Tag Archives: memories

Blast from the past

Today I played water polo for only the second time this century, (my playing experience spanned the mid ’80’s to late 90’s). My buddy Ross, who was both my coach, and later who I also coached with is visiting… and he was invited to drop by and play with a masters team visiting from Calgary, doing a training camp before the US Open. And, as luck would have it, it was happening in a lake just 20 minutes from my house.

I was nervous. I haven’t played in years and have not been swimming either, so the idea that I’d be jumping in a lake and playing players that never really left the game like me was daunting. Water polo isn’t a sport you can easily leave for 20 years and then just start back up again like riding a bicycle.

It was so wonderful to play again, the guys were awesome. I got to get in the pool water with my buddy and play with him for the first time in 30 years. I’ve played in many outdoor pools, but we were at Sasamat Lake, which was warm and picturesque, and the entire experience was great.

That said, I thought I was fit, but this was humbling. For the last two and a half years my workouts have consisted of steady cardio on a bicycle, treadmill, or row machine. To switch to swimming, and add in starts and stops, sprints, and the taxing thinking process of doing something I haven’t done in years had me exhausted in no time at all. I spent a lot of time taking deep breaths and trying to lower my heart rate. It’s a whole different kind of fit to play a game like water polo. It also doesn’t help much that I never was a very efficient swimmer.

I used to have a resting heart rate between 35-40 beats per minute and it could get as low as 32 in the morning before getting out of bed. That was mostly because I trained a lot and my inefficient swim stroke meant that I was usually working harder than anyone else to do the same amount of work.

Add to that, I was never a great player to begin with. I was good, but not great. So a 20+ year gap from playing left me unable to do what I though I could do. On this topic, the Calgary team’s motto on their shirts gave me a good chuckle:

The Older I Get The Better I was

We might join them for one more practice tomorrow, we’ll see how my and my buddy’s bodies feel in the morning.

A Dawn Remembered

I wrote this in my late teens, some time before summer, 1986, when I was still in high school.

___

A Dawn Remembered

Early morning I did wake
To gaze across a chilly lake
I then looked to the sky
That dropped a little lonely flake

The cold glistened in my eye
Though the furnace was nearby
My body felt what it saw
It made me shiver where I lie

The morning air, so crisp and raw
In its virginity was not a flaw
So pure and simple the day did start
That for a moment I stood in awe

This admiration is an art
That must come from your heart
This early morning I did wake
To watch this beauty fall apart.

Soap on a rope

In grade 13, I had an amazing English teacher, Mrs. Elle (Not her real name). She actually taught me to enjoy reading. She made me interested in writing. She brought life to English class. Mrs. Elle was one of my absolute favourite teachers.

Ms. Elle was a full figured woman and she was always dressed impeccably. Dress slacks and long sleeved sweaters or blouses that made her look like she was going to a fancy restaurant right after school. For jewelry, she always wore large earrings and a large necklace. A typical outfit would be dress pants, and a single colour knitted sweater, with a feature necklace that was rather large. One of these necklaces was a shell on a rope.

I sat next to Christine, one of my good friend’s girlfriends, and she often commented on how nice Mrs. Elle dressed. I walked in to class one day when Ms. Elle was wearing the shell on a rope and commented to Christine, “Oh, I see Ms. Elle is wearing her ‘Soap on a Rope’ today. This was actually a thing people owned back when I was a kid. I’m not sure how functional it was, but it certainly wasn’t something anyone would wear out as jewelry. Christine started to laugh and that started me laughing, and then we couldn’t stop.

Mrs. Elle quieted us down and then we both started laughing again. Christine stopped before me, and then without malice Mrs. Elle said to me, “You look like you are enjoying yourself David, would you like to share what’s so funny with the rest of the class?

I lost it. I started to shake my head ‘no’ and I laughed uncontrollably. The idea of saying this out loud horrified me, and the nervousness of the situation was spent in full laughter. Mrs. Elle looked at me and said, “Why don’t you go get a drink of water.” As giggles went through the class.

We were in a portable so I went outside laughing. I went to get a drink in the nearest hallway with a fountain and I was still laughing. Then when I calmed down I went back to the portable and sat on the top step by the door to the class and waited about 3 or 4 minutes to compose myself. I took a deep breath, exhaled, opened the door and headed to my seat. Mrs. Elle looked at me and said, “Better now?” and I lost it again. Full, uncontrollable laughter with other students starting to laugh as well, which just magnified my lack of control. Mrs. Elle, just looked at me and said, “Why don’t we try again tomorrow?” I grabbed my books and left the class.

That was the second last class of the day. After my last class, I rushed to the portable because I knew Mrs. Elle taught another class right after ours, and I wanted to catch her before she left. I waited until I thought all the kids were gone and then went into her class. I waited a moment at the door as the last couple students left the portable, then I approached Mrs. Elle. I apologized and she took it in full stride. She said, “I could tell you wanted to stop but you just couldn’t” I apologized again, and then she asked, “So, what was so funny?”

