Emotions

One of the benefits to long haul trucking is the time spent behind the windshield.  Hours of silence that can be used to process and think.  I'm a contemplative person by nature and enjoy this opportunity immensely.  I was raised in an emotional vacuum and one of the challenges I have had to face is "what are your needs?"  Inability to identify and feel your emotions essentially leaves you unable to know who you are, let alone know what you need.  I started with journaling my thoughts and feelings in a notebook, struggling to identify what is really going on inside with all these sorrows and aches and longings and confusion.  It takes work.  There are often emotions behind the emotion behind the emotion.  I found that once I had really dug to the core emotion, something would click and expand in me almost like the emotion itself was saying "Yes!  You found me!  You named me!"  It's a strange, freeing and healing experience.  Anger is a typical surface emotion.  I would even challenge the idea that it is even an emotion - more like a tool used by an underlying emotion to give power to that emotion.  A very useful tool, yes, but hopefully not the only tool in the toolbox.  That would be like someone trying to fix everything in the house with a hammer.  Not always the most effective nor beneficial.  But discovering the emotions behind the anger can be very helpful.  It changes your perspective from "I'm feeling angry" to "I'm angry because I'm feeling betrayed."  Much more productive, because then the act of betrayal can be addressed.  The same can be done with frustration or anxiety.  To say "I'm anxious because I'm afraid of being alone" is much more helpful than simply identifying the anxiety.  Emotions are very powerful and can often send the mind into thought looping paralysis.  Unpacking all this takes time, effort, and practice.  It's a function that wasn't given to me as a child, and like a muscle, begins to get easier and stronger the more you practice it.  But the peace of mind, the clarity, and the self-awareness make it very worthwhile.  Then the question of "what are my needs?" become answerable.  You can also then discover your own path and live your own script.

A Trajectory

I have done a few cycle tours and the most recent was cycling the ring road around Iceland in 2016.  These experiences have been a life metaphor for me.  Every mile, every hill is conquered by one pedal stroke at a time, and the day is filled with the exploration of the moment with very little thought or concern for the destination.  The route is generally well planned, and the daily mileages carefully calculated, but in the end, the joy has been the journey.  You feel every inch, every breath of air, every smell.  Every bite of food is well earned, and every night is a pleasant respite from the days' work. It's rewarding, and after a week or two of being on the road, you happily retrace your route on the map amazed at how far you've gone.  What a tangible way of viewing life.  Days may seem to all string together into one long trudging effort, but the key is to see the trajectory.  Look how far you've come!  A year ago I arrived back in Canada with a broken down van, a few boxes, and a very hostile relationship.  Alone, no job, and no ideas, my spirits were pretty low.  Tackling one obstacle at a time, I renewed my commercial license, got a job, and started to whittle away at debt.  I weaned myself gradually off antidepressants.   Hours behind the wheel gave me hours of time to listen, think, and process.  Many days were discouraging, but slowly I have begun to grow in courage, hope, and confidence.  I still have far to go; I still have days of sadness and despair - but the fact that I am writing about it is significant.  I have come so far.  An upward trajectory - if I can continue to make the next year just a little better and healthier than the last, I will be OK.

Immersion

Slowly and gradually you notice your hands begin to open.  You no longer clench them tightly around memories and dreams but begin to accept the reality of who and where you are.  Sometimes the pain is so crushing that it becomes physically hard to breathe, but in those moments you remind myself "I am here.  I am alive, and this is all part of it."  Change brings with it all kinds of challenges and obstacles, but every one is slowly and deliberately faced and accepted.  They are all steps; small, important steps along the way.  Life has a way of pulling you forward, and you simply need to accept the flow.  People begin to appear and speak into your life, and moments become sacred.  In the process, you begin to really learn who you are.  Emptying does that.  Letting things go leaves only the essence of your being.  The true self begins to emerge.  And it begins to feel safe like you're finally coming home.  It's a good place, not free of sadness, but peace within the solitude within the sadness.  There's a strength in it.  A solid ground.  A foundation.  You begin to hear your voice.  Your heart begins to establish defined boundaries, not out of the pain, but out of authenticity.  This body, this mind, this heart, is who you are.  All you have is the moment, and you immerse yourself in it.  There is beginning to be some form of purpose and clarity in it.  And that is enough. 

