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One helluva month August was

Well, hell, August is over and all of the ‘firsts’ following my bride’s passing have come and gone.  And now I feel…I don’t know.

It’s very, very weird.

I thought a switch might go off.  Anniversary, check. Birthday, check. Christmas – you get the picture     But when the one-year anniversary (is that the right word?) of Patricia’s death hit on August 5th and was followed mid-month by the 365th day after her funeral, I was left still feeling numb.

Patricia in one of her favorite places vibing on the energy of the Rocky Mountains

Not sure what I was expecting. A switch to turn off? Or on? A locked door to swing open? “OK, pal, you’ve done your time. Move on.”

But nothing significant changed.

The sun set. Then rose again. Oh, the grass over her grave is thickening up. And there are a surprising number of new neighbors near Patricia’s spot. Younger, older. Various backgrounds. Death is very open minded, it seems. No prejudice or playing favorites.

When it comes to how I feel, though, or how the world feels without her in it, it’s pretty much the same. A little less raw, maybe. But raw enough to sting. I haven’t come up with any great insights on this.  Other than I know the world would be a better place with Patricia in it.  That’s a no-brainer. But I have to go back to what she said on this front in her final days: “I’m not going to ask why.”

She just wanted to focus on the joys she had in her life.

So do I.

And, in keeping with her advice, to keep embracing the joy in life today. I’ve had a lot of that over the past year. With my girls, my oldest friends, newer ones. Even strangers over drinks in pubs.

The numbness always finds its way back though. And I was dreading what impact it would have on me and my girls on Patricia’s death day.

August started as perfectly as it could have. Such a relief as I had been so anxious about how I would feel. And worse, how my girls would feel as D-day got closer, then hit. I’ve learned over the last year that I can be ready or not, but the emotions churn up the gut every time there is a milestone.  Sometimes it feels like a machine agitating butter to make cream. Other times it’s like waves pounding to shore before a hurricane.

There’s no stopping it or dodging it.

That’s why I was thrilled that Anna and Kristina wanted to go on a trip together to mark the day.  And I was blown away when they suggested Oregon, home to one of our great family vacations when my girls actually were girls. Patricia planned that early adventure to a tee. She booked a cabin on Cannon Beach. And once in Oregon, we did loads of day trips including one to Portland.

But much of the adventure was getting there from Edmonton. Patricia plotted out a roadie using one of those old school AMA Trip Ticks where we had to actually unfurl real maps. Night one was in Spokane, Washington. Then we spent some time in Seattle before meandering down the coast, making loads of pit stops on the way. She made sure to plan one stop in Astoria, Oregon- the town where they filmed The Goonies. If you haven’t seen that flick, I don’t know what’s wrong with you 😊.

This time around, Kristina, Anna and I flew. The ladies and I stayed at the Woodlark Hotel in the heart of Portland. I arrived about mid-day, Anna and Kristina didn’t get there until early evening. So I spent my time walking around, reacquainting myself with the city.

I love it.

It’s a city of grit, art and soul. In many ways like Edmonton vibe-wise.

Oh, and heart. There are people struggling post – Covid and they are visible. And there are loads of folks lending a hand and welcoming you, keen to fuel whatever interests, whatever you need. There are also loads of places to get a coffee or a beer where people are eager to chat.

But my best conversation came on day one at the Woodlark. After exploring and just ahead of the girl’s arrival, I sat down at the lobby bar. The fella running it was a great conversationalist as many in his trade are. He was something special, though. In the convo he asked what brought me there. I explained Patricia’s death and the reason for the trip. Blurted it out, really. I do that sometimes. It often meets with awkward responses.

Understandable.

Not with my new friend, though. We carried on chin wagging until Anna and Kristina arrived. More talk followed over the coming days. Same thing with everybody else there. A real welcoming bunch. They are in the hospitality biz, so I suppose that makes sense. On the night before we checked out, however, there was a postcard      in our room from the team. It explained that they heard why we were there and wished us much love and healing. They peppered that with three ‘Someone in Portland loves you’ fridge magnets.

That choked me up.

The trip was so amazing.

Fantastic dinners, a scotch bar, a ghost tour of an 1800s hotel. On August 5th we hired an Uber driver to bomb us around some wineries and just see the sites. At one, we sat in the sun overlooking a classic vineyard. At Remy Wines, we plunked down on a deck and heard amazing stories from our host over several glasses including their Three Wives rosé. Turns out that this place not only makes grapes but works to promote diversity and inclusion by holding workshops among other things.

Patricia would have strongly approved.

That night we toasted my bride, the girls’ mom, at the Woodlark’s restaurant.

The next day we rented a car and went on a mother of a roadie. First stop, Multnomah Falls. So striking. We climbed past the main viewing area. And on, and on. Up and up. Eventually we were mostly on our own. So gorgeous. Such beautiful air to breathe.

On from there to Cannon Beach.

Not an Interstate Highway drive. Views of the Columbia River, a mountain climb, then that most inviting town we spent so much time in and around – Cannon Beach. We hunted for parking then went for a bite and a beer at the Wayfarer Restaurant right on the beach. A table magically opened up for us with a view of the iconic Haystack Rock.

We walked off the meal on the beach. It was busy but had cooled off a bit so not crazy. We just kinda took it all in. Memories hitting each of us in waves. But these were gentle waves. Healing ones. We spent a lot of time walking, stopping and just drinking it in. People were flying kites, making sandcastles, stuff we might have been doing all of those years ago.

With Patricia.

