Tearing pages out of an old journal I stumbled upon this story....made me smile, based on close pages I'd think I wrote this 3 or 4 years ago.

CATCHING A BAD STORY

"Once upon a time, just down the road from you, a boy named Tommy slowly shuffled home. His dog, a big pointer named Ripper bounded from the back yard to greet him. Ripper busted out all of his best moves, the spin, sit, jump combo; the bump, pass and return face lick....but Tommy barely seemed to notice. Tommy slumped inside, set down his backpack and let out a BIG SIGH.

His Pop Pop strolled in with pep in his step and leaned down to hug Tommy in welcome. Receiving the wimpiest of hugs in return, Pop Pop stood back, pulled on his chin and stared. 'Why, Tommy' he said, 'you seem to have a hitch in your get-along. What's happening?'

'Well, Pop Pop, I think I caught something awful.'

'You don't say....' answered Pop Pop.

'Yes,' Tommy whined, 'Tracy's mom's sister's daughter has a terrible rash on her feet from her gym. We have a gym at school so I'm coming down with the same foot rash too....I'm sure.'

'Oh, I see,' said Pop Pop. 'Well that does sound serious; let's see your feet.'

Tommy took off his shoes and socks displaying his perfectly healthy looking feet. 'Hmmmm,' Pop Pop mused, 'I know just what you caught.'

'YOU DO?' said a frightened Tommy.

'Yup. You caught a bad story,' replied Pop Pop.

'WHAT?' Tommy shrieked!

'Sure thing, I've seen it before. A person hears about sickness or any scary thing and next thing you know their imagination jumps into overdrive. They fret and fuss and feel sick and afraid,' explained Pop Pop.

'Well, what do you take for it?' asked Tommy.

Pop Pop smiled, "you take good humour, great exercise, healthy thoughts and most of all....'

'Yes?' wondered Tommy.

'You take in great stories,' Pop Pop sagely said. 'There are far more healthy stories than sick ones and far more good news than bad. People just get in a nasty habit of spreading the worst news.'

Tommy absentmindedly stroked Ripper's ear. 'So, I'm going to be OK?'

'That depends,' Pop Pop said whistling as he went back to his bread making. 'Don't get sucked into catching gross news and I guarantee you'll spend all your days feeling MUCH better!'

Ripper barked and Tommy finally smiled and followed his Pop Pop into the kitchen. 'Jeeze, Pop Pop; now that I'm feeling better....I am starving!'"

"Ode to Horse Poop"

My name's Duke-Wayne
and I have a tale to tell
about a certain behaviour
that makes my mom yell.

You see it's true;
and I try to obey
all the many instructions
that happen each day:
no biting or scratching,
or inside relieving
no bugging my sister
using rugs for my teething....
no humping
no jumping
no hogging the food
I'm learning real fast
and I always improve......

until I begin with my fav little groove
of eating in earnest
the neighbour's horse poop
that to me tastes like ice cream
(I'll have one more scoop!)

So frozen and hay filled
so yummy to chew
Why is she yelling
at me and at Boo?

She wants me to spit
out the prize poop I've found
which hardly seems fair,
it was right on the ground.

So, please, human, please
let me make you a deal:
all other behaviours
I'll gladly adopt
as long as you let me enjoy
my horse plop.

January 4, 2018

Finding your way back

Some days
I feel you
calling
and I go
back to the path.

It's overgrown now.
I rarely
retrace the steps
back to that
clearing
where we
love.

Sometimes I think I see you
peeking
through the deep woods.
But you don't come to the
clearing
anymore.
So I wonder if seeing you
was just a trick of the
light.

I expect your
reasoning
overshadows
your visions.
So I don't wait long there
anymore.

And, yet,
this pull remains;
simple, intact, amused and unrequited.

Maybe you'll find your way
back
to the clearing.
The instant you do, I will know.
I will find you there.

Washed in the relief
of your breath with mine
we will not
be able to stand.

From our knees
we will end.
From out knees
we will begin.