Seeds

The biggest obstacle to entering into this space is the patience to trust.  Settling is tough, and it takes a while.  I had the opportunity to witness the outrageous spectacle of a desert bloom.  All the bleak, barren desert was transformed seemingly overnight into a wash of color as far as the eye could see.  Painted ladies, a beautiful orange and black tipped butterfly, appeared by the thousands.  A stretch of dead wasteland suddenly burst into life.  Millions of seeds, waiting dormant in expectation, suddenly became something new.  It was amazing.  There is a story in the Christian tradition of Jesus responding to the human propensity to worry.  "Consider the lilies of the field," he says.  "They neither toil nor spin, yet even Solomon in all his glory didn't encompass beauty like they do."  In other words, pay attention to the world around you.  Its cycles and seasons are as evident as the cycles and seasons in your own soul.  We are all made of the same stuff, and connected on a deep fundamental level.  Seeds lie dormant.  New growth takes time.  Take care of yourself, be gentle and nurturing, and the beauty will come.  Trust in the process.  In that there is hope.

Space

In this quest for solitude, for quietness, there is a space that slowly develops and grows.  It's a space of being, of unknowing, of comfort.  It takes a while.  It's letting go of all anxiety and bitterness, all regret and guilt.  It becomes simply a space of presence.  Here I am, this is what is real, and this is OK.  The mind becomes quiet.  All the "should haves" or "what ifs" fade.  Life becomes now, not the past or the future.  The pain takes on a different hue; it is not any less evident, just not as sharp.  Not as dark.  It becomes part of who you are.  A companion that sits with you.  It's familiar. It's welcome.   Perhaps at the bottom of all this is that the fear has lost some of its power.  There are still so many questions, so many uncertainties, but confidence in your inner strength and power has gradually replaced the paralysis.  Emotions still rage at times, but you find yourself observing the moment around you a lot more.  The morning birdsong.  The wisp of dew on the windscreen.  The setting sun.  All of this whispers into your soul that all is well.  Everything has purpose.  And beauty is not in the memories, but right in the middle of this space.  Right here.  There is an ancient story in the Hebrew tradition of exile.  Jeremiah writes "Settle in.  This will take a while.  Build houses, let your children marry, and do your best to prosper those around you."  This settling in is the beginning of space.  This moment is uniquely and gloriously entirely yours, along with the all the questions, difficulties and pain.  It's all part of it.  It all belongs.  

The Process of Season

I love the idea of seasons.  A continual cycle of spring with all of its promises, summer with its easy, relaxing days, fall with the glorious joy of harvest, and the snowy winter covered in quiet, secluded contemplations.  Years cycle past and every one becomes another notch on our calendar.  Endless.  Continuous.  Lately running the long stretch of highway between Canada and California the effect of season has become even more pronounced.  The California landscape never really suffers the indignity of winter - unless you venture into the Sierra Nevadas that reach over 7000 feet and experience the exuberance of an overzealous snowfall.  But eventually even at those altitudes the green slowly starts to creep in, the flowers bringing color to the edges of the highway, and the sounds of summer echoing through the forest.  It's beautiful, encouraging, and heartwarming.  I love it.

But the seasons of the soul are not as enjoyable.  Here is pain, uncertainty, and confusion.  Nothing is simple or straight forward.  When life disintegrates and you're left staring at an empty horizon, the questions come much faster than you can process.  Time slows to an agonizing crawl and every moment becomes a struggle.  Futility.  Anger.  Everything swirls around and through you like fog.  You become lost.  The distinction between seasons are blurred.  Are things still dying or is everything dead?  Are the days gradually warming towards a new spring?  Is this new growth or simply a patch of grass that survives the cold and refuses to lose its color?  The process of emptying becomes endless.  Every emotion becomes a journey of identifying, naming, processing, personifying, and in the end, welcoming.  Hello loneliness.  Come on in.  Throw your bags of pain, sadness, and betrayal in the corner by all the winter boots.  Come settle at the table, and let me make you a cup of tea.  It's a miserable day outside, and we've got days of bleak weather ahead of us.  But we're warm, the fire is crackling, and the kettle whistling.  We're safe here, and we'll be OK. Eventually, the days will lengthen, the eaves will begin to drip with the afternoon thaw, the sun being a little brighter and a little warmer.  Trust the process of season.  Spring will come, with new birth, new life, and new hope. 

