An article, in the pipe



Grandpa gripped my hand as I leaned over his hospital bed. There wasn’t much time. With the back of his other hand, he swept aside his oxygen mask and struggled to speak. “Remember: Love!” he said. His grip loosened. He was gone, and I didn’t understand. Until now.



Ninety years earlier in south Wales, a six-year-old boy died. The death rippled through three generations and across the ocean to Prince Edward Island. In its wake were sadness, longing and doubt. Love had a limited meaning and we had forgotten why. The secret was buried in Wales, and is now set free.



This is a story about the meaning of unconditional love.



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Good today

I write less here when I'm meditating more. Not sure what that means. I think it was Mordecai Richler who said that writing was his meditation.



My meditation technique is Vipassana, a non-sectarian lifestyle practice that is connected to Buddhism but not beholden to it. (I don't have a jolly fat man idol in my house). Vipassana strives to help people see things "as they are, not as you want them to be." It's a tough challenge. Essentially, what you do is sit or kneel in silence and start by monitoring your breath in and out of your nose. Then as the noise and clutter of your mind settles, you start to move your heightened awareness over your body, simply observing whatever sensations you feel. The meditation practice nurtures a refined awareness, but also an understanding of the fact of impermanence.



Everything in life is changing from second to second. Everything passes. I spent about 15 minutes last night observing and contemplating the tingling, creeping feeling of skin drying on my cheek. It was fascinating, and I was totally absorbed by it. (No kidding). Then it stopped.



Doing this has helped me to be better focused during the rest of the day, more observant of little things, more open to simple joys. I am also less worried by the fact that for the first time in 6 years I have no work lined up for next month (For quality writing or communications support services, please call 613 260-7277. Thank you).



Henry David Thoreau wrote that "The man is richest whose pleasures are the cheapest." It seems simple, but it's so hard to keep focused on this, kind of like being aware of your skin drying.

"How many horses does it take to haul your fat ass around town?"



I'm sick of SUVs. We need to DO something about them. Who ARE these people riding around in these planet-killers? A guy in an enormous Lincoln Navigator gave me the finger the other day when I pulled out of a parking lot into the lane in front of him. Yeah, like he needed to worry. Had he hit me he would have crushed my wimpy Corolla like a bug. Fat ass! Child killer! Irresponsible twat! Happy Earth Day to you too, pal!



Cool info from the Sierra Club Web site: "Switching from an average car to a SUV for one year would waste more energy than if you: 1) Leave your refrigerator door open for 6 years; 2) Left the bathroom light on for 30 years; 3) Left your colour TV on for 28 years."



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Ah, a good Walden rant at the end of a busy day is just what the shrink ordered. I'd write more but I'm late for my meditation class. Shit.



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There's a tulip (just one) blooming in my front yard. Scout. And we saw a Northern Flicker at our bird feeder today. I caught Suzy looking at me funny, from the corner of her eye, like I was nuts or something. Nuts for the Flicker. Yeah, it was that exciting. Sadly, the Northern Flicker is a threatened species. Hello, SUV drivers!



>> Would Jesus drive a SUV?

(From the Christian Science Monitor)



>> Download bumper stickers for gas guzzlers. My favourite: "I Drive a Weapon of Mass Consumption"

I want to move here

Check out Laugharne, Wales. Beaches like PEI. Never snows. Seven pubs. 2000 people. One of Wales' largest used bookstores. 100+ kids (and young parents). Did I mention it doesn't snow?



Take a tour of Laugharne.

Be sure to click on "Scenery."

Wales of a time



I just spent 6 days in Wales, the land of my ancestors -- story-tellers, miners, musicians, dreamers. I managed to trace my mother's side of my family back to its origins in a tiny subsistence farming community called Disserth. The family name is Weale because Great Great Great Great Great Grandpa's family lived next to a mill, powered by a water wheel. Yes, it's that simple. If I'd been a Jones, the search would have been more difficult, of course.



The strongest and most ambitious of the family left the farms behind in the mid-1800s and went underground in booming mining communities a few hours south by horse and cart. These were bustling towns crammed with former farmers and fishers, heady times of optimism, uncertainty and exuberance. Life expectancy was only 50. The churches and the pubs and the streets were social crucibles where generations of tradition mixed and clashed and evolved. Great Grandpa Robert Henry was a winder in the mine, a lay preacher, and a cornet player. He straddled the social divide between the non-conformist Methodists and the non-confrontational Salvation Army, and was also a spokesperson for both with the mine owners. One generation after leaving 200 years of subsistence rural living, he built the biggest house on his street, at the top of the hill, and also owned the Salvation Army church next door. They had a live-in 18-year female servant.



It seemed that anything was possible. The dirt and death of the mine did not distract from the sense of optimism that was reflected in Great Grandpa's brass band, The Robert Weale Glee Group, whose powerful music raised money for the mine workers and awards as far away as Crystal Palace in London.



Then something happened that muted the music. And 100 years later, it all makes sense.



Stay tuned.





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If you love the sea, Dylan Thomas, bookstores, cosy pubs, great fish and chips, and you've always wanted your own castle, consider Laugharne, Wales. The Brown's Hotel, where Thomas wrote his most famous tortured works, still has his table set in the corner, and Jane and George across the street at the used bookstore (one of the best in Wales) are happy to give directions. Just down the street, there's a 17th century Georgian guest house for sale, and it comes with Laugharne Castle, which overlooks the Taf Estuary. The Welsh government has a permanent lease on the castle and grounds (they have to maintain it and cut the grass), so once the tourists leave at closing time, you can pop the kids in the keep and lower the drawbridge.



>> See Laugharne Castle

>> Also: Dylan Thomas and Laugharne.