This mornings walk and practice was distracted and focused. Sort of like the entire last month! No half measures, no shades of grey — just pure yin or yang in most all things.

Today, a lot people I don’t know and three that I do, will gather to remember my brother Bill in his home in New Mexico. They will tell stories, and as I watched the sun come up from my new practice spot, I was thinking of a story I could tell.

I admit it was hard. I have several stories of my brother, but none of them show us in good light. There were a few times we laughed together, but rarely did we enjoyed each others company. I’ve said it before, we tried. We would start out okay, but something would happen and all shit would fly.

But, I knew Bill my entire life. He was there when I was born. There has to be a good story. A nice memory. Some kind words to be said and I’m sad that it took me some sorting to find them. I had to go back and rehash some real crap first.

But, then… I remembered.

When we were kids, my mom made all three of us kids Zorro capes. Black capes that tied around our necks and they had a big red Z sewed down the back. I remember with great glee, Bill, Art and me jumping on all the furniture, running wild, through out the house. We wore only our underwear and these wonderful capes and we made the mark of the Zed with our swords made of wooden spoons and flyswatters.

And, when Ken and I became Canadians, we had a big party. My brother Bill came to the party. He surprised us totally. He made his way all the way from New Mexico to Bowen Island without our knowledge. He just knocked on the front door at party time. He came in, passed out cigars, and helped us celebrate. It was really nice.

I miss Bill and I will continue to miss him. We were not close. I’m not sure we even liked each other — but now, we will never have the chance. That is heartbreaking and today, I grieve my brother.

The Hudson Kids. Bill, Jan and Art sometime in the 1980s.