gave me the fatherly bear hug that I needed. "You Prediger kids are huggy sorts," he joked. That was the moment when I realized that he was a kindred spirit.

When my grandpa died unexpectedly a couple of weeks later and the phone call came to me at school just before my students arrived, Art found me in my classroom to listen to a different set of tears. He hugged me again, and shared about how he'd lost his dad when he was young. I appreciated his words more than he knew. 

Art had 11 years of teaching experience beyond mine, and became the person I turned to for advice and help. He taught my Grade 3 or 4 Phys. Ed. classes and I taught his Grade 5 Religion program. He sat on the couch in the staff room during recesses and lunch time, and I sat with him, as it was in close proximity to the fridge and my mid-morning diabetic snack. Once I asked him why he chose to sit there instead of at the long staff table, and he said, "To avoid the politics." 

He became a mentor, big brother, and best friend, though I didn't notice it happening at the time. I credit him now with keeping me on an even keel through a particularly tough second year of teaching. He always seemed to know when I needed to get some frustration or other out of my system, leaning on the doorframe of my classroom, encouraging me. He picked up on the times when an invitation to hang out with his wife, Jan, and their young kids, would be most appreciated. He consistently modelled how to treat students with love.

At the end of my tough second year of teaching, Art told me that he was planning to take a year's sabbatical to be Kindergarten Dad for his youngest, and I was suddenly faced with an even tougher third school year without him. That's when I began to realize how much his friendship/mentorship meant to me, and my teaching journal from those days is filled with reflections about how much I would miss him in the year ahead. The students that were coming to me were going to be challenging, to put it mildly, and Art wouldn't be there to crack jokes to distract from ongoing staff politics.

The summer solstice evening just before Art's sabbatical is imprinted in my memory. I was ending the school year with a terrible case of laryngitis, and stayed in my classroom quite late to finish report cards. Art was cleaning out his room for his sabbatical leave. Somehow, we ended up walking from the school to the local 7-11 for throat lozenges, report card stickers and two cans of diet coke, and ended up taking a long walk in the dusky evening, discussing my recent engagement and long distance relationship, and those ever present staffroom politics. By the time we got back to school, we'd set the world straight. Art was that kind of friend.

The next day, I was still voiceless, tired and somewhat tearful, wondering how I would manage without Art at school for the next year. That's when he surprised me by telling me that we were kindred spirits in more ways than I knew. Well, he didn't exactly tell me, but for the next day or two he kept throwing hints my way, his eyes twinkling and his grin mischievous... until, on his last day at St. A's, I turned to him in shock as it finally dawned on me -- "You have Type 1 diabetes too??!!!!"

Two years of sitting together eating our recess snacks on the staff room couch, and it never once dawned on me. He ate healthy, but probably cheated on his diet as much as I did, without commenting on my misbehaviour. I do remember him pouring me some of his own fridge-stored apple juice one day when I complained of low blood sugars and feeling shaky. I wasn't the only one who didn't realize that he had Type 1 diabetes -- he never told anyone on staff because he'd had enough of being stigmatized when he was a kid. I'm not sure anyone but his family ever really knew.

But his "sweet secret" was also mine, and became a special bond of sorts between us. From then on we compared notes about our diabetes care. I survived my third year of teaching (though I'll admit, without Art there, I got sucked into staff politics and student misbehaviour and felt pretty burnt out by the end of the year). At the end of that year, I moved back to the city and got married, and somehow never did return to teaching. I had fun dancing with Art's kids at my wedding, and he took one of my favourite wedding pictures from that day.

Through the years, my friendship with Art continued, though phone calls were irregular and visits scarce, mostly because of distance. When he had his first heart attack, I learned about it from a mutual friend, and called Art. He got even more serious about looking after his diabetes then, and encouraged me to do the same, suggesting that I look into the "Edmonton Protocol" Islet Transplant Program at the University of Alberta. He applied, but didn't qualify, perhaps because he'd had diabetes too long, and they were looking for younger patients. He thought I should go for it, but I didn't want to jump through so many hoops, and the idea of taking anti-rejection drugs for the rest of my life held no appeal.

The last time I saw Art, he came for coffee and we had a really great visit about how he was spending his retirement, what his kids and mine were up to, an uncomplicated and loving conversation between two old friends. During these covid years, Lee and I have driven the road past Art and Jan's acreage a few times, but somehow I couldn't recognize the turn off. I thought of Art often, happy to imagine him kibbitzing with friends and neighbours, out on the golf course, or just hanging out with his wife, kids, and grandkids. I wish I'd phoned.

When I sent my New Year's letter this year, I certainly didn't expect Jan's response, telling me that she was sorry to realize that I hadn't heard that Art died last July. It was a shock to the system -- I wept on and off for the rest of the day. I'm broken-hearted that I missed his funeral, but more broken-hearted that I wasn't in touch more often in the last few years, and that such a wonderful friend who shared my "sweet secret" is gone from this world.

But believing in the "sweet hereafter," where I will see Art again, and expecting a joyous reunion when I get there, helps a lot. It's the only thing that does right now.

