Shattered Realities

Complacency

Uncertainty

Shock

Realization

Panic

Resignation

Regret

All of the above emotions occurred in a few seconds, but only one remains. One moment, I was in the mind-numbing routine of my commute. And the next, I was not. I lost the feel of the road in my fingertips, a vibration and resistance so slight that my car seems to turn with my mere thought rather than hand movement. It comes with driving the same vehicle for thousands of miles more a year than many people will drive in 5 years. Like I have done thousands of times, my mind tugged gently to feel the edges of the tires. There is nothing like rubber biting into the road as you intend it to do to re-orient you from a weightless floating sensation. Only this time, nothing happened for the fraction of a heartbeat before the car started to rotate slowly, as if what I had done was not even a factor. My hands gripped the wheel as I attempted to counter-steer, and sure enough, the slow rotation reversed course and went in the opposite direction. But it did not matter what I did with the wheel, or the brake, or the throttle. A sharp blade of adrenaline stabbed into me. Black ice.

Now stabilized and sliding sideways down an incline, we were not even slowing down. I considered shifting to reverse to try to guide our trajectory down the center of the road, but with the lack of tire resistance it would have been wishful thinking. We were drifting across into the oncoming lane and would leave the road at an intersection, where trees loomed. I glanced at my sleeping son in the passenger seat and realized with horror that there was no way to keep him from being the first to impact the trees. Why did I counter-steer?! His dreams were NOT going to be his last memories. “NA, WE'RE IN TROUBLE!”

I found that the wheel and throttle still didn't make any difference. The laws of physics truly are your best friend, right up until the day they abruptly betray you. We were helpless. The trees loomed larger in the side window. I watched them come. The rising shock of adrenaline (fight or flight) fought with, then gave way to a sudden dead weight that forced the air out of my lungs and left me chilled just before we hit the trees. Regret. I've killed him! My actions got him here, and there is nothing I can do to change it.

The impact of shattering glass and crumpling metal is ear splitting, and to those who have experienced it, heart rending. A thunderous crash. Violent shaking and impacts with the side and ceiling as it smashes in. Vision blurs to gray. After the first few impacts, hope that we will soon stop. Stay conscious! There was no way to count how many times we rolled. At least twice, but probably more.

We came to rest on our side, the car propped up by the now open passenger door. My vision slowly cleared. “Na, are you ok?” … brief, eternity of sickening silence. “Yeah.” He pressed his seat belt button, dropped to the open ground below him, and disappeared. I lived again, breathed in deeply as if for the first time. I started to move my fingers, toes, then my head. Everything seemed to move, with no pain as resistance. That would come later, no doubt. There was a lot of blood. I had been bleeding like a stuck pig, but most of it seemed to be coming from a cut on my hand. It was already slowing down. Now, how to get out of here? The engine was still running, so I turned it off (forgot the lights, though). It took me some time to get the seat belt to release, as my weight was hanging in it, but eventually I did so and lowered myself in a somewhat dignified manner to the ground.

Na had already trekked 30 feet down the ravine to locate his music player, still playing, and return to find his glasses. The glasses seemed to have gone stupid on him and lost their effectiveness, until he discovered that they were mine. His own glasses, once located, worked much better. He had then set to gathering and piling the debris (personal belongs) that had been flung in a wide arc from the open door and trunk. By the time I crawled out, he had returned. “Here are your glasses. How do you see through those things?!” Perhaps not well enough.

And yet, we were both walking around and talking. A real miracle, one year ago on this day. One that I did not deserve, nor had the time to ask for.

Recollection is a strange thing. There are parts of the experience that are crystal clear, while others appear to me like what must have confronted Na when he donned my glasses instead of his. I cannot recall at will the adrenaline-saturated panic that I felt, but I have flashbacks any time I get a floating sensation on the road, that feeling that I am no longer in control of the car. I'm told some classify this as PTSD. That sensation is blessedly fleeting, however, and seems to be abating as time passes.

What has NOT abated is what follows the shock. In a fraction of a second, the panic attenuates as it is overpowered by that heavy, chilling weight of Regret. It slams me down, as if plunging me through the thick ice of a glacier fed river with a wrecking ball, and it does not let up for what feels like an eternity. It is a reminder, as strong as the original experience, of when I truly realized that I had failed at the one thing which I deemed most important; Protecting my family. A realization experienced anew that I Failed ... and that I am Failing! I could not control the situation on that day, and daily I cannot control a myriad of situations in which members of my family are in danger and take damage that has lasting effects.  I CARE, but it doesn't matter.  How does one deal with that weight?

In that crystallized moment where some say one's life flashes before his or her eyes, I did not fear for myself. In this I find some encouragement. That, at some future time, if there is a choice to be made, I may not hesitate out of self interest to help another. But it is small encouragement given the realities I live with.

Visions of Photographs (dancing in my head)

I wish I was a photographer. Seriously. Nearly every day, I am confronted by at least one sight that I wish to capture. Not to become famous or wealthy from publishing, mind you. But rather, so that I can retain that image in my mind's eye; free of fading from lack of frequent enough retrieval, or attenuation from the passing of time -- so I can share it with others who were not there with me to experience the real thing. Sometimes, the desired image is an awe-inspiring spectacle, a view of nature's gentle beauty or unbridled fury. Other times, the stark contrasts in lighting or incongruous content seem to shout out even to a non artist's soul such as mine, as if to say, “Over here! I am an image worth preserving!”

And then, I generally berate myself inside my own head for not having a way to take the picture as I don't generally pack a camera around with me. Or, on the rare occasions when I DO have a way to take a picture, the resultant pixels never even remotely match the allure or grandeur that I had hoped. Oh wow, another scenery picture not even good enough to be a postcard for my friend's great-aunt's next-door neighbor. (You see what I did there? Who would even send a postcard to one's friend's great-aunt's next-door neighbor? Ridiculous) In a word, “Lame picture.” (okay, two words)

When I do happen to get the composition of a picture to my liking, the image clarity, contrast, or colour saturation still tend to be a letdown. (I would have added 'depth of field', but I make it a point not to speak of things of which I know nothing) Even Picasa's “I'm Feeling Lucky” magic button can't save it, generally speaking. It makes me want to go out to purchase a REAL camera worthy of the content, though I realize that there is more to it than fancy gadgetry. And besides, I'm cheap.

The problem is, much of the time it is not the camera's fault. Several swirling factors play a role in the mad Sudoku that is successful photography: Technology, Training, Timing, and Talent. That I am generally captivated by still images means that I have Timing in my favour (minus the exposure time of course, but that's a tech and training issue). Training is clearly a deficit area as well to date, something I realize all too well when I acknowledge that I don't know my Aperture from my F-stop. But the kicker for me, sadly, is Talent. I lack it.

Have you ever heard of a disposable camera? They were out there as a low cost, better than nothing option for the occasional memory capture. The results almost always fit the bill, if only barely. Well, even with a real camera, I am capable of creating numerous disposable images. In an era when even a point-and-shoot camera is relatively robustly capable, the majority of images I take with them are 'flush-and-forget'. But enough of self-aggrandizement, I like to keep up a pretense of humility.

