A Lonster's Tale - The First Sixty Years. Part 3

As previously stated, I grew up in a small community in the middle of New Brunswick, on Canada's east coast. I think when school was in session and the students were at their desks, the population of the school was larger than the population of the rest of the community!

Our school was very basic; grades one to six were fundamental arithmetic, reading, spelling, social studies, and the like. In grade seven, the boys got introduced to “shop” (today's Industrial Arts – woodworking and electrical) and the girls got introduced to Home Economics – sewing and cooking. It was at that time that we began going to the school dances as well. When I was in grade seven, there were a lot of “sock hops” that featured records of the most up-to-date top forty with a few older favourites thrown in as well. Occasionally there would be a special event where a Disc Jockey from the nearest radio station would come and play the Music. This was a big deal, for in those days, Radio ruled and to see the guys whose voices we heard (sadly, they were all men back then) was a pretty big deal.

Sometimes a live band would come and play, but I didn't actually see any except the local guys who had played for our Friday lunch hour sock hops. The first live band I saw at our school was when I was in grade nine! The Drummer of that band was my friend “W” who lived next door to my cousin. (mentioned in part one) The band was quite large, with two Guitars, Keyboards, Bass, Drums, and Vocals.

Since our school was, as I mentioned, rather basic, we had no Music or Band program, so I watched the drummers who came through on these Friday night dances. By the time I finished school, I had seen a number of drummers who all offered their knowledge to me. I lost touch with the majority of them after school, but some are sill friends to this day.

Each one had something unique to offer; a speciality, if you will. This was also the time of the extended Drum Solo, and when that would happen, most of the dancers would leave the dance floor, some would go for a Coke or hit the washroom, and I'd RUN to the front of the Gym, lean on the stage and watch intently. At home, the next day, I would try to emulate what I'd seen the night before.

Another source of my education was the records I bought. The big Rock bands of the time all had great Drummers and trying to “cop their licks” was a challenge I willingly took on. I'd listen, try to replicate what I'd heard, listen again, until the record was virtually unplayable! When I went to the Music Store in the city, I'd stand transfixed, staring at the Drums. If another Drummer should come along, I'd strike up a conversation, even if I'd never seen him before.

There were many opportunities to see live Music in the late '60s and early '70s, much more so than today. Besides our school dances (which were admittedly a pretty small deal in the larger picture of life) to in-store promotions at department stores and car dealerships, to fairs and exhibitions, I always stayed to talk to the Drummer. I don't recall ever meeting one who wasn't willing to share knowledge and the Joy of Drumming with me. Some even managed to squeeze in an informal lesson if time allowed.

As time went on, I gathered a rather large repertoire of ideas, and “licks” to use in the gigs I played. At that time I hadn't learned “discernment” and much of what I played was totally the wrong thing for the song, or situation, and I often overplayed, but I was growing and testing my wings, getting a lot of stuff out of the way to allow for more refinement as I grew older. Yet, I still had a burning desire to learn and play, and I always approached the stage with a sense of wreckless abandon; like a drunken skydiver screaming, “Let's see where we end up THIS time!”

~ Still Wandering...

A Lonster's Tale - The first 60 years. Part 2

Before I began Drumming, before I even WANTED to play Drums, I was surrounded by Music; that's where many of my Guilty Pleasures come from.

We lived in a small community in a deep valley and the only radio station we could receive was in the nearest city. This station broadcast with 50,000 watts of output transmission which was HUGE! They played an eclectic blend of varying Musical styles, from the vocal Jazz of Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, and Perry Como to Polkas, to Country and Western, to Elvis Presley and Little Richard. I didn't mind what was playing, I wanted to hear it! I remember being somewhat surprised when Mom heard a song on the radio that she liked, and Dad brought home the single for her. That rather changed my perception of Music; I could actually BUY it and have it forever! (Oh, so little did I know about vinyl records as a three-year-old)

After the Beatles landed on the Ed Sullivan Show, I was swayed toward the Rock 'N' Roll side of things, and started to pay a bit more attention to the other R 'N' R groups, but the styles I had previously enjoyed still appealed to me as well. I particularly enjoyed the Music that was on the radio on Saturday mornings: a blend of Polkas and what we knew as “Oom-pah” Music; played on accordions and often featuring Yodellers. I should make it clear that Saturday mornings were when Dad took me with him as he delivered furnace and stove oil.

Saturday afternoon was the Top 40 Hit parade, and during that time I heard the sounds of the New Christie Minstrels, The Seekers, Petula Clarke, Dusty Springfield, and later, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Byrds, and many, many more. Sunday mornings (and for a half hour after school) it was Gospel Music. Dad was a big fan of Country and Old-Time Gospel, so the Carter Family and others of that ilk were frequently heard on the “record player” and later the stereo. There were many songs I heard because one of my parents liked them, and many bring a tear to my eye if I hear them today.

I think if I could have stayed alive by eating Music, I would have, since I certainly devoured it in every other way.

As I grew older, between ages ten and fourteen, I heard a lot of “Bubblegum” Music on the radio, Andy Kim, The Archies, 1910 Fruitgum Company, ... and so that became part of my Musical lexicon as well. I remember one friend who came to visit after school one day remarking, “You don't like THAT shit do you?” I did.

Once I became a Drummer and was learning songs for a band, the Music I played, and to which I listened grew heavier. The Beatles and Stones were still there as were the Hollies, but so were Steppenwolf, Jimi Hendrix, Deep Purple, The Doors, Grand Funk Railroad, etc... I think I was the only Pink Floyd fan (as in owned their records) in the school until “Dark Side Of The Moon” came out. I KNOW I was the only one with the Blind Faith album.

When I was 15, some of Dad's friends asked me to play drums for them. They were all in their late thirties or forties, and I was a geeky kid with glasses, but JUMPED at the chance to play my Drums and earn money while doing it. Over the next three years, two of the men would leave and be replaced by guys my age, as well as the oldest daughter of the one remaining “older” chap came in to add a female voice. We weren't really great Musicians, but we were popular because we played a good cross section of what was being heard on the radio of that time. We covered the Music of Merle Haggard, Ray Price, Kris Kristofferson, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Lobo, and the like.

Those were good years, and I was making really good money for a kid in high school. Actually I was making more then than I did in many bands since that time.

Just before I turned nineteen, I left that band. Too much alcohol and too much ego resulted in a shoving match between myself and the girl singer's husband. I walked out and sold my Ludwigs. That was the first time I tried to leave Music behind.

~Still Wandering...

A Lonster's Tale - The first 60 years. Part 1

I was born in 1955, just ten years and one week after the end of WWII. So it was that growing up, WWII became the reference point of many conversations. Things happened either “before the war,” “during the war,” or “just after the war.” It was sometime in one of these three time periods that my father had played guitar in a band with a number of his friends, most of whom he would remain in touch with until his death. One such man had a Music Room in his basement, where he kept a number of Musical instruments, a drumset included. On one of our visits, “Mr. L” took us down and showed us that room. I was immediately drawn to the Drums; a 4-piece kit in White Marine Pearl finish. (although I didn't know what the finish was called back then) At roughly the same time, a small group of students in our school had formed a band and played in our school gym for a “sock hop” every Friday at noon. Again, I was drawn to the drums, and eventually began asking many questions of the Drummer; “What's that for?” “What's that do?” “What do you call that?” “How did you DO that?” He was extremely patient and answered all my questions with his characteristic smile. That band even got to play on a TV show in the early 60s, and I felt special because I knew them!

A couple of years later, a neighbour of my cousin's returned from Germany where his father had been stationed in the Canadian Armed Forces. “W” had purchased a set of drums there, and I would often see him carrying them into or out of the house as he came and went to the various gigs he was playing in the area. I remember once his younger sister (who is my age) took me upstairs to the room where he kept his drums. I was in awe. Completely speechless!

It was during this time period The Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show and I saw Ringo Starr. Game over! A few of my friends can probably remember me before I got bitten by the Drum bug, but not many. To most of my friends, I have always been a drummer, or interested in drums.

My parents recognized my overwhelming desire to become a Drummer, but (as I can now understand) they were not in a financial position to make that happen. Besides, Dad had always dreamed of me following in his footsteps and learn to play guitar, but I was too undisciplined and the strings hurt my fingers. In 1967 they got me a toy drumset from the Sears catalogue.