I’m not going to say she touched my shoulder from the next life, or spoke to me through the breeze. But I sure felt my bride there.

The drive back to Portland was satisfying.

Fittingly, perhaps, we did the ghost tour that evening at what is now Old Town Pizza but was an early bar and hotel. I was open to a tap from Patricia there, too, but, alas, none came. The tour was less about specters and more about Portland’s history and the way some folks in the 1800s were tricked into setting sail to work on     board ships. We capped off the evening on a rooftop patio in the Old Town, Tope.

The haunted hotel above and a look at Portland from Tope’s roof-top patio below.

We also managed to fit in a trip to the magnificent Portland Japanese Garden, a tour of an early city founder’s home (the Pittock Mansion) and, of course, time in the massive and wonderful Powell’s City of Books (been there twice now, got the t-shirt).

Then it was all over. Back to Calgary, Edmonton and Toronto the next day. But filled up to full with the memories.

I realized how my bride lives on through Kristina and Anna. It’s not just a cliche     . And I see how they are becoming stronger. Both for themselves, for      me, and each other. I remember what it was like when my mom died at 58. I was a year older than Anna was, two years younger than Kristina. I worry about them, knowing how hard it was, but then I see how much stronger they are than me at that age. How well-equipped Patricia made them for everything.

The weeks since then have been wonderful, horrible, exciting and frightening. It’s interesting, if infuriating, how fast the switch can flip. Me and Dobby      (our mutt) have been on some great walks, including to Elk Island and Banff (joined by Anna) National Parks.

More healing, and fall walks are planned. And Calgary trips. And Toronto. And???

And writing. Another book is pouring out and I continue to hunt publishers for the first two.

I guess I’ll just keep my feed moving, drink in the joy, learn from the pain and share the stories.

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No regrets with this load of hurt

Something surprising struck me as the impending one-year mark of my bride’s death pressed down on my chest with the pressure of a beached Blue Whale.

I have no regrets.

Which seems weird as I mourn      the essence of Patricia no longer a part of my day-to-day life. The feel of her hand in mine, mine in hers. The different sound of her voice through a range of moods and emotions.  The lushness of her hair as I would run my hand through it, exactly as it was the first time I had the courage to touch it during an early kiss.

Me and my ladies — Patricia, Anna and Kristina. Everything.

The sound of her voice. They say this is the first thing you lose after somebody dies. But I purposely haven’t played a recording of my bride – not sure I can take that yet – and still I hear her perfectly in all of her inflections. 

OK, this last piece is no longer true. It was when I began writing this, but then a friend of Patricia sent me a video. In it, Patricia records Anna in her then-     new apartment in Calgary. Anna had just moved in a few weeks before we rushed my bride to the Royal Alexandra      Hospital. In the recording, Patricia pans the lens to show the entire suite while she describes it from top to bottom.  You never see Patricia in the video. But her voice is a gem, nuanced, playful, matter-of-fact      and clear. And somehow sexy, even as she describes cabinets and lighting fixtures.

The voice is exactly what’s been in my head these last 11 months. I stopped the recording, played it one more time then sat, speechless for maybe a minute. Then I cried harder than I ever remember weeping.

I can’t roll on     to her side of the bed. Her night table stands unchanged from the morning she last awoke in our home, a pair of glasses in a holder I bought her for her last Mother’s Day, some jewelry, a photo of the two of us in Mexico.

Yet I can’t muster up regret.

As I miss her, mourn      her and deal with fits of rage over her death, regret remains absent.  I’m angry that our time together is over so soon. I wish I hadn’t done some things, that I had done others. Regret, though? No. It feels like regret would be counter to the great life that we had together.

Since August 5 of last year at 5:23 pm I’ve spoken to a lot of people whose partner died. Some really do have regret. Those aren’t my stories to share, and I’m so thankful I’m not wearing that on top of everything else.

It’s not me.

Our life was filled with passion, which has many forms. Sometimes it’s messy, often it comes with heart-pounding joy. It’s never boring. And it’s so simple despite seeming so complicated. I don’t regret a moment of it. Life needs spice and some spices can make your eyes water and your skin sting. But it balances out with the sweeter spices to leave a great taste when all is said and done. And when all was said and done with Patricia and me, there were no more words that needed to be said. We were holding hands and I was stroking that luscious hair as she breathed her last breath.

I have no idea how I got so lucky to be that sad. Sad seems like a sad word to describe the end of a long, beautiful marriage and the knowledge that your amazing daughters are being just as broken in different ways. But every other word for sadness that I can think of just doesn’t do the trick. Whatever the word, to feel as horrible as I did – as I do – is a fantastic gift.

Weird, I know.

But it’s like the end of a great book, or trip. It’s over, but, damn, what a ride!

I’ve had a lot of conversations with friends and acquaintances going through divorce. We connect on the grief of loss,      but it’s so different when all of the other elements come into play. When something broke apart rather than being ripped away.

To feel is to live. To feel so much pain of so much loss is to have lived incredibly. I’ll take that.

Life is funny in a sometimes-sad way. But it’s still funny. And I’ve turned to humor in a big way to heal.

First of all, I’m not embarrassed to say I’ve been seeing a shrink. One with a sense of humor and who doesn’t mind me calling her a shrink. It’s great to have a pro talk me through the mental bruises and breaks. A session isn’t complete without at least a few tears chased by a laugh or two.

Second, I took some stand-up comedy classes and will do my first show later in the summer. All the best comedians are broken, right? Even if it’s a bomb show, who can hurt me now?