Hey, I do not have a gifted eye for how images will appear inside the bonds of the frame to which they will be limited. I look at a life-sized image or experience, and fool myself into believing I can re-produce it. Now, I have some friends who get much closer to accomplishing this. My daughter has an artistic eye for imaging things (which is why she is the one with a real camera). But alas, I do not have an accurate concept of what is possible. Or rather, not possible.

AND YET...

Some scenes of images that got away just today remain vivid in my mind:

- The way the quickly moving low clouds glowed red as I left the house, illuminated by the lights of the city while the cover higher up remained midnight black.

- A solid bank of sleight gray clouds in full retreat, like a reverse haboob, only with a thin sliver of sky visible underneath. Smaller clouds appeared much whiter above and below the storm mass and appeared to have been made by the coarse, swooshing strokes of a paintbrush on a dark canvas. In the foreground, the yellow of the rolling hills, now harvested, appeared to be intensified in the early light.

- The tops of a bank of wind turbines poking out the top of a deep fog bank as if to greet the rising sun.

- The small stand of poplars this morning shimmering bright yellow in the indirect sunlight, braced by by two unknown trees bedecked in deep red. The sky backdrop was such a deep and perfect blue that it appeared to be artificial. The colours were so sharp, though I admit that the sound of the rustling leaves were also a draw, one that would not have made it into the image even if I HAD gathered it. Then, the wind whipped up into a near gale all day and there was scarcely a leaf between all off the trees when I left for home. Perhaps next year...

So many scenes in the course of driving to work in a single day, and yet no one there to share them with. I supposed I SHOULD have taken a camera with me and given an attempt to take some pictures along the way. If nothing else... hey, postcards!!

Quelled by Unforeseen Brassica oleracea (Accursed Day)

The Day had overstayed ITs welcome. With its myriad of twists, challenges, dynamic monotony, and insults at long last fading from present to past, and having attained my one saving grace in the form of supper with the family, my soul heaved the sigh of one far older than I. Can a person grow so weary from life's grind that the cumulative fatigue becomes a debt so heavy, so complete, that the ledger may never be balanced through rest in this lifetime?

I shuddered at that, then deftly drove Discouragement, terror stricken, back into the dank cell located in the deepest recesses of my mind from whence she had plotted her escape. Slammed the heavy door, locked the deadbolt, stopped up my ears to retreat hastily back into the relative light of logic, and rationalization. (Stupid Discouragement. She's like a present-day Houdini.)

I do this so others don't have to. They need not understand the daunting price. In fact, I hope they never do.

Besides, I am not even the most tired person in the room. My wife almost didn't even make it to the table this night. She nearly dragged herself past us in favour of her bed, or perhaps even the hard floor beside the bed. She's different that way. I looked at her, and heard Guilt subtly project his voice from his cell way back next to Discouragement's. Though his words did not carry distinctly enough through the gray fog, I knew what he would say if I let him out and removed that gag to loose his forked, critical tongue. Something about my supposed sacrifices not being enough to protect her from this fate, that my weakness is the reason she is even more overextended than I am. And yet, this is the lot we'd chosen. Together. No, I am not completely alone. (Not yet, anyway)

I glanced over my shoulder at The Day and its devious designs for me, my dulled eyes showing just a hint of the stubborn gleam of triumph. I, still breathing... IT, now quickly running out of air. IT'd had its chances, and had made full use of the opportunities. And yet here I was, in one piece. “Next time!”, IT seemed to growl. “I nearly had you.”

I relaxed. Partly out of fatigue, and partly out of confidence that IT had given up. The Day was beaten and was slinking toward the exit. I had survived, if only barely. I finally gave this admission permission to fully form in my mind ... It was a mistake.

My wife put down the worship book and pushed herself away from the supper table. “Ok, you all get to help me tonight.” What? “We have 50 pounds of cabbage heads to chop. Let's make sauerkraut!!”

I was a cabbage head! The Day whipped around and slapped me upside my leafy cranium, then leered at my shock. IT laughed with unmitigated glee, both at the look on my face and at IT's own clever playing of the Opposum card. I had finally let my guard down, and with one sentence, I was defeated.

What had suddenly possessed this crippled and frail wife of mine? Was she controlled by IT, or was she doing this of her own accord just to taunt me? In any event, she had revived miraculously, and I was left to ponder one of the great mysteries of the universe. I'll never understand women.

But help we did. We chopped, we sliced, we willed those heads into near infinitesimal oblivion. We experimented to discover the ultimate way to effectively shred the unending legion of cabbage heads that, it turns out, were hiding in every dark and cool recess of the house. Hacking with a cleaver, slicing with a serrated bread knife, they all worked. But not nearly quickly enough.

One of our number, who tried slicing the cabbage in half-inch cubes, was asked if he knew what sauerkraut looked like, and if so, how he expected his behemoth chunks to miraculously form themselves into the German mayo-less coleslaw. He did not know and admitted as much. Though, to be fair, I do not believe he knew what sauerkraut actually looked like. How could he? Sauerkraut was supposed to be something never actually seen, something to make jokes about. Yet on this night, no one was laughing.

Counter space and cutting board time was at a premium, but eventually we packed two 5-gallon buckets with the stuff. I was instructed to rinse out one of those buckets before adding cabbage, as it had most recently hosted home-made laundry detergent (or some such substance). “Great!” I thought wryly to myself. “At least this batch will taste extra clean.” I was instructed not to be ridiculous, which I made an honest, half hearted effort to do. (or was that 'not do'? I can't not dislike double negatives) We'll see.

The rest of the evening was a blur. In truth, it made for good family bonding time so long as we restrained ourselves from cursing randomly or muttering incoherently. I should have taken some pictures as it was something of a spectacle. In any event, it was with some satisfaction that, as my head finally hit the pillow, I noted that my dear wife was already fast asleep. I wonder what unexpected curve-balls The Day will throw at me when next I open my eyes.

Forget Not that I am Handy... (Not)

I have a painful admission to make, though one that will come as no surprise to people who know me. I am not very handy. There, I said it! It hurts, but it is true.

When something around the house breaks or is otherwise functioning in a way contrary to how it was meant to function, I instinctively shy away: A heater that sits cold, a fan that doesn't spin, a roof that doesn't dissuade water, or a water pipe that works just like the roof, the results are consistent and predictable. My first inclination is to gather together my belongings, and find somewhere new to move so I don't have to deal with it.

So acutely aware of how unhandy I am that I even have dreams about this sort of thing. I once had a nightmare in which, no sooner had I moved into a new house that I discovered that, unlike what was advertised in the glossy brochure, the blamed place had no electricity! After being a man and dutifully checking each and every switch with a new light bulb and each and every plug with a “My Little Pony” curling iron (not mine!), I had been ready to vacate the premises. But then, in one sickening moment, my wife threw a breaker switch and the whole house sprang to life! I was so bemusedly chastened that I forgot all about that ridiculous curling iron, which ended up burning a hole in the carpet upstairs where I had left it plugged in.

