Reflections

Beauty

This is the view from my bedroom window.

Nine years ago I started a program of study which brought me to Victoria every few months. One day in April I took some time to walk through the gardens at the Government House. I was captivated by the beauty of the Rhododendrons. That day I made a decision to eventually move here.

When a part-time job became available in the fall, I applied and was accepted. My realtor knew I had only one day to find a home, and showed me this townhouse that was not yet listed, just in case I was interested. When I walked in the door I knew it was my home.

The truth is, I had no idea how many wonderful surprises awaited me once I moved here. The house was situated in a neighbourhood very close to my work downtown. If you have ever viewed 9 homes in one day, in a city where you had very little idea of the general layout, you might understand how I could choose a house without really knowing where it was located! For me, the important thing was the functionality of the home. Could I teach in it? Would I be able to practice the piano without disturbing the neighbours?

During that first spring I saw so much beauty in our strata yard as each day revealed more and more of the flowers and plants that in the fall and winter were resting. We have several Rhododendrons of various colours. The bright red one blooms early and right now is fading. The smaller azaleas, scattered throughout the gardens are starting to bloom. This pink Rhododendron is nearing it’s prime, and the others that will bloom with lighter pink, yellow and white clusters of flowers are barely budding right now. They follow the lilacs that are getting ready to bloom. The bees and hummingbirds seem to find natural food most months of the year in their world which is our garden.

A couple of weeks ago my neighbours left town to spend a month in the prairies with their daughter’s family. Two weeks later they are on their way home — tired already of the winter conditions that still exist in the prairies. I think I understand how they feel. Even though I have no family on the island here, this is my home, and I don’t want to stray far from it for very long. It would be hard to imagine not being surrounded by this beauty for more than a few days!

Empty chairs

As I unlocked and entered my early morning teaching room, my first thought was how much this circle of chairs looked like a group hug, or a circle of friends holding hands. The silent room was warmed by sunlight shining through the stained glass windows. Each circle of chairs, including some groups of 4 identical chairs surrounding card tables, reminded me of the “old days”. Days when after worship services or concerts friends and strangers would mingle with cups of tea or coffee in their hands, chattering and greeting each other. Days when we would participate in meetings, planning organ festivals and other exciting events. This room has been mostly silent for two years, but yesterday morning the chairs seemed eager to welcome people back.

And as they welcome people back, I am slowly and quietly sneaking away. I don’t want to return to crowded rooms with people eager to interrogate me on how I spent my week. I don’t want to have to constantly invent ways to avoid hugs and hand-shakes. It’s so much easier to be in a safe place, alone or with people who understand my need for separation and distance.

Don’t get me wrong — I like people, and I enjoy good conversation, but I need an escape route. I need to have control over how close I get to others. I have appreciated the safety of the Zoom screen. Empty chairs remain inviting, especially as long as they remain empty.

Old photos

My daughter asked me the other day if I had any old photos of her in traditional Thai dance costume…so I searched. I searched through a box of old photos from the days before digital cameras and iPhones. The search took me very quickly through some fond memories of years gone by. Although no Thai dance costumes showed up, the search renewed some questions.

The family in this photo consists of my niece, Bow at the age of 3 or 4, her grandfather (my father-in-law) and faintly inside the house is my very pregnant sister-in-law. My father-in-law’s Thai name is Pom, which translates as ”Skinny”. Grandpa Skinny loved his grandchildren, and his children and the extended family. He showed compassion and kindness to everyone he met. Many years before this photo was taken he suffered from cancer in his mouth and tongue, and following surgery that lasted many hours he was sent home to spend his last few weeks. Being the stubborn man that he was, Grandpa Skinny spent his waking hours praying, asking God for a few more years. He lived for many more years and was there to help me begin to learn Thai and to settle into this new family.

Bow loved me, and wanted so much to be just like me. When she claimed that she didn’t like tomatoes she was told that I ate tomatoes and if she wanted to be just like me, she should also eat tomatoes. I wonder if she still eats them!!

Bow’s mom was pregnant 4 times, bringing each child to full term. Bow was the only child who survived birth. They lived in a small village in the south of Thailand—would any of these three children have survived if they lived in the city? It’s a good question, but one that nobody seemed to ask. At the time I was young and naive, and had no concept of how much anguish she must have experienced, and how that loss and grief would have affected her and Bow. There was no funeral or memorial service, probably because each child was still-born. Even though in Thailand Christians were buried rather than cremated (Buddhist believers were cremated), there was no grave for these children. Why didn’t I ask about this?

