FIFTEEN YEARS OF QUIETUDE

What a blessing quietude is. Being able to sleep at night undisturbed by booming car stereos and flatulent vehicles is becoming a rarity these days. Thanks to the sovereignty of God, I have enjoyed peace in a rural setting for the past fifteen years.

I used to live in Edmonton, the capital city of the province of Alberta. The first twenty-three years weren't too bad but the last seven were miserable. Churlish people moved in next door so after almost three years of their noise, I moved. The condo was even worse so after eight months, I moved to an adult-only high rise. The suites were being converted to condos so there was always the noise of renovations going on. I moved nine months later to the main floor of a house and discovered that the neighbours were running a vehicle towing service out of their home. I endured their idling trucks and parties for almost three years before I moved again.

God providentially answered my prayers in June of 2000. I had received a large pay-out from the government because its clerks had been underpaid. A house in the hamlet of Radway was in the perfect location. As I prayed, it was on the outskirts of town with no close neighbours. At the time, there was a store, a drug store, and the Greyhound bus came through the hamlet daily. By the Lord's providence, everything fell into place.

Apart from those annoying magpies, I've lived in perfect quietude. Though the store and drugstore are gone, I now get rides on the Thorhild County bus with some seniors. The Greyhound bus doesn't come here anymore but I go with the New Horizons Seniors club and the seniors from Newbrook to shop in Londonderry Mall at least once a month. Transportation is still a big problem for me to obtain but I'd rather live out here than back in Edmonton.

Why do I feel this way? Living here is like being on a permanent writing retreat, minus the other writers of course. I can do my work without having my thoughts disturbed by some idiot who figures the entire neighbourhood needs to hear his favourite tunes. Being close to nature also inspires me. Even though the sewage lagoon sometimes stinks up the town when the wind blows from the southeast, I'd rather be here than in Edmonton with its exhaust and barbecue fumes.

I wrote at length about my move to the country in a book called How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. You can read more about it at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell's Books.

NO TRAINS TO DERAIL MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT

I miss trains. There was a time here in Alberta when every little town was connected by rail. People rode trains to the cities to visit their doctors and get shopping done. Students visited home often on weekends or during college breaks. Trains which passed through the Rocky Mountains had a car with an observation deck so people could appreciate the grandeur of the scenery.

When I lived in Fort Saskatchewan during the early sixties, I rushed to the classroom emergency exit to watch the train go by. These big machines rumbling through town and blowing their whistles fascinated me. My teacher once remarked, "You act as if you haven't seen a train before."

During summer holidays, I stood near the tracks as freight trains rolled past. Diane, my sister and close friend, sometimes joined me. We counted the cars and tried to read what was painted on the sides as the rolling stock rushed past.

Sometimes the train would stop. Fortunately for all concerned, Diane and I heeded Mom's admonition not to crawl between the cars. Her graphic stories of children losing arms, legs, and even their lives acted as a profitable restraint against the foolish urge to try something stupid.

When I moved to Radway, a small hamlet an hour north-northeast of Edmonton in 2000, the train passed through at least once a week.  What memories it evoked each time it happened. Even when the train came in the middle of the night, I still felt nostalgic for those halcyon days of my youth when the passing of trains were a wonderful excuse to stand next to the tracks.

Owing to a grain elevator fire in 2009, the train no longer comes through the town. Even the siding where excess rolling stock was parked now sits abandoned. The once-gleaming rails now are rusting unused.

I mentioned the train passing through Radway in How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. This engaging memoir of God's awesome providence is available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.

FOURTEEN YEARS OF PARADISE

Today marks the fourteenth anniversary of my moving away from the noise and lousy neighbours of Edmonton. After much prayer, I put a bid on a house in Radway. By God's grace, I've had more than just a quiet place to live. This home has been my sanctuary from the dread of what inconsiderate neighbours would do next.

Back in 1993, a family of churlish people moved next door to the house I had bought in Edmonton. Whenever I complained about their dogs and their sun inviting noisy kids over, they became increasingly hostile. Because of the two years of constant tension and worry of what stupid stunt they'd pull next, I decided to sell my bungalow and move to a condominium. From what I heard, they had strict rules about dogs and noise.