Okay, the dream was actually fictional (especially the My Little Pony bit. It's not plagiarism, though, so leave me alone). However, it encapsulates several real realities for me (as opposed to... fake realities, I guess). First, a technical or handy challenge raises its head to leer mockingly in my general direction. Secondly, I either begin to attempt to address it, or avoid doing so out of trepidation. And finally, the Third step always plays out in one of two ways. 1) My wife leaps in like she invented kryptonite, knocks me to the side before I can hurt myself, and re-builds the entire offending wing of the house with none other than duct tape and scraps of baling twine before I've even figured out the actual problem. OR 2) She beats me to the punch on the obvious, face-palm smacking solution, which once again leaves me wondering just what my own meager brain is actually good for.

That, in a nutshell, tends to sum up my “handy” life. However, thankfully, there are times when fortune smiles upon me and I can serve a functional purpose. This either means that I got lucky, or a job arises that requires more than one person so my wife cannot do it by herself. Such a time occurred recently when we attempted to move our internet service's base of operations to a different part of the house.

Now, I have no illusions as to my abilities, but I can say unreservedly that even I could not mess up as much as the idiot who built most of this house! In one period of complete (and I would say with the assistance of too many regulated substances) insanity, someone once turned this house upside down. He added a second floor, and, in so doing managed to get nearly everything related to electrical and plumbing, insulation and roofing, absolutely dead wrong! Over the past decade and a half, subsequent owners have pecked away at the problems as best they could, pulling out wiring that goes nowhere, covering plumbing that's completely exposed to the elements, and trying to keep entire parts of the house from becoming additional swimming pools. I don't care how romantic it sounds, a second story miniature Venice is simply not cool.

Octopus strand, labeled!

But back to the cable wiring. There are no fewer than two cable 'hubs' in the house. Unfortunately, none of the actual cables to the different rooms are actually labeled, and most are not connected. They're just clumped together in a dizzying, octopus-like array. Some rooms have more than one cable conduit, while other unexpected places (like the bathroom) also got special treatment. The job of finding which of the million cables went to the room we desired to have the modem and router required TWO people! (At last, oh sweet triumph!) I went from room to room with the modem, plugging it into the cable there, while my wife would connect each strand of the octopus to the hot wire until we got a signal. In this manner, I was able to serve a function, and we were able to label the entire house!

Well, I should say, NEARLY the entire house. Of all the strands of both octopi, guess which single room did not have a member? Yup, the only room we actually needed a cable to go to. So, a bittersweet victory for the time being. Still, I will remember fondly the time that I was able to help make technical sense of our hopelessly dysfunctional house.

Hashing Things Out -- a round about expression of gratitude

I ate Hash browns for supper, covered in fresh chunky home made salsa. (That sounds like a worthy Facebook update right there if ever there was one) Yet, I know there are those who would set me straight on this. In their great zeal and out of shepherding concern, yea for the sole purpose of saving me from the barbarosity of myself, they would point out the following; that when a potato has been desecrated by knife or chopper, and then fried into a moderately cohesive pancake, the resultant item is to be consumed at breakfast, which is the meal that coincides with the rising of the sun. Furthermore, they would point out that ketchup, not salsa, is the condiment of choice. To this, I say that they are truly missing out on a good and tasty experience, especially when the salsa is fresh! And while I might be able to persuade some of the less jaded of their number of this, they would invariably revert back to their mantra of, “But, hash browns are breakfast food!” While I will agree to disagree, I get it... or do I?

Riddle me this then, oh guardians of culinary etiquette. If the same staple tuber were to be desecrated and prepared in exactly the same (though somewhat coarser) manner, yet the remnant scraps remain separate and unconnected from each other when the time for eating has come, why then would they be deemed appropriate only for consumption at any time OTHER than breakfast? We would call these French Fries (or simply 'fries') on this side of the pond, whilst the British would staunchly declare them to be 'chips', but both parties would agree that these spuds are not breakfast fare. The only way to eat discrete pieces of fried potato for breakfast without risking accusatory glares or gasps of exasperation is to squish the shredded roots back together before frying, and call them tater tots. And yet, all the while we are talking about potatoes that were cut into strips, then fried before they met their uniformly ignominious demise. Hash browns vs. fries (chips) vs. tater tots... who decides when these things should be eaten? More importantly, who cares?!

For that matter, why is a potato cooked whole not appropriate for breakfast, while one that has been cubed, is? And don't even get me started on when they get pulverized beyond anything resembling their original form (mashed) or sliced thinly and baked (scalloped), for these too are reserved for evening, or at the very least, mid day... I used to think the thinly sliced ones were called 'scalped potatoes' because it looked like some sadistic Apache raiding party had had their way with them some time before they found their way to my plate. It's a good thing they had always been peeled, or as a young tot I might have been traumatized by those lifeless eyes staring up at me, pleading.

Decidedly NOT Mr. Potato Head

At this point, I will admit that I have hopelessly digressed. Suffice it to say that it felt fully appropriate to consume hash browns after dark. There are, in fact, several good reasons for this, and the earnest food police may kindly take their criticism elsewhere.

Most import among these reasons is that the supper was very kindly prepared for me by Charlie, who had, quite literally, been instrumental in the preparation of the salsa. He chopped and diced the onions, bell peppers, jalapenos, serranos, and who knows what else to make that good stuff a reality. And after hours of doing that, he also made sure we would not go hungry. Thus, the potatoes AND the salsa were both due in large part to his efforts.

For those of you who have not met our eldest, I can assure you that he fits in well with the rest of the siblings. That is to say, he looks decidedly less Caucasian than either my wife or I. Perhaps it is best to use his own words to describe himself. He once declared, “I am Asian-American, a real rice and potatoes kind of guy!!” Perhaps that goes far in explaining the hash browns. Either way, Thank you for supper, Charlie!

Character

When we moved the family to the opposite corner of the country to start a new life, one of the changes for me was to work with folks on the opposite end of the life spectrum.  Instead of preschool to middle school aged children every day, I now spend my time with people who are decidedly more elderly.  Instead of trying to give individuals tools that they’ve never had, I endeavor to help them recover ones that they have lost, or, at the very least, make the best of what abilities they have left.  Although these things are loosely related in that they involve communication and the brain, there are stark contrasts in my personal daily experiences.  Specifically, this is a result of the clients themselves.

My world view is being inexorably altered as I encounter wisdom that can only be acquired through decades of trial and error.  More than ever, I can see the outgrowth of decisions made long ago, and the impact governing life principles had on those decisions as well as the patterns that persisted.  Put more simply, I see the sum result, that is the endgame of how people have chosen to live their lives. --And it can be very sobering.