And finally, I’ve turned to the wisdom of comedians to heal. No offense to the great spiritual gurus out there, but I’ve found the words of fellas like Canadian funny man Jim Carrey is just what the doctor ordered.

He talks about faith in ways a lot of Sunday morning preachers could learn a few things from.  There is some cool stuff out there on the web with Carrey speaking to a graduating class about life happening for you, not to you. About having faith, asking for and believing in what you want in life and working toward it without worrying about the how. No talk about hunting down converts or any particular kind of religion.

Just taking a chance on faith.

It sounds a lot more like what I’ve read that’s been attributed to Christ and other spiritual gurus than the stuff I’ve heard booming down from pulpits.

I’ve had some folks over these last 11 months suggest that dying ‘before your time’ doesn’t jibe with their brand of faith.

“Didn’t you pray hard enough?” they imply. “Didn’t you believe strongly enough? Don’t you believe in miracles?”

I do. I believe in the miracle that creation gave the world Patricia, and I feel blessed to have had her in my life as long as I did.

Life isn’t measured in hours, it’s measured in quality. That I’m sure of. And Patricia packed in a high measure of quality in her years. That was clear to all who knew her but it was also clear in how she lived her last days:      with grace, satisfaction and gratitude.

Zero regret.

Would she have happily taken more time? Of course.

But there was no regret in the life she lived, and she refused to ask “why is this happening to me?”.  My love told me this explicitly from her hospital bed at the Royal Alex not long before she left this life. With tubes inserted into her to do the job her body was no longer able to do and not physically strong enough to get up on her own, she said: “I won’t ask why. I’ve loved my life.”

How the hell can I have any regret? I loved – love – my life with her. I have no regret, only gratitude for every      millisecond I spent with her on this planet and having her           now and forever implanted in my heart.

So, even gone from this earth, Patricia is impacting the way I live here. Because I now realize I don’t regret the things in my life I was sure I regretted. I don’t love everything that’s happened, but I can’t regret them. They’ve shaped me. And can continue to shape me if I just let them.

I just have to listen to my bride. And Jim Carrey.

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Bloggers block

After submitting my last blog 15 months ago, my brain cramped. It might have been Covid overkill, I don’t know.

But I hit a wall.

Again.

Then I decided to dust off what got me started at the key board way back when. Writing old fashioned stories in a new fashioned way.

First, I polished up my stroke book, found a great editor and am about to pound the pavement looking for a publisher for it. I had some very positive rejections a while back. With the editor’s touch and some advice on better-targeted publishers, I’m optimistic about Where Are My Shoes seeing the light of day at a books store/on-line store near you soon.

Then, I wrote a novel. A pretty good one, too, I think. It’s about a disenchanted old -school newspaper reporter, a TV weather scientist and a racist/misogynist wack job.  It’s with that great editor now. When she’s done with it, I’ll have it in front of an agent and then – knock-on-wood — to a publisher.

Finally, I went back to my early days and put together a couple of short stories. The first of these, Whatever Happened to American Standard, is out now in Litbreak Magazine. You can find it hear: https://litbreak.com/

I hope you like it.  I’ll let you know when the next one comes out and where to find it. Ditto on any progress with the books. I’m off and running on a second novel, as well.

What’s all of this have to do with Brain Food?

I’m glad you asked.

Recently, through work, I saw a presentation given by a wheel chair-bound stroke survivor who now works to improve accessibility to staff at her government ministry across the board. Ready tools, physical accessibility – everything is fair came. Then I listened to a presentation by librarians around improving access to the reading impaired. Their aim is to make it possible to read anything whether you’re blind and trying to get through a document at work, or have a reading disability and want to check out a book at the library.

After being both inspired and humbled by these presentations, I’ve decided to re re-focus my blogging on reading. Whether that’s being able to read or having access to reading. Because, you know, you can’t taste Brain Food unless you can have access to it in the first place.

The rest of my writing will be focussed on putting out more short stories and books. I’ll share info and updates on this writing here, as well.

So, my next two blogs will be a deeper dive into the interesting work noted above. Hopefully I’ll have some more info to share on my other writing by then, too.

Stay tuned.

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Brains under Covid fire — what to do?

It’s been 76 years since the end of the last time a global catastrophe profoundly impacted every corner of Planet Earth. That was the end of World War II.

For the first time since then, the entire world is under threat. This time, by a common enemy in Covid-19. And this time that foe is attacking every tiny corner of the Third Rock from the Sun.

It’s no wonder so many of us are stressed and fatigued. Never before has it been more important to be mindful of our mental health.

I spoke to Dr. Angela Grace to get her take on this. Dr. Grace is a Calgary-based Registered Psychologist and, like all of her colleagues, she’s been busier than ever during this Covid year.

“There are some times through Covid that I’m a front-line worker for front-line workers and I’m noticing myself getting exhausted,” she said. “We’re all human and we’re meant to go through a range of experiences and a range of emotions, but even myself, this is what I do for work, but I am still impacted.”

If mental health pros feel stress, nobody should be ashamed to accept that they feel it, too. But what to do? And how do you determine if stress is ‘manageable’ or if you are beginning to go to a dark and dangerous place?

“To me, the difference is your ability to bounce back,” said Dr. Grace. “What I do is look at what is the consistency and longevity of the complaints, of the concerns, of the emotions of the feelings.  I even watch it in myself. If I had a really crappy day can I have a hot bath and get a good sleep and meditate in the morning and am I going to feel better? Or, am I still feeling terrible about everything?”

