Helga's Heartlines
September 4, 1999
Newmarket, Ontario


The moment is something I've learned to live to the full, seizing the opportunity it presents to experience pure pleasure.... For instance, this afternoon, a holiday Monday, is already reason enough to be happy - I have the pleasure of being free to do what pleases me. Add to that, it's another great day to enjoy the great outdoors. The forecast is hot, hazy, and humid, typical for this time of year, that is, as far as our Canadian weather can claim predictability. These are conditions common to complain about, but, for me, the sun is out, so naturally I'm going out. My backyard beckons.

As a prelude, I survey the neighborhood on all perimeters from the upper deck. It looks like everything is locked up tight, no sign of anyone. Probably gone north to cottage country or the CNE. Perfect. I can really trip out. With a bulging tote bag in one hand, and Ginger, my golden Cocker Spaniel, in tow in the other, I hurry down to the garden to make the most of the situation. Before long, I'm strategically situated in partial shade on a chaise lounge, catching the breezes along with the rays. From this vantage I contemplate my treasured tea roses, the perennial flowerbed, and the luxuriant, cascading Virginia Creeper which drapes along the fence and provides a splendid backdrop for the rock garden.

I easily follow the comings and goings to the bird feeders and birdbath. Goldfinch, purple finch, and mourning dove grace me with sweet sounds and entertaining antics. A pair of tiny yellow birds takes turns hanging from the upside-down finch feeder; one of them suddenly flies straight toward me. It hovers, momentarily, almost in my grasp, and finally lands nearby on a branch of Reine des Violettes, a favorite Victorian-era climbing rose. This bushy, fragrant beauty has lately made an assault up the wall trellis and is within reach of the second story windows. I feel a deep satisfaction. Everything I gaze upon has my hand in it, the miraculous results of a labor of love.

Too soon, I am going to miss all this. I live for the season. More so, with every year that passes.... Notions of Southern Living suddenly make me thirsty. The dog, too? Time for some refreshment. Within minutes, I have the zippered tote bag unloaded and partake of its' precious cargo. Ahhh.... Sipping from a long-stemmed, oversized goblet of chilled white wine, I grab a handful of munchies with cheese, and crank up the volume on the boom box. Ginger likes ice cubes along with her water so I toss several in her direction. She lunges after a piece, manages to get a grip on the slippery thing with her teeth. There's a loud crack, then the sounds of contented crunching. "That's the ticket - eh, puppy?" Preoccupied, she wags her bobbed tail barely perceptibly. I reach over and give her an affectionate pat, my adorable Barbie dog, my boon companion on these bouts of R & R.

The treats having been consumed, or melted, she soon settles into relaxation mode close by - in supine position with fine feathery limbs and long silky ears splayed. Body language says it all. She obviously knows how to take contentment to the heights.

I take the cue from her. You think I can't be more comfortable? I roll up my jeans shorts and hike them high around my thighs, then push down my tube top a few more inches to show some cleavage. Might as well even out my tan lines. I'm almost set - just a minor adjustment of the recliner a couple of notches so I can stretch out. Okay. There we are....

Now for my newest CD - a real oldie - The Best of CCR. It's a double; two Discs, twenty-eight hits. I play the second Disc first. Finally, I lean back, close my eyes, and lose myself in those wonderful, pulsating, undulating, evocative rhythms. Credence Clearwater Revival - great or what? Takes me back to my salad days and evokes the South at the same time. Here it comes, the third song. John Fogerty belts, Born on the Bayou, quite possibly the best of The Best.... The number fades out before I reel myself back into the here and now.

What's happening? Looks like somebody's up on a ladder at a nearby property painting the outside window trim. Where did he come from? Who is he? Squinting, I can't be sure. So much for privacy. Oh, well...might as well get used to it.... I return to my Southern reverie, augmented by the wafting of the wind chimes and The Best... background music.

There is a sudden ruckus. Excited barking interrupts my reminiscence. A deep voice calls out my name. Startled, I bolt upright and shield my eyes against the sun's glare, trying to distinguish the shadowy figure standing there in his own light. Tall, heavyset, looming largely, he moves swiftly in front of me. Several anxious seconds elapse, then, thankfully, recognition. The would-be intruder is enjoying himself immensely - booming with laughter - at my expense. I pretend outrage:

"Burt! You devil! What are doing scaring me half to death? The nerve! Ginger! Get him! Attack!" She wags her tail ferociously and sidles up with neck extended so he can stroke her head. Some guard dog.

He, teasing, “Now, how did I know I was going to find you out here…I happened to be in the neighborhood…thought I might as well check it out...” Giving me the once over, he adds with a wide grin, “My…aren’t we a sight for sore eyes…. Are we having a good day, Helga?”

“Absolutely. Could it be otherwise? ... Actually I’m not really here…I’ve gone to heaven…but, I’ll come back just for you, Burt…good to see you.” Can I offer you something to drink? Beer? Wine?”

“Well, I can’t stay long…. I’ll join you for a glass of wine...

“So, how’ve you been? What’s happening with you? Tell me everything -” I blurt out anxiously, eager for news. The man leads an exciting life and he knows a lot of people. He makes himself comfortable in the ‘spring’ chair – best seat in the house and my favorite – and proceeds to entertain me with his exploits and the latest gossip about our mutual acquaintances, along with intimate details of some characters I’ve never heard of. Interesting stuff. A good thing I’ll never have occasion to run into most of these people – I won't be able to keep a straight face. Eventually, he checks his wristwatch, pauses, sets down his empty tumbler, and rising slowly, straightens to his full height, a towering six-foot-two:

“Too bad I have to leave so soon…I’d love to stay longer. It’s real nice back here…the company’s not bad either.”