On the one hand, there are married couples who have been married for 60 to 70 plus years, who take the latest challenges or inevitable realities in stride with something approaching gracefulness; who have children and grandchildren rallying around them in their time of need.  Even if one of these is now far from their prime and suffering from advancing dementia, I can see flickers of who they once were, bolstered by the manner with which their family members relate both to them and to each other.  If I ask these types of individuals how they cope with challenges, they meet the other’s gaze with a knowing look, then respond with something akin to, “Well, we just work it out.  There is always a way.”  With every situation, even when there is no longer a way, collective support abounds.

On the other hand, there have been many whose situations were far from the one described above.  The person is alone, either because he or she did not wish to be tied down by such encumberances as a family and thus never had one, or because an impassable rift formed and they were separated permanently. (I am not referring to those who have outlived their entire family)  In any event, no one visits, and no one (besides us) supports.  Often through the course of interaction with these folks, it does not take a herculean stretch to surmise why no one comes.  As they do their best to burn bridges even with you, you can begin to smell traces of a lifetime of burnt bridges trailing behind them; of many rivers crossed that can never be crossed again.  Every bad thing that has ever happened, including the current situation, is somebody else’s fault.  Sometimes, even though we have just met, it is even MY fault!  Recrimination and bitterness abound right up to the end, until the realization that the end has come and you are alone.  But by then, it is far too late.

Two extreme situations, to be sure.  And yet, I have seen both of these and many subtle shades in between.  Here is what am taking along with me from this:  The decisions we make, even the seemingly small ones, matter.  More importantly, how and why we make the decisions we do, matter.  What we believe, matters.  And how we treat other people throughout our lives, matters completely.  No one is likely to spend time looking over our shoulders to see if our words match our actions, but that is no basis for altering how we live, anyway.  In the end, there will be no fooling even a passive witness.

Live your life the way you would like to be remembered.

Senryu

To Communicate
Wellspring of my life. Ergo--
Writer's block

Senryu is a 3-line unrhymed Japanese poem.  Structurally similar to haiku, it focuses on human nature, usually in an ironic or satiric vein. In other words, it appears to have been designed specifically for me. What better way to interrupt nearly four years of silence?

Quotable Quote #3

"My touchstones tell me that I have oft opted out of learning from the wisdom of others and instead earned my 3rd degree at the school of hard knocks." SG, 2008

Reference definition
Touchstone: noun a basis for comparison; a reference point against which other things can be evaluated

The Road

This isn’t like cutting class. I did not skip Pathfinders last night because I didn’t care about the kids who go there or the church service that’s looming ominously in front of them. And I did not refrain from going to work today because I don’t care about my job or my students’ well being. Basically, my mind was so bogged down that I would have been of no use in either role.

In an attempt to hit the stressor re-set button, I headed to the mountains with the twisty roads. I’m still sans bike, so had to make do in my WRX with the windows rolled all the way down to let the air in. … It worked out pretty well given the circumstances.

Or perhaps it’s just the nature of the road itself. Even though I hadn’t covered the whole distance of it, it was still almost familiar because it’s kind of like my life, which is to say unpredictable... and varied. It veers left, then it careens to the right as it follows the shoreline of the lake. At times, the view is wide open and you can see everything, while at others you have no idea where you are because of the dense trees surrounding you. I drove by hills that were all purple with wild flowers, while the hill next to it was all yellow, and I went through meadows that were light blue or white. At still other times I didn’t see flowers at all because of the huge rocky walls and the abrupt cliffs on either side. But always there was the mystery of what was around that next corner (and there were a LOT of blind corners).

Once, the corner revealed COWS, though they were off to the side of the road. Another time, the irregular humps on the road turned out to be two squirrels basking in the sun, and neither horn nor squealing brakes would distract them. It was only after I passed completely overhead that they jerked up in alarm. Then, discovering that the danger had already passed, they both promptly flopped back belly down onto the tarmac to soak up the heat. There’s always something…

Varied and unpredictable are roads and life. A year ago today, my Dad passed away; an unanticipated result of an unexpected disease that struck the most unlikely of people given his excellent health and fitness. He’d never even been hospitalized in his life before receiving the Leukemia diagnosis. But he certainly was hospitalized for this, and this was the day that the struggle to survive ended. It could have been different for him, in a positive way. But then, it could have been different for those two squirrels as well, in a not so positive way.

Had our roles been reversed, I imagine my Dad might have spent the day remembering me in a more constructive way. He might have attempted to do something that mattered rather than abdicate himself from responsibility in order to tear it up through this mountain clime while singing music wholly inappropriate to the risky activity. But then, he wasn’t always predictable, either.

In many ways, I didn’t hold back or leave much behind on what is possibly a record setting time along that stretch. A lot of tears and rubber… that’s about it.

Undone

I have not been writing much lately because I’ve decided it’s a lot more enjoyable to write about humorous things. Or at the very, least, I like to write about things from a humorous point of view rather than tackling weighty and profound issues of great import. And, to be honest, I’ve been suffering from a significant lack of humor over the previous several months. I do find reasons to laugh when I’m in the moment, and it is always genuine when it happens. But when it comes to the dark art of putting lasting thoughts to paper, I feel the weight of things so deeply that there seems to be no way to unlock the bright or ironic side of life. So I don’t write.

With that said, I cannot seem to move on without at least attempting to process things in my mind eventually, and writing is the only way for me to do it without getting distracted or shutting it out with visions of a fanciful (and thus obviously fictitious) reality. So, here is where I am at:

The one colleague I have that I’ve come to consider my friend as well passed away last weekend. George was in his early 60s and not in great health, but this was sudden. I didn’t need to hear about that on the first day back from Spring break, when I was trying to buckle down and focus on the task of work. And I shouldn’t have walked into his classroom on Thursday as scheduled and tried to carry on with his little charges as though nothing had happened. (Obviously, it didn’t work) But that’s the way things are. It appears he went out doing something he enjoyed doing (tending his flower garden), and if this is not actually true, I don’t really want to know about it. I know in my heart that I did not make full use of multiple opportunities to reach out to this lonely and gentle soul, so I get to live with that and the fact that there aren’t any opportunities for a ‘do-over.’

Last night, I learned that my long time friend and one time mentor and gymnastics coach succumbed to Cancer yesterday morning. She was one of those people that if you could only use the fingers on one hand to represent the individuals who helped you to become who you are (in a positive way), she would be one of them. Not quite, but pretty close to parent status in terms of duration and overall influence across multiple aspects of life, I worked with her directly for longer than I have had contact with my own kids to date. I can say with all honesty that she made full use of the opportunity to help shape my life in a positive way, which is really saying something. Gwen is going to be missed by a lot of people, and I will not be the least of those.

Tomorrow will be April 1, the first Anniversary of when I held my Dad’s hand and watched him take his last breaths. There is a whole lot about this chapter that has yet to be written (if it ever will be), and some of the memories are hazy while others are so vivid I can still smell them. On April 1 last year, my Dad died… and we got several inches of SNOW!! The improbables continue to mount, it seems.

