Wake Up! I'm at St. Lawrence Market.

Good morning!  It's Saturday, December 8th and there are 17 days till Christmas!  It is not just morning - it is 5 AM in the morning.  Toronto's downtown core is quiet, with neither streetcar or people around.  Just an empty taxi going up and down Queen Street like a shark looking for food.  Old City Hall just rang the hour and the sound reverberates through the empty streets as a stray pedestrian scurries across, heading to the Sheraton or up Young Street.  No one watches the elves or Santa in the Hudson Bay windows nor does the emergency room look busy at St. Mike's hospital. 

The Metropolitan Church sits in quiet solitude with a few hearty souls camped in sleeping bags around it.  St. James' spire reaches to the sky through the darkness straining to see the first hint of dawn.  St. Lawrence Market is awake and welcoming.  Walk into the North Farmer's Market and there will be more than a few people to greet you.  Mind you, they'll be half asleep after driving from surrounding Ontario farms into the city.  Yet their produce will be neatly stacked on the tables in the large hall, coffee will be held in one hand while change is made for your purchase in another. 

Take home some winter root vegetables; like squash, carrots, parsnips and beets.  Visit the potato man and buy some unique spud with a fancy name for $4 bucks a generous pint.  He sells flowers too, somehow managing to find affordable roses in the depth of winter.  While you are there, pick up some organic sweet potatoes and Ontario maple syrup for a sweet and savory side dish.  Visit any of the meat and sausage vendors for the main course and finish off with fresh herbs like rosemary as a garnish.  Don't forget your sweet tooth.  Buy a pie or bring back a strudel for your second cup of Joe at home.  Speaking of coffee, drop over to chat with the knowledgeable people brewing freshly ground coffee near the south door.  They'll tell you about their latest varietals while grinding you a pound or two to take home for Sunday morning brunch.  Don't forget the freshest eggs, just laid on Friday!  Before you know it, you've made a few friends and brought home the week's bounty. 

If you're still up for another adventure, head to the South Market and search for that perfect Lobster, creamiest cheese or stellar homemade pasta.  Have a peameal sandwich, big enough for two.  Give a twoony to one of the guys selling Street News.  Pick up a Saturday paper from downstairs while you snatch some perfectly made mole and salsa from the vendor across the way.  Find  honey that will keep a cold away from the vendor that sells over 50 varieties while snatching still warm baked goods before heading home.  Your arms are full, the bags overflow and there is no need to visit Loblows now.  Not until you need toilet paper or dish detergent. 

St. Lawrence Market is a unique food destination distinct to Toronto.  It ebbs and flows with the energy of Ontario farmers and small food marketeers whose lives are focused on feeding you and  me.  Some say it is expensive - and I'll counter by telling you to go after 1P and before 5 PM any Saturday.  The market is winding down and prices drop as the farmers and fishmonger have fresh product that has to go.  The downstairs bakery bundles the last of the fresh bread and pastry as well and sells to move them out the door.  Suddenly your loony stretches a little farther. 

Go again next Saturday and the next.  The St. Lawrence vendors will start to recognize you and begin to tell you about their week, save the ripest brie for you or offer the Sunday New York Times newspaper to a homesick New Yorker (me!).  The many farmers and different vendors are warm and welcoming to repeat Market offenders and you learn so much about how Toronto eats.  Make sure to keep an eye out for me and say hello.  I'll be talking with the potato man about his week or choosing the freshest eggs while sharing a joke or two with gentleman behind that counter.  It is just past 6 AM and I've got a few more farmers to speak with and there is the South Market yet to visit.  Why aren't you here?  It's the best party in Toronto's downtown core on a Saturday morning. 

It's Friday with ABT Soloist Misty Copeland

www.abt.org

About 4 or 5 years back, I was regularly seeing ballet performed by the American Ballet Theatre at Lincoln Center in the Metropolitan Opera House.  There was a lovely dancer with curves unlike any other dancer on point.  Who was this unusual ballerina?  Misty Copeland was then a member of the Corps de Ballet and fighting all stereotypes by being an African American dancer in a very tradition bound company. 

She has since become a soloist with ABT and is attracting her very own following of admirers.  I am unabashedly one of them.  With grace under critical and cultural fire, she exudes all the necessary ballet skill while demonstrating love for her art.  May she continue to rise in the ABT's ranks and become a principal dancer in the next year or two.  More importantly, may she continue to reshape the conversation around body type, ethnicity and stereotypes found in the ballet and arts in general. 

BRAVO, MISTY! 

One more thing - she has created a 2013 calendar that is both inspirational and incredibly awe jaw dropping.  Check out the Sneak a Peak link to her website.  It could be an incredible gift for some lucky young dreamer. 