I was grateful, but felt I was too old for them and a REAL set would have been more appropriate. Still, I played along with the radio every day after school and after I finished my homework in the evening. Once the fibre heads on those drums broke, I found various ways to patch them, and eventually replaced them with plastic Ice cream containers. (empty, of course)

Finally, on Christmas day, 1969, my first “real” drumset arrived. Again, from the Sears catalogue, it was a 3-piece set with the brand name “Saturn.” I was overwhelmed! The three pieces were a 14 X 20 Bass Drum, a 5 X 14 Snare Drum, and an 8 X 12 mounted Tom, all in blue sparkle. (still one of my favourite colours) There was a 12 inch Cymbal mounted on the Bass Drum, which although it didn't sound so great, it was functional.

I was a DRUMMER! The Lonster was born.

~Still Wandering...

Continuation

When I first began this blog, named "Wanderer," it was my intention to use the word "wandering" in some way in each title.  It became evident after a short time that it would not be entirely possible to do so, so I switched to a more relavent method of titling.

Recently, I posted on Facebook how I'd like to get back to writing by sharing the story of my lifetime at the drums. I say “back to” because for a while in 2009, I was employed as a writer/PR agent for a company in New Brunswick named Los Cabos Drumsticks. I may elaborate at a later date as to why I left the company, but for now let me just quote Gary Oldman as Dracula in the 1992 movie, “That relationship was not, entirely.... successful… ”

I received a great deal of encouragement from Facebook friends to pursue the idea, although one detail stands out as worrisome. I said I would not mention names, but soon realized there are some events, no matter whose names are withheld, that I just don't feel comfortable revealing. I have not always made the wisest of decisions and many things are embarrassing to not only myself but to those whom I may have offended or hurt along the way. I'm sure I have long since been forgiven or the offence has been forgotten, but it could re-open some old wounds (even for myself) to bring up certain past events.

Therefore, I have decided – for now at least – to present my tale as a series of short stories on my blogs. Yes, blogs, plural. I have been keeping this one for many years; it is reflective of my life in general, the non-drumming side of me. (although drumming comes into it many times as reference points) When I got my website, there was an option to add a blog to it, which I started doing earlier this year. It is supposed to be an account of my activities onstage or in the rehearsal halls etc. Sadly, there has been neither since the end of August, so short stories of my life of rhythm would be an ideal way to keep it active. I can see no reason why I can't have the same content in two places, provided it belongs in both.

Obviously, non-drumming related stories would not be published in my website blog, simply because I want to keep the website career-related.

So, follow the links in this post to get to my blog, and my website, and feel free to scroll through the current content. Let me know what you think; I'd love to hear from you!

~Still Wandering...

Get Over It!

“Suck it up!”

“Get over it.”

“Move on.”

Those of us who suffer with depression and anxiety/panic attacks have heard each of these, or some variation thereof, too many times to count. While it is demeaning to say such things to those of us who experience depression and anxiety, it is also as futile and insulting as saying the same thing to someone with cancer, heart disease, or even a broken leg! Whether a person suffers from a physical illness, disease or injury or a form of “mental illness” (I still don't like that term; there must be a kinder way of saying it) the fact still remains that the person in question is SUFFERING! And that suffering is very real.

However, I do think there comes a time when sucking it up, getting over it, and moving on might just be the right thing for us to do.

Now, I realize that statement will elicit cries of protest from some of my readers, but let me explain.

We all know at the subconscious level, and many of us have said aloud, “Nobody understands; it's like they sometimes don't care.” That's all true, in the same way I can't understand how skydiving feels. Like a skydiver, we offer to try to explain to all who would listen, but our words fall short.

Here is where the moving on must take place. No matter how compassionate and willing to listen our friends, family and loved ones are, they will never be able to feel what we feel. If we try too hard, we will drive them away. I have a very dear friend who afforded me great comfort during a time of profound loss and sadness. Throughout the years, we strengthened our friendship, and shared many good times and innumerable laughs. But there eventually came a time when my depression was weighing as much on her as it was on me. I was metaphorically a huge weight that was dragging her down and drowning her! She stopped calling to ask how I was doing; her e-mail responses grew short and curt, she was avoiding me...

I don't blame her in any way. She has always been very upbeat and optimistic, sharing her joi-de-vivre and optimism with those with whom she came in contact. Why should she spend her time trying to raise the spirits of one person, no matter how close the friendship had been?  It just gets to be too much to bear.

Friends come and go, and some will go quickly when our need for comfort exceeds their capacity to give it. This is a terrible loss for all involved, and for this reason, I got over it and moved on. I still experience depression and anxiety, but I no longer share each occurrence; it's too painful to lose friends. Instead, I put on a smile and act as though all is well in my world. Know what? All IS well in my world! By smiling and appearing happy, I have BECOME happy again, like I once was, so long ago. My periods of depression and anxiety don't last very long now either.

I know each of you reading this has the same potential as I have. I'm nothing exceptional, and to use a tired old (but very true) cliché, if I can do it, so can you!

Good luck and many Blessings to you!

~Still Wandering...

Violence In Our World.

Violence is the highest form of disrespect, and poverty is the highest form of violence.

I have been trying to write this for days. I have so many things running through my mind, and it's difficult to put it all together coherently, but I shall try to be as articulate and concise as possible.

On June 4, 2014 Justin Bourque, a 24-year-old from Moncton, New Brunswick killed 3 R.C.M.P. Officers, and attempted to kill 2 others in Moncton.

On October 20, 2014, Warrant Officer Patrice Vincent was killed when he was struck by a car while walking through a parking lot in St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Que. The driver of the car, Martin Couture-Rouleau, was shot dead by police

Two days later, on October 22, Cpl. Nathan Cirillo was shot to death as he stood guard duty at Canada's War Memorial in our Nation's Capital. Cpl Cirillo's assailant, Michael Zehaf-Bibeau, was shot to death inside the Parliament Building by Sergeant-at-Arms Kevin Vickers.

Then, on Sunday, October 26, Jian Ghomeshi, a broadcast journalist and host of the popular CBC Radio program “Q,” was dismissed over allegations of sexual violence. (I admit, my already deep rooted trust issues have been greatly reinforced by this) While the deaths of Patrice Vincent and Nathan Cirillo have been attributed to Islamic Terrorists and Justin Bourque has been labelled mentally unstable, what can explain the actions of Jian Ghomeshi? While I cannot personally find BDSM ​erotic, there are many who do, and I suppose “to each her/his own” applies to a point. Or does it? According to the Canadian Supreme Court, the law clearly states a person cannot consent to an assault that causes bodily harm. If a sexual activity causes bodily harm, a person cannot consent to it. Ghomeshi's accusers, all have stated his behaviour had ranged from slapping, choking and suffocating, to punching and biting, clearly in contravention of Canadian law.

Unfortunately, there is a deeper issue involved here, and that is the violence itself.

From a very young age many of us have learned that violence gets results. The school bully has only to inflict a beating on one victim, (usually a smaller, weaker student) with witnesses, and the bully's authority is established. Once the fear is instilled, the bully need only to THREATEN violence and others run away in fear. As well, many school officials (certainly not all) such as teachers, either do not get involved, or tell the victims to stand up to the bully. Then, if that happens, the victim is punished by the teacher or principal for fighting. Clearly, the victim learns that they are the statue while everyone else, from the bully on up to the teachers, are the pigeons! (Again, this is not true in every case)

Children learn violence in their homes as well. This is not to say that they are beaten by their parents, most are not, but they are sometimes spanked, and most certainly they are reprimanded for misdeeds by parents with raised voices. Siblings and neighbours will resort to similar tactics in order to gain control. And there certainly ARE cases where children are beaten by a parent, or are witness to one parent beating the other.

As the child grows, she/he begins to become resentful of being victimized by others, often harbouring deep resentment, frustration, and anger for many years. Perhaps one day, as a teen, or young adult, this victim will lash out in retaliation, in an ill-conceived sense of “justice.” In some places, teens and pre-teens join gangs to give them an outlet for their anger.

By the time a victim of violence reaches adulthood, the patterns of violence are well established, and the cycle continues.

Let's now look at some other forms of violence besides the obvious physical contact.