I am supposed to be working right now. My job is an important one, and I have come to really care about my students and how they progress. But all I can think about is taking a ride in the mountains and going really, really fast around the corners; NOT as a death wish, but rather as a celebration of life! The scenery ripping by and the smell of the wild flowers and other vegetation being ram-jetted into my nose through my helmet is the only thing I have found that seems to drain the stresses of the world out of me so that I can once again face harsh reality with courage. Out there, there is no escaping the fact that God is real and still on duty. It is as though I'm screaming, "Are you still there?!" And He answers affirmatively in ways that I don't think I can describe in words.

But my motorcycle is broken right now, so I am left only with the inescapable cumulative thoughts and memories of folks taken from me in this current life. And thus, on the inside, I am just as my office is now: Empty.

"Teacher George"

Personal losses continue to mount, it seems. I received word on Tuesday that “Teacher George”, the Pre/K Special Day Class teacher at one of my school sites, passed away at home over the Easter Break. Of the many professional relationships I have had over the past seven and a half years with this school district, George was an exception in that he strayed beyond that, into the realm of friendship.

He was a crazy Scottish transplant, who by some strange twist of events ended up going to University in Fresno and never moved back home after finding a job here as a Special Education Teacher. He had no family ties State-side that he mentioned, only his mother back home. She passed away a few years ago, and he had not been back there since. Always talked about it, though.

He had many hobbies, not the least of which were photography and a host of arts and crafts ranging from macramé to silk screening. In earlier years, he frequented craft shows with his wares in various parts of Central California. The photography showed up in his classroom with digital printed pictures posted on the walls of his current students taking part in daily activities.

He also loved the performing arts, and spent considerable time going to plays, musicals, and orchestras in London and the Bay Area. You could aptly call him a performing arts aficionado, as he could talk for hours about the relative strengths and weaknesses of various shows or performing castes.

George’s teaching style was somewhat unconventional at times, but his students tended to make progress beyond what was anticipated. With them, he was a gentle teddy bear who nonetheless had expectations for them to meet, and they adored him. Gentle was probably the best way to describe him, in fact. That said, he was not beyond complaining and muttering in Gaelic (and English) when he was out of ear shot of young and impressionable minds. This was with good reason as many of his students tended to skew toward the more challenging variety. At any rate, I tended to get a share of his venting sessions, most likely because I was willing to listen.

George was gentle, passionate, and at the heart of it all, lonely. It seemed to me that, while he lived for his ‘kids’ in his classroom and enjoyed shows and dabbling with technology, he was always searching for something to fill a void. I knew that if I went into his classroom in the afternoon after his students left, I was probably not going to be able to get away until late. But I did it anyway because I COULD, and I felt as though being a sounding board for him might have helped a little. He never said as much, but after a while his eyes would start to twinkle more and he would start to laugh more readily and heartily. He had a great cackle.

That said, I feel as though I did not do my best for him, and that I let him down. Not once, but twice, I felt convicted that he was someone God put ‘in my way’ for a purpose… And I did not live that way – plain and simple. This is probably why I feel so heavy and empty right now. I know he is not hurting or lonely anymore, and that he can finally rest and not have to worry about getting to work on time Monday mornings… But… Here I am again, trying to look at myself in the mirror.

I Feel...........

Given my consistently marshmallow-like figure (Hey, don’t hate me because I aspire to sweetness), sometimes I wonder if my feeling healthier lately isn’t just all in my head. I mean, 7 pounds of weight loss CAN make a difference, but how much really? (Especially considering I’m still probably 23 pounds above my ideal body weight) Still, it’s undeniable (to myself, anyway) that although I have a long way to go, I am definitely feeling better than I have in a long time. Little indicators keep popping up from time to time to remind me.

A couple of weeks ago, I discovered almost by accident that I can throw front handsprings again… On the mats, and completely pain-free at that! (although I’m not claiming it’s a pretty sight) One of the students at the gym couldn’t seem to envision what she was trying to learn, so I demonstrated it onto a crash pad: Safely, carefully, and responsibly. My immediate reaction was that the crash pad was just getting in my way, so I just switched to the regular floor. The other upside was that it really helped the student to wrap her mind around the body mechanics of it.

Yesterday, I started the adult gym workout session by stretching like I always do. But this time, I spent perhaps an extra 5 minutes doing some really serious stretching like in years gone by. And wonder of wonders if it didn’t lead to a bunch of flexibility breakthroughs and some serious endorphin release. I threw a real dive roll on the ground for the first time in perhaps 15 years, and my knees didn’t explode!

Nor are they sore today, and I’m still feeling more relaxed and flexible a day later. In my office at work, I got the urge to try a handstand. Recent attempts have served to remind me that I’m old and out of shape. I can get up, but then I just spend a few seconds grunting, shuffling, and flailing around before I come back down. Well, on the very first attempt, I went up and held it like a rock for about 15 seconds! No grunting, no flailing, and no hand movement whatsoever… AND no discomfort! Go figure.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

When Life Blows

Ah, November in Central California; the time of year when a good wind storm blows a bunch of leaves off of the trees and you notice for the first time that some of them are finally changing colour. That’s how fall arrives around here, with several inches of leaves everywhere, and yet most of them are still green and on the trees.

With Fall, as you may well know (unless you live in the Middle East or some other desert region), comes a plethora of fauna strewn about the yard in a most haphazard and cluttered manner. You realize that it’s vital to do a little yard work before it buries you entirely, and so off you go. The depressing thing about it all, besides the endless raking, is that you know that this is going to be an ongoing process until it’s nearly Christmas.

And so it was that I found myself venturing forth alone to beat back the elements of Mother Nature. However, this year was different, because we now own our very own leaf blower! It might be an electric model, but according to Consumer Reports, this no longer necessarily means that it’s a wimpy mama’s boy who’s never cut the umbilicus. I wouldn’t know either way because I’d never used one. But my initial conclusion was reached after about 2 minutes of use.

Conclusion (Status: initial): A leaf blower gets the job done a LOT faster than raking does.

As I progressed with the task and my experience with the device increased, I was able to reach several other interesting (if not valuable) conclusions.

C1) It’s a lot faster and more orderly to create a cushion of air under a bed of leaves and move the whole bed that way than to blast away at them from the top of the pile. Less mess + more movement = quicker success with less grit in your teeth.

C2) It is possible, without any practice whatsoever, to lift a plant out of its pot and hurl it against a wall three feet away; dirt, roots, and all. But it’s not prudent to share this information with your wife.

C3) You can play fetch with a dog without even touching the ball. Just blast the magical orb with the air, and the dog will chase it happily.

C4) A smart dog isn’t necessarily bright: Drop your ‘fetch’ ball into a violent maelstrom of leaves 2.5 feet thick, and it’s really kinda... well, gone! The leaves with the ball scent will get blown all over the place, throwing you way off the path in your quest to recover it.

C5) A medium sized dog who likes to snap at streams of water directed toward his canine-hood will do the same with a stream of leaves and be quite thrilled about it. HOWEVER, C5b) attempting the same with a very SMALL dog (aka. Itsy Bitsy Mitzy) is akin to watching an umbrella turn inside out in a wind storm. Don’t worry, she’ll land and stop rolling eventually and come back for more.