Time is key here.

Dr. Grace said she and her colleagues look at length of time when assessing stress levels.

“If it’s a few days or a few days a month when you go into a slump and you know how to pull yourself out of it, that’s emotional resilience, that’s good self care, that’s good honouring of your feelings and experiences,” she said. “But if it goes on and on for a couple weeks, a couple months, if you can’t seem to pull yourself out of the slump or don’t have the resources to help with that, then it’s definitely time to reach out for professional help.”

When I hear Dr. Grace speak, I realize that caring for our mental health is a lot like nurturing a beloved car (only a million times more important, of course :-)). Sometimes your ride needs major work. Most of the time regular tune ups keep it ship shape. And it always needs a little TLC.

We’re no different.

“Sometimes it’s a friend we need, sometimes it’s a colleague we need, sometimes it’s a family member that we need,” she said. “And sometimes it’s somebody completely outside of our lives who we can spill our guts to and have that outside perspective and just know our secrets are safe. And our deeper inner feelings that we’re afraid of being judged on by family and friends are going to be taken care of.

“Sometimes we need that skilled outside observer because we’re too close to the situation. We’re too close to what’s happening. We can’t see things objectively. We can’t hold on to a higher hope. We don’t have the skills to get out of it without that outside voice.”

But too many of us see asking for help – whether from friends or professionals – as a sign of weakness. Others don’t believe that real help is out there.

“There’s still a stigma about mental health that we should be able to ‘snap out of it,’” said Dr. Grace.

That’s a mistake.

 Dr. Grace said that caring for our mental health is critical to a complete life.

“We always need to be doing things to boost our mental health, just like with our physical bodies,” she said.

Often, we can do this at the same time.

“One of the known prevention factors for depression and relieving anxiety is a good amount of exercise. So, weightlifting, getting some cardio, getting your body moving,” said Dr. Grace.

This is another way that Covid in combination with the recent cold weather has taken a bite out of us.

“I’m fortunate that I’m a yoga instructor and a dancer. I can dance and do yoga in my house and I’m fine with that,” she said. “But for the people who need that socializing at the gym, who need that routine of getting into the water for a swim, there is none. That is going to take a toll on people.”

That’s why Spring 2021 is going to be so important, literally opening the door for us to get out and active more often. It’s not just getting out, either. It’s getting the suns’ rays shining directly on us.

“We need that light for our circadian rhythm,” said Dr. Grace.

Circadian rhythms are physical, mental, and behavioral changes that follow a 24-hour cycle. These natural processes respond primarily to light and dark and affect most living things, including animals, plants, and microbes.  This includes us.

“This is one of the hardest seasons. We’ve just got to get through the next few weeks until the sun comes out again and spring comes,” said Dr. Grace

But there is an option if you can’t get out in the sun and for those long nights and dark days of winter.  They are special ‘sun’ lights designed for people with seasonal effectiveness disorder. She shines hers on her first thing in the morning for 20 to 30 minutes.

The other Covid challenge is that many of our outside stress relievers are shut down. This limits all of us and the options that Dr. Grace and her colleagues can suggest to patients. So, we can’t go do that hobby, like making pottery, we can’t go have coffee with a friend to debrief and unwind. These aren’t just ‘nice to haves.’ These activities are key to our on-going mental health, she said.

There’s another thing.  Even some of the tools that are helping us get by through Covid are causing us stress.

“There really is such a thing as ‘Zoom fatigue’ where our brains can’t handle that much screen time,” said Dr. Grace. “I actually find it more tiring to do sessions by Zoom that I do in person because you just don’t’ get the same sense.”

She found that she needed to cut back the number of sessions she does a week to counteract this.  It’s not just the screen time, either.

“I’ve also felt the stresses of kids home from school, husband working from home, my grandma passed away in November. I’ve got my own stuff to deal with and I can’t get over extended and truly be there for other people in the best way if I’m not well,” said Dr. Grace.  “And I know a lot of my colleagues who I’ve spoken to recently have said the same thing. They’re closing the doors to new people for a couple of months because they’re full and overwhelmed. Just like our doctors and our nurses and our front-line workers, we’re not robots. We can’t give, give, give without that replenishment.”

What’s true for the professionals is true for all of us. Balance is always important, but especially now. Pushing ourselves too hard is a mistake.

“One of the biggest things is we need to notice our levels of fatigue and honor our need to rest,” she said.

Dr. Grace suggests trying to use the period as a time of growth.

“How can I turn it around into ‘how can I understand myself and humanity and how the world works just a little bit better,’” she said.  “With some more hope, humility, letting go of the things you can’t control and turning it in to something that can be meaningful.”

But this can’t be accomplished by just sitting and meditating and being in a peaceful state.  She said that you’ve got to feel the outrage, you can’t be benign with your feelings or try to sugar coat what’s going on around you. Again, working this through with friends and colleagues can help. It can also be great to talk to professionals who are trained to help you unpack your feelings.

For help finding a psychologist you can do what I did for this piece and connect with the Psychologists Association of Alberta. Their website is: www.psychologistsassociation.ab.ca

They have tools on the sight that can help understand what their members’ offer and guide you in choosing the right fit for you.

“It’s always a good idea to have your go-to therapist that knows you and can be that voice that says ‘hey, maybe you are in a real slump right now and we need to get some more resources and help in place,’” said Dr. Grace.

But she notes that not every situation is the same. If how you are feeling seems severe, go to the hospital, they’ll do an assessment there and lead you to the right support.