Of course, verbal abuse is high on this list. Raising your voice in a debate or argument is an act of violence. Yes, we all do it, and it's generally accepted as standard practise, but deep down, it hurts and leaves resentment. It has reached the point where if I even HEAR someone raise their voice, I tighten up inside. Despite the nursery rhyme, words DO hurt. DEEPLY! Using words as labels can also be seen as violence. “Stupid,” “Retarded,” “Idiot...” are all labels of disrespect, and even when they go unheard by the people about whom they are spoken, (gossip) they can spread the belief that such words are harmless and acceptable.

Psychological violence is very prevalent in our society today. People who use veiled threats, criticism, intimidation, and/or manipulation to get their own way, or to control others, are behaving with violence. The child who cries in a department store because the desired toy has been refused is already learning this.

Gestures, such as a raised middle finger, are violent acts; not because they leave visible bruises, but because of the intended disrespect involved. Raising a clenched fist is clearly a precursor to violence.

Law enforcement and military personnel have often been accused of using excessive force, and there are plenty of You Tube videos and news reports as well as civil suits to verify this. Having friends and relatives who wear or have worn the uniforms however, I can say that not all can be painted with the same brush. Most are honest people doing a difficult and dangerous job. But those who are prone to violence can find purpose and an outlet for their violent nature in a uniform, especially the armed forces. Soldiers who are deployed to war zones are not often scrutinized for their behaviour as long as their aggression is not toward a superior or fellow soldier. Many people who grow up poor can find financial security in a military pension, and the “team” atmosphere is comforting for those who felt isolated in earlier life. The “terrorists” of the Taliban, Al Qaeda or ISIS are most often underprivileged, marginalized, and disenfranchised. As well, they are largely uneducated, and lack the necessary skills to question the truth of what they're told. (By this, I do not mean actually questioning their superiors, but rationally thinking about what they are told) They believe the rewards in the afterlife are worth their actions in this one!

But now for the reveal;

I too, am a man of violent nature.I have used aggressive language, gestures, and even my fists to express my anger and frustration. Am I proud of that? Did it make me feel better about myself? Did it make me feel superior to others? Not at all! Generally, I felt a great measure of guilt which added to the inner anger; an anger fuelled by violence I have experienced at the hands of others since my childhood. Not that there were a lot of fist fights, but certainly the usual childhood squabbles, name calling, and physical attacks from bullies. I thought when I started playing drums at age 14 that it would all change. I became angry when it didn't. Granted, I set myself up for failure by seeking ideals, but I believe the ideals of Peace and cooperation are well worth believing in.

Do I have all the answers? Certainly NOT! Do I have any of the answers? Perhaps, some... Is a world where we all get along and respect each other possible? Probably not, but it IS worth believing in and striving toward. In the past, I have vowed to change, and be less violent in speech and thought, but the truth is, breaking such habits can be very difficult! It's very easy to slip back into old ways of thought and action. I know there are some of you reading this who are thinking, “What a hypocrite!” and I understand that, but just because I don't behave in a Peaceful manner doesn't mean I don't want Peace. It simply means I am not experiencing Peace... yet!

Reading this back to myself, I realize I have not been as articulate as I would have liked. I cannot write an essay as thought-provokingly as Jian Ghomeshi would have. However, he cannot, it seems, control his violent tendencies as well as the rest of us can. Ultimately, I long for a world, where Mr. Ghomeshi feels no need to act out such fantasies, for such fantasies would not have taken root in his mind.

In conclusion, I wish to apologize to any and all who have been hurt, offended, or otherwise put off due to my words or deeds. I know I often react too quickly, respond too vehemently, and stir the pot that need not be stirred. I may not always succeed, but I will always try to do better.

~Still Wandering...

Sacred Places

The Indigenous peoples of North, Central, and South America, as well as “Earth-Based” societies around the world, share the notion of our planet being a living organism and a Sacred Being; Mother Earth. She is the perfect balance to a male, Sky-Based, God. In fact, there are references to “Father Sky, Mother Earth” among certain First Nations.

When I was very young, probably five or six years of age, many of the old covered bridges in New Brunswick were demolished after newer, more modern structures put in to replace them. Often, the new bridges were placed geographically higher if possible to avoid being damaged or washed out during spring floods. One such bridge was McLaggan bridge, about four miles from my home. I didn't give it much thought throughout the years. Occasionally, as I was crossing it by car, I'd glance over to the place where the old bridge had been, but there was never any desire to explore thee area.
In the early part of this century, I purchased a digital camera and while home visiting, I stopped at a place near one end of the new bridge where it is mostly rock and pavement. In the nearly sixty years since the old bridge was removed, there really hasn't been a lot of growth and there is room to park a car and get out. I decided to stop and get some pictures of the river. It was the first time in over forty years I had stood on that spot.

The last time I was home, a couple of weeks ago, I felt compelled to go there again. This time, there was a cool breeze blowing down the valley, and as I stood there shivering, I looked down at the ground. I had expected to see garbage, the usual cast-offs from weekend under-age drinking or teen-aged couples seeking some alone time. There were a couple of food wrappers yes, but aside from that, it seemed it had been pretty much vacant for some time. There were some Pine cones, and a few bits of trees; the ends of limbs probably snapped off in high winds, and some moss growing on the rocky surface, but not much evidence of human visitation.

As that image returned to my mind this evening, I began to feel sad for this rocky ledge, high above the river below. I saw it as a place where once life had thrived and humans were common. Now, it seems lonely and alone. Suddenly, this place which had held no meaning for me, which I had also ignored for many years, became special and, dare I say, SACRED to me. I can understand the first inhabitants of this region, saying there were some places where “Good Medicine” happened. Places such as this have “Power,” and provide opportunity to build a Sacred Fire to offer Ceremonies to honour the Spirits of the Ancestors, and to Mother Earth Herself.

You can be certain I will visit this spot with each successive visit I make to my homeland; the land of my birth.

~Still Wandering

Recent Activities

Once again, a lifetime has passed since my last post.

Recently, I returned to the land of my birth to play Music and have some much needed downtime.

The Harvest Jazz and Blues Festival was nothing short of SPECTACULAR! With the number of acts available, and the fact that I didn't arrive until the day before it ended, I missed a great deal of it, but what I DID manage to see was superb! Of course, I had to miss Aerosmith in the process. Big booooooo on that.

The reason I went of course, was to perform with Highway 125 at the Hoodoo House on Saturday night (Sept. 13) and I must say, it was an EXCELLENT way for us to cap off our summer season. I'd say if the room wasn't sold out, it was very close to being so. I'm very proud that my nephew Randy got to perform at the Galaxie Barracks tent. I hope this is the beginning of better things to come for him. Shortly after his show, Highway 125's Curtis Matheson took the Siemens Acoustic stage on the steps of 527 Queen St. Not what one would expect in a “stage” but it worked well and Curtis put on a tremendous solo show. I thoroughly enjoyed Ross Neilson's high energy performance with my buddy Karl Gans on drums. After our set I took a walk with two friends from school, Ellen-Anne Bubar, and Cyndy Hood.

Sunday saw me rehearsing for a reunion of a band I'd been a part of in the 1970s; Cozway. We hadn't performed together since 1977, so it was a real treat to have the opportunity to get together again and prepare for a show which took place on Saturday Sept 20. While the event was poorly attended due to lack of advertising and the fact that another event (a fundraiser for another former classmate who is dealing with some serious health issues) is coming up this weekend, it was a real blast to be on a stage again with the members of Cozway who have all continued to grow as Musicians.

The rest of the time I was on a much needed vacation. I took Mom out to dinner on her 91st birthday, after which we visited with my cousin Pat Dunphy. I was delighted to find that Pat's sister (and obviously also my cousin) Faye Noble and her husband Richard had arrived the previous day. After I dropped Mom back at her apartment, I managed to squeeze in an all-too-brief visit with my Cuzz, Roxi.

There were as well, the hours spent with special friends, new and old, but I spent most of my time revisiting those special places that have meant so much to me since I was a child. Of course, I didn't manage to get to them all, and the ones I did manage to get to held a strange sense of confusion for me. I found myself longing to linger for as long as possible; to hold onto the moment and savour the memories, while simultaneously feeling the need to rush to the next location and do the same.