C6) With a little honing, you can peg a canine with its own doo doo at upwards of 5 paces. The canine will not necessarily appreciate the irony, but you sure will!

After completing my task, I had a huge pile of leaves about 2 feet thick and 10x30 feet in area. The yard looked much more orderly than it had before, and I really feel good about that. However, my final conclusion needed to be modified a little.

Conclusion (status: final): Experimental leaf blowing will get the job done potentially quite a bit SLOWER than raking. But…. WHO CARES?!

After Ten Years

I just returned home yesterday from taking my lovely wife to Hawaii for our 10 year Anniversary. She also got a laptop for her very own about a month ago. All told, it was very nice. Pictures to follow (maybe)

The Accelerated Life

In case anyone doubts that my life has been a touch out of the ordinary thus far, let me recap. I was married nearly 10 years ago and am still married. Not very unique? Well then, consider WHO I got married to. I don’t know about you, but I think that makes me one DLD! (Downright Lucky Dude) Léonie has had the patience to put up with me for a whole 10 years, and that is SOMETHING!

I went into the professional field of Speech and Language Pathology. Most people have no idea what that even means, but that’s okay. What’s different about it is that it is highly dominated by humans of the female persuasion; Even more so than teaching, nursing, and the like. I have no problem with that, as many competency components draw from some of my personal strengths. I have seen good success with clients across the whole range of the lifespan, from really tiny to very old. Plus, I don’t really mind women, so my colleagues and I get along just fine.

I moved to Central California. It’s hot, brown/yellow, and populated such that I am a ’visible minority.’ Don’t get me wrong here, I always have been and continue to be comfortable in a highly multicultural environment. But the location and climate?! If there is one thing consistent about people who grew up in British Columbia, it’s that anywhere they relocate to is a decided downgrade in beauty, and thus livability. I am no exception to this rule. However, here I still am!

Although I am only 33, I have already retired! Not from my career, mind you. But this week, I officially stepped down from being the Director of the Pathfinder Club after leading it for five years. Talk about a rapid growing experience. It was that, and a whole lot more. However, the time has come to re-focus my life on what really matters.

Another unique thing is that I RETIRED from gymnastics and acro-sport fully 15 years ago. The knees and other parts of my body told me emphatically that it was high time that I do so, and (for a change) I wisely listened to it. And yet, this week I logged over 12 hours in the gym at Gymnastics Beat! I worked out some, taught, spotted, and conducted leveling assessments. Aside from the expected sore muscles, though, it was trouble free. And I really, really enjoyed it!

Now, very little of what I’ve stated thus far has anything to do with the title, right? Yeah, I kind of gathered that. I may be old and get easily side tracked, but I’m not senile. (I hope) Besides the early retirements and the late resurrections of long dead ‘careers’, here is where the “accelerated life” comes into play.

Forty months ago, my household consisted of my wife…. And myself! (We’ll overlook the fish for the moment.) Fast forward 4 months, though, and we now had a 150lb boy and a cute little puppy with a funky name. This made for some really interesting times, but I do have a few warm fuzzy memories in spite of this period of dynamic learning.

Only 8 months later (28 months ago), the other shoe dropped. That was when we went up by 6 more kids and one more dog! Not only did that make for SEVEN children, but four of them were also already Teenagers! (and nary a diaper changed had I!) One is autistic/low functioning and requires a lot of energy as he is not self-automated. This was the beginning of the period that I call ‘shock and awe’, because I was perpetually in shock. And any time anybody asked me a question, all I could say was, “Aaaaaaaaw. (pbbbt)”

By the time December of that year came around, or 20 months ago, we were fully rounded out to our current complement of three ‘parents,’ seven kids, and THREE dogs! It’s all ho hum and status quo from then on, right? Well, not really. At present, I am still close to the experience of watching my father pass away. Never mind that he was fit, healthy, and loving life at the ripe age of 64 years young, he went away so quickly! And here I am, now with SIX teenagers and THREE college students!! Nobody is even in Elementary school anymore.

Today marked yet another new phase in life; one of me playing the part of an empt(ier) nester. James went off and left home to go to college out-of-state this morning. He is one of the few subtractions in a period of rapid additions. And, like losing my Dad, I’m beginning to really dislike these ‘subtractions’ from my life. … True, my boy will still be around from time to time, but this marks the beginning of yet another trend of inevitable shift; one where life will be punctuated by subtractions rather than additions. The result: Something is missing, and it just doesn’t feel right.

But I’m going to have to get used to the idea, and quickly, too. It cannot be changed, only accepted. (if never embraced). Such is my lot in this ACCELERATED LIFE.

Not the Leader Anymore (But I got to Hire my new Boss!)

I fired myself and got a new boss last night, but at least I was able to choose and hire him! Being the Pathfinder Club Directors over the past five years was an amazing blessing, but it was time to hand it off to someone new because we ran ourselves all out of energy. The board meeting made it official. I didn’t even have to make a fancy and well-worded presentation on the spot. All I had to do was sit and listen as the board chairman read my letter of resignation. (Which, of course, was fancy and well worded! At least, being articulate is what I attempted)

The letter ended with me thanking the board for the opportunity to serve, and asked them to accept our resignation. This they did, ‘with regret.’ In fact, they made it a point to make the “with regret” part official in the minutes. Several people were visibly upset with this turn of events, but it couldn’t really be helped. It was time to close that door, at least for now. And I am finally okay with it.

But now, I’m yesterday’s news. Here’s a little about my new boss. The really rewarding thing is that I discovered him! Well, actually Keith discovered us, so I can’t take any credit. (sounded good, though) We marched by him one November 11 during the city’s Veteran’s Day Parade. It was the first time we’d invited all of the area clubs to take part with us, and I had coordinated an estimated 250 Pathfinders, Adventurers, and staff. They were assembled in multiple marching formations and pulled by two flat bed trucks. It was pretty awesome to see, and I always wonder if he would have noticed us if it had just been our own club by itself. Perhaps not, but God works in interesting ways sometimes, so we’re left to wonder.

Anyway, he tracked us down through an old acquaintance and showed up at the clubhouse soon after the parade because it seemed like just the thing he wanted to get his daughter into. An ex Eagle Scout Troop Master, he almost immediately found needs and started to fill them. He increasingly became a big help with the Adventurer program, which his daughter was in. He eventually followed her into the Pathfinder club, and in his quiet and unassuming way, became an integral part of the overall Club.

Today, he is a member of my church and a leader in the Junior division. His daughter attends the academy and has developed some great friendships there. And now, Keith is also the (so called) fearless leader of the Pathfinder and Adventurer Club! I know that huge challenges face him in the months ahead, and I can relate to how he must be feeling. But regardless of how smoothly or bumpily things go, I have to say that I’m very proud of him for stepping forward. Here’s to you, Keith!

