After 20 years of exploring Stanley Park, I still stumble upon hidden treasures. Monty and I parked near the Vancouver Rowing Club and walked northwest along a winding paved pathway towards the forest. The sun dripped through the leaves. I glanced across a field and towards the Parks Department works yard. I glanced again. I focused my vision on the gothic tips of a monument. A monument? In between trees, at the back of a baseball diamond-sized grass field with no pathway? “Monty, let’s go check it out,” I said. It was a monument to Shakespeare. Moss grew on the border of bricks but his image in the middle was undeniable. The inscription was worn and difficult to read: Shakespeare 1564 – 1616 He was not for an age, but for all time I had not read Shakespeare since high school. But I thought it ironic that my first 30 Day writing challenge led me to discover a forgotten monument dedicated to a writer. I walked around and saw small plaques pinned to two trees, each with a Shakespearean quote. There was the Eastern White Pine and a quote from Lucrece. The Western Red Cedar with a quote from Titus Andronicus. I saw a parks worker in a nearby garden. “Hi, what’s the story of the Shakespeare monument?” I asked. “Yeah, it was donated by a Shakespeare club back in the 1920’s or 30’s. Did you see the plaques on the trees?” she said. “The types of trees are ones Shakespeare mentioned in his work.” “Oh, that’s so cool. I’ve been coming to this park for 20 years and this is the first I’ve seen it,” I said. “It was really overgrown, it still is, but I’ve removed some plants. My plan would be to make a path to direct more people to it,” she said. “It’s kind of run down.” I then walked by a woman and a man holding a camera. “Hey, did you see the Shakespeare monument just over there?” I asked. “Is it new?” he asked. “No, it’s from the 20’s or so, it’s cool,” I said. “Is it worth it?” he asked. Is it worth it to walk a hundred feet to peek at a monument hidden in a park? Is it worth it to make a connection with a parks worker instead of Googling an instant answer? Is it worth it to take the time to cut a tree stump so it looks like a beach chair? Is it worth it to wander in Stanley Park for 30 days? Is it worth it? For me, there is only one answer. Yes. Yes it is. Check out the next story in the series, Day 12: In Memory of Tuk. Photo by: me One thing in Stanley Park is best kept hidden, or even better, destroyed.
Monty and I walked from Brockton Oval towards the Vancouver Aquarium. I had been thinking of the old Stanley Park zoo and wanted to see if any structures were still standing. As we entered the park area, the Vancouver Aquarium is on the right and a new washroom facility is on the left. I walked down a slope and around the stone wall of the washroom building. The lower level had a rear door entrance and four windows looking into a maintenance room of some sort. Four windows … four windows? Wait a second. I think these are the windows that used to allow me to look underneath the water at the otters. Yes! Yes! I stepped back and looked at the stone building. Yes! This wall used to be a part of the otter pool. Otters used to waddle up a ramp and slide down into a pool. As a kid, I could run around the curve of the building and watch them swim underneath the water thru the windows. This wall had to be part of the original structure. I’m sure of it! I looked around for a parks worker to confirm -- no one. I turned around to where the monkey enclosure would have been. It was gone. I could picture it with monkeys on one side and seals in a pool on the opposite side. Or maybe they swam around the monkeys, like a moat surrounding a castle. I could be wrong. I walked west over one wooden pedestrian bridge and back again over another. No more zoo enclosures. And then I saw it. The polar bear pit. It wasn’t an enclosure. It was a pit. A dark, concrete pit. Three or four times the width of a suburban swimming pool and four times as deep. Large tree limbs hung over top. The inside mossy ledges were covered with fallen foliage. Beer cans were strewn about inside. I could still read a faded Do Not Feed the Bears painted sign on the cement pillar. The commemorative plaque, now aged green, that hung on the wall of the enclosure, read POLAR BEARS Presented to the Stanley Park Zoo by the Hudson’s Bay Company June 1960 It might have said 1962. There were three or four more lines, but I couldn’t read them. I turned around to look at the secondary pit and stopped faster than if a polar bear had been standing right in front of me. I stared at a thing in the bottom corner of the pit. It looked like a kids’ single bunk bed but with black metal bars all around. A bear cage. Was that used for sleeping? Transporting? Medical procedures? Had that thing been sitting there ever since the last polar bear died? Since the zoo closed about 15 years ago? I had loved visiting the polar bears. We used to race around the fence barrigade in order to catch a glimpse of them. But now that I thought about it, they weren't in the concrete swimming hole at the top, they were always at the bottom of the pit. They just paced around, and around, down in the bottom of the pit. I love to explore old, abandoned buildings, ghost towns and cemeteries but this relic involved suffering. It was disturbing. Why did I come here? I stood there for awhile and felt the negative emotions. Then I walked backwards from the polar bear pit, as if it was a creepy entity that I had to keep my eye on. I spent the next hour or so hanging out with Monty and strolling the wet pathways of the forests. Be mindful of your feelings, good or bad. Breathe. Walk. Breathe. And then, my soggy dog did a slow motion nose-to-tail shake off and soaked me. I laughed and he grinned. All was well again. In memory of Tuk, a polar bear who lived his whole life at the Stanley Park zoo. He died in 1997 at the age of 37, after which the zoo closed permanently. Photo by: U.S. Geological Society I didn’t want to go to Stanley Park today.