Back to the idea of finding the positive, the growth opportunity in a time of stress and turmoil, Dr. Grace points to Kazimierz Dabrowski’s theory of positive disintegration.

In 1967, the Polish psychologist, psychiatrist, and physician observed that adults go through a second adolescence. But this time, instead of their bodies going through pain full, dramatic changes and re-emerging as adults, in the second adolescence it is a person’s soul and belief system that have to fall apart to be transformed.

 “It’s at this point that we can completely disintegrate and go into severe mental health issues, addictions, destroying families,” said Dr. Grace. “Or, we can turn this into a positive disintegration where we re-evaluate what’s important to us, re-evaluate our values, come into alignment with who we really are and what really gives our life meaning and so the disintegration becomes positive. “

For me, my stroke may have taken me through this disintegration. Looking back, I feel like it did and that I came out of it on the positive side. For many people, Covid may be the trigger for this disintegration.

With all that’s going on these days it’s easy to focus on just keeping your head above water. But keeping it dry isn’t good enough, you need to keep it healthy.

If you want to reach out to Dr. Grace, you can connect though her website: www.heartcenteredcounselling.com

Yoga, milestones & books…

Oh, BTW, I took to yoga after my stroke. It was the first thing I’d found since my karate days that took my head right out of whatever had been stressing it since I’d had to stop practicing karate.  Now one of my daughter’s, Kristina, is a certified yoga instructor. If you want ton try an on-line class, check out her website at: https://kristinaseefeldt.cloudstudios.com

Another thing – this coming Monday, March 15, marks 11 years since my brain sizzle. It’s my first strokeversery with a book done and in the can, with the hunt on for a publisher, so that’s cool. I always get some weird vibes on that day, though.

While I’m on about the book, the five publishers who were looking at it in December are still looking. Or, at least they haven’t said that they’ve stopped looking. One additional one asked to take a peek and quickly said ‘no thanks.’ It’s nice to have top publishers interested. I’ve had some good feedback, as well. That eases the sting of a ‘no thanks’.

Who knows, maybe my next blog will lead with details on a new book deal?!

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I’m baaaaack

I took a break from this blog.

The break turned into a hiatus. The hiatus to an absence. And now, here I am – more than two years since the last helping from the Brainfood Cafe.

The point of the break-hiatus-absence was to focus my writing on finishing my book – the tale of an average fella who one day wakes up dazed and confused with a misfiring melon.  As you may recall from past blogs, it turns out that this fella – me – had a stroke, losing the ability to read, write and do arithmetic. My memory was shot and much of my cognitive skills were set back 40 years or so. Not too good as I was 45 when the stroke struck.

Me, my lady & my girls.

I figured finishing the book would take a few weeks. Maybe two or three months.

As well as I’ve recovered from the stroke, my math must still not be too great ‘cause I didn’t put a bow on the book until the summer. This past summer — 2020 COVID-19 Summer.

Why so long?

Because it was damn hard. Re-living the worst months of my existence took an emotional toll and required regular stoppages to reset my mind and rest my soul. And I had to get the writing right. Hemmingway said writing is easy, just sit down at the typewriter and bleed. There’s even more bloodletting when what you’re writing about is so personal. In the book I write about demons that haunted me as I fought to recover. Those demons also struck me as I wrote, making me question my words and my recovery.

But I finished.

And that felt great. My life’s goal was to write books, which is why I became a newspaper reporter way back when. It made sense at the time, but that trade left me with a lot of good ideas and partially thought-out beginnings. After career changes and years of starts and stops with my writing, along came the stroke, wiping away my ability to read and write and presumably putting a definitive end to my dream.

But now the dream is reality (I hate when cliches fit).

I’ll never forget the morning early this past June when I stopped typing, re-read what I’d just finished and realized that this was it with the book. I’d tied the yarn together, it was complete. At least complete enough to get it out in front of other sets of eyeballs.  My bride, Patricia, had a final read for me with some suggestions. Then I reached out to writer friends of mine about agents and advice on the path to publishing. I got some great feedback and advice.

Edmonton writer Wayne Arthurson (The Traitors of Camp 133, Fall From Grace, The Red Chesterfield) gave my yarn a spin and suggested an epilogue. That was a brilliant idea. Then it turned out that Wayne is also working as a successful agent. We shook hands electronically and Wayne is now shopping my book around.

I’ve been warned about how hard it is to get a book published. Told not to get my hopes up. Cautioned how difficult it is even to get a good publisher to just read a synopsis. But so far, Wayne has managed to get these folks to take notice.  I’ve even had the most inspiring rejection that I could ever imagine from a major publisher.

“Tim writes with poise and emotion (not surprising given the ordeal he’s been through!) and I feel he has a good voice here, and a sense of what he wants to convey.”

This publisher feels that my book isn’t the right fit for his company, but also believes that it is worthy of seeing the light of day in book stores.  I’ll take that – for now.

 At last count, five publishers are considering my yarn. It really feels like this thing will be hitting store shelves and e-readers sooner or later.

So, with that happening, I figured, the extended Brainfood hiatus is over.  I can take you all on the journey with me as I wait for news on a publisher, write about the talks I’m preparing to start giving again and share with you the new writing I’m working on. Oh, and you’ll also get the scoop when a publishing deal is (is, not if it is) struck.

The other inspiration for getting back on the blog horse is the milestone I hit while we were all dealing with the new Covid-19 realities. March 15 marked 10 years since my mind was sizzled by the stroke. My plan had been to celebrate that day with a book on store shelves and an incredible trip somewhere. I didn’t finish writing in time for that and the Coronavirus killed the dream of sipping Corona beer on a warm beach, in any case.