Home by another way

The years have rushed past, life exploding and disintegrating, and suddenly I find myself reduced to a solitary life confined to a truck and miles of highway.  The kids are scattered, and my tax forms present my status as separated.  My time has become hours of silence, contemplation, and recovery.  Recovery to discover my essence and value.  Contemplations of God, family, and love.  Silence.  Emptiness.  Letting go.

These processes are never simple, painless, or easy. I happened upon something I wrote in a draft years ago:

 "We have been following a trail through a dense forest for the last two years.  Sometimes the path was steep, sometimes strewn with roots that threatened to upend us, sometimes wide with dappled sunlight glistening through the overhead leaves.  But today we have emerged into bright sunlight at the edge and are facing a grassy meadow that is gently beckoning us forward.  Today our lives are changing, and though we don't yet see the path stretching off into the distance, the path is as sure as it was in the dark forest.  And one thing we do know; the path before us will be different."

Prophetic to be sure.  Dark forests, dangerous footing, indistinct direction.  Moments of joy and clarity, coupled with dark nights and despair.  It's all part of it.  It's all important.  And it's all leading us home, even if by another way.

A Couple of Words to Change the World

The holstered tazer hung no more than two feet in front of Sam's eyes. A revolver was strapped on the opposite hip; the radio with its selector set on channel three separated the two weapons on the wide black belt of the thirty-something RCMP officer waiting stoically ahead of us in line at the 7-11. I was vaguely aware that the line wasn't moving, my attention and thoughts drawn more to the coolness of the air conditioned store as we held our sweating slurpee's in hand. Evangeline began to suck her icy grape/orange concoction into her mouth. There was a lady with a small girl at the cashier that was causing some sort of complication and I could sense impatience setting into the stagnated line. My gaze dropped back to the well armed officer in front of me.

The sleeve of his shirt was stretched taut where his bulging arm emerged. It was a large arm. Large and colorful. A tatooed fish curved around his forearm and lept up over his elbow. Many designs covered what little bare skin was available; two words in plain black ink caught my eye on the inside of his forearm. My attention shifted back to the lady that was now over by the ATM machine in the corner of the store and I noticed her staring incredulously at her receipt.

“I like the two words on your arm,” I commented to the officer.

The line was moving now.

The officer placed his three small bags of candy beside the conspicous pile of goods left on the counter. I barely made out his words as his arm made a vague sweeping motion over all the items. 

“I'll get this too.”

“That's $34.20,” the cashier informed him as he inserted his chip card into the keypad and punched in his passcode.

We placed our selection of slurpee's on the counter just as the lady with the small girl reappeared.  The cashier, scooping the pile in her hands, pushed it towards her.

 “Your items have been paid for.”

“What?” the lady enquired.

“Your items. They're all paid for.”

"That's right!” I said. “The man ahead of me just paid for them!”

“How? How can they be paid for?” she stammered.

“Officer White just paid for your things.” the cashier stated flatly. “They're paid for.”

“That's amazing!” the overwhelmed lady commented as she gathered her things. “I'll have to thank him for this. The bank machine was broken. This is just amazing.”

I left the 7-11 feeling euphoric with hope surging in my soul. Sometimes you witness something so profound you can't help but love the people around you.

“What did you say to that RCMP officer in the store?” Sam inquired.

“He had tattooed 'Grace and Mercy' on his arm. I told him I liked that,” I replied.

Grace and Mercy.

Pretty good words to live by.

Thank you Officer White.

Rebuilding a Camping Trailer

Our little Scamp trailer has been wonderful.  We've dragged it up and down the Alaska Highway six times, and it has handled all the bouncing and bumping without complaint, even though it was often overloaded.

But it shows.  The cabinetry, never a well made item in these trailers, was falling apart.  Time to pull out my tools.

The cabinet was disassembled, and a new front glued up.

My fiberglass experience came handy as I  laminated the 1 inch framework to the new 1/4 inch plywood.

With all the appropriate openings cut out, the reassembly went without a hitch.

My eye for wasted space discovered room for a second drawer, something sorely lacking in the old design.

Some shellac and varethane finished it off, and it's now solid and ready for another run of highway.

