George Carlin did a show about stuff. I think it is brilliant.  He hits the nail on the head when he says, “My shit is stuff and your stuff is shit!”

I wish I had his take on when your shit, becomes my stuff.

Maybe I think about stuff too much, or maybe I’m sensitive after having to clear out my mothers hoard, but I don’t think I’m alone, in wondering about the stuff that belonged to a loved one who dies. What’s going to happen to it? Who’s going to get it? What exactly did they have and is it any good?

Now, I know stuff isn’t the memory, but it can trigger them. And being on the receiving end of someone’s stuff after they die, can be either a joy or a nightmare.

Going through my mom’s stuff was mostly a nightmare, but I had the opportunity to pick out some nice gems and memories as well. Not being the one who had to sort through Linda’s stuff; it was heartwarming when Frank sent me a necklace to remember her by.

Ken came home with a small box of stuff from his mom’s house. Tomi had kept his baby book and his first pair of shoes. She also kept all the letters and cards we had ever written her, but as far as stuff—stuff goes, she didn’t have a lot.

In sorting through the stuff she did have, Ken found a beautiful turquoise ring that he thought I might like. He doesn’t remember Tomi ever wearing it or know of any story that goes with it.

I love it and will think of Tomi when I wear it. I also know that when I am asked about it, I will say, this ring was in my mother-in-laws stuff.

Ken is home.
He is sick, exhausted, worn out, and snot is everywhere.
It is so good to see him!
He slept on the drive home from the airport, then crawled into bed as I unloaded the car. The night interrupted with hideous coughs and nose blows.
I sleep diagonal in the “cootie free” guest room.

All is almost right with our world!

___

PS… I have been informed by those in the know, that I am a terrible poet! To that, I say harumph..

Our local paper has a section called 10 Years Ago Today. I was going through some notes, and here is what I found from 10 years ago today!

March 29, 2002
I had the opportunity to spend the afternoon with Cheng-Men Ching oldest student, Ben Lo. He is a very animated 75 year old with a beautiful face full of expression. At age 20 he started learning Tai Chi because he was ill. Tai Chi helped him and made him strong. In 1999 he became ill again and received a liver transplant. I was in awe listening to him speak and tell Tai Chi stories, it was like sitting near grandpa as a child and asking again and again, “Tell me another one.”

I loved how Master Lo answered questions, especially when talking about other tai chi players. He would sit back in his chair, ponder his memory, and answer with “I have push hands with him” or “we have push hands.” It was his life’s habit to understand people through touch.

Fast forward 10 years…March 29, 2012
Ken’s coming home today.

My mom could say the oddest things and at times gave me some very interesting “motherly” advice. Some of it was horrible advice but once in a while she had a gem.

Like if I came to her with a childhood scrape, or mishap; if my feelings were hurt or my world was falling apart, she would sympathize with me, then share this wisdom.

She would promise me that in the future, on my wedding day, I wouldn’t even remember whatever it was that was bothering me that day. She was sure that the skinned knee, pimple on my chin, or the party I wasn’t invited to; whatever it was that was giving me such grief, she knew that all would be forgotten on the glorious day I was to be married.

Basically she was telling me, that whatever I was feeling at that moment, happy or sad, mad or glad, whatever I thought was such a big deal at the time, would pass. This was my mom’s way of teaching me about change.

Of course being a smart-ass, I proved her wrong. On my wedding day, I recounted several bumps, bruises, and broken hearts to her. Things she said I wouldn’t think of on my wedding day. Hah! (That ole, don’t think of a pink elephant trick!) And on that day she smiled at my wit, then gave me a little more advice, “Don’t be silly Jan, now go marry that man.”

Ken comes home tomorrow! It’s been a very long journey. When I came home from my mother’s funeral, I felt like I was coming back from Mars. Re-entry to earth was hard. I imagine it will be hard for Ken as well. As steady and strong as Ken is, re-claiming ones centre takes time.

I just know, it will be very good to be together again. We live well together. We will do our best to stay present to what is real. We will laugh when we are happy, cry when sadness takes over, we will tell stories, and we will take comfort in a mothers wisdom.

Everything changes.

There are very few computer games I play. But with Ken away, I find playing a quick game of suduko or solitaire not boring. And each day I practice math with flash cards. The math practice is futile — numbers are just jumble squiggles to me. In the end, I usually just look up the answers. I suppose that is cheating, but I don’t seem to mind.

I just started playing a Hangman game. You know the game with — — — — —, you guess letters and see if you can figure out the word before a stickman is hung and dies. Probably a grade 3 game. At first I couldn’t get any of the words and my guy was dying every time. But I persevered. I have a system, first I guess vowels, A, O, E, I and U in this order. (I never guess Y) Then M, N, S, T, R, B, D, F…. If the guy hangs, so be it.