Writing a Journal, Reading a Memoir

The one absolute in my life has been reading.  The act of settling down in a comfortable chair, perhaps a cup of tea or something stronger and a book is my idea of nirvana. 

When I entered my early teens, I began reading romantic novels.  The Nun's Story penned by Kathryn Hulme in 1956 and later made into a film starring Audrey Hepburn influenced my view of Catholic piety and sacrifice well into my twenties.  The Wolf and the Dove written by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss in 1974 introduced me to passionate love in historical settings.  Desiree, a romance set in Napoleon's France and written by Annemarie Selinko in 1951 introduced the genre of story based upon true events and people.  Marlon Brando as Napoleon and Jean Simmons as Desiree Clary starred in the film version of 1954.  This last book influenced my internal expression of self for a lifetime. 

Significantly, Desiree as a young girl of 14 begins to write in a journal given to her by her late father, a silk merchant of Marseilles, France.  She continues to write as she marries, bears a child, supports her husband, Marshall Bernadotte through the many wars of the era all the while watching the rise and fall of her first love, Napoleon Bonaparte.  She ends her journal upon the morning of her coronation day as Queen of Sweden.  Though I have moved many times, Desiree has remained on the bookshelf as an old and trusted friend. 

Journal writing may have started as a copied affectation of a favorite book character, though soon enough it became my private pleasure, a secret mental space for ranting, raving and all things in between.  Through the years I have turned to them to reread the passages from this era or another of my life and have been glad to renew acquaintances with the girl, new mother, or lover I once was.  I hope to leave them for a deserving grandchild, for my children have no interest in them.  The versions of truth told may be too close for their comfort.  Another option may be to turn them into a memoir or work of autobiographical fiction. 

Which leads to two books recently read that are so beautifully, heart achingly done well.  Ru is an autobiographical fictional work by Kim Thuy, a young woman living in Montreal who herself immigrated from Saigon, Vietnam.  A single paragraph may grace a page to describe an incident or thought, while others are several pages long.  There is a chaotic sense of back and forth via memories and connections that is surprisingly engaging.  There is a poetry to the phrases that as you read they begin to sing a plaintive song of lost worlds and found new ones. 

Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness tells the tale of "Nicole Fuller of Central Africa", the author Alexandra Fuller's mother.  Nicole was raised in post-war Kenya and later lived in Rhodesia through the East African conflicts of the late '60's and finally settling on a banana and fish farm in the Zambezi Valley.  Through generous doses of alcohol and moments of mental illness, Nicole and her family personally experience the bloody passing of imperial British rule into the uncertainty of African independence.  Alexandra's strength in this memoir is reflected in her straight forward presentation of this family - warts and all.  A price is paid for the choices made, beliefs held and relationships forged. 

A life lived in active engagement with the times in which one lives is worthy of memoir.  Whether you are 15 or 50 pick up your pen, sit at your keyboard or engage with your ipad and write about your life and times.  At the very least, read a book that inspires you to learn more about this crazy world we live in.  "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." (Santayana)

Armchair Travel to Tibet

Two books have lead me in an armchair journey to the very top of Mount Everest and around the holy Mount Kailas;  Into The Silence - The Great War, Mallory, And The Conquest of Everest by Wade Davis and To A Mountain In Tibet penned by Colin Thubron. 

Davis writes in sweeping historical context of the British imperial ambitions in Tibet, the Great War sufferings of Mallory and his generation and the post war attempts through the early Everest climbs to reestablish British imperial honor and glory.  The book is filled with detail and at times it overwhelms the strength of Mallory's saga to conquer Everest.  In the end, I gained an understanding of modern Great War and Tibetan history while coming to understand why people climb Everest in the first place.

Thubron pilgrimage begins in the aftermath of his mother's death in Simikot, Nepal below the western Himalaya and will lead him over the border through southwestern Tibet to the base of Mount Kailas.  Sacred to Hindus, Buddhists, Jains and Bon (an older Tibetan shamanistic faith) while sited within the sources of four major Asian rivers, Mount Kailas brings personal transformation to the author while sharing with the reader historical, geographical and cultural tales of the area.  There is a clear eyed view of both land and peoples that kept my imagination and intellect busy.  It also explained some of the modern political realities of Chinese rule in Tibet. 

Tibet of the 1930's is lost to us; swept away by the throes of the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the 1970's and into modern Chinese sovereignty.  The following BBC video supplements the two books nicely and brings to life Tibetan peoples and their culture in a way print only suggests. 

 

Neither book convinces me to plan a trip anytime soon to Everest or Kailas.  My place is here in Toronto walking a different path.  There is though an admiration of those who would continue to uphold cultural and faith traditions in the face of Maoist insurgency and Chinese rulership.   There is also an understanding that the importance of a journey or quest is in the immersion into the physical world of action while centering heart and mind to learn of less material things.   There is no guarantee of success when on such a journey.  Mallory lost his life while Thubron's transformation is as the mist wrapping Kailas from view.  Both books will leave you with a bit of awe for the mountains, the people who would live and travel among them and the personal beliefs and faith systems that lighten their loads. 