A shop in the country

One thing I'm very excited about is the shop on our yard.   It's a fairly decent size; 24 X 30, with two large doors.   I'd like to develop one side into my wood shop,  keeping the other bay available for automotive work.

And it can even have a touch of beauty when you have a daughter that loves to hang out with you.

The effects of time

Time has a way of altering our landscapes before our eyes and before we realize it we can find ourselves in a completely new environment from where we were.

A year ago my father passed away.

A year ago we were living in Anchorage.

A year ago we faced an uncertain future.

Today I completed the import and registration process for the van.

Time alters our lives; sometimes for good, sometimes bad.

Sometimes it's good to take some time to remember.

Because that can help us view the future.

A night at the barn

I am a working man

But I ain't worked for a while

like some old tin can

from the bottom of the pile

-Big Sugar

The country alternative

We've found a few acres with some buildings not far from town that we've fallen in love with.  It's in a sense a homecoming for me; I grew up on a farm and remember playing around in the barn and other outbuildings. The adventure to be found in the country with a little imagination is a great thing for a kid to experience.

Unfortunately as we grow older the play must soon forfeit to responsibilty, and this past weekend was no exception.  The garage was in sore need of shingles.  A gracious neighbour offered planks and the use of his truck, and in one sunny Sunday afternoon Theresa and I had the old shingles removed.

The kids though found another use for the planks.

What a wonderful alternative to offer your children.

A choice of power

Frederick Buechner writes in "The Magnificent Defeat"

"I suppose we might begin by saying that man's absolute power, the one that he can be surest of because it involves nothing except power, is his power to destroy.  One does not need talent or brains to destroy.  Anybody can do it: can destroy an animal, a bird, an object, an enemy or friend, himself, Jesus Christ.  There is no need to add that as matters stand now man has the power even to destroy mankind.  However, that is only half the picture because in addition to his power to destroy, man also has the power to create.  We can make things: paintings and political systems, theological systems, supersonic aircraft, iron lungs." (p. 32 HarperCollins, 1966)

Those words came to mind as I was discussing with my sister, Edith, about inspirational carvings I could use on my sawbench that I was completing.

I ended up choosing two simple phrases, "to destroy" and "to create."

She suggested using traditional Hebrew, "shabar" and "bara'."

I loved it.

It's something I'd like to remember every time I sit down at this bench.

For my hands are capable of either.

The Gift of a (Jersey) Community

Moving into a new community is always an adventure in discovering new and exciting lifestyles and passions.  Dutch Harbor was all about the water; the fishing, the diving, and swimming at the local recreation center.  Cordova was its music.  Here it's... well we have yet to see.  But what's rural Manitoba if there's no cow around somewhere?

A few days ago we were gifted with two gallons of milk, straight from the source.  Wonderful, brimming glass gallon jars of fresh milk.  We skimmed the cream off the top yesterday and left it sitting on the kitchen table overnight.

This morning it went into the churn.  I remember this churn from my childhood, and we were able to track it down from my niece who graciously agreed to borrow it back to us.

Very quickly the cream changed from foam to solid.  I had butter!

Not too bad for today's breakfast.

And tomorrow it's buttermilk pancakes.

The cost of being cheap

There's an underlying irony of living cheaply in an affluent country that niggles me.  It's the bothersome truth that my frugal-ness is quite closely related to my neighbours extravagance.  If I didn't live in a country that regurgitates its products every six months there wouldn't be the abundance of second hand and recycled goods for me to select from.  Furnishing my home for under $500.00 with one weekend of perusing the local thrift stores would be a lot tougher if everyone was on the same mission.  In other words, my success in living cheaply is directly connected with compulsive shopaholics and their perceived obsolescence of their stuff.

But there is a deeper thread that's even more disturbing.  It's the concept of "subsidized goods" - the idea that my "good deal" comes on the backs of many other less fortunate people.  The elderly cashier that is working for minimum wage with few or no benefits.  The third world worker that is assembling some electronic product on an assembly line for pennies a day.  Or, as recently brought jarringly into focus, the migrant worker in Ontario working on a chicken farm and sending his meagre earnings back home to his family in Peru.

