It’s a little late in coming today, I know. AND I have absolutely no excuse. None what-so-ever (that the blog entry is late). But here it is…a blog entry for my Dad.

And now, I am just going to take this moment to tell the world I love my Dad. We had our ups and downs and for awhile in the late 1990s, and we weren’t talking. But we figured it out. And we are talking now. And we actually have a pretty good relationship. He’s a real person. That’s what I like so much about my Dad. He’s real. He doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not. He doesn’t apologize for who he is. He just is.

One summer when I was home for my parent’s 40th wedding anniversary, we were talking about what (and maybe who) people believe in. And he stood at the kitchen counter and looked over at me and said: “Jennie. Know what I believe in?”

He motioned outside at Golden Horn Mountain. “I believe in those rocks.”
He motioned out another window, “I believe in those trees.”
He motioned out to the back yard, “I believe in your mother’s garden.”

That’s one of my favourite quotes from my Dad. “I believe in those rocks. I believe in those trees. I believe in your mother’s garden.”

I think his quote means that his beliefs are more tangible than most. He believes in what he knows exists. He knows that the mountain will be there tomorrow. It’s going to be a mountain tomorrow, standing as tall and firm and as steadfast as it’s ever been. He isn’t expecting that the mountain will be anything more than a mountain tomorrow. And the mountain is not expecting him to be anything more than he is today. Can you have a more healthy relationship?

The same with the trees. Respect the trees and they will respect you.

My mother’s garden. Now. I know how much they both work on my mother’s garden–so I don’t just think that the garden just belongs to my Mum. As much as they attend to and nourish that garden, it nourishes and attends to them back. In the brief growing season in the Yukon, they will harvest enough vegetables to get them through the summer and a good part of the winter.

So here’s what my Dad has taught me:

Believe in what you know exists. Believe in yourself. Know where your roots are and what you believe in. Be firm, strong, and steadfast in your beliefs. Don’t pretend to be somebody you’re not and don’t apologize for who you are. Have respect for others but don’t forget to respect yourself. And, give as much as you want to receive.

Oh. And laugh hard along the way.

Click here for all the blog entries about my Dad.

Charlie told me about an interview he once had. He’d been asked this question: If you were a piece of winery equipment, what would you be? He answered that he would be a pumpover device. I had to ask what a pumpover device was. Apparently, it’s the piece of equipment that pumps the wine over the skins in a fermentation tank.

And he had reasons for his answer. But I can’t articulate them, because I didn’t write them down when he told me and because I don’t have the vocabulary of the wine industry. But I thought about that question and wondered if I were a piece of equipment, what piece of equipment would I be?

I don’t feel like I can identify with any piece of office equipment. Especially in telecom. I guess that says something right there.

I sort of felt like I could be a big piece of JCB equipment (excavator maybe)… I feel more comfortable with that. But, in the end, I decided I completely identified with a Swiss Army knife.

If I were a piece of equipment, I think I would be a Swiss Army knife.

Small.
Compact.
Incredibly useful in any (or almost any) situation.
Functional.
Practical.
Low maintenance.
High performance.

I’m not talking about the all-in-one Swiss Army knife. I’m just talking about a regular one. The run-of-the-mill Swiss Army knife. The one you would throw in your backpack for an expedition. That’s me right now. At least, that’s what I was thinking on the way home after lunch.

A while ago, I blogged about being Chardonnay. I remember I liked that description. I’m still working on it.

The Swiss Army version of me would definitely have a corkscrew.

My friend and neighbour Paul Brasset has been a winemaker in Sonoma County for over thirty years. Over those thirty years, he has won the Sonoma County Sweepstakes award for his Chardonnay (more than once). He has recently started selling wines from his own cellars, but has started with only Syrah and Zinfandel. I asked him why he doesn’t sell a Chardonnay?

According to Paul, Chardonnay takes more. It takes more to grow the grapes. It takes more to harvest the grapes correctly. It takes more to process the grapes and create the wine. Chardonnay takes more energy. Chardonnay takes more refrigeration. Chardonnay takes more attention. It simply takes more to create a good Chardonnay. His Chardonnay leaves a clean, fresh, crisp palette. Unlike the robust, meaty, lingering palette of a Zinfandel, it takes more to be less.

When I heard this explanation, I decided that I was going to be Chardonnay. I was going to do more. I was going to be more. I was going to ask more (of myself and of other people). I was going to be a good Chardonnay. Clean. Crisp. Now.

When I tried this theory out on a few people, one person mentioned in an email:

>”…I wish you all the best with your quest to become
> chardonnay. When all you drink is fine wine it may
> seem as common as tapwater. Some prefer water to
> kool-aid. Some crave pure glacier water much more
> than kool-aid, or the finest of wines, chardonnay and
> champagne included…”

So, then I started thinking about my experiences with glaciers and glacier water. Now, I’ve been thinking I might aspire to be glacier water instead of Chardonnay. Here is what I think when I think about glacier water (based on specific visuals of the Dyea River, Skagway Alaska, the Yukon River and the Kluane River, Yukon Territory): Pure. Natural. Rich in minerals and nutrients (substantial but crystal clear). Earthy. Honest. Firm but fluid. Flexible. Travelling. Moving. Independent. Enduring. Essential. Real.

I tried my glacial water theory out on a few people. Yet another person considered that, effectively, I should be Chardonnay made from glacier water. Maybe I’ll open a winery in the Yukon…

In no particular order and being a work-in-progress…..one of my first blog entries EVER. Originally published 26 April 2005.

Choose life. Choose a lifestyle. Choose your friends. Choose family. Choose your future, your career, your adventures. Choose how you spend your days.

Choose spending your nights in a different place for six months. Choose the two-hour lecture in Spanish because you were trespassing in a tropical rainforest. Choose the back of a pickup in the sweltering heat of Central America, covered in dust, with nine other people because you are NOT chained to your desk creating mountains of information for the unaware, clueless victims.

Choose what makes you happy. Choose fun. Choose being involved. Choose your instruments. Choose your voice. Choose your rhythm. Choose pissing your nights away at Zebulon’s in Petaluma. Choose live music for the soundtrack for your life.

Choose the characters in your life. Choose constructive relationships, and connection, and intimacy. Choose honesty, integrity, and being a whole person. Choose emotional maturity. Choose chardonnay. Choose glacier water.

Choose health. Choose pushing yourself up the mountain until you explode from heat and exertion. Choose papasean chairs and pianos. Choose caution and curiosity and conversations. Choose poetry and books and movies. Choose moonlight paddles, and mulled wines, and music, and wildflowers. Choose your lovers. Choose kissing for hours.

Choose living. Choose being alive. Choose life.

As Lesley Choyce says in his poem Best Minds– “Ginsberg was right: ‘Holy supernatural extra-brilliant intelligent kindness of the soul”. Let me know if you like it. I’ll send you info on where to get the CD….