Anniversary

Hooray, it’s my Anniversary! A year ago this evening, I was having the time of my life at the gymnastics gym with James, putting him through the paces while easing back into it myself. It felt good. No, it felt great. At session’s end, I demonstrated a round-off the way round-offs are supposed to be done; aggressively!

Now, when you think about it, you will probably wonder how one can reconcile putting words like ‘ease’ and ‘aggressive’ in the same breath. In point of fact, you cannot! And that’s exactly what my body told me when I did it. “YOU CANNOT!” My right Achilles tendon snapped to drive the message home, and a year later, I can assure you that I got the message. A week immobile followed by surgery and months of ‘very poor jogging’ has conspired to convince me that I am no longer 18 years old. This seems like such a waste because I kind of knew that already, but there you have it. At the same time, life’s experiences can sometimes be used to learn lessons that at first blush do not appear to be directly associated.

Forever, it seemed, I could not stand on my own two feet. Undeniably, I needed to rely on the help of others, but I stubbornly did as much as I could on my own so as to not be a burden. This made life painfully slow at times, and no doubt in some cases just caused more grief. Looking back, I can see this more clearly. But at the time, I just didn’t see it that way.

That can also sum up much of my life. Looking around, it’s easy to see that this world isn’t a pretty place. It’s tough and full of huge challenges. On my own, I can’t exactly dance deftly across the stage of life. In fact, when I’m not relying completely on God’s power and mercy, I am immobile. You could say that I cannot stand on my own two feet. Undeniably, I need to rely on my Creator and follow His will for my life. However, I stubbornly do as much as I can on my own, presumably so as not to be a burden. This makes my Spiritual growth painfully slow, and ultimately has been the source of no end of grief. Reflecting on how God’s power and mercy has so strongly impacted my life, I can see this clearly. But when relying on my own eyesight and insight, I never can seem to see it that way.

The solution is pretty clear. I need to seek a better relationship with God aggressively and completely. And yet I tend to try to ease into it a little bit at a time. When you think about it, you probably wonder how you can reconcile putting words like ‘aggressive’ and ‘ease’ in the same breath. Well, in point of fact, you cannot.

That’s the message God gives to me in His word and through the experiences and challenges I’ve faced in my life. “You cannot.” I hope that I am able to hold onto the message.

Turning Points

8/24/07 - I've spent a good deal of time debating whether or not to post this particular entry, for reasons that are probably self evident. We're going to go for it & see what happens.
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There come times in everyone’s lives when they step back from what they’ve been doing, or how they have been living, and ponder therein the purpose and merits of it all. I am currently going through just such an experience. To those of you who know me well, this is probably not news as it’s hardly a first for me. However, this does have substance to it.

My life took a 180 degree turn five years ago with the decision to stop focusing only on myself and begin to sacrifice my time and energy for the benefit of other people. Directing a Pathfinder club is not for the faint of heart, let me tell you. But it does afford a huge opportunity for one to learn about oneself, and the potential impact on the lives of countless kids and their families is almost limitless.

We’ve worked with a lot of kids, taught them interesting and unique new skills, and driven them thousands of miles to experience numerous things that some of them had never previously experienced. From spelunking, to bike camping, to the International Pathfinder Camporee in Oshkosh, WI., we’ve invested thousands of personal hours and dollars on other peoples’ kids. So engaged were we in the process that we even took seven as our own when the need arose and no one else was able or willing to step up to the plate. (That was two years ago) So… suffice to say that it’s been immersive and all encompassing. I have a deep appreciation for how much these experiences have caused me to grow personally, and my memories are rich and numerous. To write about all of them would easily fill a book.

At the same time, Pathfinders and the resulting family, combined with other factors, have taken a collective toll on me that is difficult to measure. I’m drained, spent. My passion and energy has waned significantly, and the results have been clear in my effectiveness as a leader. Perhaps it was the realization that I’d just cancelled another Pathfinder event for the umpteenth time, but for quite some time, I have known that I’ve been doing everyone (including myself) a disservice by staying on. Blame can be pointed all over the place (an unresponsive/unsupportive church, no really close friendships, challenging/strained home life, not taking proper care of myself), but the responsibility ultimately lies with me and my all-too-human tendency of trying to go it alone instead of relying on God’s power and guidance. … It is what it is.

On Monday, I conducted my last Pathfinder Club meeting… And I didn’t even know it until I looked at the freshly modified Calendar that had been sent with me. No last meeting, no investiture service where I could share some last profound thought that might stay with even one of them; Just this last ‘party’, replete with pizza, ice cream, and a decided lack of structure. Not exactly the setting I would have envisioned or wanted for a farewell if I’d had a choice.

The hardest part, though, was that I was all alone. Even my wife didn’t accompany me. I did my best to mingle with the kids and staff, but except for when I carried little Isaiah around upside down and heard him squealing with excitement, I felt hollow. They laughed, ran around, and carried on as always, but I couldn’t. No one seemed to notice my lack of enthusiasm, or if they did, no one said anything. When the last of them had left and I made sure everything was locked up, I knew I was finished.

So, I went home. On the way, my girl asked a rather perceptive question. “Is there going to be Pathfinders next year?” The only question along those lines all night. I assured her that there would be a program. But I also know that she was asking because she doesn’t want to continue next year, and as such, the question hurt as much as the silence. … I tried to get lost in the regular bedtime routine with the kids, but couldn’t. I wanted to talk to someone, but couldn’t. Even hugging Tom and telling him goodnight didn’t make me feel any warmer.

It was a rather anti-climatic ending to one of the most involving aspects of my life for the past 5 years. There is a campout left to do, and I will try to make the most of it. But right now, it has me wondering. All of the time, energy, resources; the sacrifices, the growth, the caring. Did any of it matter? Are people just limitless sponges who soak up all that you can give them until you run dry, yet never spill a drop of it to others when it’s needed? Has my life been wasted?

Tuesday, I had the occasion to view several hundred pictures of the kids from the past few years. There have been a lot of them, and through the tapestry of the photo folders, I was able to watch them grow up all over again. There have been some very positive changes in some of them that appeared to have been because of their involvement with the club, and I felt glad. Some fell through our fingers because we did not have the individual or collective ability to reach out to them, and I still feel the loss of each and every one of them. Still others, be they involved now or formerly… it’s hard to say what will become of them because the future is still unclear. I have to trust that any seeds that we attempted or helped to plant, God will continue to work on germinating in their lives (That isn’t my job, after all). There have been countless good memories along the way. But in the end, I hope that I will be able to take with me more than just the memories.

Papa - His Life

This is the text of the life sketch/eulogy that my brother and I presented for our dad at his memorial on April 7. I did the writing, he did the pictoral life sketch that was shown before and after the service, and then we helped each other pull it off.
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R W G

February 10, 1943 to April 1, 2007

Ronald W G was born to William and Hilda on February 10, 1943, in Vancouver General Hospital. He was their third and final child, and his older sisters enjoyed helping to raise and take care of this new arrival. His first home was in Ladner, BC.