 

Let me end with a favorite quote attributed to Buddha: 

 

We are what we think.

All that we are arises with our thoughts.

With our thoughts we make our world.  





Three Women to Sing Friday Into Action

Start off with a new artist I just heard yesterday on the Canadian CBC2 radio program late in the afternoon.  She's Caro Emerald, a European artist that sounds like someone I'd like to party with.  It's a seductive way to slip into the weekend. 

Now listen to the Canadian artist Jully Black sing Seven Day Fool.  The raw vitality of the performance is haunting.  I haven't seen an artist with such physical power since Tina Turner. 

 

Last but not least, Asa - Be My Man is soft and seductive.  Turn it on, pour the wine and let's get the weekend started!





 

 

Country Comfort - The Musical Kind



www.freecodesource.com

 

When the TVs were black and white and made by Zenith, my father listened every evening in the late 1960's to the Porter Wagoner Show aired on a local UHF channel.  Rings of ciggarette smoke encircled his head, while he sipped his Ballantine Beer and Seagram's whiskey while perched in a big old recliner in the TV room or in the adjacent and less comfortable kitchen.  He'd just about tolerate my pre-teen presence if I sat still and didn't talk much.  Sometimes Mom would join us, in between extended journey's to the hospital for soft tissue infections related to her "sugar" problem.  My younger brother would be there too, somewhere in the background.  Mostly though, it was just me and my dad in front of the boob tube on an early weekend evening, listening to country music. 

He thought Johnny Cash walked on water while Dolly Parton sung with a permanent halo shinning around her.  This was a hard working man's music which he could understand.  Heartache, suffering and the simple joys found when you didn't have a dime resonated in the country music lyrics of the day.  Dolly was introduced to the public on Porter's show in 1966, and in early clips her dyed blond hair is piled high and she sings with a twang I've never heard so sweetly sung before or since.  Porter stood beside her with an equally tall and unnatural blond pompadour and a sparkly Nudie suit with a lower tenor to compliment the sound.  Below is a quick clip from 1968. 

Twenty or more years would go by before I got to Nashville.  Somehow I managed to get front row side tickets for a Grand Ole Opry show with Porter Wagoner in attendance.  He didn't disappoint in performance or costume; showing off an interior flap of his jacket which was all lit up in flashy design to rival the front panels.  My children were oh...6 and 8 and sat patiently through the show.  To this day, my attachment to country music just grows and grows as life unravels and heartaches, sorrows and joys all pile up through the years.  Here's one of my favorite Cash videos which haunts me in it's beauty and sorrow, "Hurt". 

There are just too many artists to name who fall under the genre of Country whose music has somehow moved me.  Gillian Welch's pure sound brings back early memories of the original Carter Family, A.P, Sara and Maybelle.  I hear June Carter Cash in the growl of her daughter Carlene Carter, while Rosanne Cash reflects the musical heritage of her father Johnny with every note she sings.  I love the bad boys of country, outlaws like "the possum" George Jones, Waylon Jennings, Dwight Yoakam, Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson and more recently Toby Keith.  Sly Lyle Lovett excites me just as much as thoughtful Mary Chapin Carpenter does.  K.D. Lang's "Big Boned Gal" gets me up and dancing every time while Lee Ann Womack's "Twenty Years and Two Husbands Ago" is like auld lang syne sung with a southern twist.  I'm anxious to hear more of the modern country troubadours like Eric Church, Little Big Town and Band Perry. 

Just recently, I heard "Red Solo Cup" by Toby Keith which illicits a guilty giggle or two.  This one song makes brings to mind my grown up son who I believe has a great many red solo cups in his personal drinking history.  It also leads me back to those beer and whiskey infused nights with my father, drowning his sorrow and regret in the sound of a country guitar and the bow of a fiddle.  Rest in peace Dad, you're up there with Johnny to sing you a tune. 



Getting it Done in NYC

guardian.co.uk

The people who live in the city of New York are the reason why the city thrives.  Everyone that lives there has a dream, a hope and a prayer for themselves and their loved ones, and they try to make it happen everyday, 24-7.  No less hopeful are those who live in the larger Metro Area.  They decide to live in the 'burbs because they believe in the values and lifestyle of the places where they live. 

Hurricane Sandy rolled in hitting the city and surrounding metro area hard.  The stories coming out of Staten Island, Queens, Long Island, Lower Manhattan and all areas of Jersey tell of death, destruction, flooding, loss of power, and looting.  Subways and trains are only partially up and getting gas to fill your car's tank or keep the generator running is still problematic.  There are alternative story lines as well, including volunteers coming out to help neighbors, FEMA and the Red Cross getting into action and the Marathon finally being cancelled. 