So, while I put all that on hold, I want to get back to writing stories that inspire stroke survivors, and the people who love them. Stories about different paths to recovery and to great new normals that can be even better than before. Like, for instance, writing a book after a stroke wiped out your ability to read and right 😊.

I also want to write more about the big beautiful brains we all have and explore with readers how to get the most out of them, how to treat them with the love and kindness that will keep them firing on all cylinders. And that can maybe coax just a bit more brain power out of ‘em, too.

All of this is what you can expect in future helpings of Brainfood.

Stay tuned!

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RIP John Le Carre

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The hamster wheel

I’m supposed to be smarter than a rodent. Even considering my brain buzz.

But if that’s true, why do I spend so much time on the hampster wheel? Why don’t I spend more time — most of my time — on things that make me scream Awesome! Yes!?

 

 

 

 

I don’t know.

You’d think that after some of the crap I’ve been through I’d be like one of these guys you see in the movies. You know, life changing experince leads to a new lease on life. No more wasted time, not a minute spent on stuff that doesnt REALLY MATTER. 24-7 on what’s awsome and makes a fella scream ‘yes!’

But then life kicks in. Routine. Responsibility. A few days pass without tapping out a blog or working on the book.  Days turn to weeks, Weeks turn to months. Ground hog day. Time is spent doing necessary things, but more time is wasted doing unnecessary  stuff. The stuff that keeps a guy busy doing everything but the things he’s supposed to do.

Time passes, frustration turns to passive acceptance that the writing isn’t practical. Energy turns into frustration before it fades to the most evil thing of all — benign content.

Feels a little cliched as I write this. But I’m living this cliche, I guess that’s how cliches become cliches. So I’ll go on,

I took in a seminar the other day where some cliches hit me like a mike Tyson body shot.

They talked about things like, if a fella doesn’t spend regulars time  working on one’s self, a fella can’t get off his hamster wheel. He can’t really take the time to develop his own special, true gifts to their fullest potential.

And that’s a disservice to him. But it’s also cheating one’s community.

That doesn’t mean you can’t be successful without developing your passion, your real gifts. I think you can be really successful doing the wrong things.

You can make money or praise without doing the things that you’re meant to do. And I think that gnaws at your gut.

Jimmy Hendrix might have had great skills as a carpenter — but I’m sure glad he focused on playing the guitar. The world’s a better place and will be as long as his recordings electrify the planet.

My session also talked about spending time every day on visioning the day and reflecting on it’s successes and misses. Giving deep thought to learning and adapting from what’s gone on with an aim to getting better the next time out.

It also makes me think of world class athletes. They visualize making even the smallest corrections to get just a step faster, a bit stronger, doing the small things that add up to being number one. In team sports, focussing on making themselves better makes the steam that much closer to being great.

It always feels to me like it’s selfish to spend time focussing on myself. But it’s not if that focus makes me better at servicing those I was put on this planet to serve.

The session also talked about thinking about gratitude. It turns out that gratitude isn’t just nice, I’m told that science shows that it actually can make you more successful. If you’re grateful for what you have each day — truely grateful and you reflect on this — you are more successful. The trick is, you can’t fake this stuff. You really have to be grateful. I was pretty sure that gratitude was a good thing. I just didn’t know that it was it was also a powerful thing.

Things that make you go ‘hmmm.’

So, i’m going to take a real shot at being really grateful for what i’ve been given and what even the shitty things have provided me. I tend to think of gratitude at dramatic times, intense times. I want to think about it all the time now.

And I’m going to dedicate time to  every day to self reflection. I’ve been doing this for a little while now. Nothing fancy. Just real reflection, opening my noggin to what’s out there. Thinking through what I’ve done each day, thinking about what I should be doing, what I could do.

I’m hopeful this will clear my mind to write what I need to write. If it doesn’t, I’ll be satisfied with whatever clarity shows me.

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Sometimes breaking vows is a good thing. I think.

I vowed that I wouldn’t blog again until I’d finished my book.

Well, I haven’t quite finished that humdinger yet, so it seems the fact that you’re reading this is pretty clear evidence that I’m breaking that vow.

For new readers or those who’ve forgotten what I’m on about, I’m penning the story of the stroke that sizzled my brain’s ability to read and write, made a sieve of my memory and took my average-ish math skills to a new low. That’s among other important, life altering things. Generally speaking, I was not capable of doing meaningful work or meaningful just about anything.

But I battled back and — despite some pretty deep scars — I’ve made quite a remarkable recovery.  Even if I do say so myself.

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What gnaws at me, though, is I promised myself if I ever got my words back, I wouldn’t let them go to waste. I’d write the books that I’d been putting off all my life, either too afraid of failure or too lazy pre-stroke to complete.

But even for an ex newspaper reporter well accustomed to pumping out copy every day, writing a book is quite a grind. Especially, it seems, when virtually every page conjures up painful memories. I’ve had to put together a process that works for me and my turtle slow, technology aided reading style. And that’s taken some time to figure out and try to perfect.

At the same time, I’ve had to learn to deal with the gut ripping pain that reliving the memories of my brain battle conjures up. Hemmingway, I believe, said that writing is easy – just sit down at the type writer and bleed. OK. But sometimes I need a tourniquet when I’m penning this brain battle stuff. It’s good not to forget, but it’s also hell to remember.