However, the family moved to the (relatively) big city of Langley just prior to Ronnie’s fifth birthday. It was here that he achieved such accomplishments as enrolling in Langley Junior Academy and underwent the mildly corrupting experience of spending time with lifelong friends such as Gerald Berden.

Ron’s family moved once again when they made like islanders and moved to Sidney in 1952. There, his mother was employed at the hospital at Rest Haven. One of his memories during this time which started when he was nine years old was of rowing around the bay in a dilapidated old rowboat that had a disconcerting habit of taking on water. But when you’re a kid, those sort of details matter only somewhat very little (and mostly not at all).

Ron found himself at Canadian Union College for high school, which was quite a long way from home. The winters were colder and longer here, but his parents felt it was important for him to receive the opportunities that education brought; opportunities neither of them had.

From the time he was small, Ron’s Father told him, “Son, when you grow up, choose a career where you can be your own boss. It is hard to not have a trade and have to work for other people your whole life. He took this to heart, and in part because he liked to work with his hands, he decided on a career in Dentistry fairly early on.

So, after graduating from high school at CUC in 1961, he completed one year of college there before moving on for a three-year stint at Walla Walla College in Washington of the Excited States. It was here that he met a rather intriguing maiden from Oregon by the name of Janet W.

Interestingly, Ron and Jan met in a Marriage and Family class! Both signed up for this particular class for ‘extra credit’. The crusty old professor had the enrollees arranged in seats by alphabetical order, and W must have been the letter furthest along the line. But Ron had enrolled for the class a day LATE, so the second lecture was already in session when he arrived. Thus it was that shy Mr. “G” was placed next to shy Miss “W”. Since he did not wish to be unsuccessful, he asked Janet if he had missed anything important the first day. In truth, he had missed out on some terminology that Janet was a bit embarrassed to share with this strikingly handsome lad. Hoping the professor would cover it again later in class, she said, “Naaa, nothing important.” So it was that they came to be stuck next to each other. Weeks later during the final examination, Ron leaned over toward Jan and said, “So, I DID miss some things the first day, eh?” But the ice had already been broken and the damage done.

Ron married Janet in Gaston, Oregon on June 13, 1965, at which time they moved to Loma Linda, CA for four years. There, Ron earned a DDS (Doctor of Dental Science) as a member of the class of ‘69, while Janet taught First graders in nearby Colton and earned a PHT (Putting Hubby Through). On weekends, they would escape the high quality air for the high desert, where Ron continued to work on his hobby of photography.

When the smoke finally cleared (as much as it ever does in Loma Linda), Dr. G. resettled in his Home and native Land. The decision to come home was not made lightly; it was Ron and Janet’s hope to raise a family, and they wished to be near to an Adventist School so that they could offer any upcoming children a Christian Education without having to go off to a boarding school while still young. They settled down, and he got to the business of establishing his Dental practice in Langley.

But… no children! They were ready to become parents, but the stork had been stubborn about arriving. Finally, in January of 1970, they were blessed with the adoption of their first child, a girl they named Larissa R. She brought a lot of joy, but there was still much room for more in the home. Brenden S. arrived in August of 1972, a little codger not yet one year old. The family was rounded out and completed in November of 1973 with the arrival of the caboose, when Shelby D. was born to Ron and Janet. From day one, it was no secret to Larissa and Brenden that they were adopted. Rather, they grew up with a profound sense that they were very much loved and had been “chosen” by their parents.

Ron enjoyed adventures of travel and the great outdoors. He rode motorcycles off-road, canoed many lakes and rivers, and explored hard to reach areas for hidden gems like natural hot springs or beautiful views. He loved the ocean and water sports, and many family vacations were spent waterskiing and wind surfing. Snow skiing was a favorite winter activity. Ron was of the opinion that these things were far too enjoyable to be kept exclusive, so often other relatives or friends were brought along to share in the fun. Time and again, he proved to be an expert and patient teacher as he taught his children, as well as many of their friends, the “ropes”.

It was not all fun and games, however. Ron was very disciplined in life’s endeavors. He took good care of himself by keeping a high level of physical fitness and maintained a dedicated and close walk with Jesus. When we kids were growing up, we could count on our Dad being the first to get up. If we were adventuresome, we could creep to the other side of the house to see the light coming from under the door to the study. And when we would peek in, he was always either studying intently or down on his knees… no doubt praying earnestly for guidance in raising the little hellions God ‘blessed’ him with. Then, he would go jogging!

Service to church and family was an integral part of Ron’s life. His family was one that helped to found and build the Aldergrove Seventh-day Adventist Church. He served the church in the capacities of Deacon, Elder, sound technician, and spent many years as the Aldergrove church clerk. He also opened his house numerous times for Friday evening Youth vespers programs. Additionally, when there was a void, he stepped into what he considered a very out of character role as Pathfinder Director. Yet in the six years he served with Janet in this role, the club grew from less than a dozen kids to the largest and one of the most active in the conference, with nearly 40 members. In making sure HIS children received this opportunity, he also mentored many others in the process.

For thirty-four years, Ron ‘practiced’ Dentistry. He took pride in his work and did quite well. One person within the profession even claimed that his acrylic restorations were the best she’d ever seen. But, the work was not an all-consuming passion for him. This, he saved for his family. It was a means to an end, a way of providing for his loved ones. Fortunately, for much of his career he was surrounded by staff members, some of whom spent a very long time with him, who did an excellent job of easing the stress of the routine and keeping him sane. This, he appreciated greatly …

But eventually, he decided it was time to start a new career to practice at, called RETIREMENT! In his eagerness to start on this new adventure, Ron made the move a bit earlier than originally planned. And he loved every minute of it! Friends, family, and former colleagues can attest to this based upon the permanent grin that was affixed to his face. He traveled, he relaxed, he visited the grandkids! (but he did not relax while visiting the grandkids). More times than one could count, he was heard saying, “Life is good!”

Then, the troubles began. This past December, Ron came down with flu-like symptoms with significant bone pain. This seemed to be backing off, so he moved forward. But on his trip to Thailand, which he spent over a year planning for, he was hospitalized and diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. It took two weeks to stabilize his blood counts and arrange for him to be transported home, but he and Janet were blessed by many incredibly kind and generous strangers, as well as by a couple of friends.

Ron appeared to respond well to treatment initially. He was greatly encouraged by the support he received from friends and family. But the leukemia returned, and on March 21^st, he was informed of the medically irreversible results of the disease process. He was anointed, and thousands of prayers were offered on his behalf literally from all over the world. However, God, who knows the beginning from the end, saw fit to not intervene. Ron did not once complain. At home, with his whole family present, he passed quietly to his rest on Sunday morning, April 1^st.

Ronald W. G. is survived by his wife, Janet; his two sisters, Dolores and Rita; as well as his three children, Larissa, Brenden, and Shelby. Additionally, he leaves behind 10 grandchildren: Kendra, Byron, Zachary. And Michael, James, John, Tom, Mai Ying, Maivnkauj, and Na… all of whom were chosen much like their Grandpa chose his kids. Oh, and by a big family, a big church family, and many good friends.