If I wasn’t expecting this I would I lost it again, but I knew this question was coming. I told her that what I said was very rude, that I shouldn’t have said it in class, and it wasn’t appropriate to share. She gave me a smile and I could tell she wanted to ask again, but she didn’t, instead she took a few minutes to share what they did in class, and let me know what I needed to get done for the next day.

There are so many ways that this could have gone very wrong. Mrs. Elle had every right to be upset at me disrupting her class not once, but twice. She could easily have disciplined me for it. She didn’t have to let me out of class for the day. She didn’t have to take time at the end of her day to catch me up. She handled this so well, and while I felt like I could have lost a lot of respect, she showed me the utmost respect and let this just slip by. But I won’t lie to you… I almost lost it again the next time she wore that shell on a rope, and Christine had to move to another seat away from me before we both started laughing again.

What’s Truth

I wrote this on March 11th, 1985. I was 17. I’m digging up a lot of old writing, and while I find it a bit challenging to do so, I’ll share the poem below without editing it… I think I’d rather have it sit as an old work, not something re-worked because I’d change so much if I started editing now.

A poem by 17-year-old me:
—

What’s Truth

Everyone sees you a different way
Yet you the same from day to day.

You always worry about what they think
You feel paranoid with every blink.

You tell yourself don’t worry ’bout it
But inside you know that’s really shit.

You really worry and that’s a fact
About what they say behind your back.

People say things when not at face
You do the same with them in your place.

So why can’t people just be true
And tell everything right to you.

This separates man, from other life
The ability for words to cut like a knife.

Man is inable to be perfect
Because of feelings of love and respect.

These protect us from each other’s fire
So as not to hurt, we all become liars.

“Do you like my hat?”
“Yes I like it a lot.”
[It should be ripped to shreds and left to rot.]

What purpose was man put on this earth
What are his feelings really… really worth?

He cannot live in full honesty
He won’t care about this humble plea.

You know as you read that this is true
But you ask yourself, “What can I do?”

And it’s at this point that this dream
Starts falling apart at the seams. ~David

David: Did you like it?
Reader: Yeah, it’s kind a neat.
David: The truth…
Reader: …It’s good.
David: thanks?

The purge

Our garage was a mess before our big renovation, and since then it has been an absolute disaster. A couple days ago we threw out a lot of garbage. Yesterday I started cleaning out boxes I’ve had stored for years. The last time I did go through them, I just went down a nostalgic path and kept everything. This time I purged.

I was pretty ruthless. I took a few photos of things, but I also dumped a lot, including photos too. I realized that if these things have stayed in boxes for 15 or 20+ years already, why keep them in a box for another 20? It’s not going to get easier moving them around at 74 years old.

Besides, I just don’t feel attached to ‘stuff’ anymore. Here’s an example:

I wore #13 in high school, and when the school got rid of the reversible caps and got a set with ear protection, the coach gave me my number… that was 1985 and I still have it. The blue & white #9’s and red suit were from the Maccabiah games in Israel… that was 1993. Well now I have that photo above and the items are off to the dump. These, and many other items that would otherwise end up in a box for many more years, have now been tossed out.

Some of the more unique items I dumped: the rough start of a script for a water polo movie; A collection of tacky owls that my grandmother bought for me over many years because she knew I liked owls (these were sold by my wife on Facebook marketplace for a whopping $40); Wedding albums I used to promote my wedding photography business (I gave enlargements of any photos I kept to the couple, and they got all the negatives, so I wasn’t throwing away anything unique); Animal bones… So, this probably needs an explanation… No I wasn’t a kid who tortured animals and kept their bones, I travelled all through the southern US with my dad and kept some pretty neat skulls I found on our adventures.

Stuff.

Stuff I’ll never use. Stuff I don’t need. Stuff that doesn’t need to sit in my garage for another decade or two.

I’ll keep a few items. Books I find hard to part with, and other nostalgic articles, but what was 6 or 7 boxes will probably become just one. Still just stuff, but a lot less of it.

Early morning silence

There is a special kind of quiet in waking up before the birds start chirping. A stillness. My cat knows it’s too early for me to let him out, and he nestles into my lap. The leaves outside are motionless. Even the air feels still, though not stale.

It reminds me of being at a cottage in Ontario. I can imagine the glass-smooth reflection of the water, the quiet of an open, still space. The crispness of the morning air.

It’s like my mind is taking still photographs, witnessing frame after frame, rather than a continuity of time. The silence is the space between the shots.

Silence is the space in between. In between the night and morning. In between the sound of my fingers typing letters. In between sounds of any kind. Silence is a comfortable solitude. Early morning silence is not lonely, it’s comfortable. Silence keeps me company.