New York City will recover, the Jersey Shore will rise again and yes, the Marathon will be held in 2013.  The families in Breezy Point, Queens will rebuild their close knit neighborhood, while those out in Tottenville will also find the strength needed to clean out basements or replace looted items.  Portions of the Lower East Side are finally beginning to get power back.  The New York Stock Exchange is open, lower Manhattan corner convenience stores have power back up and more and more flash lights are going back into closet drawers everyday post storm. 

An economic boom will resound after Hurricane Sandy's bust, if only because New Yorkers and Metro Area citizens will be looking to replace, rebuild, and clean up from the storm.  Many peoples' quality of life has taken a hit though, and now is the time to begin to think about the long term effects of climate change and rising water levels.  Lower Manhattan and the the surrounding shorelines are all at continued risk of future storms and continued global warming. 

At crucial moments in it's history, New York City took the necessary steps to build municipal water works, mass transit and safe urban infrastructure.  Each policy proved painfully expensive at the time, but a balance of political will and public support got it done.  Getting it done assured the city's future greatness of which we share in today.  Now is the time to step up to the plate and become national leaders in addressing climate change.  By doing so, the city will influence the surrounding Metro Areas in their policy choices and lifestyle commitments.

Hard fiscal decisions lie ahead.  Do you rebuild where water will rise to reclaim your efforts once again?  Does the city invest in flood gates or some kind of dyke system?  Should the financial district move further north, away from lower Manhattan?  How do you protect the power infrastructure in the future?  How do you equitably meet the needs of the poorest while supporting those experiencing unexpected hardships in usually comfortable lives? 

All of these questions and more require the voting public's attention, political partisanship and fiscal willpower.  New Yorkers, Jersey folk - get out and vote next Tuesday.  Begin to talk with your neighbors about climate change, disaster relief and shoreline issues.  Elect politicians that will push for effective public policy that will address these issues. 

The people of New York City and the surrounding Metro Area are stubborn, driven, successful souls who overcome everyday challenges to build for their family's future success.  They get it done 24-7, 365 days a year and I believe they'll get it done after Hurricane Sandy as well. 

Let the Mists of Time Part Tonight

Polish Black Madonna

 

In Toronto today, we have Hurricane Sandy to thank for the oppressive grey skies, the intermittent rain and blustery winds.  Perfect weather for Halloween and thoughts of other worlds and dimensions of experience.  The ancients believed that this was a time when the fabric of our current reality loosened and allowed other dimensions to leak through the weft and warp of time. 

I hear my ancestors calling, reaching out beyond the mists of their time to mine with their murmurs of lives lived hard and fast.  Poland was the land whence they came, leaving behind a country ruled by three powers:  Austria, Germany and Russia.  They arrived in different harbors of America's Eastern seaboard before the Great War.  A grandparent or two into Ellis Island in New York City's harbor, another grandfather into Baltimore.  Somehow, they all found a home in Wilmington's Hedgeville, a Polish neighborhood anchored by St. Hedwig's church and the Polish American Legion hall. 

These Polish folk are lost to me, I have half truths and bits and pieces of stories about them to share.  Most of the men in my extended family drank and drank heavily.  Boiler makers of beer and whiskey were downed one two three, while cigarette smoke encircled their bent heads as they shared news in their native language.  If it were a Sunday afternoon the Polka Party would be playing on the radio, and they would be gathered together in one room while their wives visiting in the other.  Sauerkraut and kielbasa sat cooking on the stove with the rye bread and butter near.  Polish pound cake or babka all homemade for desert. 

They worked jobs that many arriving immigrants hold:  baker, gardener, barkeeper, construction worker, janitor.  None in my immediate family were professionals and wouldn't even know the meaning of such a title.  Their wives stayed at home tending the children, or worked when times were lean as housekeepers, laundry workers, childcare workers.  My father's mother and father did not have a church wedding, but married quietly perhaps bringing my father into the world a little early.  It was said that during the depression, my father's family ran a pool hall and perhaps offered bathtub gin. His dad ruled with an iron hand liberally applied to his wife and kids alike.  His mom was hospitalized at some point for a mental condition.  Nothing was ever clearly told to me as a child.  Instead, the tensions seeped through the walls of their row home when we visited and I learned to sit on the front stoop until arguments ran their course in the living room. 

My mother's father was a baker.  He was a distant figure with a broad chest and long limbs who spoke more Polish than English.  His wife had died in her 50's by stroke or some other cardiac incident.  She never held me in her arms.  Both of them shine in their wedding photos and live on in my memory forever young.  Grandfather lived with us briefly, until his dementia hit hard and he was hospitalized in the local state hospital.  I may have been around 6 when he died, for I remember the funeral well.  The steep steps of St. Hedwig, the angels on the ceiling far above, the hymns all sung in Polish, the incense swung by young alter boys around the coffin.