“Ah man, long day, I really don’t want to go out again to the seawall,” I said. No kidding, don’t go, no one will know. "And it’s 6:30, I’m starving,” I said. Totally, stay in, have a nice dinner. “And it’s hard enough committing to one thing 30 days, I’ve done two. Stanley Park and writing,” I said. Oh ya, so forget the park tonite, just write, that’s good enough. “Ok, I can just explain how tired I am and everyone will understand,” I said. Of course, after a thirteen hour work day, take it easy, you deserve it, you don’t even have to write. I wrestled with my mind for the next 90 minutes, made excuses and justified why I didn't have to go to Stanley Park. Back and forth. Back and forth. I could have gone, walked and been home again in that time. And then ... “Hey, wait a minute. You’re sneaky. You’re pretending to be my best friend. But you always keep me from doing what my heart wants. I’m going to the park," I said. Well, you can if you want but the bridge might be busy due to Grey Cup traffic “Ok, we’ll see, I am going to the park,” I said. Monty and I arrived in Stanley Park and walked on the seawall for about forty-minutes. My pace was slow. But my mind was quiet too. And that allowed my heart to speak. Are you glad you came? Yes. Yes I am. Isn’t it great to fulfill a commitment to yourself? Hell yeah. Good, remember this feeling. I will. And, I will sleep well tonite. Photo by: visualpanic The blank brain continues. I had a great run in the sunshine today, plus, two heartwarming connections with strangers. But tonite, I find it challenging to get it down on paper. I have not stared at a blank page. I have not given up after a few minutes. I have started and re-started, typed and backspaced for almost three hours. I have read that there are two types of commitment in regards to writing. Either 1) write everyday for a certain amount of words or 2) write everyday for a certain amount of hours. I have essentially followed the first suggestion. Although my stories have varied in length, I only stopped when I finished the story. This was never less than three hours and usually four, five or more. While I do not want to let myself off the hook altogether, I am learning how to be kind to myself. And not feel the need to justify everything. So here goes .... I’m going to bed. That's it. Good night. Photo by Bidrohi If my brain needs a break, I will give my brain a break.