The one moment that stood out as “defining” to me though, was when I participated in a Meditation for World Peace, led by my new friend, Coralee Cole. I've been meditating for years as a way to ground and centre myself, and I've done solo meditations on Peace, as well as group meditations on other subjects, but this was the first time I'd participated in a group meditation where I'd been born. Somehow, that location (Officer's Square in Fredericton) made it more meaningful. Thank you Coralee and the others for allowing me to share this special time with you.

~Still Wandering

Reflections as a New Year begins

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that she felt the winter Solstice made more sense to her as a time to reflect on the past year than January first. While I concur, I also see the validity in waiting a few days before looking back. It makes sense that we actually see the days begin lengthening, however infinitesimally, before engaging in reflection.

I often reflect beyond the last year. I frequently reflect upon and remember with fondness my earliest New Years traditions. I remember when I was a young boy, Mom would allow me to stay up until midnight with her as she watched Guy Lombardo's orchestra on Television. I can still hear that rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” before Mom said. “OK, now off to bed!”

When I became older, around eleven, the Youth Group (Young Peoples) from our church would meet at the home of one of the families whose children were very numerous and active in the Youth Group. The Minister and his wife would chaperone as we played records and danced, and there was always lots of food! Then at Midnight we would wish each other a Happy New Year and prepare to head home. Once again, the Minister took an active role, stuffing as many of us as humanly possible into his car and stopping at the various houses along the way to drop us off.

Once I became a teenager and began playing drums, my “tradition” changed and I spent my New Years Eves on stage, providing the music for others to dance and celebrate to. This tradition continued as I progressed through my teenage years and into my twenties. At various times I found myself between bands during the Holidays and found New Years to be frankly quite boring if not on stage. This pattern of playing for New Years eve parties became less exciting as I entered my thirties. By that time I had become a professional touring drummer and the musicians with whom I performed all valued time with their families. Oddly, I still felt out of place when not performing, but eventually began to enjoy time at home, reading, or watching television. Now into my fifties, I still enjoy performing, but am cautious of drunk drivers when making my way home. Fortunately, with the disassembling and packing of the drumset, I am generally late enough departing that the revellers are mostly off the streets by the time I am driving home.

I also reflect, if that can be said of a time before my own, on those who have come before me. My ancestors who came to Canada in previous centuries, bringing their traditions with them and celebrating them to the best of their abilities. There were certainly no wealthy barons in my family tree, so I am certain my forebears celebrated quietly, at home or possibly at church. Perhaps a visit to the nearest neighbour by sleigh for a cup of tea and some stories.

I think too of the first arrivals on these shores; meeting the First Nations peoples whose customs would have seemed so strange to the Europeans. These Natives of Turtle Island would have gathered in their Lodges and Longhouses to partake in their Traditional Ceremonies to mark the Solstice. They would have given thanks to the Great Spirit, the Creator, for the bountiful harvest and good hunting of the previous season, for the close bond of family and Clan, for the lengthening of the days, however imperceptible. Songs, prayers, perhaps a Sweat, and the telling of stories passed down from generation to generation for millennia...

And the ancestors of the Europeans, mostly from the British Isles, who were descended from the Druids, Celts, and Picts, whose Solstice Traditions were as strange to us today as were the First Nations peoples of North America to the early Europeans. Traditions so cloaked in mystery we can only speculate on the happenings. These people would gather at Mystical, Magical places such as Stonehenge, Glastonbury, and Carnac and bargain with their Deities for the return of the sun. Some speculate human sacrifice may have occurred; we can be certain beverages containing alcohol or mind altering drugs were present. There would have been music, dancing, probably for days on end. It's fun to speculate what else may have taken place there.

As I sit here on this night, writing this, I feel a duality within; the stir of the ancient Druid, intoxicated and drumming out rhythms for the dancers, (perhaps one in particular with long flowing red hair and emerald green eyes) and the peaceful quiet of a late night when the temperature outside makes silent reflection wrapped in a warm blanket most desirable.

Happy Solstice, and New Year everyone!

The Passage of Time

Time flies. I've heard this expression since I was a pre-schooler, yet this last year and a half have really brought it home to me. Am I really busier than in the past, or have I just slowed down with age? I suspect both are true.

Summer 2013 is done. While the days remain sunny and relatively mild, (winter clothing is not yet a necessity) they are shorter, and the approach of winter is imminent and evident. While I find this time of year sad, it also has a certain charm that I enjoy.

A couple of weeks ago, I returned to my homeland to celebrate my mother's 90^th birthday with her and our family. A special thank you to my niece and cousins who conspired to hold a wonderful surprise party for her!  While I was there, I stayed with my cousin and his wife in their beautiful new home. It was with this cousin and his parents, my aunt and uncle, that I spent a lot of time as a boy and teen, and for many years he was more like an older brother than a cousin.

Being home again was a wonderful experience on so many levels, and the days I spent meeting with old friends and visiting my old haunts (except one) reminded me of the days long ago when after school, I'd walk in the fields along the forest’s edge, enjoying the late summer sun before supper and homework. While summer is my favourite season, as a schoolboy, it had a sense of aimlessness that in retrospect I realize became a bit boring by late August, and I began to anticipate the beginning of the new school year. I also looked forward to seeing classmates who lived too far for me to see them during our seemingly endless summers.

By the time I had reached my teenage years in Junior High, I was developing an interest in the opposite sex and looked forward to seeing certain girls on whom I had developed crushes. The extra activity of after-school functions allowed for socializing and a chance to form lasting friendships that in many cases still exist today.

While I was home I had a chance to finally see my sister's cottage. It was built several years ago and the chance to visit just never came when I was in the area. It is located on a large lake and has a coziness that makes it an ideal location for “getting away from it all.” If I lived closer, I'd certainly become a pain in my sister's ass! We (my sister, mother, nephew and I) took a drive down to another cottage closer to the water where Mom and my sister sat and chatted while I flew my kite and my nephew hung out. We all enjoyed that day fully before Mom and I returned to the city and had dinner together.

Another event that occurred, and one for which I am very grateful, is the reunion of an old band, Cozway. The four of us played together in the late 1970s and while it didn't seem to matter much then, we had formed a strong bond of friendship and love of the music we played. We didn't perform publicly this time; we barely played an hour but hung out together for another two hours after our little musical get together. The fact that it felt so good to be playing music together again made us all consider the possibility of getting together again next year and actually doing a couple of public performances. We'd need to all do some homework beforehand, and spend a few evenings in rehearsal before we took to the stages, but it's doable, especially given the level of musicianship we all have risen to. (although I still feel I am the weakest player of the four) The Bass Player's former girlfriend drove down from Ontario to witness this and spend some time with her family as well as her old friends. It was heart warming to see her again. I feel closer to her today than back in the '70s.

Locally, while a couple of musical doors have closed to me, another has opened, and I am really looking forward to it.

A young band who have been together only a short time have lost their drummer and have asked me to fill in until they can find a replacement; a task I am very happy to take on. They play mostly Blues, with a bit of Classic Rock thrown in for good measure, and I had recently mentioned to my spousal unit how I'd love to be playing more Blues. (I should also tell her that I would love to have several million dollars to play around with!)

We cannot stop the passage of time, and as we grow older, time seems to speed by more rapidly, so it is important to make that time count. Renew old or damaged friendships if possible, and hold your family close. All too soon we will all be memories, and it's important for the next generation to consider us good memories!


~Still Wandering...

The Reason for My Absence.

It has been nine months since I have written here. Part of the reason for this is the extremely unfortunate situation with my partner's health. To protect her privacy, I will not go into detail except to say it is not life threatening, but it takes up a lot of time in doctor's offices and hospitals.

Another reason I am not writing as much is the increased workload I have found myself dealing with. A few months ago, I was feeling very frustrated about the lack of gigs I had done in 2012, and the future was not looking very bright, so I started letting people know I was available for freelance work or, providing there were no scheduling conflicts, I could even become part of another band. Then the responses came... A friend from many years ago was performing in a duo with his wife and they decided to add a drummer (me) and lead guitarist and go as a full band. Well, that has led to what is now known as Savanna Heat. We play mostly Classic Rock, R & B, Motown, etc, and for me, it is an opportunity to play some songs that have been on my bucket list for many years. (Guess I'm going to need a new bucket...)