When I think about it, I have 8 pairs of great-grandparents, 4 pairs of grandparents, 1 pair of parents, untold numbers of aunts, uncles and cousins dead and gone.  So many lives, so many "I do's" to get me into the world.  Sacrifices made in their journey across the Atlantic, to educate their children who were my parents who then pushed me forward with dreams of my own to make real and true.  With arms extended, my wide peasant hips anchoring my body to the earth I offer praise and thanksgiving for them all. 

So let the mists of time part tonight.  Chocolates and lit pumpkins won't be necessary.  I'll leave a bottle of whiskey open and some beer in the fridge in case any of the men of the family show up.  Fresh babka and pound cake will be ready for the women.  All are welcome.  Dobry wieczor.  Nie ma za co. 

A Snack, The Meal, Then Heartburn

Sunday at the Yonge and Dundas Cineplex Odeon is the best day of the week to see film in the heart of Toronto.  The first movie showings of Sunday are half price.  If a current film sounds like it would be painful to watch at the full price of $12, it often views just fine at a $6 ticket. 

 

Which is why I got myself on an eastbound Dundas Streetcar at 11 AM to watch the film Pitch Perfect.   Anna Kendrick stars as Beca, a dark and slightly goth freshman with the usual parental and career hangups.  Forced by her father to go to college instead of DJing in LA, she reluctantly joins a capella group called the Barton Bellas.   The comedy at times is lame (lesbian and ethnicity jokes that don't quite work) and the plot is lighter than a box of popcorn served at the concession stand.  The musical scenes rock though and make up for any deficits along the way.  Don't forget Rebel Wilson, who plays Fat Amy.  This large and lovely Aussie comedian fills the screen with droll physical bits and plays well against the lighter (in talent that is) supporting cast.  Enjoy this clip - "The Riff-off". 

 

 

 

The Master, Paul Thomas Anderson's latest American classic is not a snack, but a main course of a film and properly seen about an hour after the fluff of Pitch Perfect has been washed away with a beer at Jack Astor's, next to the cinema.  (Truth be told - I'm in love with the Iceberg concoctions: mango/vodka slushy in a Rickard's white beer). 

 

 

Joaquin Phoenix rounds his shoulders forward and walks with arms akimbo as the returning WWII vet Freddie Quell.  Traumatized by the war, drifting in an alcoholic haze through dead end jobs in prosperous post-war America Freddie meets Lancaster Dodd, played by Phillip Seymour-Hoffman and his strong and focused wife Peggy, played by the amazing Amy Adams.  Dodd's "The Cause" teachings at first improve and tamper down Freddie's id behaviors and he joins as a member traveling with extended family and followers around the country.  Questions abound in this film, as in who is truly The Master or dominant force of the film?  Is it about Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard?  Or does it go deeper than that with the ever maternal, scary presence of Peggy, Dodd's wife?  Take a moment to watch the official trailer to wet your appetite if you will. 

 

 

 

 

Around 6pm the movie feast was over and I was standing on the corner of Yonge and Dundas waiting for a westbound Dundas Streetcar.  Sundays are always slower and my time was taken up listening to a street preacher sharing both printed and verbal views about (quoted to the best of my memory), "our saviour Jesus Christ."  The moment and the man droned on while not a street car was in sight.  Suddenly, his speech changed to focusing on supposed sins including the one of homosexuality.  On and on he went, claiming the only way to redemption was through heterosexuality and Jesus. 

 

Before I could stop myself, my mouth opened and I shouted - "You are wrong!  Homosexuality is not a sin and has no need of redemption."  Other phrases not too articulate and not particularly well said were thrown out as well. Family and friends would not have been surprised by my passionate outburst.  It's happened before and will probably happen again.  Untruths, injustice, bigotry - these all uncork my self-control and out comes the most impassioned speeches.  Gratefully and somewhat sheepishly, I got on the arrived streetcar and headed on home.  The magic of the movies, the gentle pleasures of a beer were now subdued and in their place a figurative heartburn had settled in to stay the evening. 

 





TGIF - Elizabeth & the Catapult

Time for the TGIF Video of the Week! 

This week, one of my favorite artists Elizabeth and the Catapult, with their video, Race You from the 2009 Taller Children Album, which I highly recommend.  I just love, love, love this song.  Enjoy!

Community - First Discussion

What is community?  How do you know you are in one?  Is it necessary, valuable or utopian?  I've been playing with community as a term, as a hoped for condition and as a reality most of my life.  So knock around with me in the large open space know as community.