Beth McCarthy Marks
September 2, 2017

On this Mother's Day

My mom, Joan Marie. Her first last name was McIntyre, then McCarthy and finally McLeod -- so her monograms never changed.

A few days ago I encouraged a young friend to think about honouring her mom on Mother's Day with a list of 10 things she most appreciated and admired about her. Of its own volition, that notion took root in my thoughts so tonight I write about my mom.

Its quite fair to say that this list is the result of maturity; many of the items mentioned I most certainly did not appreciate at the time I was learning them! But, boy, have I thanked my lucky stars for these gifts.

1. Whenever we would see someone disabled, sick or downtrodden my mother would say (oddly, as she was not being a religious person) "There but for the grace of God go I." My sisters and I learned to appreciate our health and wholeness. We understood that those in dire need had not done something bad to deserve their fate.

2. In spite of many stresses, being a single mother for many years, living with her parents with 3 daughters in tow, Mom had a wonderful sense of humour. Many family dinners ended with one of us ready to wet our pants from laughing so hard. OK, you're right; with one of us wetting our pants...

3. Mom left a man she was wildly in love with, our father, because in his young days he could not be responsible for his growing family. Never did she bash him or make us feel less of him even though she was burdened with being our sole guardian. She made her choices based on what was best for my sisters and me. I don't ever remember hearing her complain about moving to a different state and moving back in with my grandparents (for 8 years!) in order to cope financially. Eventually she remarried a wonderful, talented and Archie Bunker kind of a fellow, my step-father, Al. Al adored her until her death many years ago. (I went on to have a wonderful relationship with my father and two more sisters from his second marriage.)

4. We had to all clean house on Saturday mornings. The whole house. Every Saturday. We could get up and watch a couple of cartoons, but then no other playing or plans until my sisters and I helped my mom clean the house completely. If you did a half hearted job you were sent back to finish until your part of the work sparkled. No exceptions. No excuses. No whining.

5.  Manners were taught with passion. If you reached across the table at our house Mom was faster than a gun slinger with her fork wrapping your knuckles....so you didn't tend to repeat those ill thought moves! We learned to be polite, helpful, aware; it would be inconceivable that an elder would walk into a room without us jumping up to offer our chair. If company came unannounced we knew to not take the doughnut we really wanted so there would be enough. Emily Post was alive and well in our home education and I am forever thankful -- to have learned manners -- but more than that, to have learned a sense of the fitness of things, to be aware of other people.

6.  When family friends would pass along a box of hand me down clothes my mom would treat it as if we'd just had an unlimited budget on Rodeo Drive! She taught us to be so thankful for the kindness of others and how to always look clean and fine on a shoe string. Each year for the 1st day of school my sisters and I would get a new outfit; and my grandmother was a superb seamstress so we decked out for Easter and special occasions -- but often we relied on those boxes of used clothing and felt it was just great.

7.  We learned to love being outside and had amazing freedom to be on the beach and in the ocean. But, if you ever yelled for help when you didn't really need it....well, then you were going to need it when my mom caught up to you. We made our bikes into horses and played hide and seek with the neighbourhood kids. Our mom didn't have a hard time getting us out, she had a hard time getting us back in.

8. When we moved into our own home from our grandparents we were able to have dogs and rabbits and hamsters and eventually horses. What a gift to develop friendships with these creatures (and especially so as my mom wasn't really a pet person herself).

9. Posture. Posture. Posture. I could not tell you the number of times she yelled at my sisters and me, "Stand up straight!!!" And, it stuck!

10.  We sure learned respect, no doubt much of it fear based, but nevertheless, the long arm of authority extended beyond our mom. Trust me, it was not a good day for you if an adult reported back to our mom that you'd been rude or disobedient! Oh boy. She had wooden paddles stashed everywhere. But, learning to hold your tongue and mind how you behaved created a good foundation for enjoying life and being easy to employ. My mom thought people who swore demonstrated a lack of intelligence and vocabulary. I never heard her say anything stronger than "crap!" and if you heard her say that you knew she was hopping mad and you'd better either get lost or do what you'd left undone.