Additionally, I got a call from a Country band called Tempted. These guys have been around for a long time; probably close to fifteen years, and although some of the original members have moved on to other things, the members both past and present, are all skilled and well-respected musicians. The Bass player and I played together in the late '90s and early 2000 and became close friends during that time. The original drummer, while still involved, is working out west as are so many from our area. His schedule is two weeks out, two weeks home. When he's away, the Lonster will play!

Bad Habits is still a factor, but on a reduced level. Three of the members of that band have formed a trio which allows them to play in smaller venues that simply cannot afford or accommodate the full five piece act plus production. They go by the name of Triad and are well worth seeing.

Even with all of that going on, I still find myself at home many of the nights I would prefer to be performing.

Finally, one of the reasons (and probably the most significant one) that I have not been writing is my battle with depression. I have been dealing with it for years, and when it strikes, it removes not only the joy from life, but the motivation to do simple things such as write, paint, or even ride my bike or go for a walk. I have referred to it as “the monster under my bed” or more simply and most frequently, “the darkness...”

When I first became aware of my foe, I had not yet named it for it was at that time unidentified. All I could tell anyone (if I chose to speak at all) was that I had no desire to participate in life; no interest in even the things I love dearly. I would sit, numbly, and stare out the window, not focusing, not registering that there was life around me. I felt nothing; had given up feeling, because when I did feel, it was so painful.... This was not physical pain such as aching bones or sore muscles, but an unbearable pressure in my soul coupled with an emptiness that can only be described as a living death.

This is not to say it cannot manifest in physical form; it can and it does!

Clinical depression is not just a sadness or unhappiness. It's not simply dwelling on the less pleasant things in life. It's not something one can “just snap out of” or “get over.” It is a disease, and as much as those of us who suffer with it hate to admit, a form of mental illness. As far as I can tell, it is a chemical imbalance in the brain, which, like all chemical actions and reactions, can be triggered or eased by other chemicals in the brain. These other chemicals can come in the form of pharmaceuticals, or be generated naturally, by diet, exercise, or becoming immersed in activities that lead to pleasant feelings.

This is not to say that depression is “cured” as easily as taking an art class or a walk in the country. On the contrary, these activities are often very difficult to get involved in for a sufferer of depression. The effort needed is often too much. This can be a veiled blessing, because the effort needed to take one's own life is also too great, and many of us would do just that to avoid the suffering.

In my own experience, my illness can present itself in the form of a deep, despairing loneliness, far greater than anything anyone can imagine. Most unsettling, is that this loneliness is not the result of being alone. In fact, it can occur when in large groups of people. I have experienced it in a crowded shopping mall while Christmas shopping. I have been onstage performing for a full house of cheering people, and as I drive home, the despair is so deep, I feel as if the show had never happened. This often leads to feelings of isolation.

This isolation is not entirely a one way street. There have been times I have avoided people, including dear friends, because I did not want to expose them to my mood. I remember once seeing a friend in the parking lot of a supermarket and avoided her. I actually thought, “Oh no, I don't want to talk to *****, she's too cheerful!” Yet, when I have alienated my friends, I become bitter that they no longer contact me. Yes, I can tell you all about irony as well.

Depression is fortunately becoming more recognized. I have recently heard it referred to as “the common cold of the 21st Century,” but I think that is understating it too much. If you have lived through an episode of depression, you'll know it's far worse than any cold. Still, the recognition of its existence and its results means an increase in understanding among the general populace, and perhaps a new attitude toward it.

I have several friends who suffer depression, and while I am not a doctor of any sort, I believe its prevalence among artists is greater than among the rest of the population. I also have noticed that artists tend to release it through their art; indeed use it to create their art, and the rest of society, having no such outlet, tend to use pharmaceuticals more and become caught in the endless cycle of dependence and addiction.

Recent research has indicated that adult victims of depression are likely to have been victims of ADD or ADHD in their early years. For people my age, it is often a retroactive discovery due to the fact that in the 1960s and '70s, many schools were unprepared to understand or diagnose these symptoms. Looking back on it, I was a classic case of ADHD, but no one had even heard of it where and when I went to school. I see this as a good thing in retrospect since I was not medicated into being “normal.” Too many of today's youth are subjected to chemical drugs which, while keeping them sedated and easier for the teachers to deal with, also stifle their creativity, thus perpetuating the continuity of banal subservience that has kept our race from advancing past a worker/soldier mentality. If we are to learn true Compassion and escape the cycle of wars and oppression that has engulfed us for millennia. we NEED creative thinkers to break that mould.

You may have noticed I mention pharmaceuticals only in passing, without anecdotal follow-up. That is because my doctor and I really prefer the natural approach. I find Meditation (meditate, don't medicate) to be particularly helpful. I won't prescribe preferences because what works for me may not work for you. I can certainly share my experiences if asked, but I will not guarantee results. There are many good books, CDs and DVDs available for those who are interested, and some places have Meditation Teachers, often available through Yoga Studios. Even YouTube has many excellent videos to watch, but be careful in what you choose to accept, because there is a lot of misinformation out there.

Whatever you choose to aid in your recovery, I wish you well. And, if you are attempting to understand those of us who suffer from this dreadful existence, please understand that kindness is often the best solution...


~Still Wandering...

Things I have learned from a Bicycle seat

In my many years of cycling, I have seen a lot; from amazing cloud formations and sunsets, to animal behaviour I would have missed if I had been driving a car at a high rate of speed. I have also seen a more unpleasant side of human behaviour. People throw a lot of garbage from their cars. McDonald’s wrappers, Tim Horton cups, bottles, Kleenex, bags of clothing, clothing not in bags, used Pampers, used condoms, and much more. Sometimes they step out of the car to relieve themselves, which is a very good reason to stay ON the pavement.

I’ve learned a great deal too! Cycling can often be a metaphor for life itself. For example, the faster one goes, the harder one hits the bumps and the more those bumps hurt.

Following are a few more examples of the things I’ve learned from my bicycle seat:

Summer is exceptionally short.

So it seems is my memory. I don’t remember my butt hurting so much last year, but I’m riding the same bike on the same saddle.

There is no such thing as a “quick” ride. One can take a short ride of less than an hour, but I have yet to see my average speed surpass twenty-three kilometres per hour. From a bicycle seat, no matter how quickly one tries to go, it is always possible to smell the roses…. And Daisies, sweetgrass, spruce trees (pine and cedar too in most places except here) as well as freshly cut lawns, (my personal favourite) and for the most part, what people are having for their next meal!

While I don’t consider myself an accomplished rider, and often feel like I’m going to, as my friend said, “barf and cry,” I frequently hear people say. “I couldn’t do that.” I always tell them they could, with the “If I can do it, anyone can” reasoning. It’s astounding how many excuses they can come up with no matter how many I refute.

It amazes me how many people have dogs! On one ride recently, there were several dogs barking on both sides of the road simultaneously. Even the SPCA truck barked as it passed.

Atlantic Canada has its problems, but it doesn’t lack for natural beauty, or great places to ride. This time of year, the birds, butterflies, and flowers along the roadside are beautiful to behold, and in the case of the birds, listen to as well.

No matter how much I have to do at home, it will always be there when I finish my ride. Strangely, I frequently get more done when I ride than when I make excuses to not ride.

The temptation to explore is higher while cycling. It could be that we see the trails and roadways better at slower speeds and decide to see where they lead. I’ve noticed that as I travel slower, I have less need for speed and my urgency to get somewhere is less.

Even in consistency, there is change. The trees grow a little taller each year, the edge of the pavement chips away a little more, or is replaced, the flora goes through cycles and some species are replaced by others. People move out of houses and others move in. Houses are renovated, painted, siding gets added or replaced. In some cases, buildings burn down or are torn down. The landscape undergoes changes, gradually becoming something different.


Cyclists are friendly people. Maybe it’s due to our relatively low numbers or a shared activity , but when cyclists encounter other cyclists, there is most often a friendly smile and cheerful greeting. Perhaps it’s because we simply feel good out there and want to share our happiness. Cyclists are also less prone to road rage. It’s hard to be aggressive when rapid acceleration is impossible! Motorists, for the most part are not as friendly with each other. Mostly it’s a detached apathy that gets displayed, but aggressive behaviour is also frequent.

Finally, my bicycle is my friend and at times, my psychiatrist. She is my stress-buster, my confidant, and transportation. One does not need to be Lance Armstrong in order to ride a bike. One does not even need to spend a lot of money on lycra and a racing bike. One needs only to be comfortable in the clothes and on the bike one already has. Just get on your bike and go! It is always possible to improve your skills if it is something you want to get more serious about.