In my twenty's, community was a a lay religious group of committed people to a Christian ideal of providing services to homeless youth in mid-town New York City.  The non-profit organization had a building in the rough and tumble Times Square area of the early 1980's where we lived and prayed together.  Community members were of all ages, ethnicity and social backgrounds united around a commonality of service and of faith.  Community was almost utopian (I was just 21 at the time, so it felt utopian), but the real world always intruded into the shared prayer and work.  The street hookers and drug pushers joined with the everyday people on the street looking for porn shops and video arcades.  Youth fleeing broken homes, abusive families and dead end lives flocked to Times Square and often ended up needing shelter, food, free clothing and counseling.  Community members joined paid staff at the shelter to provide the services to the kids.   

Like a weed growing through the city's broken concrete - I grew into the role as both a community member and youth counselor.  I was so unprepared for New York City, the people, the experience of community life that I often flailed around in broken conversations and relationships.    My own family life was centered in violence and alcohol abuse.  When I counseled kids about their crazy families or life choices it was like counseling myself, who had just turned the legal, supposedly adult age of 21.  No wonder I flamed out of the year commitment early and by age 22 had begun a nursing program instead. 

Looking back, the most important part of the experience were the people I lived with, counseled, met and prayed with.  The people, the relationship and experiences shared were the jewels of the experience and I squandered them.  Biblically squandering them like pearls before swine.  Living in the past is foolish and yet, I'd give anything to hug each of those souls and hold them close as friends for as long as possible. 

Community.  One of the conditions of community then are the people in it and the experiences shared.  Consider this the first installment on the topic of community. 

TGIF and Gangnam Style Fun

OK - I must be the last person in the universe to be aware of the PSY "Gangnam Style" video.  Watched it for the first time last week and sharing it with you today.  The Guinness World Record folks call PSY's video the most watched in You Tube History, surpassing LMFAO's 'Party Rock Anthem' (1,574,963 likes), Justin's Bieber's 'Baby' (1,327,147 likes) and Adele's 'Rolling in the Deep' (1,245,641 likes).

But wait - there is more!  You got to love the parodies of the video.  They just keep coming as people from around the globe find ways to recreate PSY's video.  The CBC Your Community Blog has listed their top 10 parodies and I am sure you'll find one or two you consider tops as well. 

But I have to admit, I love the parody that has the son and his 60 year old mom dancing away to this song.  Just makes me want to shout out "You GO GIRL." 

 

 

And the last video is PSY's Gangnam Video taking over New York City - and I swear, that's my SON standing in an early shot of the subway car, watching the guy dance.  I'll call him up later this weekend and find out if it's him or not.  Wild.

 

Toronto is not far behind the curve.  Walking back to work yesterday, on the corner of Queen West and Spadina, there was a young lady with a PSY look alike dancing on the sidewalk.  I'm not fast with my phone's video, but I did grab a few pictures. 





CSI Celebrates Regent Park and Plans NYC Space

The Centre for Social Innovation recently invited friends, supporters, neighborhood people and the general public to the launch of their beautiful new space in the Regent Park Arts and Cultural Centre at 585 Dundas Street East, Toronto.  Natasha Stevens, manager of the space enthusiastically welcomed everyone while Executive Director, Tonya Surman thanked the many people in the room who had a role in making Regent Park happen.  There was no doubt that each attendee believed a more just and sustainable society was in the stars for Regent Park through the new socio-economic structure of social entrepreneurship.   

Now CSI turns towards opening a fourth space in the Starrett-Lehigh Building, located in lower mid-town Chelsea, in the greatest place for personal and cultural reinvention - New York City.  CSI arrives at a time when 21% of all New Yorkers live below the US poverty line.  Let's crunch some numbers:  for a family of four, living in the Bronx their total income for 2012 would be less than $23,050.  This family lives in the Bronx and not Manhattan for a reason:  affordable housing.  They'll struggle to make ends meet by going to a food pantry twice a month, maybe a soup kitchen before payday for a meal and receiving food stamps for basic staples.  This family joins 1.8 million other New Yorkers who rely on food stamps to keep hunger away.  The Bronx is known for the Yankees, the birth of hip-hop and rap and also struggles with an unemployment rate of over 13% for it's 1.1 million residents. 

High Line in Early Spring 2012

Manhattan is no stranger to hunger or the need to make ends meet - but on a different scale.  The top fifth income earners bring in over $371,000 a year while the bottom fifth earns $9,845.  The Starrett-Lehigh Building is located right around the corner from the High Line, a 1 mile (1.6 km) park recently reclaimed from an old section of the long gone New York Central Rail Line.  Popping up like daises around this urban park are condominiums that few in the Bronx could afford over the course of their entire lives.  Similar to Toronto's Regent Park, there is a public housing project in the same Chelsea neighborhood as Starrett-Lehigh, whose residents have reason to feel ignored by the current area's redevelopment.  The Apple store stands on the corner of 14th and 9th Avenue where Western Beef, an affordable supermarket once was.  Apple doesn't sell fresh fruit or vegetables along with I-Pods and I-Phones. 

