Life is Your Story

Have you ever returned to the home of a loved one after they have passed? To the room they most enjoyed? The study, the kitchen, the bedroom, the garden? When you return to the stillness, the silence, you find yourself looking for them. You search the place from bottom to top, hoping for another chance to see them, hear their voice, touch them, laugh with them. There's a hat or jacket or blanket or pen or book or laptop that they last touched.  Their scent is still in the air. Something left undone, lingers on a desk or kitchen table. They are nowhere to be found, yet, still, you remain seated, as if waiting for a play or show to begin. You ask yourself the same questions that have been asked for ages, for all of time, where has my friend/parent/lover gone? Will I ever see them again? Do they know I love them? What was the last thing I said to them? What was the last thing they said to me? And it goes on and on. There is something comforting about visiting a place that was sacred t

There’s that special friend and that sacred place -   a park, a cottage, a lake, a summer camp – where you grew up, experimented, built your foundation. You spoke of the life that you would make for yourself – the partner – the co-pilot – the kids – the career – the house – the travels – the stuff that makes you feel alive. When things weren’t going well behind closed doors – the family – the parents – the sibling – the knocking around – you met in this place and that friend took you home until things were better. And as the years went on and you met the partner, built the career, had the kids, the step kids, the dog, the cat, the house, the debt, the change in the partner that wasn’t really change at all – the one kid out of the 2 or 3 that struggled, that searched without finding, the hugs, the sighs, the “everything will be okay” even when you didn’t think everything would be okay. The mid-life crisis – the change in career – the affair or thought of t

It was one year ago today (Nov.8th) that former Montrealer, Barry Zbar created a face book page/group called Montreal Memories. The first person to join was Sara Leber (rock on Sara)and slowly but surely, more and more ex Montrealers (as well as those of us who never left) requested Barry's blessing to become one of the chosen that has since grown to 1888 members (at the exact moment of writing this post). Barry's original intentions were to provide a place where Montrealers removed and otherwise could gather to reminisce about this incredibly vibrant and amazing city. Some joined as Alumnus of Northmount, West Hill, Wagar, Baron Byng and others simply with a healthy appetite and appreciation for Montreal food such as poutine from Lafleurs, smoked meat from Schwartz's, steak from Moishes, Squished Knishes from Blossom Pool, Orange Julep from... well you can figure out that one, cheese cake from Dunns, and steamies from Montreal Pool Room. The music of the 60s and 70s is cel

Think of the park where you played when you were young. It was probably the closest one to your house. Back then, you could walk to the park, meet your friends there and play all day without much worry at all. So you've taken yourself to that place and you are accompanied by all your childhood friends and the bonds have been casted in plaster. Bonds that are perhaps or even likely the strongest you have ever formed beyond family and partners. Everyone is there even those who have exited this life. They are all smiling, healthy and you can reach out and touch them. Today in this flashback, in this park, everyone is very much alive and safe. The mission of the day - simple - have fun, laugh, chase one another across an open field, or a basketball court. Learn something - how to throw a Frisbee or pitch a strike or do a lay up. Gather that endless energy that has returned to every molecule of your being and put it all out there for everyone to see. Express yourself without an

Think of your childhood in a flash not at length. Close your eyes. What do you see? I see myself at 7 yrs of age. I am with my grandmother who was in the early stages of a devastating disease - MS. At the time she has a walker but 5 years later she would become paralyzed from the neck down and condemned to a hospital bed. We are on a picnic by a large fountain that shoots up from the mossy base so high that I can see it catch the rays of the sun. My grandmother is smiling and laughing and she affectionately brushes my cheek with her hand and kisses me on the forehead and says "I am very proud of you and I love you." I close my eyes again and I see my dog Buster who passed away last fall just before his fifth birthday from Cancer. This is a constant vision I have of him. He is sitting on the top stair waiting for me to come home. I open the door and there he is just waiting - no matter how long - he waits. He runs down to greet me and pushes me into the wall with