11. This one's for extra credit. My mom taught us about magic - that anything is possible. When we went to bed on Christmas Eve there was nothing but a bare Christmas tree in the corner of my grandparents' living room. When we awoke and came down the staircase, Santa had not only visited, but trimmed the tree, left presents and twinkling lights everywhere and the smell of breakfast filled the air. Anything was possible and magic really happened. I can only imagine what time my grandparents and Mom got to bed those Christmas Eve's.

There are more things I could say, and I am so very glad that my mom knew how much I appreciated her and how much I admired her parenting while she was alive. As the years pass my appreciation and admiration of Mom grows. I did not fully appreciate her beauty in her lifetime. But, no doubt, Mom wisely thought, "One day she'll thank me."

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

A love letter to Geoff

It is the night before what would have been Sam's 62nd birthday. So, as with each passing year, my thoughts go out to honour Sam and his legacy. This year, to honour Sam, I am compelled to write a love letter to you, Geoff Tisch.

Geoff Tisch

Dear Geoff,

This morning you were all up in my thoughts and it is high time I put to paper this love letter. You "saw" Sam. When many saw a somewhat aimless hippie, you saw the gifted athlete and someone who, by very reason of being so intact themselves, was a most influential fellow. And, realizing it was doubtful to recruit Sam to come up to staff Educo without me along you also took a chance on a teenage girl still in high school. I had a letter of permission to cross the border from my mother! Imagine. We hit the border with another pal after a few weeks on the road. We had to detour to Powell River to get 3rd gear fixed by Sam's Uncle Jack. The old red truck was running on a prayer and we had about $16.00 between us when we crossed the Canadian border headed up to the wilds of the Cariboo.

Sam Dice

We arrived at the rustic Educo site a day or so before the young men, many of the students in the early woolly days from reform institutions in Vancouver! And then you did some remarkable things. You did a fierce Maori dance, shouting and tongue wagging menacingly. It might have been more frightening had you not been in a pink towel. But the fellows were suitably drawn in to wonder what in the hell they got themselves into.

You showed them how to jump the stumps in the mosquito infested forest "high obstacle" course. One wrong move and the family jewels were in peril. You deferred to Sam's more youthful and fast jumps as only a secure mentor would. We lost one of the runners overnight. And you lost all sorts of things. Watches, passports, wallets. I took it as part of my job to figure out where you'd put the students valuables for safe keeping. We made a good team that way.

Most shocking and most imprinted on me was your repeated mantra to this band of misfits; staff and students both. "YOU ARE PERFECT, UPRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL!!" Now, what a new concept that was! Not, you need to get better, you need to change, you need to grow, you need to be other than what you are. No. Educo, your creation. Educo = "to draw forth." What a gift. 

How long overdue this love letter. How many young people were changed forever because you saw the best in them and taught them it was just a matter of drawing out all that was just perfect in them. And, your legacy continues up in those woods. What a wonder:  the thousands of students who came to the wilderness feeling uncertain and ashamed and left feeling empowered and unstoppable.

Yes, all the solos, mountain climbing, challenges and camaraderie shaped those fortunate enough to be in your orbit. But most of the earth shaking change came from hearing that there was a least one person who thought they were just terrific. And if you saw them as great....well, maybe they had a shot in this big world.

I can hear your laugh in my head from those days and know it would sound just the same today, Geoff. Remember when the Raysons came to Dog Creek and I reported to you that I wasn't sure they were speaking English -- ha! They had such a thick English accent it was hard to make out their words. And the "nut man" Jim Miller -- with his wife Pat also on staff. You got together the most wonderful blend of people to work together.

This season with you at Educo -- with Sam -- and the next, were foundation building in a way nothing else could have been. And I love you for that. And I love that after Sam's accidental death you insisted on helping me build a dog house big enough for our two German Shepards, Silver and Niko. Those nights working in the wood shop with you, talking about all things meaningful and all things silly helped me get used to my new reality. A 25 year old widow able to make a new life because of friends like you.