There is no better way to start the day, than with early morning silence.

Grad celebration

Tonight I’m off to Victoria for my daughter’s university convocation tomorrow. Then on Wednesday evening my high school graduation ceremony is combined with our school award ceremony in an event we call iHub Annual (named so by a former student). Being a small school, we started this tradition in order to create a bigger audience for our grads, but this year we are only inviting grads and their families and we are hosting a YouTube Live event for the rest of the students. This might become our new way of running the event from now on.

Graduation is a special event for students. However, I didn’t go to my first two graduations. I was undergoing nose surgery for my high school grad, straightening a break that happened in a water polo game. Then my first university graduation happened almost 3 years after it should have and I decided not to go because I literally would have known no one else in the grad class. I hadn’t even set foot on the campus for two years at that point. Oddly enough, this delay was also for water polo, I took my final courses at a different university so that I could play varsity water polo for a year, then I ended up not applying for graduation… not knowing that this was necessary.

The first time I crossed the stage was for my UBC education degree with my new wife in the audience. Then she was there again with me when I crossed the stage in Eugene Oregon for my Masters. When I got my first university degree I shared, “I’m done with school, never again.” When I finished my Education degree, I declared again to anyone who would listen, “I’m done with school, never again.” Since finishing my masters, I haven’t said it… because that phrase doesn’t seem to be something I follow through with as intended. 🤣

Despite missing my first two grads, I understand the significance of the celebration. I know that for students it’s an important day. The end of high school, the end of a hard earned degree, these are big transition moments in a students life, a time to both look forward and back. It’s a time of trepidation and of excitement. It’s as right of passage ceremony that signifies the end of one part of a student’s life and the start of a new adventure.

No matter where you go…

More than half a life ago I had a girlfriend that was a fair bit older than me. She was very well travelled, including a solo trip to Africa in the early 80’s. While I haven’t seen her in almost 30 years, I still remember one of her favourite sayings, “No matter where you go, there you are.”

That saying is said by a lot of people, but I finally understood it when she said it. There is no escaping yourself. If you are kind in life, you’ll be kind in a sunny destination spot. If you’re a jerk, you’ll be a jerk at a touristy landmark. If you feel lost, you won’t find yourself on the peak of a mountain. You take whomever you are, wherever you go.

So whether you seek adventure, excitement, relaxation, or rest, it’s your own expectations and hopes that will determine what kind of trip you have. Disappointment because the room wasn’t quite what you expected, or although the room wasn’t what you expected the view was spectacular and made up for it? The food was more expensive than expected, or the food was pricey but you would have paid double for that red snapper last night? Are you looking for disappointment or are you looking for opportunities to see, hear, and feel positive experiences in a foreign land?

No matter where you go, there you are. Sometimes it takes travel experiences to truly understand what that means. As the world opens up, I hope people find exactly what they are looking for when they travel… just make sure you are looking for the right things.

The cry of the bird

I wrote this in my Grade 13 year in Art class (‘Early 1986). It wasn’t an assignment, just something I chose to write near some doodles of a loon.

—

The cry of the bird

The beauty of the bird disguises the pain

But it’s call is not heard anymore

Unless you go north where it is slowly but surely disappearing there too

The pain is not that of the individual bird but that of the species

It cries out but nobody listens

The beauty is lost

Who can find beauty in a world of pain

Goodbye beauty

Goodbye bird

Goodbye pain

There is nothing left to feel the pain

Its life is over

The bird will not sing for our grandchildren

There will be nothing but a flying animal that they may some day read about in a book

An illusion on paper

That sings no songs

Feels no pain

Perhaps it may have beauty

But it is not the same

It is not the same.

_____
*Update: A friend sent this to me. I forgot that this poem was printed in our school yearbook.

Different memories

One really interesting thing about getting together with my sisters is hearing their versions of past events. Sometimes they’d share something that I did, and I have no memory of the event. Sometimes I’d remember it but there would be differences in both circumstances and significance. For me, this is fascinating.

Most of the events we shared were minor. Small instances where we said or did something silly, or times when things didn’t necessarily go as planned. We shared a lot of laughs at who we used to be. Old photos helped us recall some of these memories.

We are shaped by the memories we have. Some of these memories are monumental in building our character, our relationships, and our identity. Some memories hold power over us and hold us back… but they are not what happened, they are what we remembered, and how we add meaning to them.

I believe that we can change our past, we can alter our thoughts on how much a memory means to us and what it means to us. We can find silver linings in memories that are dark clouds. We can allow angry moments to fade to black and white. We can tuck memories away where they feel more distant and have less of a hold on us.

The fact that every person remembers things differently tells us that memories are pliable… and so why not use that to make memories work for us? After spending time with my sisters, I like a few of their versions of shared memories more than my own… and I think I’ll keep their versions.