Was I ever in for a rude awakening. The cars in the parking lot were close to each unit and their noise as they warmed up drove me mad each morning. The rumble of traffic from two main thoroughfares also grated on my nerves. Even the furnace bothered me. When it ran, it sent a loud hum through the entire unit.

One of the condo owners was an amateur mechanic. I often had to listen to him revving car engines as I tried to concentrate on my freelance writing. This man became hostile when I suggested he stop repairing cars and turn down their radios as he worked. The condo board president was of little help in convincing him to stop too.

I thought going back to renting would be a good idea as apartments for adults have strict rules against noise. I was horribly mistaken. The high rise apartment building  vibrated like a tuning fork with every car which drove past it. Furthermore, the apartments were being sold as condos. This meant that the new owners were renovating their new homes day in and day out.

Moving to the main floor of a rental house didn't help me find a quiet place to write either. The next door neighbours ran a tow truck company from their home. Large diesel vehicles often vibrated the house from one end to another as their owners ate supper or lounged around at home. Those tow truck owners became huffy when I asked them to turn down the loud music in their backyard and when I complained to the bylaw officer about their monstrously-big flat bed truck.

What a wonderful change it was for me when I moved to Radway. This house I bought is on the edge of town and I have no close neighbours. I'm across the tracks from the hamlet and there's a farmer's field behind me. Apart from magpies in the warmer weather, I'm not bothered by much anymore. Writing is so much more pleasant now that I have the solitude and the peaceful surroundings to inspire me.

I wrote in more detail about this wondrous gift of God to me in How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. It's for sale at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.

THE EVOCATIVE SCENT OF COAL SMOKE.

Why do certain scents bring back strong memories? I'm told it's because part of our brain associates smells with events. Scientists suppose it's a hold-over from our primitive ancestors. To me, it's a way to effectively catalogue experiences.

One of my favourite scent/memory pairings is the faint odour of coal smoke and the memory of an old friend's shack. Scotty, as everybody called him, was a bachelor who lived on some undeveloped land in my home town of Fort Saskatchewan. Being elderly, he was like a foster grandfather to my sister and me.

We grew so fond of this kindly gentleman that we helped him with his chores. One of those was hauling coal in from his shed. Diane and I often squabbled over who would get to do the coveted chore.

On some winter afternoons, Diane and I visited Scotty on our way home from school. His stove, the only source of heat, radiated a welcoming warmth as we squatted next to it. Watching the flames and glowing embers through its air vents gave me a feeling of contentment that a forced air furnace never could.

As I wrote in Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), our beloved old friend passed away during a stormy winter night in 1964. His door blew open as he slept and ended his time on earth. I felt deeply saddened when Mom and Dad broke the news to me. Having never known either of my grandfathers, Scotty was the only senior adult who I related to then.

One of the houses here in Radway has a coal furnace, The scent of the smoke on the winter wind fills me with nostalgic memories as I walk to the post office and back home. My mind fills with images of my old friend, his cosy shack, and the winter afternoons Diane and I spent there.

TEN WONDERFUL YEARS OF SOLITUDE.

Living here in this tiny prairie hamlet has been like a permanent writer's retreat for me. It was an answer to my many anguished prayers for a quiet place near a small town that had a grocery store and a post office. Though I miss being able to take a city bus to any shop I desire, I wouldn't trade this three bedroom house for any in Edmonton.

Since moving from the noise-ridden metropolis, which had been my home for almost thirty years, I have written many freelance articles. My two memoirs were also "penned" here and self-published by a Calgary company called Blitzprint.

From my first book, When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), here is a brief account of how I arrived in this writer's paradise.

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Poor Gideon had to stay in his cage for most of that eagerly anticipated day on which I moved to Radway. Pastor Doug arrived at ten o'clock that morning with his black pickup truck and we hauled about five loads of furniture and boxes into it while my little prince fumed in his prison. Gideon just couldn't understand why he suddenly wasn't allowed to roam free in his accustomed way.