I decided on a low-key walk around Beaver Lake, found in the heart of Stanley Park. I also passed over the mental decisions to Monty. When he walked, I walked. And when he stopped to sniff, I stopped to rest. My feet shuffled on the gravel as we walked around the first loop in silence. No one was around. I felt like a pony plodding around a thirty foot ring at a petting zoo. On the second loop, there were still no people. Monty bit into a stick and carried it lopsided like a baseball bat, as if he was going to hit a home run with the next runner’s kneecap. Four loud sarcastic quacks of a mallard duck interrupted our silence, as if it was fake laughing to a bad joke. Whenever Monty stopped walking, I stared out at the lake. Not much there except five foot high, prickly hard-stem bulrush, pressed close together in the middle of the lake, like an army cadet’s hair-cut after a two week shore leave. A third quiet loop confirmed this to be a successful experiment in brain restoration. Photo by Lightspeeeed Sunshine is a drug. I love Stanley Park in any weather, but when the sun shines, I am pulled to the seawall to get my fix of vitamin D. As Monty and I walked past Lost Lagoon, I saw the lighted Christmas tree in the middle of the lagoon, although in the daytime it looked more like an upside down tomato plant cage. Piles of raked leaves warmed the trunks of small trees, all various shades of red and yellow, like a farmer’s basket full of heirloom tomatoes. As we dipped under the Georgia Street overpass, I saw somebody asleep on the cold concrete, wrapped up in a sleeping bag, including his head. Homeless guys are usually packed up or moved along by 11:30 in the morning. “Hey buddy, you okay under there?” I asked. Silence. I tapped his foot with my foot. “Hey buddy, you alright under there?” I asked. “Grrrrmph. Yaaaaaa,” he answered. “Alright, just checking,” I said and continued walking. Once on the open seawall, I noticed the sky was busy with float planes. No matter how many times somebody explains to me how planes fly, I am bewildered at how that heavy metal object can lift off and fly up there! And the helicopters. I default to thoughts of Apocalypse Now, Full Metal Jacket and Platoon. Fit, lean moms in their running gear pushed their infants in Baby Joggers. A guy did one-arm push-ups off a park bench. And dogs! Airedale terriers, English bulldogs, Chihuahuas in pink sweaters and a tiny grey terrier named, Lucy, who was frightened of Monty even when he was flat on his side. A man took a photo of his girlfriend. “Hey, would you like me to take a photo of both of you?” I asked. “Yes, that’d be great,” said the woman. “Where you from?” I asked. “Just Duncan,” said the woman. “Just on the island,” said the man. “We’re just taking advantage of the sunshine,” the woman said. “I get that, I’m from here and out taking advantage of it too,” I said. Monty and I walked to the northwest side of Stanley Park. With the sunshine gone, I zipped up both my down vest and Arc'teryx windproof jacket. We walked around another bend and I smiled as the Guy In A Yellow Kayak courted The Girl In A Wetsuit statue. It was a beautiful, relaxing way to spend a Wednesday morning. Photo by Rick {Suggested tune: Dandy Warhols' Good Morning}
I am a thinker. I love to ponder, question and discuss. And I especially love bursts of insight -- I got one today. I reflected on how ‘off’ I felt this week. My heart was heavy. I felt wobbly, the opposite of grounded, as if I stood in the middle of a teeter-totter. A good friend had told me a close family member had only months to live -- cancer. Another good friend had two dogs that were very close to her, die. My heart ached for their sadness and loss. A thief broke into my Honda and destroyed the locks, ignition and steering column in attempt to steal it. It is only a car, but it irked me to know a goofball rummaged around in my stuff. A few days ago, I got involved in a Facebook discussion about tail docking and watched a YouTube video of a veterinarian who docked the tail of a two day old rottweiler. No anesthetic. Just a pair of scissors. The wee pup wailed. And this morning, I watched a beautiful, yet disturbing video clip about the destruction of our planet Earth, including the land, people and animals. Why is it that some people do not understand how their actions affect others? Or even worse, that people do understand but simply do not care? Was I feeling unbalanced due to an uncontrollable world and therefore more deeply affected by sadness, cruelty and thoughtless actions of others? Or that the sadness, cruelty and thoughtless actions of others affected me so deeply that I then felt unbalanced in this uncontrollable world? I have learned that it is best to sit with negative emotions and not numb them out (pint of beer, anyone?). I actually get excited because I know that if I am open to clarity, it comes. Yesterday, a stranger sparked my insight. As I walked back to my car, a man opened his driver side door and I heard it hit the passenger door of my rental car. “Hey, what are you doing?” I asked. “What?” he said. “You hit my car,” I said. He ignored me and leaned back in his car. When he got out, he hit my car again. “Hey! Can you stop hitting my car?” I said. “What’s the problem? Is there anything there?” he said as he pointed at my door. I looked. No, there was no mark. “Seriously, don't you care about anybody but yourself?” I