It's been decades since I've seen you -- but looking at your picture I can see your fire has not abated and your mischief has not been diminished with age.

Thank you, Geoff.

Cold light of day.

Have a thought
before
poking those embers, girlie.

That untended fire
is resting
easy.

Did you forget
how it almost
raged
out of control
and who
got burned?

Not much has changed
in the landscape
and the winds still blow.
Adding that log,
poking those coals to flame,
however enticing
odds still favour
the certainty
of burnt flesh.

Sure,
for a while
that heat is
delightful,
those dancing flames
beguiling.

Fated to be
naive
and happy
as sparks fly?

Remember the cost.

When push comes
to shove
playing with fire
who ends
up pushed
and shoved
back
to the
cold light of day?

George Shears

A giant of a man

George Shears has been on my mind – which is odd, given he’s long dead. But you should know about George and, given I wake thinking of him and go to sleep thinking of him, this part of his story is mine to tell. His life spanned the years from 1890 – 1978.

George was amused and already in his 80’s when I met him. Amused because he figured 80 would be about as far as his body would carry him. About his own death he used to quip that if anyone found his body please let him be the first to know. I was in my teens and we were in Colorado living in an “intentional community” with aims to influence all good things to happen between people and in the world.

(George in younger days.)

To look at George you’d see an old man shuffling along at a painstakingly slow pace – without aid of cane or walker; a long way from pitching in the big leagues for the New York Highlanders (Yankees) as he did for one short season in 1912.

(George pitched major league -- pitched left, batted right.)

His voice quavered but his power was immense. George’s motto, seared into the memory of many, was “Give thanks for all things under all circumstances.” On the face of it that line could seem ridiculous and many examples of things not to be happy about spring to mind. But George understood the life giving impact of keeping a thankful heart regardless of circumstance. If anyone reading this ever taped his voice repeating his mantra I’d surely love to hear it.

George was a rebel. Back in the 1930’s as a chiropractor he discovered that adjustments and alignments began to happen on the table even before he put his hands on some of his patients. He attributed that to the power of the life force moving between the ineffable, the doctor and the patient. So, much to the dismay of organized chiropractors he began a new movement he called GPC (God, Patient, Chiropractor) which flourished beyond expectations and often was practiced on the basis of donation. Training began for scores of eager chiropractors and this practice was the beginning of a school of no touch healing called “attunement” which focuses largely on the endocrine system.

For George, you didn’t even need to be present to participate in attunement – long distance was not an issue. So, George would have 8 am morning gatherings with a handful of people who dropped in before work (or after if your work was cooking breakfast or separating milk in the milk house). People from all over the world would call or write to George and ask to be put on his list for mention in his 20 minute or so time of healing thoughts from George and whatever group was with him that day -- it varied greatly. Who else was with George was largely beside the point – but he did like the agreement of like-minded participants in the room with him.

Alice lived with George in his double wide trailer (fancy digs for Sunrise Ranch back in the day). She was his housekeeper and friend – the sister of his late wife. Alice had a terrible stammer. Much to my amazement though, anytime I heard her speak in one of our healing circles, she spoke clearly and without a stutter. There was a lot of healing energy in the room and it affected everyone in a different way.

In 1978, at 88 years, it was George’s time to die. As he lay on his deathbed at home I was granted access to come in to say a final good bye. There are no words to describe this experience that would do it justice -- it was profound, and wildly impacted my understanding of death. George’s tall, rickety form, was tucked into a ball on the bed. He looked asleep or unconscious. But George….George was present in the room like a giant. There will never be a doubt that he knew I was there and he communed with me happily for a time. I left changed. He passed not long after.

While life and death remain a great mystery to me, I do know that George had a whole lot figured out. He went into the great unknown with the same joyful sense of adventure that he lived.

So, George, here you go. Thank you for the profound influence you had on my life. Thank you for your humour, your wisdom, your encouragement, your simplicity. Thank you for having the courage of your convictions which flew – and still flies – in the face of skeptics. You were a trail blazer and perhaps the kindest man I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.

Thank you, George. Always.

Beth