Social innovators associated with the success of CSI have much to offer all New Yorkers who are struggling to maintain a family and their dreams in the Big Apple.  The challenge remains on welcoming the bottom fifth to CSI Starrett-Lehigh while encouraging the top-fifth to support and participate in the creation of a more just and sustainable lifestyle for the entire city.  CSI's Board of Directors, Tonya and other supporters have shown what is possible in Regent Park, downtown Toronto.  Enjoy your beginning bite of the Big Apple.  Did anyone tell you it is a tart McIntosh with a worm or two to contend with? 

Joanne arrived in NYC in the autumn of 1981 and moved to Toronto in the summer of 2009.  Over the years, she worked in nonprofit organizations while raising two kids in the Bronx.  Both kids, now adults remain proud New Yorkers.  With one living in Brooklyn and the other in Queens, they each earn enough in Manhattan jobs to live above the poverty line, somewhere in the shrinking middle.  Joanne loves living in Toronto and is excited to be a new Community Animator at the CSI Spadina space.  She retains though, a fondness for the tart flavor of the Big Apple. 

The Keltiad Stories of Patricia Kennealy

Patricia Kennealy is the author of a beloved sci-fi book series centered on The Keltiad - Celtic star voyagers led by St. Brendan, who left earth when the christian St. Patrick cast out the "snakes" from Ireland.  These pagan people resettled in the Keltia star system, building a technologically advanced culture whose stories echo the Celtic mythology of old.  Three of the series are about Queen Aeron and are far and above my most cherished favorites:  The Copper Crown, The Throne of Scone and The Silver Branch.  Three others reframe the King Arthur myths while the final two Celtic tales stand alone.

Who knows why a particular story arouses such pleasure when read?  Is it the strong central female character of Aeron that draws me so close?  Published in the 1980's, I've read and re-read Aeron's story through the passing years.  She draws me into a tale that tells of an entire universe's transition through war and magic.  Aeron begins as a young Queen scarred by the personal use of magic to avenge the deaths of her family and ends the series as Empress of more than just the Keltiads.  She is a well developed soul surrounded by other richly drawn characters that both derive and surpass Celtic lore. 

There is one passage that resonates within my life`s journey.  In The Throne of Scone, Aeron visits the planet Kholco, home to the Salamandri lizard like folk.  To achieve an inheritance of lost gifts from the long dead Celtic King Arthur, she must walk upon a molten stream of lava.  She does so with the blessing of the Great Mother, and is renewed of spirit when the task is complete.  I imagine her in a stately procession walking unharmed over the lava, in communion with a greater entity.  Aeron`s soul arises from the heat and flames anew and ready for the next turn in the journey. 

The streets of New York City sometimes reflect similar conditions to that of molten lava and I`ve walked my fair share of them.  Transformed by the experience, the city has provided gifts hard won, such as family, friends, career and love.  Books are often more than the paper they are printed on or the digital screen they glow from.  They grown into friends and become part of a reader`s very matrix.  Used copies of Kennealy`s series are not impossible to find.  Good journey to you, if the Keltiad series entices you to settle in for a read. 

Autumn Equinox - Nature Catches It's Breathe

The Autumn Equinox arrived on Saturday, September 22nd this year poised in balance between day and night.  It is as if nature held it's breath for one brief moment before turning the year's wheel towards the end of the harvest and winter's arrival.  Toronto grows crisp and chilly with a cutting wind that seems to fly across Lake Ontario before whooshing by pedestrians going home in the early dusk of the longer evenings.  St. Lawrence Market groans with pumpkins, squash and other late harvest vegetables while butchers prepare turkeys and hams for Thanksgiving Day feasts.  Mums, zinnias and sunflowers are embraced by the busy shoppers going home with their harvest treasures.  Leaves begin to turn toasty brown, orange and deep red, falling one by one to the ground.  Children wearing knitted hat and gloves push the leaves into piles, then jumping with peals of laughter into them.   Dogs don sweaters, squirrels bury acorns and Halloween is just around the corner.  Autumn has arrived in Toronto, version 2012.  

Embodiment with Self and Community

Got a body?   Checked in with it recently?  Is it integrated with your intellect and spirit?  Have you taken this sense of embodiment out into the larger community? 

Ken Wilber along with Rob McNamara discuss a concept called mature integral consciousness that I'm going to attempt to share with you today.  My level of embodiment has grown over the years, but is far from perfect.  I struggle with these concepts on a daily basis.  Here we go. 