asked. He closed his door and walked past within a foot of me, without eye contact. “So what. Take my plate number down and call ICBC then,” he said, as calm as if he answered to “do you have the time?” I walked up to him as he waited in line to buy a parking ticket from the meter. “Hey, I just want to know why you think it’s okay to hit another vehicle? Do you not have any respect for other people’s valuable property?” I asked. No response. No eye contact. I did not exist. “Hello?” I asked. Nothing. I was surprised he didn’t wave me off like a pesky mosquito. "Huh. Have a nice dayyyyyy,” I said. You selfish piece of shit. I drove home, fast. Gas. Brake. Gas. Brake. I strangled the steering wheel with both hands. I swore at the guy tail-gating behind me. And I sure as hell didn’t let that merging Toyota Prius into my lane. When I got home, I actually looked up the definition of selfish -- “concerned primarily with one's own interests, benefits, welfare, etc., regardless of others.” Yep, that’s him alright. I rarely get mad. Why was I letting this stranger get to me? He doesn’t care that I’m angry. This was only hurting me. Why couldn’t I let this go? At the beginning of this project, I felt selfish. But I understood now that I was not. I did not fit the definition. Well, maybe the first part – concerned with one’s own interests – but this is not regardless of others, but for others. I believe that if you love and fulfill yourself first, you then have an abundance of love that you easily give. So, why was I so mad? Underneath anger is hurt. A sore spot had been hit. If somebody called me stupid, it would not hurt me because it is not a sore spot for me. You might as well call me a purple duck. No reaction. But treat me like I’m worthless? Yuk. That hurts. I create my own worth, I know that. Normally, I do. But I was already wobbly, a bit raw. So I got angry easily because he disregarded my car, and then me. A sore spot. Pesky mosquito. This all started to make sense. I believed in gratitude. But this week, my gratitude evaporated if I thought about others less fortunate. How can I be grateful for pretty little streams when every child doesn’t have clean drinking water? How can I be grateful for the freedom to run on the seawall when young kids are kidnapped and forced to fight as soldiers? Who am I to be given such precious gifts? What about the rest of the world? It was like the gifts of Stanley Park were too big. I could not accept them. I feel indebted. I was not worthy of them when others couldn't have them too. It seemed silly when I wrote it out. Gratitude is being thankful for what you have because there ARE people without safe drinking water. But beliefs are weird like that. They don’t make sense on an intellectual level. Intellectually, I think I’m awesome. In fact, I rock! Yet, underneath, beliefs can be strong. But vulnerability and unworthiness do not make me sad. In fact, quite the opposite. This insight was like stumbling upon the hard-to-find piece of the jigsaw puzzle. I got excited. It even made me giggle when I visualized a pesky mosquito. Vulnerability? Unworthiness? Is THAT what that was all about? A-ha! Okay then, cool, let’s name it, talk about it and get into it. Nature gives freely, without expecting anything back in return. Why not practice acceptance then? Then practice gratitude... and gratitude leads to joy. I loved this. My thoughts and understanding will evolve but for this next week, here goes … I will practice feeling negative emotions and then letting them go. I will practice accepting gifts from nature. Then I will practice gratitude for these gifts. My teeter-totter stopped wobbling and my feet were even more grounded as the fulcrum. My heart felt light and open again. And I thought I was going to write a simple, little blog about a park. Photo by cho45 I went on a 'rampage of gratitude', as they say.
Here is a sample: I am so grateful ... To live within 15 minutes of my favorite place on earth. For the sun and blue sky on a chilly December morning. For air so clean and fresh that it almost burns my nose. For living in a country where education is valued and every child gets to go to school and learn how to read – and I can then read signs along the seawall. For living in a city that values its green spaces enough that it even has a Parks & Recreation Department to clean up the pathway and beaches and take care of this park. For oceans so clean that I can see 20 feet under the surface. For living in a city where two gay men can be comfortable enough to walk hand-in-hand along the seawall. For living in a city where children are valued enough that playgrounds and water parks are created and maintained. For having clean drinking water, straight out of a public city water fountain. For exploring a park where birds still live … crows, seagulls and today, a bald eagle. For living in a place where anyone, including women, can feel safe enough to walk in a public park. Alone. For living in a society where people appreciate the park enough to not litter and the park workers care enough to pick up any litter that is around. I accepted all these gifts into my heart and was grateful for each and every one of them. Truly. Check out the next story in the series, Day 19: Pizza at a Teahouse? Photo by Pen Waggener After accepting the gifts of nature from Stanley Park, I had one more gift to both give and receive. Lunch.