Then it dawned on me that these are not games of chance. They have nothing to do with luck. So I put one letter up and I stopped and looked at the seven blank spaces with A as the second letter. I started thinking, making my brain work.

I know this sounds so bizarre, ridiculous and even a bit embarrassing to admit, but I struggle with numbers and letters. I find it hard to stay focused.

So I stared — old habits die hard. My thoughts jumped around and mostly landed on, “I don’t know.”  I kept looking and guessed G. (Okay, I guessed, but it was a thoughtful guess and different from my habit.) Then I just looked and thought about it. __A__ __ __ __G.

In AA they say, “Your best thinking got you there.” And so they encourage newcomers to not think… “just listen and work the steps.” The idea (I think) is that your can’t think yourself out of addiction, you have to take action. But, boy oh boy, I can tell you if I had stopped to think at different times in my life… well, it would have been better.

The distance from heart to head is not all that far, and though we might find more comfort moving from head to heart or heart to head; it’s not a one way street. I need to traveled in both directions. I want to nourish my feelings, and need to regulate, not ignore, my thinking process.

ADD, dyslexia, addiction, are struggles. But letting go of an old story… there’s the real battle.

Oh and, FYI… my guy didn’t hang! SAPLING

I’m not sure exactly how long ago it was, but I’m guessing it was at least three years ago, that a young man on Bowen Island was killed while riding his skateboard behind a car. The details of this tragedy have never been clear to me, but I do know two things. 1. Lance had worked for us the week prior to his death and was a vibrant young man with dreams. 2. Alcohol was involved.

If you drive toward the tacky shop, or The Knick Knack Nook as some call it, on the right side of the road, stands a shrine to Lance.

It was put up in the location of his death just days after he died and has been there ever since. The shrine is not small. Work boots, a skateboard, a water can, his climbing belt, and a lot of other things that were either important to Lance, or had some significance to those who loved him.

In some ways it’s beautiful, in another, it looks like road side clutter. No one has suggested it be moved or dismantled. I do know I remember Lance every time I pass it.

Shrines are everywhere if we look, some are simple, some more complicated. All serve so that we remember.

Then there are the serendipitous shrines. The kind that come out of the blue and hit our heart. Like when I see a red cardinal, I think of Jeanette Todd, a rhinoceros brings to mind Linda Brackett.

A song by Eva Cassidy makes me remember Janice Wood, red cowboy boots remind me of Jan Daly. Acupuncture needles – Roger, brown labs – Doug.

I get a flash of my mom, when I look in the mirror and see her face looking back at me. A race track or fine piece of carpentry reminds me of Jack, and every time I cut a banana with a spoon I remember my grandma.

Today, is Tomi’s funeral. My thoughts are with Ken, Ron, Dallas and Randy. And as time passes I’m pretty sure every time I see someone with a pretty scarf around their neck — I’ll think of Tomi and remember.

There are a lot of great places to hang out inside and outside our house. The house is big and there are different yards around it that have evolved over the years into somewhat individual environments.

The training field has its own story, make that 10,000 stories.

The back, back yard serves as the front yard for the guy that lives in our basement. Explosive Creek runs back there and the view is a zillion trees.

On the side yard, opposite the training field, putting the house in the middle, Ken has created several raised garden beds. This area is also home to the storage shed and our winter wood pile, to which we make several trips a day when it is cold.

Fencing the front yard changed the potential of what we are able to do out front. Not worried about the deer eating everything in sight, or the need to defend ourselves with spears or boxes any longer, Ken planted flowers, lilacs, and a few trees. We also scattered grass seed over the “flat” area — aka the septic field and it looks really nice now, especially right after we mow it.

A few years ago, we hired the good folks at HomeFarm to create a big brick patio out front for us. It has been my favourite place to practice and hang out ever since.

Each morning I stand on the patio before I do much of anything else. Sometimes I mix it up and go out on the back deck, but the patio… mmmmm, delicious. It is a fine practice place.

Yesterday, the sun was shining on the patio. I swear it was warmer outside than in the house. I grabbed my book, found my sunglasses, and layered them over my reading glasses (it is quite a fashion statement), then I spent a couple of blissful hours on the patio. Last night I sat out there as well; watching the night sky. Last summer, Ken and I set up camp on the patio. We wanted to spend the night watching a meteor shower, but we fell asleep almost immediately, waking in the morning, realizing we missed the entire show.

I tend to complain about not having “a view” from our home. But I’m learning — sometimes, it’s not what I see that counts. Sometimes it is more important to take the opportunity to enjoy where I look from.

I spent this morning reading some of the stories I’ve written over the years. I thought now that I have a blog with a comment button, I could re-post some favourites and see if I could stir up any discussion.