Art, you were a true gem, and ours was one of the most uncomplicated and loving friendships I never expected. Your warmth and kindness lives on in the hearts of all who knew you. I'm pretty sure there are dozens of kids for whom you were the closest thing they ever had to a loving dad, and that's huge! Thank you for the hugs, for being a kindred spirit, mentor, big brother, and best Ponoka friend. I will miss you until we meet again.

Monday Music Appreciation #5 -- Nimrod?

Have I mentioned that I love my job? Here comes more good music that I heard because of it.

The music below was written by Sir Edward Elgar and is just one piece of his 14 "Enigma variations" that he wrote to honour his wife and friends. The other variations evoke his friends' laughter or mannerisms, and one even tells a humorous story of a particular friend's bulldog falling into the river, climbing out, and shaking himself off, bells on his collar chiming.

But the Nimrod variation, so named for a music publisher friend who gave him valuable advice, is the variation that is probably best known, and loved by many people, myself included. I always thought Nimrod a disparaging name to call someone foolish, but turns out it's actually the name of a man in the bible (Genesis 10) who was a skillful hunter.

Be that as it may, it's also the title of a beautiful adagio! (See the fancy words I'm learning?)

Enjoy!

Monday Music Appreciation #4 -- Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana by Mascagni

Have I mentioned that I love my job?

I've heard this beautiful piece by Mascagni many times, and twice in the last week at a concert called The Power of the Orchestra, curated and conducted by Maestro Michael Stern. He gave a brief synopsis of the opera (which has its share of drama, lust, revenge, violence, and disaster) -- with this gorgeous "Easter Sunday Morning" moment of quiet before everything goes downhill for the characters of Cavalleria Rusticana.

I won't say more than that, I'll just offer Mascagni's Intermezzo as a poignant and heart-breakingly beautiful Monday moment of music appreciation. The power of the orchestra, indeed! Enjoy!

And Happy Birthday to Jay!

A tribute to a small black dog

After his gall bladder failed, bringing about a surgery from which recovery was too challenging, my best little walking buddy, Shadow-dog, died peacefully in my arms last night. He leaves a few family members and friends to miss him. He was ten years old.

I am smiling through my tears as I type this. If anyone ever had a good life (except for the last week or so), our "Little Bear" did. Regular readers know I've written dozens of moodlings relating to adventures with Shadow. He was a good boy, and we walked a few thousand kilometers together, through all kinds of weather. He made a lot of friends, too, being as cute as he was.

"Shadow of Zorro" (his pedigree name) was a much-longed-for pet by our youngest, Jay, who did a lot of research into hypoallergenic dogs, found a breeder of Havanese puppies, and wore us down until we agreed to Shadow being Jay's 13th birthday present. We first laid eyes on him when he was a two-week-old "peanut" and brought him home when he was 8 weeks old. 

Shadow proved to be a perfect name for him as he was often underfoot, and hard to see against the black back-entry doormat, where he whined to go outside. We are grateful to Jay for bringing a happy and cuddly little spirit into our life, though he had his occasional curmudgeon days, too.

Shadow, February 3rd

My husband Lee initially didn't want anything to do with our dog, but it didn't take long for Shadow to work his way into Lee's heart. They spent many evenings together in their favourite easy chair, Shadow chewing on pizzle sticks Lee held for him while reading, and Lee became Shadow's #1. 

Shadow loved garden cucumbers and carrots, fresh snow, chasing his tail, making the bed, laying in sunbeams, tearing around on "Accidental Beach" beside the river, picking cheerios out of the air, dancing for his favourite peanut butter pumpkin treats, and walking dirt paths through the river valley. He loved greeting people at the door with a chew stick (though he didn't really expect or want them to accept his "welcome gift"). He made us laugh often.

He never understood the concept of fetch, and often had to be cajoled into going for walks. Once outside, he pranced along happily, often chasing -- to the end of his leash -- after magpies, squirrels, or jack rabbits. He liked barking at the letter carrier and any other dogs passing our large front window. He came and asked to be lifted up to sit between my knees during my daily morning meditation time. 

Special thanks to Dr. Ferrera, who so gently helped us with his final journey last night -- we certainly didn't expect to lose him so soon. The house is too quiet now. The remnants of his belongings and food will be donated to help low-income folks with their pets, and he will be remembered with a small spring ritual, his ashes spread near the backyard cucumber patch and along his best-sniffed coyote trails in our river valley. 

Happy trails to you, dear little Shadow-boy. I will miss being greeted at the door by your joyful barks and waggy tail, and feeling your soft, soft fur when I scratched you under the chin and around the ears. I will always remember you. Go in peace, little friend.

The start of garden season

It started on about February 7th, as you can see. I planted geraniums, peppers, lobelia, basil, rosemary, and onion seeds, and three-and-a-half weeks'-worth of little plants are growing in my kitchen. In the next week or two I'll open our insulated greenhouse, set up a small thermostat-controlled heater, and move them out. But for now, they're thriving where they are, and I'm happy to watch them grow.