After my own brother, Ron, died at the age of 27 my mother shut down. She didn’t participate willingly in much for years, and we weren’t encouraged to talk about him, or about anything from the past. Finally after about 20 years we started remembering his life by sending mom flowers on his birthday. My children have produced some memory books for big celebrations, which have included photos of my brother. But, mom chose to not talk about him as it seemed to bring her too much pain. Dad would set up the Christmas tree on his own each year since mom didn’t even want to celebrate Christmas — it wasn’t worth celebrating without my brother. Now when we show her photos of Ron, she asks who he is. Is the dementia erasing even the memory of her favourite child?

Grandpa Skinny passed away 3 months after my first child was born. He did get to meet her on one of our trips to his home, while he was suffering from the prostate cancer that took him in the end. He blessed her with a Chinese name which was chosen before her birth just in case he didn’t make. A large framed photo of my father-in-law was placed in a prominent place in the living room of that humble home in the south of Thailand. He was talked about, and still is remembered lovingly. Why the difference? Is it because he lived a long full life, and my brother was in his 20s, and my 3 stillborn nieces or nephews had not even lived a day?

Exhaustion

I am tired. I long to return to this beautiful small island and walk through the forest and climb among the moss covered trees.

Last September a young couple had invited me to their wedding. As one of only 40 guests I was very honoured to be there to witness the day. The ceremony took place to the left of that tree, in the forest, beside a small creek, with light rain falling. It was one of the loveliest weddings I have attended.

Almost three years ago my father and I visited the Cathedral Grove and walked around many giant Douglas fir trees in the old-growth forest. It was a place similar to Galiano Island where one can spend time just sitting or walking and breathing in the pure, fresh air and feeling such a close connection to nature.

It reminds me of the times in my youth when I would plop the canoe on the roof of my car, and drive down to the lake to canoe all on my own, soaking in the fresh air and enjoying the stillness. Life changed shortly after that, with marriage, children, work, career. All of that has left me exhausted. The next few days will be the busiest in a long time. I used to accept work to survive, now I need to decline work in order to survive.

Straight line

“No one heals in a straight line”. This is a quote from “The Choice” by Dr. Edith Eva Eger. No one heals in a straight line. This makes so much sense to me right now. I wish I could heal in a straight line, and feel better and better each day without the bumps, and twists and turns.

Repetition is key to steady progress with piano, or any other physical and mental skill. Natural talent has something to do with progress, and a good environment helps. But the real key is dedication and strong desire to learn. My experience with healing is a different story. For many days, months or even years in a row things appear to be fine and even improving, and then comes the trigger. Sometimes it is out of nowhere, and sometimes it is the final straw in a long line of tiny triggers that add up to that breaking point.

So, I hit my breaking point a few months ago and having been working since then to figure out a path to healing. Now I am realizing that the healing is often for hurts that affected me not just 20 years ago but even since childhood. Seeing those results in my own life, and knowing how some simple words affected me for my whole life has made me hyper-aware of how I talk to my students. Some of those children will have only 4 to 5 more lessons with me, but those must be positive lessons where each student will move on to their new teacher knowing that they are special, musical, unique, creative people and worthy of kind and gentle teaching.

Celebrating Creative Expression

Celebrating creative expression. This banner was prepared for the annual community celebration where homes and businesses creative window displays and other attractive displays for the last weekend in February. Fortunately, many people leave their handiwork visible for weeks or months.

This is where my “children” come to rehearse each week. I do celebrate their weekly achievements, which are different for each child. Some bring me great joy when they start to recognize how to make their voice match the pitch that the others are singing. Some bring a huge smile the very first time they are brave enough to sing out in front of their peers. Others are learning to accompany and help with warm-ups. My job is not only to celebrate but to encourage creative expression.

When I think about the encouragers of my youth, and I ever so grateful. There was Mr. R., our beloved band teacher, who encouraged every student who was in his class. He knew how shy I was, but trained me to take over conducting during classes and at concerts. With his encouragement and confidence in me, I had no troubles teaching all his classes while he was on medical leave the year after my graduation. There was Mrs. S., my piano teacher who gently reminded me how to bring out the expression in my playing. And of course, Mrs. H., our English teacher who encouraged me to write without critiquing. She would add a comment to each essay which just made me eager to write the next daily short essay.

As I teach, I think back to those and other encouragers who crossed my path. I know I have slipped up and caused discouragement in my students, when they haven’t practiced enough, or have come to lessons with a poor attitude. But, why can’t I find even one positive thing to say to them, to help each student discover their love of music, and celebrate their own creative expression.