What I thought I could do is massage some of the old writings, bring them up to date, or add to the outcome. But, since this whole blog thing is really just a personal, public practice, (wrought with bad punctuation) what I discovered reading from my past is… I am very different today AND I am exactly the same. Everything and nothing has changed!

One story I wrote in November of 2007 made me smiled. So, I’ve decided to once again tell the story of Milt.

My first student
My very first Tai Chi student was a man in Eugene, Oregon, named Milton. His daughter wanted me to work with him. She thought the movement and concentration would be good therapy. Milt was recovering from a stroke. I agreed to meet with him for private lessons and I’m not sure who learned the most, me or Milt!

As a result of the stroke Milt lost his short term memory. He couldn’t remember anything that had just happened. Each week, was like a brand new time for Milt. I would always introduce myself to him and explain why I was there. It was like having your first tai chi lesson again and again and never remembering that you even had a tai chi lesson. But, each week at every lesson, we would move. I would ask Milt to raise his hands and lower them again. He was able to do it with me, but when asked to do it on his own, well, he didn’t know what he had just done, so, he couldn’t. What his skill was though, was his ability to mirror me. Extremely well. If I reached out to correct him on a posture, he would reach out to correct me! But then the next week, we would do it all over again from the beginning, brand new.

As time passed the experience we shared, started to move to a different part of Milts brain, and the short term, became the long term. He would remember that he had met me, but not always why I was there. He could remember to move slow, but not any set or form.

One day, Milt’s wife called me laughing so hard, you could tell she had been crying. She said, “I wish you could have seen Milton this morning!” He had been getting dressed  and she said he was moving in slow motion and had one leg in the air as he put on his underwear. “What are you doing, Milt?” she asked, “Tai Chi,” he so proudly remembered!
I tell this story, because, even if this is an extreme case, it is in a sense how all of us learn. For some reason, as adults, we think if we are shown something once or twice, we should be able to master it. I do this myself and I see this in the classes I teach. Students become full of frustration, embarrassment, and at times shame, because they can’t remember or don’t understand, the lesson in front of them.

Milt had none of those feelings, in a sense, he was the perfect Tai Chi student. He took what came his way and did his best with it. Best of all, he practiced when remembered.

I am remembering my mother-in-law Tomi.

I pulled out a letter that she wrote to us a few years ago. In it she included two stories she had written about women she admired. One was about her mother-in-law and I want to pass it on.

I like to say that the quality of your day will make up the quality of your life. In comparison to my mother-in-law and my grand mother-in-law, I live a life of pure luxury and leisure. Believe me when I say, I do not take my fortune for granted.

Hard Work Never Hurt Anyone —by Thomasina Parker
Motherless at 13, she went to the field to help pick corn and shock grain with her father and older brothers. Many times she was left to unharness the horses while the men went to the house for supper. Her older sisters done the cooking, tending the chickens and garden and doing all the sewing by hand. She remembered her oldest sister sitting at night with a lamp on chair, sewing shirts for the men.

At 16, she left home to work in a motel. The waitresses were expected to not only wait on the tables but to iron the large white tablecloths and cloth napkins.

She married at 19. Had her first baby at 20. She and her husband moved in a covered wagon with their merger possessions to a farm, there she raised chickens, a big garden, milked cows and continued to helping pick corn (she put the younger children in a box in front of the wagon) and shock grain.

When her 7th child was born, (including one set of twins), her oldest wasn’t yet 8. (she had two more children later).

She continued to work hard the rest of her life, raising chickens, a big garden, and helped shock grain into her 70’s.

She survived a broken hip and surgery at age 95. She passed away at 97.

One of her favorite sayings was “hard work never hurt anyone” and she was certainly a testimony to that.

My mother in law, Martha Parker.

_________

Tomi and I had at least two things in common. We both loved Ken and both of us admired our mother-in-laws.

In 1989 I was in San Francisco searching out some tai chi. I had been given some interesting directions to a small studio. Directions like, go down an alley, up some stairs to a door with no markings on it at all, don’t knock, just walk in and then wait for someone to greet you, oh and bring a gift. A friend was with me or I would not have had the courage to do any of this.

What I found was a very small studio with about a dozen tai chi players working out. Some were standing in zhang zhen, some were moving solo and slow, and a few were pushing hands. The instructor was sitting at a desk smoking. I loved it.

All around the world, in small hard to locate studios; the kind of place where you need to walk down a spooky alley, desend some dark stairs to a basement, pass a barking dog, or really you need to know someone, who knows someone, some good tai chi being played.

There is a gem of a studio in North Vancouver, not that hard to find, that for the last 10 years, has been rented by the hour, by the students. A small group of dedicated, interested, and very interesting people come to play Tai Chi. They bring open minds, big hearts, and strong legs.

It is a true delight to play there.