My bunny, his cage and litter were taken on the last trip that evening. I worried that he'd stress in the carrier, which we had put in the truck cab, but the hour-long trip didn't bother him too badly. Maybe he'd given up being free by that time.

Doug left my place a little after midnight and I was so weary from hauling things that I put Gideon's cage in the bathroom, placed his litter box by the tub and gave him his pellets. Once again he went into his head-bobbing routine. He periscoped and put his paws on the tub and toilet, trying to get a better view of the new place.

I was about to lock Gideon in the cage again when I realized I could contain him in the room. It was about five feet by twelve and he had plenty of space. Bathrooms are great places to keep rabbits in because there aren't many things they can chew on or ruin with urine.

As I went to sleep, I marvelled at the sound of frogs croaking outside my window, instead of the rumble of traffic and the thud, thud of stereos to which I was accustomed.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt like a child at the start of summer vacation. I was free of the city racket and I actually slept without earplugs for the first time in years.

As soon as I was out of bed, I visited Gideon. He had enjoyed the night and to my delight, he used his litter box where I'd placed it. I feared he'd pee somewhere inconvenient, like in the doorway where I'd step in it.

Though I was extremely busy unpacking, I let Gideon explore the laundry room that was next to the bathroom. It was about the same shape and size, and the appliances weren't installed yet. Gideon had a great time conquering that area. In addition to his periscoping, he kept hopping between the bathroom and laundry room as if he were memorizing the route.

My little prince seemed delighted to have two new rooms to call his own and I videoed him putting his paws on things and hopping around. My bunny boy's innocent happiness gladdened my heart and made the chore of unpacking that much easier.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), my second memoir, are available at the InScribe writers group site. I hope to have my third, and most likely final, memoir called How I Was Razed published by the end of this year.

The day I knew God got it.

Throughout most of my life, various Sunday school teachers and radio preachers gave me the impression that we had to lobby God relentlessly with our prayers before he would give us our daily bread, let alone do anything nice for us. Dickens' Mr. Scrooge seemed positively generous compared to the tight-fisted creator they portrayed. Worse yet, certain legalistic church elders taught me that I didn't receive the sight I prayed so earnestly for because I had hidden sin, a lack of faith, or ancestral sin blocking the way. That all changed on June 18, 2000 when God lovingly answered one of my most heartfelt prayers, disproving the blasphemous assumptions of my former teachers. The following is adapted from my upcoming memoir, How I Was Razed, a story of my years in a cult church and my eventual discovery of the real God..
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I sighed with pleasure as the long day of moving into the new house finally ended. As I lay in bed, I marvelled at hearing a chorus of frogs instead of the maddening rumble of Edmonton's traffic. "Thanks so much Heavenly Father for your awesome kindness to me," I prayed. I drifted off to the amphibian serenade and for the first time in four years, I slept without ear plugs. Waking up the next morning, I felt as jubilant as a child on the first day of summer vacation. "Thanks for today and this wonderful house, Heavenly Father," I rejoiced as I leapt out of bed. After racing to the bathroom and checking on my bunny, Gideon, to see if the move still upset him, I opened all the windows to let in the June breezes and then ate breakfast. The serenity of my new neighbourhood astonished me afresh as I munched my cereal. Everything I prayed for, God provided. I had asked for a place outside of a town, with no nearby neighbours, and with amenities. Now I lived in a three bedroom home in Radway, the sort of place that I had yearned so long and hard for. "Thanks Heavenly Father that you get it," I exclaimed as I walked to the kitchen window and admired the sunlit trees in the neighbouring field. "You actually get it about me. This place is a miracle. I used to think that you didn't care about my feelings but here's the proof," I said as I slapped my right hand on the counter. My eyes filled with tears of joy and relief as I realized how completely the Lord understood my need for quietude.
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God still hasn't given me 20/20 vision but I see much better spiritually than all those physically sighted blind guides of the blind who once judged and condemned me. I hope to have How I Was Razed in print next year. In the meantime, please check out Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) and When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) at the Inscribe Writers Group site. The page has descriptions of my books, pictures of their front covers, and PayPal buttons for your ordering convenience.