Still Wandering…

Remembering Louise White

Louise White was a very diminutive person with a stratospheric personality.


I first met Louise in 1992 when I was looking for a store that sold good quality vitamin supplements in Sydney NS. A man I knew at that time told me of a woman who had just opened a new health food store on a quiet side street and so I went to meet this woman and do some shopping.


I walked through the door and was greeted by a tiny little woman with dark brown eyes and hair. Her greeting of “Hi!” in a lilting, almost sung manner was one I’d become very familiar with in the next twenty years. I spent some time looking over her stock, and then made my purchase and left. I returned many times to buy vitamins and also began picking up on the “snack” foods she sold as well; trail mixes, energy bars, healthy alternatives to the high-sugared varieties which are sold in grocery and convenience stores. I brought friends who also became regular customers.


As with any relationship, the more I shopped there, the better I got to know Louise and her two equally tiny employees,one of whom was her daughter. I began to realize these three ladies were no mere vendors of vitamins and other healthy trade goods. They were committed to making and keeping people healthy! In less than a year I had met several people whose Mantra seemed to be “Louise White made me well again.” And so began a healing process for many people, myself included.


Because of the personalities involved, this little store, called “Nana’s Natural Foods” became very popular. I found it necessary to set aside a good hour or more for shopping there because of the sheer volume of people who came and went. Invariably, there would be someone there who I knew when I arrived, and before I left, there would be other friends coming and going. If there was a specific health issue, from upset stomach to sore muscles, Louise had a remedy. The income from the store allowed her to travel to the U.S. to study other methods of healing from such well known people as Hanna Kroeger among others. Upon graduating from University, her son came home and operated the store so Louise could advance her knowledge.


As time passed, Louise was away more frequently, but resuming her place in the store’s activities upon returning. She seemed indefatigable; teaching nutrition classes, herbal remedies, often reminding her students of the connection between body, mind and spirit. Her wealth of knowledge grew as she learned and then began teaching Reiki, Therapeutic Touch, Hanna Kroeger’s techniques and more. To many of us, it seemed Louise was learning just what we needed to know just before we needed it! She seemed to be two steps ahead all the time! When other retailers began selling nutritious, healthy products, Louise switched her focus completely to counselling and healing.


Always a devout Christian and Catholic, Louise peppered everything she did with Prayer and Meditation. As her business grew, so did her faith, and with that, journeys to other places to study. Returning to Sydney, Louise would share her new knowledge and experiences with her growing list of friends, students, and colleagues. When her husband took a job in California, she saw it not as a problem, but as an opportunity. She would visit him frequently and take workshops or attend seminars in such locations as Boulder Colorado or Sedona Arizona. She was able to attend lectures by her favourite speakers and always… ALL WAYS, she would share the experience with us.


In the early years of the new millennium, Louise and one of her friends both noticed a profusion of “runs” designed to raise money to find cures for diseases; cancer, MS, diabetes, etc, and both independently had an idea to host a run for awareness… Awareness that these diseases and illnesses could be avoided altogether through healthy eating and lifestyle. In 2004 the Run For Awareness was born. Through a series of classes focused on organic, vegan diet, exercise and healthy Spiritual attitude, they brought knowledge to the public. Most evenings, the classes were sold beyond capacity! Throughout it all, Louise was like the energiser bunny, and if she wasn’t setting up the venue, she was out collecting donations, making decorations, recruiting professional chefs to conduct cooking classes, or hosting meetings to delegate to the growing army of volunteers, all the while running a business of Healing others, teaching Reiki, Hanna Kroeger, and the many other activities her life entailed. In the limited time she was at home, she enjoyed her family which now included her three grandchildren.


I had studied Reiki in 1999, receiving Level 1, and had felt at that time as if that may be as far as I would go with it. Circumstances led to me deciding in 2006 to move on to Level 2. My first choice for a teacher was Louise. Her love and compassion were most evident in her eyes when the time came for my attunement. I was both overjoyed and humbled when I stood and received a silent embrace by this Powerful yet miniscule woman. She encouraged me to move on to Master level within a year. I still get very emotional when I remember that weekend.


Sometime shortly after I received my Master Reiki level from Louise, she mentioned a lump in her breast. She was so offhand in mentioning it that I didn’t give it much thought. It was not until last year that someone else told me that the cancer had advanced to the point where it was problematic. In her usual style however, Louise never complained, always said life was great and always gave of herself to others. On Tuesday, April 24, 2012, Louise finally reached the end of what she could give, and finally gave herself to her God and joined her parents and brother.


There were hundreds of people at the wake and funeral. Louise's closest friends and students formed a sort of honour guard in the church vestibule, and at her son’s house after the service, fond memories were recounted by all in attendance. Her family rose above their grief to tell us how proud they were of her accomplishments, confident her legacy would live on strongly through her students and the students of her students. All who were helped in some way by Louise have much to be grateful for, and the many of us who know each other today because we met through Louise comprise a network of Healers, educators, and facilitators unimaginable to anyone who hasn’t experienced Louise’s loving work. Louise was my Teacher and Mentor, but most of all, she was my Friend.


She will be missed by countless hundreds. We love you Louise!


~Still Wandering...

The Return of Summer and Wandering again

It has been considerable time since my last post. There were many contributing factors to me being silent, and some of them personal, so I don’t really feel inclined to discuss the whys of my absence, but to bring you back up to date on what has been happening during that time.

To start with, my drumset and I have been relatively busy with Bad Habits. Not as busy as I’d prefer, but probably as busy as my damaged body can handle. (more on that later)

I was elected Registrar of Velo Cape Breton by acclamation at the last annual general meeting in November, but had to relinquish the position in January when it became clear to me that I had to much uncertainty to deal with and I felt I could not give the position the full attention it deserves. Paul Babin was recruited to replace me and he is doing a terrific job! Thank you Paul. Also, on the topic of Velo Cape Breton, I applied to serve and was accepted as an Ambassador as part of a new initiative by the Association. The Velo Cape Breton Ambassador Program came about as the result of a sum of money awarded by Doctors Nova Scotia known as the “Golden Apple Award.” Since cycling promotes a healthy, active lifestyle, DNS felt the mandate of VCB fell within the criterion of this award and our Ambassador program was born. The purpose of the Ambassadors, in part, is to promote safe, responsible cycling as a part of an active lifestyle; to teach other cyclists how to ride safely and responsibly; to assist visiting cyclists in finding accommodations, restaurants, repair shops and good places to ride; and to raise public awareness of cycling through public appearances and advocacy. The official launch date will probably be the Victoria Day weekend, but don’t be surprised if you see our distinctive jerseys and jackets on the road now.

Sticking with the cycling theme a bit longer, I am once again proud and honoured to be organizing the Ride of Silence for Cape Breton Island. This event is one of International stature, occurring in hundreds of locations in several countries world-wide. This year is the third for Cape Breton and this year we are riding in Glace Bay, on some streets that are sometimes challenging for cyclists. The purpose of the ride is again, to raise the awareness of the general public of cyclists and our right to use the road, but primarily to pay tribute to riders who have been killed or injured in collisions with motor vehicles. If you are a cyclist, and believe in this cause, please join us! There is no registration fee, no prizes and no sponsors. All that is required is a bicycle in good working order and a helmet.

I have been slowly upgrading and remodelling my drumset. I had thought last year that having a smaller Bass Drum would not only be a novel idea, but would take up less room in the Jeep and onstage. I converted a sixteen by sixteen inch Floor Tom using first a Danmar cradle and then a set of legs and a lifting device. I found that although it took less space in the Jeep, it didn’t really save that much onstage since its depth is the same as the larger Bass Drum, and my cymbal stands are still positioned in the same places as they always are. There were some other issues that arose as well, and so to simplify my life, I abandoned that idea, and went back to the larger diameter BD. A new carrying bag for my hardware changed the layout in the Jeep, and I suddenly find myself with a bit more room; or shall I say a re-definition of the room that is there. I might be able to actually add to my kit, but first I must decide if the set-up/tear-down time will increase any by doing so. After all, I am somewhat enjoying the shorter timeframes needed to set up and tear down lately. What once took over an hour to do, can now be done in about half an hour, and I love that! If adding a piece to the kit will still allow the time to remain within a minute of what it now is, I will consider it.