The three circles above symbolize the three processes of Embodiment.  To embrace requires outward movement:  arms stretched out and around or a mind extended outward encompassing complimentary and contradicting polarities of experience.  To inhabit demands being inside:  inside your body, not outside looking in.  It is an intimate, multidimensional experience of inner you.  The last process is movement.  It is a dynamic process of ebb and flow within human form.  It is a creative cycle that underlies your most intense sense of what it means to be alive. 

Lets take this theoretical baby for a walk.  Homeless man approaches me while I stand on an empty subway platform, waiting for a train home.  He lunges forward to grab my bag off my shoulder.  In that exact moment of extreme stress I'm outside mentally looking at the situation and not inhabited within.  Nothing about the interaction feels real or authentic.  Separation has occurred and is part of my mechanism to combat the many conflicting polarities of thought involved.  Later, maybe I'll replay the scene and inhabit and integrate the experience.  Or maybe I'll choose to ignore that piece of the three pronged embodiment experience. 

Over time, choosing not to inhabit the body in stressful situations becomes habitual, destructive, unproductive.   Disengagement occurs not only within the self but in the larger community. 

Theoretical baby takes another walk in the park.  Same homeless man, same subway platform, same lunge forward to grab the bag.   I recognize and inhabit within myself in that split second all of the conflicting sensations and thoughts, embrace the possibility of mental and physical contact with the homeless man as well as move my body and mental options around for a win, win outcome.  Is he hungry?  Compassion kicks in and I offer him the left over sandwich from lunch while moving away both from the tracks and the guy.  He takes the sandwich, my train comes and I'm embodied in the moment as I head on home. 

What fascinates me about this embodiment model is the act of integration into balanced and mature consciousness.  Also the recognition that embodiment is community oriented.  When I'm embodied I don't stand in a mental, physical or spiritual vacuum.  I stand integrated with the community as well. 








 

Life Before Dog - Life After Dog

Merlyn was adopted from the Toronto Humane Society last December Solstice, 2011.  He could be considered a rescue dog - but in truth Merlyn has rescued me!

 

Life BD (Before Dog) was not particularly exciting.  There were some days when the most conversation I had with anyone was when I ordered dim sum at Rol San in Chinatown.  I tried knitting circles, astrology meetings, yoga classes and journal writing.  I enjoyed all the "me" time, but you can only eat so much dim sum alone, knit so many scarves and rediscover yourself over the course of a few years. 

 

Life AD (After Dog) has been a blast.  Those first few weeks of winter weather were tough, as Merlyn learned that all business must be done outside, regardless.  I would carry him in my arms, his long legs dangling while we raced a very long apartment hallway to the elevator and down to the back door. 

 

Merlyn failed every puppy pre-school class until I finally figured out that he needed physical and mental stimulation throughout the entire day.  Out we went for long off leash walks complete with intense play.  Suddenly, he understood sit, stay and other basic commands. 

 

Cherry Beach, Scarborough Bluffs, Humbar Bay Park and downtown ravines are our turf.  Sun, rain, wind or cold - away Merlyn and I go.  Every time he breaks into his graceful run my heart leaps and I'm with him in spirit.  Other Toronto dog owners have become the best  human company.  Many a morning is spent sharing stories and trading tips.  They are my special community of dog owning friends.

 

Lastly, Merlyn gives me unconditional, doggy love.  He turns those big brown eyes on me, stretches up on those incredibly long legs and licks my face.  I melt.  Every time. 

 

AD life is sweet.  Merlyn visits the Spadina Community of Social Innovation a few afternoons during the week.  Sometimes he is a perfect gentleman, other times a cranky soul.  Best to ignore him for now.  My hope is he gets used to the routine of the place and becomes part of the CSI community.   Then you too can experience Merlyn at his doggy best. 

 http://www.torontohumanesociety.com/adopt.htm

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Creating Change, Creating a Legacy

2012 - no better time to begin.

Legacy - a gift or bequest to future generations.

Project - a planned undertaking.

Is it hubris to think about a legacy career and lifestyle at 53?  I'm not rich, famous, connected or particularly gifted.  I am willing to embrace change.  Transformational paradigms require old habits and structures to be broken apart and rebirthed into new patterns of thought, behavior and creativity. 

In my not so distant career past, centered in health care and education service delivery systems, most of the goals and quality assurance of the job were created top down.  Creative ways of solving problems were almost subversive and daring in application, due to the rigid nuts and bolts of the different job description.

My lifestyle was also overly structured and stale.  Living 30 years in The Big Apple - New York City, will do that to you.  The constant stress of the daily commute, climbing up the career ladder and squeezing in family time left little for spiritual renewal or creative play. 

Today, this very minute, I embrace the act of change.  I'm in revolution - standing up and turning myself around and embracing the dance within the larger community of Toronto.