Sadly, what I’ve noticed is that dealing with the hurt sometimes – often, actually – has led me down the path of avoidance. Back to that old nemesis of wasted time.

There are loads of powerful quotes that drive home the importance of spending one’s time well. Stuff like:

Time is really the only capital that any human being has, and the only thing he can’t afford to lose. ~Thomas Edison.

An ounce of gold will not buy an inch of time. ~Chinese Proverb.

Until you value yourself, you will not value your time. Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it. ~M. Scott Peck.

Those quotes have a sting to ‘em for me. Especially that last one. But what really stings is that I’ve been battling this wasted time demon going way back to high school. That’s when my amazing English teacher John Rollins gave me a graduation present in the form of a short letter. The gist of his epistle was that hours turn to days, days to weeks and weeks to years in the blink of an eye. He warned that I wouldn’t want to blink too many times and find that my aspirations were untried with the last few minutes on the clock of life ticking away.

It struck me as I’ve been working on the book in recent days that time can be pretty cruel, even when it’s not wasted. Things – life itself – can end pretty abruptly. Even with my best efforts I may never get to see my book completed or published whether or not it finds its way to bookshelves and e-readers.

I’m not meaning to be a downer, but it’s true.

Stieg Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy novels are worldwide best sellers that have been turned into movies. One was a Hollywood block buster. But he died of a heart attack at age 50 before seeing the success that was coming for his stories.

Pondering some recent events, it struck me that I’ve been wasting the gift of blogging. Its instant nature means that no matter what, I can get at least some of my story out there every week. If all goes well, a book, maybe books and who know what else will follow. But nothing can stop the blog. Nothing can stop it but me, that is.

So Brain Food is back, not instead of my book and not as a drain on the process of writing it.  It’s back as a piece of the pie. And if I lose my way again?

Well, if I start feeling lazy, there is Simon Fitzmaurice to think about. If he can’t inspire effort and dogged determination, there is no hope of inspiration. In 2008 the multi award winning writer and film director was diagnosed with ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease, as it is also known.

He was just 34 with a young family.

The determined Irishman had two more children following his diagnosis and kept on writing. He uses a wheelchair and is attached to a ventilator that enables him to breath. He can’t speak and he’s immobile. But he continues to write and communicate using his eyes via an eye-gaze computer.

I can’t imagine how tough that must be. It seems that it would be furiously frustrating and that it would be simple – understandable, even – to give up. But Simon doesn’t seem to think that way. In fact, he wrote and directed his first feature length film, My Name is Emily. And it wasn’t just good for a guy with disabilities. It won a wack of awards last year.

Amazing. Inspiriting!

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Shifting gears

I had a great time the last two weeks in Toronto and Montreal.

I was 100 per cent out of work mode. I was enjoying two great cities. And best of all, I was hanging out with Kristina and Patricia. I also managed to find time to meet up with a couple of buddies I hadn’t seen in far too long.

One convo with one of those pals got me to thinking. And the result of that brain work is this — it’s time to shift gears with the blog thing.

Over a pint, my buddy and I talked about the ways we’ve worked together in the past to help folks draw out the best thinking of people facing difficult problems and challenges. Over a second pint, we talked about using this blog to do that again.

So for the coming months at least, Brainfood is going to get more focused. I’m going to use it to tap into my network, and with your help, readers’ communities to use our collective minds to solve challenges and tackle problems of the mind.

My buddy is going to help.

You see, I’ve learned in past lives and through recovering from the stroke thing that the answers to many of the problems and questions that befuddle us are out there, well understood by other folks sometimes in other places. Sometimes it’s straight forward. Sometimes there are context issues. Other times some creativity is required.

But we don’t know what we don’t know. And what we don’t know can’t help us.

A story or two…

Back when I was at the stage in my stroke recovery that saw my comprehension improve to normal levels I was still suffering with speed. I could only read at 50 words per minute. Average readers fly along at about 200.

I had a program to deal with this problem on my computer. But when it came to books, newspapers and magazines, I was out of luck. One fix was to go to the library and pick up a book and then look for another copy on tape. Then I’d listen to some actor read the words as I followed along with the book. It was clunky.

It was tough to read for pleasure or learning using the thespian aided method.

Then while doing some research, I connected with a speech language pathologist from Chicago. At the end of our interview, I kibitzed about my book reading problem.

She asked: “Don’t you have Amazon Kindle in Canada?”

“Indeed we do,” I said.

“Then get yourself one. It has a text to speech program.”

Indeed it does. Who knew? Lots of people, just not – until that day – anybody that I knew.

I’ve been reading books, magazines and newspapers with my Kindle ever since.

I’d also been frustrated that I’d never been able to talk to anybody else facing my kind of brain buzz from a stroke. None of the strokies I’d met had lost their ability to read and write, so none had had to relearn their ABCs. Then one day I had the TV on to BBC while I was doing some work and a Toronto writer named Howard Engel was featured. He’d had a stroke. While it wasn’t like mine, it had caused him to lose his words, too. And he’d battled back and kept writing.

Even though our issues were different, it was inspiring to hear about a guy like this who I could relate to.

I looked Mr. Engel up in the phone book and was able to chat with him a few times. He was a real gentleman to me. And a great inspiration.

It would be fantastic if more of these kinds of connections and the fixes to problems and inspiration they bring could happen by design rather than by chance. That’s what I’d like to help spark with this blog.

That’s what I’m going to do, that is. With your help.

We’re going to identify some of the problems that are driving us crazy. And we’re going to use some techniques and this blog to find the answers. We’ll spark conversations that will help us act as one big brain to fix problems. Small problems. Complex ones. Frustrating conundrums. Whatever.