Certainly a factor is my body. I damaged a disc in my back in October of 2010, and after sitting at the kit for a night of playing, the pain is sometimes excruciating. I never seem to be totally pain-free these days, even when my activity level doesn’t add to that pain. Actually, activity is good for such situations, but due to circumstances beyond my control, (those same circumstances that have prevented me from writing for the last four months) I did not get the exercise I needed all winter and the subsequent results have made life quite uncomfortable as well as busy. I only got out snowshoeing once this winter and that is a sad statement to make.

I had been teaching Tai Chi for a number of months, but that too has come to an end. This time last year I was teaching two classes a week for the Pain Clinic at the hospital. I had been contacted to teach sufferers of chronic pain, mostly victims of car accidents and people with degenerative conditions such as arthritis. The classes led me to seek a place where I could continue their classes so they would be able to benefit from Tai Chi on a long term basis. Sadly, after the second week, I was teaching only two or three of the people I had taught a number of years ago and none of the pain patients. Promotional efforts went without results and so I made the decision to stop teaching

Finally, through it all, there has been gain and loss, Joy and Sorrow, and more than a little confusion and introspection. I continue to re-connect with people I knew years ago through Facebook and Twitter, and occasionally in person. While I seem to value my “alone” time, I also relish the time I spend with friends. An hour in a coffee shop, or hanging out together when the band is on a break, is special to me and I truly value it. I am finding that many appreciate my friendship as well, although my insecurities have me wondering why. I do know that as we age, and start to witness the loss of loved ones and heroes, we value our own lives all the more. The recent passing of one of my drumming heroes, Levon Helm of The Band has made me angrier and more cynical about the purpose of life. Why are we here? What is it all about? What good does it do? I have these thoughts sometimes daily, and yet, when a friend of mine looses a loved one, as has happened several times this winter, my heart cries for their pain, and I understand in part that we are here to share, and to comfort and to feel compassion.

~Still Wandering…

The Other Senses

There has been much talk over the years of “the Sixth Sense.” In my past few blog entries (five, to be exact) I explored the five recognised senses known to Man and the Scientific community. However, the existence of the sixth sense is both contentious and compelling.

As a drummer, I have long been familiar and comfortable with the science of numbers; small numbers at least. Scientists have been able to explain weather patterns for generations, and how the moon’s gravity has an effect on our earthly tides, but when it comes to a sixth sense, science backs away, denies its existence, and then tries to justify the bad weather we got when fair weather was predicted. The trouble with science is, they are controlled by popular opinion and government funding.

The “sixth” sense is a slight misnomer at best. It is a blanket statement to describe a number of phenomena; from seeing ghostly apparitions, to “knowing” when one is not alone in a building or room, to “knowing” what the winning numbers will be in a lottery draw.

When my father was in the final stages of lung cancer, my older half-sister woke suddenly one night, (not a common occurrence I understand) to see what she described as our father standing at the foot of her bed, looking at her in a way she described as “longingly.” He said nothing, but just “stood” there, looking at her. When my mother called her the next day, she was not surprised. Mom had called to tell my sister she should come home immediately because it was doubtful Dad would live much longer. My sister came home, spent some time with Dad, and then went back to her husband and children in Ontario. Dad died about three weeks later.

Science would dismiss that as coincidence, yet if scientists were to be as totally analytical and dismissive as they try to appear, they would not even believe in coincidence, since that cannot be quantified either.

A little more than a year after Dad’s death, I was doing some cleaning up in the yard of the house I was renting, and noticed the clouds moving in the sky across the valley. As I watched, I saw the clouds come together and create a formation that resembled Dad’s face. Then the clouds moved slightly, and Dad smiled. Coincidence? Or communication from the other side? Some, perhaps most, reading this will opt to say coincidence, but in my heart I believe Dad came by to say hello.
While on tour in my musical career, I have often been in towns and cities that are unfamiliar to me. Sometimes, I would walk to unwind, and occasionally I would find myself in a neighbourhood that `felt` uncomfortable. Later, someone who lived in that town or city would verify I had been in area where many acts of crime had been committed. There was no way I could tell that these neighbourhoods were questionable, yet something made me sense it was not a good place to be. A sixth sense?

In the same vein, there have been numerous recorded incidents where others, (as well as myself) have left a place, only to have something unpleasant occur shortly thereafter. “I got out just in time.” When asked why they left when they did, that answer can nearly always be paraphrased, “I don’t know, I just felt uncomfortable.” Is this a sixth sense at work?

Many people claim to be able to see into the future; they go by names such as Clairvoyants, psychics, Mediums… they also can see the spirits of the departed, or communicate with them. Often these are carnival attractions or back alley novelties, but there are also many documented cases that are legitimate. The late magician and escape artist Harry Houdini often tried to communicate with his dead mother, finally taking the stance that the Spiritualists were frauds and set about debunking them. After his passing, his wife Bess attempted to contact his spirit with varying, yet unsatisfactory results. Perhaps the most famous and successful Spiritualist to have lived to date is H.P. Blavatsky.

Quantum science tells us that nothing exists until we believe it. Can the spirits of the deceased communicate with the living? Can mortal humans see and predict the future? Can we know when things are about to go wrong? What do you think?

I think anything is possible if we open our minds to the possibilities.

~Still Wandering…

The Art of Touching.

Our sense of touch is a magnificent thing indeed. With it, we can tell the difference between hot and cold, sharp and dull, hard and soft; a myriad of textures.

A tradesman can identify objects simply by touch. A musician or painter often talks about the touch on the instrument or of brush on canvas. A touch can reassure; or cause injury. To a blind person, touch is everything. One phone company even coined the slogan, “Reach out and touch someone.”

Watch a baby. To an infant, learning about the world is an experience of touching; when a child encounters a new object or being, the first impression is to touch it. Children soon learn that fingers and toes operate quite differently, and while it is possible to curl one’s toes around an object and lift it, fingers work much better.

As we grow, we learn the joys of touching favoured objects; that special toy we treasure, the softness of a warm sweater, stroking a cat or dog during quiet moments. Sometimes, the same type of touch can have different meanings. A playful slap on the shoulder is quite different than an angry slap on the face.

I remember when my father passed away, after the funeral, everyone went back to our house for tea, coffee, and sandwiches. A friend of the family came to me to express her condolences. As she talked, she nonchalantly touched my arm, conveying sympathy, and friendship. It was a gesture that brought great comfort to me at a time of immense sorrow.

Throughout the years, our senses decline, yet for most of us, the sense of touch remains not only intact, but integral. Some of us however lose some of our sense of touch as well. Those of us who have used our hands extensively suffer nerve damage, reducing our ability to feel things the way we used to. Mechanics may not have the dexterity they once had. Those who sew, seamstresses and tailors, lose sensation in the tips of their fingers from repeated needle punctures. Arthritis, carpal tunnel syndrome, bursitis, tendinitis, and many other afflictions reduce one’s ability to use one’s hands and fingers as in the past. Yet those awkward, injured, impaired hands can still offer compassion, support, love and hope to someone in need.

Go ahead, reach out; reach out and touch someone.

~Still Wandering…

Do You Hear What I Hear?

[My advance apologies for the length of this entry]

I cannot remember a time when music wasn’t the biggest and sweetest part of my life. Dad was a guitarist and singer who had spent some time with an early incarnation of Don Messer’s orchestra. He always had the radio on, in the house and in the car. Mom too enjoyed the music from the radio, and could often be heard singing along. The only radio station I heard for years was CFNB in Fredericton New Brunswick, the city closest to where I lived. CFNB broadcast with fifty thousand watts of power, so the signal was always strong. They played a wide variety of music from Pop to Country, Big Band to Polka, religious programming and news… Everything was covered.

In the early to mid 1960s music became more tangible; some students of our school had formed a small band and would perform every Friday at lunch time in the auditorium. The rest of the students would dance, or “cruise” around the perimeter of the room while the hits of the day issued forth from the drums and amps on the stage. It was the drums to which I was most attracted. The drummer, Reg Sansom, was kind enough to share his knowledge, and it was during this time that I began to lose interest in many other things. My drumming career was being born unbeknownst to me.

