My 40th birthday

It has been a quiet birthday, but very pleasant. Yesterday my parents brought the girls back from a visit and took us out to lunch at the Greek Garden. Besides a Regulator wall clock and a couple t-shirts, they gave me a little money to spend on things for the apartment.

Today, after the girls and I walked along the river, we came home and had tacos for lunch and then some of the mocha cake my parents brought yesterday. While we were eating, a repairman arrived to temporarily secure the front door. He said he would be back next week when he has more time to install a new steel door.

I opened presents that the girls had picked out. Marian got me a book, Hand Decorating Paper. For some reason she was worried that I wouldn't like it. It's the sort of book packed full of ideas that I love to look at but would never bother to buy for myself. I was delighted. Brenna got me a tiny teddy bear to join the growing collection in my living room. I already had several of my own, but since Marian lost interest in stuffed toys I have snagged a couple of hers. They lounge in a corner of the couch or peek out of my bookshelves. The one Brenna got is shaggy and particularly cute.

This afternoon we went and slouched around the mall for a while. I picked up a couple items for the bathroom, particularly a new liner for the shower curtain. I've had the same one for eight years and it was badly torn. It's one of those nagging little things that keeps getting pushed down the list of priorities when you don't have money to spare.

We came home then took a bus downtown to the -bar for dinner so I could have a couple drinks responsibly. Brenna thought this meant I was going to get drunk, which of course I did not. Brenna and I played a game of pool while Marian slouched around. Brenna made a couple of surprising shots. They shared a big plate of nachos, barely making a dent, and I had my old favourite, chicken wings. A glass of Rosemount Shiraz was followed later by a Goombay Smash.

Simon, Aita and Meredith were working the bar. Simon had spent about four hours slicing limes and lemons, getting ready for a busy Friday night. We harrassed him for a while before coming home.

After another piece of cake I lay on the couch and dozed listening to one of my favourite non-classical CDs, Madonna: Ray of Light. Sleeping in the evening is almost unheard of for me, but I enjoyed myself.

The girls go home on Sunday afternoon and then I'll stop in Toronto at Danny and Bill's for dinner. It will be another little birthday bash for me.

My birthday gratitude list this morning received more comments than anything I have ever posted before. I wasn't expecting that, and it made me feel very loved. Thank you all.

Death

I know it's not a safe or pleasant subject, but it lurks in the back of our minds. Okay, maybe you don't think about it, but I do. Not concretely about the event of death, even though that is the most terrifying part. Mostly it's just a back-of-the-mind undercurrent of anxiety. That all of this will soon be over.

I believe that religion exploits our fear of it. Or worse: teaches us to fear it and then exploits that fear. No question, my sojourn as a Christian originated in that fear. I made a pact with God. At the beginning I didn't know whether I believed in God, but wanted desperately to hold onto something, an anchor against the tide of time sweeping life away.

In the end it is much better to accept the fact of our minds' eventual extinction. This sets us free to live in the present, make the most of these short years we have. Mostly I am good at enjoying what Annie Dillard calls "these few live seasons." As an atheist I find this focus essential. But at times I go through hiccups of fear. It's like my stomach, which is fine for months at a time, and I can eat whatever I want. Then suddenly it decides to reflux, and it keeps backing up and burning and I have to take pills and a good look at my diet.

That's what my anxiety about turning 40 has been all about. I got my eyes off the Now, distracted by all the things I haven't done and might never do.

Worrying this way doesn't do any good. And yet this is one of the biggest mysteries of life. It affects us all every day. We never know whether this will be the last time we will make love, taste our favourite food, or kiss our children goodnight.

I am looking for ways to write about this. The question of how to live in the here and now has always fascinated me, so my favourite writings are those of Rumi, Whitman and Dillard. Even when I start thinking about my favourite fiction writers: LeGuin pops up.

It's a question I tend to avoid most days, and yet I would love more than anything to write one complete work on this theme. Poetic prose perhaps. The difficulty is convincing myself to concentrate and not balk at the intensity of it. I need to spend time reading other people's ideas, questioning, digesting, see what value I can find in them. One of the nice things about the past year is that I have finally begun interacting in a meaningful way with people who hold beliefs different from mine: Christians, pagans, agnostics. Unfortunately I still have low tolerance for people who preach at me, in fact I defriended one LJer who started doing so through email. It wasn't the best way for me to react, but when I consider how I've been treated in the past, I can forgive myself for being a little defensive.

I'm reminded of the Christian lesbian friend who, on learning that I have moved from Christianity to atheism, exclaimed, "Oh Van, I'm so sorry!"

Then I was sorry, because I realized our friendship would offer little opportunity for benefit from discussion, since she saw so little value in my perspective. Atheism is not some kind of terrible, lonely fate. While many Christians find comfort in having a deity who is always there for them, I find comfort in more tangible things. Honestly, I believe what I do because it makes the most sense to me, without the suspensions of logic I experienced in trying to believe something else.

But I don't see any point in grasping at truth in a vacuum, never relating to people who believe differently. I like best when we can share ideas without condescension or insult, knowing that we're all trying to attain greater insight, while not necessarily travelling on the same paths.

For the time being I need to do more frequent free writing exercises. One day recently I wrote for a couple hours and was amazed at what came out, thoughts brewing in the back of my head that seldom make it into written or spoken words. I find it helps to start with a short published exercise here on LJ, because unquestionably the sense of an audience motivates me. In this case it is the notion that my ideas might inspire or encourage someone else. From there I want to move more often into my notebook, where even more fragile ideas may gradually take form.

Here are a couple of exercises I have posted in free_write lately, in case you're interested.

Stars in the dark (March 10)

Awaiting death (March 20)

Royal Botanical Gardens, Part I

We had other possible plans for the day, but as it was pouring rain, we made an impromptu visit to the Mediterranean greenhouse at Royal Botanical Gardens in Burlington. It's a nice place to visit in February or March when the permanent exhibit is in bloom, augmented by thousands of flowering bulbs.

Normally it isn't a terribly busy place, but today an orchid show was going on. Hundreds of people swarmed through the RBG Centre. We had to park far from the building and walk through drizzle. To get to the greenhouse we had to pass through the show. I would have liked to take a closer look at the orchids, but was not prepared to pay the $18 combined admission for the privilege of shopping for an expensive plant. So we had to be escorted through by a member of the Orchid Society. They were not too strict, however, to drop us off at the gift shop on the way out.

More pics will follow; of my daughters and the main attraction: flowers. But it was also an interesting day for people watching. Here are a couple shots I liked.



P.S. Brenna, looking over my shoulder, says she wonders why I take pictures of things sometimes. I guess she hasn't experienced enough of life to see just how beautiful these two women are. She doesn't see the stories in their faces.