Old and new

It’s almost time for our rehearsal to begin and I stick my head out the door to see if any of the children have arrived. This is the neighbourhood where I live; where ancient meets modern. The condo across the street only recently opened it’s doors for the new inhabitants. Tourists ride around the streets in a house-drawn carriage to learn about the history of the surrounding blocks. The 130 year old building where we rehearse is in need of new paint, yet warm and welcoming inside.

I moved into this neighbourhood eight years ago. Within a year the huge block where the condos and many other structures, new gardens and water pools and fountains now exist was a block of heritage homes and very old government offices. Nothing was more than two stories high, and vacant areas were covered in grass and concrete. The heritage homes were carefully moved down to the east end of the block and renovated, still looking like heritage homes but now housing several families each. A large pit was dug and the rebuilding started.

Over those 6 to 7 years Toffee and I watched a new community hub being built. Through a gap between new condos and office towers from the end of my street I can see the 129 year old legislature buildings. Every morning we used to walk around the construction zone, and gradually saw more and more of the pathways opening up. One of our favourite destinations was to climb on top of the new coffee shop, when the gate to the observation deck was open, to explore and take photos of the new patios and old buildings across the street.

I am thankful that the old structures still exist among the new.

Free spirit

Yesterday Milo stopped by for a visit. This time he didn’t run away as I stepped slowly toward the open patio door. I keep the screen closed in case a mouse or raccoon, or mosquito decides to come in and explore. He turned toward me as I gently called his name. Milo first visited when he was a kitten, and was running away from the young girls who had just acquired him. We, my neighbours, the young girls and I tried to help corner Milo, but he was and is a free spirit and did not want to get caught.

I think I am very similar to Milo in that I don’t like to be tied down. I like to be free to go where I wish; work when I want to and rest when I need to. Someday soon I will be like Milo.

Pussywillows…soft winds…

I’m reminded of the Gordon Lightfoot song, ”Pussywillows, Cat-tails, soft winds and roses”. Dad’s niche is a few feet away from this lovely planter. My son met me at the columbarium last week to see the new cover that was made for my father’s niche. When dad passed away there were so many unexpected decisions to make. Do we want to sprinkle the ashes or place them in a niche? Do we want a regular size square or larger rectangular niche? What about a box for the ashes? What do we want engraved?

My two siblings and I had many discussions by text, by phone and in person before any of the big decisions were made. I couldn’t imagine having to think this through on my own. What do people do when they are an only child?

I like to have plenty of time to make decisions, and normally I will discuss things with friends or family to get a more objective opinion. I don’t always follow their guidance when I have a choice, but it’s good to gather other ideas.

That day last week at the columbarium was a chance to stop the noise of life, and reminisce. I thought about dad’s involvement in that church and in the wider community. Looking around at the names of many of the other niches I could see that he was surrounded by good friends…people that I also had known. Over the years I played for many of their funerals and even some of their weddings. My son and I talked about dad’s love for roses and how fitting it was that the engraving includes roses laid on books.

It was important for some of the family that there be some sort of memorial where we could go and physically be nearer to dad. Of course, he is not there physically, but we now have a physical place where we can stop and sit and feel the soft wind, and remember.

Patio concert

Two years ago when we all went in to lock-down because of the pandemic, my next door neighbour and I decided to present piano recitals for each other and our neighbours. For me the days were spent walking Toffee, watching news, watching videos and webinars on how to navigate online piano lessons and choir rehearsals, and learning new music for the back yard recitals.

Some days I long for lockdowns to return. When life was simpler. This past weekend two of my students who were strangers to each other brought their parents to listen to them rehearse for the upcoming local music festival. I set these chairs up on my back patio for the parents, and the young singers stood to sing just inside my patio door while I played the piano for them. They each sang 4 songs, and within less than 40 minutes two families became friends. The two girls were full of encouragement for each other, and are now looking forward to singing again in a few weeks at the festival. Even though the festival is a competition, they seem to approach it as a positive learning experience.

Our normally noisy neighbours were quiet. The chickens next door made a lot of noise when the families arrived, but only listened while the girls sang. The little sparrows and chickadees in the trees and shrubs seemed to enjoy the songs, as they joined in. It was a perfect afternoon.

One of the best parts of my work over the years has been to see young people develop of a love of music. But, not only that, I get to see them grow in ability and leadership. To see the youth excited about learning music and performing, and treating each other kindness and respect is so rewarding.

Somehow, even if the pandemic ends and safety protocols are no longer required, I think I will continue with patio concerts.