My $4.00 Second Hand Garden

Then my pathetic attempt to distance myself from the obsessive shopper seems profane against this stark reality of the horrific cost for my "new" extraneous gewgaw, no matter how "cheap" or "recycled" it may be.  Many, many people have contributed to the cycle of goods that churn their way through the queue of consumers in my world, no matter where on that chain I may be.  Just because I shop second hand doesn't mean I'm all that different from any other shopper in my neighbourhood.

And there's the rub.

Some benefit of living in a rich, affluent world with our prolific shopping habits should somehow trickle back into those cultures that indirectly support my cravings for stuff.  So what if I find a great second hand deal on a mahogany table and chairs.  Or a wonderful buy on Nintendo DS at a garage sale.  I am quite thrilled at the $100 bargain on the table or the $20 DS for my kid.  And for a moment I feel penny-wise and proud.

But then there is that indirect subsidy angle that needs to be addressed.

"Made in China"

So here's where I'm at.

Kiva, a non-profit organization that uses the internet to connect microfinance organizations with individuals, allows people like me to lend as little as $25.00 to struggling entrepreneurs  in all different parts of the world where life is a little more than simply going to work and shopping.  Most of these struggling business people are women seeking to earn enough money to feed their families and possibly, if there is any left over, send their kids to school.  My efforts to purchase carefully and cheaply, recycling and reusing someone else's refuse can now not only remove me from the consumer cycle of new products but can also provide a little chump change to assist someone that lives in a totally foreign world to mine.

Like Mushkiniso, a divorced mother that would like to buy some watermelon seeds for her farm.

Or Kalbubu, a 56 yr. old widow with a 7 acre farm in Kyrgyzstan that would like to add to her herd of five cows, two mares and one work horse.

Maybe it'll be enough to keep them off an assembly line.

And that makes my nights in my second hand bed just a little sweeter.

What you can't find at Walmart

Having lived for the last ten years in a 35 foot sailboat our stuff took some serious downsizing.  Now that we had moved back into a more conventional lifestyle, we needed to rethink furniture.

Where do we sleep?  Eat?  Sit?

Our first choice was to find used.  Recycled.  Maybe even free.

It helps when you can access Kijiji, and one weekend in Winnipeg filled a U-haul with a plethora of beds, dressers, a desk, kitchen table and chairs including two sitting chairs for the living room.

And we spent under $500.00.

Not too shabby for some craftmanship and style.

A journey is but one thousand steps

Having recently relocated my family from Alaska back to Canada's middle province of Manitoba the steps have at times seemed like one thousand.

The packing, loading and inventory for Canada Customs.

The last minute maintenance on the van.

And the driving.  Lots of driving.  On ice, snow, gravel, and sand.

But every day was a step.  And every step brought progress, and progress brought renewed strength and clarity.

Not unlike the rest of our life - our character, our integrity, our morality.

Our children used to train with a renowned sensai, Katsutaka Tenaka, in Anchorage.

One of his daily mantras he had the kids repeat was

“Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.”

Because every step is taking you somewhere.

Active Waiting

We don't often enjoy waiting.

Waiting for transit, waiting at a light, waiting in a waiting room.

Yet sometimes we manage to turn waiting into a relaxing pastime.

We recently stopped by Wabasca AB on our travels south to visit family.

It was a beautiful day.

We spent one afternoon watching the kids idly casting a line into the unknown, waiting for the faintest twitch on the rod.

Eventually it came, the bite and the excitement, the line buzzing out as a nine pounder took the lure.

Not bad for an afternoon of practicing patience.

Going where no kitchen has gone before

Three weeks in Cordova isn't a lot of time.  Not when you're remodeling a basement room into a functioning kitchen suite.  But with perseverance, some help, and a whole lot of work, amazing things can happen.

We relocated temporarily back to Cordova from Anchorage while Theresa was studying for her board exam and I could do some house maintenance for a friend.  This is one of those times when you feel good about being able to bless someone that has spent her whole life giving to her community; in service, support, or encouragement.  But this time grace comes not from her giving, but from receiving.

Too often we have trouble with the receiving part.  We can make it on our own.  We don't need help.  We're fine.

But the truth is in being able to live with both hands open - one to give, and one to receive.  If either hand becomes clenched, then our lives become unbalanced; either from only taking what society has to offer and giving nothing back, or from giving and never being able to receive.

Both take work.

Both have their reward.

Both define community.