When the Beatles came to North America and appeared on the Ed Sullivan show, followed by the other Rock ‘n’ Roll acts of the day; The Rolling Stones, The Hollies, Johnny Rivers , etc I was glued to our television set. I watched every act I could see. Our school’s student council brought bands in regularly to play for Friday night dances, which ran from 9:00 – 12:00. I got to see many drummers during my school days and several of them became friends and, like Reg, were generous with their knowledge.

When I began playing in public, all thoughts of having any other occupation quickly faded. I was completely enthralled with drumming and soaked up anything I could learn like a sponge. In my early twenties, I had the opportunity to study from a professional teacher. He moved away before I could learn much and the little bit of knowledge he had imparted only served to make me want more and resulted in frustration. It would be a few years until the opportunity again arose to study. Eventually I managed to learn to read music well enough to teach myself through books available at music stores. A subscription to Modern Drummer magazine proved to be an invaluable resource as well.

As time passed, I began using the knowledge I’d acquired to teach others. It was in this capacity that I met a young Mi’Kmaq chap who was related to the Drum Keeper for one of the Traditional Drum groups in our area. A few short years later, I was invited to co-produce a CD of this Drum group’s music. When the CD was released, I was asked to join the group.

It was a short step from drumming at Pow - Wows to drumming at Healing Ceremonies. I learned the Sacred Healing Songs and participated in many Healings.

At that same time, I was introduced to the works of Peter Kater and R. Carlos Nakai via the soundtrack for the TV mini-Series “How the West Was Lost.” I began exploring other “New Age” music and the healing properties of music, both rhythmic and ambient. I delved into the writings of Mickey Hart and Joseph Campbell. The route began to branch off into religions, philosophies and much more. As I began to explore these avenues, I discovered the Tibetan Singing Bowls and Buddhist Tingshas and Meditation Bells. Music from Stephen Halpern, Hennie Bekker, Suzanne Ciani, Constance Demby, Steve Roach, Paul Winter and so many more was constantly in my CD player. Then Dr Andrew Weil weighed in on the subject along with Kimba Arem. They described how all life is vibration, and sound, as vibration, can disrupt or re-align our body’s natural vibratory patterns. Of course, I realized this to be true as soon as I heard it spoken, and realized also that everything we hear has an effect on us and the way we feel. Realizing the need for personal Healing and Transformation, I began to use music in my Meditation; soothing, relaxing, re-vitalizing sounds to realign my vibrations.

As my explorations continued, I discovered the music of Deva Premal, Snatam Kaur and Jai Uttal.

Sound can also have negative effects. After the end of World War Two, many people in Britain displayed adverse reactions to hearing a siren. The sounds of Industry can cause nervousness, tension and anxiety. I believe that some music, such as Gangsta Rap can incite violence, and of course, there is the “Brown Note;” the infamous note discovered by the Moody Blues that when slowed down, oscillated, and reversed, can cause one’s bowels to move. They wisely have not revealed what note that is, or by what degree it is slowed or oscillated.

When we examine sound and how it affects our minds, emotions and bodies, we must then examine our very words and the effects their vibrations have upon us. Even in joking, many phrases can be harmful. Choosing our words carefully can be a wise move, but many of us are too busy talking to actually think of the effect of what we say.

We all know the effect of sound in movies; it creates tension, pathos, joy, or longing, to enhance the mood of the scene on the screen. This is all very intentional, and in many cases, the soundtrack is available on CD. Many soundtrack CDs are as successful as the movie from which they come.

Besides music, the sounds I prefer to hear are the sounds of the natural world; birds singing, bees, water (especially rivers flowing) and the other sounds that occur naturally and are not man-made.

My many years as a drumset player have taken their toll as well; tinnitus developed and steadily grew to where conversations are difficult at times, awkward on a regular basis. I hear sounds, but not always distinct words; the frequencies muffled and compressed. I recently drove away from a drive—through due to the frustration of not being able to distinguish the words spoken by the store employee.

Whether sound is important in your life or not; whether you are soothed, aroused, frightened, or reverent, sound will have an effect, either directly or subliminally. Take some time and examine how various sounds affect you. Go for a walk in nature and listen, really listen, to the birds as they call to one another. Do you hear silence as they become aware of your presence, or do they realize you pose no threat? Observe the sounds the trees make as the breezes pass through the leaves or needles. Can you distinguish one tree from another by sound alone? There are differences, you know.

Listen closely to the sounds of the voices you hear. Are they coloured with anger, fear, or frustration? How does the sound of a loved one’s voice differ from a casual acquaintance? Do you recognise the calming effect of the voice of someone like Thich Naht Hanh or the Dalai Lama?

No matter what you are hearing, I hope you find Joy and Happiness within.

~Still Wandering…

Here's Looking at You!

I began to develop myopia when I was about eleven years old. It happened so suddenly, my father thought I was making it up, but after some of my teachers brought it to his attention that I wasn’t seeing the assignments on the chalkboard so well, he decided to take me to the Optometrist.

It was determined that I would need glasses, and even though my vision had deteriorated drastically in less than a year, there was no need for concern. “It happens frequently” my parents were told.

The first few years I wore glasses were a period of “on again, off again” experiences, since they kept getting broken. Because my parents couldn’t just take them to the mall for repairs, I would often go for weeks or sometimes months without them. Walking around in a blurry world is awkward, but I noticed my sense of hearing changed. It didn’t get better per se, but I was able to distinguish sounds with more accuracy. I could hear tires approaching and tell whose car it was.

By the time I had turned fifteen, I had learned how to not have broken glasses, and life settled into a sort of “normal.” When I was in my mid twenties, I got contact lenses and wore them for years until it was decided that to proceed would be detrimental to the health of my eyes.

I value my sense of sight; a gift from Creation that has allowed me to gaze upon heart-stopping beauty.

We all enjoy a sunrise or sunset; a rainbow after an afternoon or evening shower; the colours of the autumn leaves, and many of us have sights that are our personal favourites; a favourite place that holds special memories or brings a sense of peace and comfort. I have such a special place, a turn in the Nashwaak River in the village where I grew up. Sitting on that river bank, my life becomes whole again, the troubles seem to float away, with the ripples on the water. [Check out the attached video to share my bliss.]

Sight can also offer warnings. I have seen movement from the corner of my eye while driving and applied my brakes in time to avoid a collision with another vehicle. I have likewise been able to avoid attack from various dogs, people and falling objects while walking.

Sight can be descriptive: There are people who are not articulate enough to describe something, but can sketch it out and make others understand it. We can recognize our friends from afar by the way they move, or the colour of their favourite piece of clothing, or some other distinguishing feature.

The previously mentioned spot on the river bank or sunrises etc are but a few examples of how sight can bring us joy and peace. I love the sight of a well set table before a meal, even if the food has yet to appear. A well-kept lawn, especially if large trees are integrated, often makes me pause to enjoy the sight. Cars, motorcycles, drumsets, animals, architecture, can all be sources of enjoyment for me. However, these are subjective, and certainly not all examples have the same effect. It is odd how one building or car can strike my fancy, take me into a state of near reverie, while another of similar style gets barely a glance.

The same goes for people; especially those who are revered for their good looks, such as the celebrities on TV and in films. Sometimes I agree with these assessments, other times I do not. Yet, I know many “ordinary” people who have beauty beyond description. In some cases, a person may have no particularly outstanding physical beauty, but the beauty of their personality or spirit becomes associated with their appearance. This inner beauty is often so profound that the external body takes on a radiance that would be lacking otherwise. When such a person comes in sight, it is as if a Hollywood red carpet has been rolled out. The sight of a cherished friend can warm my heart and turn a bad day into a memorably wonderful experience.

Conversely, there are people who we are not overly thrilled to see. Their presence fills us with negative feelings, depression, fear or even loathing. Usually again it is not that they are ugly (some really attractive people still manage to make me feel disgust) but that their personality becomes associated with their outward appearance. Over time, I begin to feel apprehension at the appearance of said people.

Looking into the eyes or upon the face of someone very special, seeing a friend on the sidewalk or in the mall while shopping, gazing at a stunning sunset or a forest of autumn leaves, window shopping for a new car…. These are just some of the ways our sense of sight can bring us pleasure. What does it for you? What are the things you look at that make your heart skip a beat or take your breath for a moment? I’d love to hear from you.

~Still Wandering…