Hopefully these facets of my personality will spawn some creatively mundane blogging about astronomy, biology, astrobiology, SETI, the Big Bang, general relativity, quantum mechanics, string theory, the quest for unification, animal behavior, invertebrates, zoology, cryptozoology, UFOs, evolution, creationism, faith, religion, spirituality, money, relationships, computers and technology, Microsoft, Linux, psychology, evolutionary psychology, mental health, higher education, student loans, politics, Star Wars, Star Trek, Beethoven, Eminem, and Epic Rap Battles of History.

My goal with NoteCanvas is to inform, educate, and entertain anyone that might find this site hidden in the depths of Google.  If nothing else, it is simply a place for me to canvas my inner nerd into notes so that I can reflect upon them in the future.

Warning: Think of this blog like a box of chocolates.  Who knows what you’ll find.

http://spacingvancouver.ca/2012/03/12/an-interview-with-jak-king/

Hope you enjoy it!

This last couple of weeks has been particularly fruitful and I feel honoured to be welcomed by these older residents into the world of their memories.

An old friend recently sent me some photos he’d scanned from “the glory days.” I hadn’t seen these pictures (or him) in years.  The memories wrapped themselves around me like a warm blanket. The miles collapsed and the years melted away.

A picture is worth a thousand words….and sometimes takes you on an adventure.

As we sat in the silence that inevitably followed each bite he took, I picked up a worn picture from the coffee table.  When I looked up from the black and white print he was gesturing toward the picture in my hand.  He swallowed quickly sputtering that I was to make no mistake; the antique fire truck behind the grinning crowd was the object of his affection.  45 min. later, when he wrapped up his recollections with a contented sigh, I thanked him for taking me on a cross-country adventure.  It was exciting!

A picture is worth a thousand words….and sometimes introduces you to the man you just met.

Earlier I met an 89-year-old man with soft, faded-blue eyes and a genuine pleased-to-meet you smile.  Now, listening to his snores over the baby monitor, I strolled between high back chairs and around magazine laden tables.  I wanted to look closely at the portraits that graced the walls and the stoic faces that sat like an audience on the piano.  I found myself looking into the eager-to-please-you eyes of his youth. I couldn’t help but notice how his family grew larger Christmas card after Christmas card.  I chuckled at his refusal to accept that his lap was too small to hold the next generations as one after another was handed to him….

I hear him stirring. I’d better go upstairs to see what he needs.  Even if he doesn’t remember me, we are no longer strangers, for now we have been properly introduced!

~ for life

As I approached the profile in front of the window, I chimed, “Hello.”  in such a way as to give him the option of telling me to leave or to accept my presence.  He looked up and said, “Hello.”   I asked if he’d like some company.  He
gestured his long, graceful fingers toward an empty chair and went back to
gazing out the window.

After a moment, I asked him if he’d like some cranberry juice. He let me raise the plastic cup that was perched precariously on his knee and place the straw between his lips.  As the red juice made its way up the straw his pleasure was audible. When he’d had his fill he pursed his lips.  That was that. We sat in a comfortable silence.  I’d started to wonder if he remembered I was there when he asked, “Can I get you anything? Some cranberry juice perhaps?”  He remembered the cranberry juice! Though this tall, lanky man didn’t remember his name, his manners were ingrained.  I politely declined, telling him I’d brought a bottle of water and pulled it from my bag to show him.  It was important to me that he know I wasn’t merely brushing off his offerings.  We smiled at each other.  Then, as if he’d decided that he could trust me, he pointed out the window and told me how as a small boy he used to play in those yards and sled down those hills.  The lucid cranberry juice moment had flickered and was gone. I urged him to tell me more knowing full well he had never stepped foot on those brand new development lawns. But what was important was that he believed he had and he wanted to share.  His present to me.  His storytelling was eloquent, almost poetic.  In a matter of minutes I was looking out, envisioning the snow covered mounds and listening for the squeals of laughter he was hearing.  As quickly as the story began it was finished.  He couldn’t find the words any more, couldn’t remember what he was trying to remember.  We sat in the muffled silence one more time.  I watched his chin lower until it rested on his chest.  He was asleep.  I studied his face, his hands – so life worn.  I gathered my things and went into the hall.  A nurse stopped me and said she couldn’t believe it – that she’d never heard him speak more than a word or two.   She was trying to figure out why he was talking to me like an old friend.  I told her all I did was give him some juice.  She shook her head and said, “I don’t know, you must have done something to get him to go on like that.”  I looked back into the room and was certain the wrinkles on his face had softened.

As I left the building, I realized perhaps I had done something. I entered is room with the intention of giving him my undivided attention.  I proved to him I was not in a hurry.  The moments we sat in silence seemed to build a trust.  I was content just to be with him.  I didn’t try to fill the quiet with chatter and he seemed to appreciate that.  His memories were flawed, but they were all he
had to give in return for the company I offered.

~ for life.

Asi que si ves la verdad de que el analisis no es la manera en como
una mente puede estar completamente libre de su condicionamiento,
entonces tienes que dejar completamente el proceso analitico. Si tu
ves el peligro del analisis como ves el peligro de una serpiente, en
verdad ver el peligro de ello, entonces tu nunca lo tocaras. Entonces
la mente es libre de la idea del analisis: por lo tanto, tiene ya una
diferente calidad. Entonces es capaz de mirar en otra direccion.
La vieja direccion, la vieja tradicion, los metodos, los sistemas, lo que
los gurus ofrecen, todo lo que los libros ofrecen en un proceso gradual,
la cual es una forma de analisis. Cuando ves la verdad de ello, estas
completamente fuera de ello. Por lo tanto tu mente se ha vuelto mas
aguda y mas clara.

J. Krishnamurti (1895 – 1986)