For that, I reach up on tiptoes (he’s only a foot taller) and plant a peck on his cheek, as I see him off.

“You big teddy bear…if I were ever to be mauled by a bear, I would want it to be you.”

Pretending to leer, he pats me on the shoulder, then gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Me too.”

Again, his hearty laughter. Good ‘ol Burt. He breezes in and he breezes out. In his own way, though, he’s extremely reliable, a solid friend. The quiet soon settles in again. After a while I turn up the music. Where was I...? Somewhere along the South Carolina Coast as I recall.

A flurry of chirping and squawking abruptly brings me back to the present. Home sweet home. There's a black squirrel scampering along the back fence, chattering as (he)? chases the birds away. (He)? has his eyes on the sunflower seeds. Wily little creatures, aren't they? You've got to give them a lot of credit. These appealing-looking rodents manage to thrive in our environment, and tiny though their minds may be, they know how to outsmart most of us. Have we actually invented a squirrel-proof bird feeder yet?

My new neighbor leans over the railing of his upstairs deck. He must have just got home. I wave and he waves back.

"Hey, Helga - that's some great music you're playing...."

"Ya? You like it...? You're sure you don't mind...?

It's not too loud for you? I can turn it down..."

"Not at all...Love it"

He has a friend with him, I see. They do their thing, and I go back to mine, with time out to refresh myself and replenish Ginger's ice water. The final strains of Disc One ebb away while I bask in filtered sun and enjoy the view.

Suddenly, another commotion. There's Zachary - my proud, portly, domestic longhair - I call him Macho Man for his 'cattitude' - in a standoff with the neighborhood tabby, who seems to prefer this yard to his own. My guy is very territorial, hence much sound and fury, and what to these ears resemble death threats, but there'll be no war waged today. The interloper is in full flight, up and over the fence in a flash. Ginger, the blond cheerleader, participates with rousing enthusiasm from the safety of the deck.

The CD having finished, what do I do for an encore? Will I listen to CHFI, "Toronto's Most Listened To Radio Station", or play another CD? Still on my Southern bent, why not something with a little different flavor - another Best... - black soul singer, the Reverend, Al Green. The sound is a marvelous mix, rollicking and mellow, both. It sends tingles of pleasure down my spine every time he hits those high notes. I decide at this point to delve into a little light reading I've brought along for the occasion. Soon, I'm absorbed in a stirring saga from the 19th Century. A voice call out:

"Hello there."

I look up. On a nearby deck another neighbor has a visitor, whom I recognize. He's somewhat younger, nice-looking.

"Helga, I hope you don't mind...I just have to ask...WHAT are you reading, there? That's a BIG book! What is it? The History of the World?"

I burst out laughing. "Not quite." For me, it might as well be - the next best thing. "You're close - The History of the American Civil War."

He seems as bemused, as I am amused.

"You think this one's big? It's part of a trilogy." I'm sure my comments have him wondering about me. He must think I'm pretty peculiar....

"I see.... ...You mean a passion?"

With a wide grin: "Ya. One of them." (A big one.)

"Like those flowers - and your cute little dog."

I laugh again. Our eyes meet, hold, for a moment. We exchange smiles. There it is - that marvelous man/woman thing. Ahhh - That it is ever thus.... With a friendly wave, I resume my reading and he resumes his visit with my neighbor, who is, after all, the intended object of his attentions. Today, in more ways than one, I feel like I am the Center of the World....

Eventually, I glance at my watch. Hours have gone by. Where does the time go? I want to hang onto this day. Back to the moment. Freeze-frame it. Imprint it. Inevitably, the sun sinks lower, soon to slide behind a neighbor's rooftop. Thankfully, I face West. I'm not ready to let it go, yet.

I am a born sun-worshipper, though, I admit, I have a healthy respect for its' powers. It's true, we can't really get along without ozone...what are we going to do about that? Even so, the sun is not an enemy. It brings me joy. I don't buy into all the hype about how bad it is for us. More likely, we suffer for the lack of it, especially at this lattitude. For me, it has healing and energizing properties. I feel I have to store it up, like a camel, to get me through the next six months of sunlight deprivation. SAD - Is that the acronym for the syndrome?

Slowly, reluctantly, I pack up my gear, fold up my lawn furniture, and collect my little dog. I take one last turn around the garden and check my beauties - English Rose, Fair Bianca; Hybrid Teas, Tiffany, Peace, Double Delight, the handsome Mr. Lincoln. I've had an absolutely wonderful afternoon. Therapeutic, the day-to-day cares and stresses in my life, including those of the wider world, have miraculuously melted away. My senses, mind, memory, emotions - all have been engaged - without undue effort and without needing anyone.

I'm there. I'm alone and I'm at peace with it. I know what it means to enjoy my own company and fall back on my own resources for amusement. I suppose you could say I'm a hedonist in the truest sense; I believe in pleasure - personal and shared - as one of life's guiding principles.

I can't help smiling to myself when I think of the inevitable question, "What did you do on the Holiday?" Everything, and nothing. I was an armchair voyager and a time traveler, who covered over two thousand captivating miles, and I never left my beloved back yard. Eastern philosophy emphasizes "being," over "doing," and I believe that is putting it right, at least, in the right sequence. Once you know how to be, you will know what to do. You will not spin your wheels in mindless, empty, self-defeating activities or negative, unhealthy associations. Life is already too short to spend too much of it that way. Life is too short when you love it.


~ Helga Marion Ross ~

Copyright 1997