A few days ago, I noticed a park sign for the Teahouse in Stanley Park had a martini glass on it. The Fish House in Stanley Park had fish so I had thought the Teahouse had afternoon tea. Martinis? Time for a new experience. I parked at Third Beach and walked up to the front of the Teahouse for the first time ever. Before I went inside, I stood on the triple-wide front lawn that was on a bluff above the seawall. The view of Georgia Straight stretched from Ambleside Beach in West Vancouver to the right, past Lighthouse Park and across the water to the University of British Columbia and far left to Vancouver's west side. “Holy crap this is beautiful!” I said to the seagull chillin' on the park bench. “That’s it, I want to live here. Right here.” I walked into the restaurant and it was like somebody hit the unmute button. The bartender straight ahead shook martinis. Diners clanged silverware in the room to the left. Food runners fast-walked and disappeared to the right. Bruce Springsteen sang Santa Claus is Coming to Town to everybody in the place. “Hi, this is so cool, I’ve never been in here before,” I said to the hostess. “Well, welcome, we're like the little gem of the park,” she said. “If there is a table, I’d love to sit in the lounge, please,” I asked. I had my eye on the fireplace. “The Tea Room? Yes, I think that'll work,” she said. I didn’t even have to ask for the fireplace seat as she led me right to it. All the chairs in the Tea Room faced towards the windows for the view. Tables for two had their chairs set beside each other, rather than across from each other. Three low tables were in the middle of the room and two large semi-circle booths lined the back wall. My server, Owen, wore the fine dining uniform of white shirt, black pants and white apron. But a two-inch wide, yellow and orange beaded bracelet on his right wrist helped set the welcoming atmosphere of casual elegance. “I’d love a Stanley Park amber ale and a margherita pizza, please,” I said. “Great, as simple as that,” said Owen, “too bad it wasn’t summer, we have pizza and beer specials on our patio.” “What? Are you kidding? How is it that I’ve never been here before,” I laughed. “Oh ya, it’s great, nice patio and pizza and a beer for 10 bucks,” he said. "Oh my god, that's awesome, I’m going to come after every walk next summer," I said. Christmas was in the air but subtle. A single Christmas tree by the front door. Wreathes of silver-painted leaves on the mirrors above the booths. Brass bells the size of grapefruits, tied to the light sconces with 3-inch wide transparent green ribbon. On the hearth, acorns and holly berries surrounded a foot-tall polar bear on skiis. "Would you like a wine spectator or other magazine to read?” asked the female manager. “Oh no thank you, I am so content right now, you have no idea,” I said. She smiled. “Would you like me to turn down the fireplace?” she asked. “Oh no, I got chilled on the seawall, so it’s perfect, thank you,” I said. All this attention. Here’s another opportunity to practice then, said my heart. Ok, right, just accept the gifts and be grateful for them. Okay, got it. I sat in the warmth of the room. The Teahouse was originally built in 1938 as an officer's mess and had stunning features. The tearoom/lounge with black painted columns and off-white crown mouldings. The dark green tiled fireplace with black surround and mantel. Wide-plank wood floors. Circular design mouldings on the ceiling. I glanced around the room -- the crowd was a real mix. Grandparents had slow conversations with their college-aged granddaughter. Mother and daughter sat in their fleece, Goretex jackets hung over their chairs. Couples sat side-by-side with arms over each other's shoulders. Two men drank beer and discussed documents spread across their table. An elderly asian couple shared tea, crème brulee and a sorbet. Three women, white wine in hands, chatted in a booth. Then my pizza arrived. Oh, the pizza! A thin crust, charred just right around the edges, like when you hold the edges of a newspaper clipping to a flame to make it look antique. Tomato sauce. Thin-sliced mozzarella cheese. And fresh basil that ordered me to inhale deeply whenever I brought a slice up to bite. Simple. And freaking delicious. As I ate my way through my Italian flag-of-a-pizza, I could hear the private party in the Conservatory Room. People chatted. Glasses clinked. Rock n roll versions of Christmas songs mingled with 90’s classics from bands like The Cars. People oooo'ed, ahhh'ed and clapped. At one point, the manager whispered something in the ear of a server as they walked by me. Both turned to look as I made my notes on folded index cards. Did they think I was reviewing their restaurant? It was fun to be the suspect of their mystery. Who is she? What is she writing? I summarized my give-and-take experience with a note on the bill: "I had a fabulous day. Thank you for the great lunch and service that helped make it wonderful." **A Video Interlude** Louie Schwartzberg is a cinematographer, director and producer best-known for time-lapse photography. I first saw his TED presentation a week ago and it became a favorite. After viewing it again tonite, the video within, "Happiness Revealed" (starts 3:45min) is a 6 minute video version of my feelings of Stanley Park. In the future, if I do not get to the park, I'm going to watch this video. WATCH VIDEO |