We’ll pick them off  a few at a time.

But, like I said, I’ll need your help.

Shortly I’ll post a blog that will flesh out more details. But basically, I need you to come forward with some initial problems. Then I need you to help draw in your networks – docs, therapists, patients, families and friends, support works of all kinds, researchers – folks with any interest and experience with the brain work that’s going on out there.

From all over the globe.

I’m looking forward to this!

Stay tuned.

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Riding the rails and drinking in TO and Montreal

Smart as I am, when the signs on the stores we passed on our VIA Rail train were no longer written in English, I figured out they were in French. And that meant that we’d crossed the border between Ontario and Quebec.

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Seeing Quebec roll by from the ground for the first time was tres bien. And entering Montreal on the train route was a complete different experience than driving in from Pierre Trudeau airport. Very cool.

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We walk out of the VIA station, roller suitcase in tow just after noon. We found a patio on Phillips Square — Le Grand Comptoir — and fortified ourselves for the afternoon. We had a great, simple lunch under perfect patio weather, just shy of 30 C. The square out front and the slow traffic creeping past us provided perfect views for taking in the city. The only downside were the Canadian, German and Brit business dudes sitting next to us. They were all trying to impress each other with their biz smarts and used F bombs as verbs, nouns, adjectives and just about everything else. I’m not against a good Fbomb. I just appreciate variety and creativity in cursing. And I try to avoid the nastiest words in all-age public settings.

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These boys were more amusing than disturbing though.

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After eating, we headed towards Patricia and Kristina’s friend, Francois’s place. It was a great stroll, even with the bag in tow. He lives near Ste Catherines’. Which we strolled along much of the way. We also had a coffee on Ste Denis. It was great to sit there and restore my memories of Montreal.

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We met Francois after he was done work and went for dinner at Le Steak House Du Village — a great choice for us Albertans. After a long meal on the patio combined with great people watching and conversation, I now count Francois as a friend.

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We had a fabulous time in Montreal — great dinners, amazing walks, incredible sites. The pictures attached tell the story best. Old Montreal, Crescent Street, up and down Ste. Catherine’s street. Wow.

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We took the train back to Toronto on Saturday. Dinner in Leslieville and then Saturday afternoon we watched the Blue Jays beat Minnesota, staying on top of the American League East pennant race. We watched the sun go down at Yonge and Dundas square.

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Monday we paid a visit to BMV books and then strolled over to China Town and Kensington. I still can’t visit Kensington Market without humming the King of Kensington theme song to myself.

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All of this brain food from TO and Montreal is nicely feeding my writing. I’m making good progress on the fiction stuff.

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All aboard…

On the via rail train heading east of Kingston. On the way to Montreal. Blow at High Dough from the Hip is going through my mind. It’s less than a week since Gord Downie and his fellow tragically hipsters played the final show here on their farewell tour.

I like the way those guys think. Downie gets diagnosed with inoperative brain cancer and they go blow it out on the road one last time. To hell with you cancer, I’ll go out on my terms, he seems to be shouting to that bitch of a disease. Who knows, maybe he’s got more music in him still.

This is my first Canadian train trip. After all of these years.

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Toronto from VIA Rail tracks.

 

I’ve done a bit of the train thing in Europe. Done plenty of city trains throughout Canada and the US. And I’ve even taken a few old fashioned trains at theme parks like Fort Edmonton and Heritage Park in Calgary. But this is my first Via Rail in Canada. I’m sorry I waited this long.

On board with my bride and first born, this is a pretty cool perspective of a part of the world I’ve only seen from the air. There’s a touch of elegance to rolling this way, even back here in economy.

Patricia and I are in the early days of a couple of weeks in Toronto and Montreal. Montreal is where we’re heading now. We flew in Monday night and crashed at daughter Kristina’s place near Queen and University. A brisk predawn walk to the subway taking us to Union Station woke us up after dinner last night with our friend Richard. He just hit the same unmentionable birthday that I recently did, so we celebrated at Biff’s Bistro, a great French spot that I haven’t been to since my pharma days on Front and Yonge.

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It’s been over a year since my last visit to Montreal. And this will be the first time there with my gals (two out of three, anyway). Really looking forward to that. I’ll also get to meet their friend (and Richard’s) Francois. He’s generously opened his doors to us. It’s great to live as a local when travelling.

This will be fantastic brain food.

If you’ve been to Montreal, you’ll know that it is North America’s best taste of Continental Europe. You’ll also know that the people there are as friendly as they come. I’ve found that to be true even with my poor French. When I say poor, I should say basically non existent. A combination of bad public school French when I was a young lad and the fact that all of my French speaking friends having excellent English which they like to practice. I also lay blame on my lack of French skills on the beautiful French teacher I had in grade 7. She agreed to pass me — just — if I promised not to take her class again. I was devastated. And the reason I struggled in her class was mostly because her presence scrambled my mind, I just couldn’t concentrate on French or anything else when she was in the room. C’est la vie.

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It’s quite spectacular to watch the country side role by at train speed. You can take things in, even at train speed. And the way you intersect the smaller communities as you role in comes with a sense of nostalgia. And it’s lovely to hear the train whistle blow from inside our care. More nostalgia, I suppose.

We’re now stopping in Cornwall, ON. That’s enough blogging for now. I’ll dial in again from Montreal. Au revoir.

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P.S. Check out my daughter’s latest blog post at httpwestmeetseast.wordpress.com