Nothing but the trout …

So help me Cod

In many families, there is a character who is larger than life. Our family had such a character in my oldest brother, Dan. He was not perfect. He was not infallible, but our memories of him are perfect and delightful. His personality was definitely larger than life, with storytelling abilities, a quick and raucous laugh at a good joke, and some of the funniest quirks and sayings I’ve ever known a person to have.

For example, whenever he cared for a group of nieces and nephews, he would inevitably call them to attention at some point and bark the question, “What’s the boiling point of mercury?” And every one of them needed to have the answer ready to call out. Although it might been a bit daunting at the time, this exercise is remembered fondly.

Side Note:  This week’s blog post features promised photographs of the annuals I planted recently.  They are beginning to fill in and I am super happy with them!  And, my zinnia seedlings are coming up … so exciting!

The summer my parents moved from California out of state to be closer to my older brothers and their families, Dan decided to fly out one weekend to help with the last stages of the move. My daughter and I went to LAX to pick him up at the airport, and wouldn’t you know, there was a bomb threat that very morning at LAX.

The roads into and out of the airport were closed, so people were being shuttled from the airport on buses to staging areas where family and friends could pick them up. As you can imagine, the roads to those staging areas were jammed**, back-to-back**, without any movement for a long time.

The situation was particularly worrisome because we were on a tight schedule**, needing** to pick up the moving truck, get it loaded**, and be** on the road by Monday morning. There remained quite a lot of work to do at my parents’ house because they had not finished packing, so we weren’t even ready to start loading the truck.

As we were waiting for the line of cars to move, off in the distance, we saw a lone figure walking alongside the line of cars. As the figure got closer, my daughter could make out what looked like a rather large tummy, and she said it sure looked like Dan. And, of course, it was. As he came nearer, we could clearly see it was our wonderful, larger-than-life Dan trudging along with his suitcase in the hot LA air, saving the day. That was what he was determined to do when he decided to fly out and make the last part of the big move happen.

We were able to ditch that line of cars and head home, and it was just a great “Dan” moment in time.

At my parents’ home, when we all gathered to work, there he was … dressed like Rambo: a red bandana tied around his head, a big t-shirt with a fish printed on it and the words “The trout, the whole trout, and nothing but the trout … so help me cod,” and thick, bright chili pepper suspenders holding up his cargo shorts. His presence buoyed our spirits and inspired us all to bring on that big, last burst of energy needed to finish packing, get the truck loaded, and be ready to hit the road within two short days.

That was Dan.

He could act quite gruff but was actually tenderhearted and loving. What we remember of him is his hearty laugh, uproarious jokes, tall tales, and many acts of kindness. One of the kindest gifts he ever gave me was a spontaneous reading of a Christmas story I wrote. That year, I had no money for gifts for my family, so I wrote a Christmas story, “The Story of Christmas Joe,” and made booklets of it. Then I made gift boxes for each family containing homemade marshmallows, homemade hot cocoa mix, and a dozen or so homemade chocolate chip cookies, along with the book.

It was a modest but heartfelt gift, and Dan, seeing that I was a little uncertain about its reception, took his family’s copy of the book and started reading the story out loud dramatically in such a way that the character, Christmas Joe, seemed to come to life.

I’ll never forget that reading or the love and kindness behind it. As it turned out, that was the last Christmas we would ever have with Dan.

What got me thinking about Dan this morning was a conversation with my daughter about faith and how I was recently thinking about comparing faith to learning how to ride a bike.

I heard a physicist on a podcast talking about his experiences tapping into a greater consciousness beyond the realm of scientific thinking he was accustomed to. That kind of conversation is right up my alley because of my own experiences and beliefs.

At some point, he said matter-of-factly that the greater consciousness had nothing to do with spirituality, and that surprised me. I believe it has everything to do with spirituality, but I realize that, as a physicist, his view (I’m not saying this would be true for all physicists, but I do think it’s true for that physicist) is that everything can and must be defined and experienced in the physical realm because that is what science can prove.

“Proof” … that’s where faith comes in. This is my favorite definition of “faith”: “firm belief in something for which there is no proof.” You know, the year I met and married my husband was one of the most profoundly spiritual periods of my life.

It started the year before, when Dan was dying of lung cancer. His illness was sudden and swift, but the entire family was blessed with a two-week window of time to be by his side, give our love, and say our goodbyes.  I don’t want to get into all of the details of that experience because it is too precious and personal, but being with him then and being of service to him at that time ushered in heightened spirituality that continues to this day.

I remember clearly in early 2006 standing in the kitchen of a house where I was renting a room, looking out the window, and having a powerful feeling that I would be married by spring. There was no reason to believe that was true. No proof. But I decided right then to have unquestioning faith in the prophecy. I even said to myself, “It doesn’t make sense, I don’t even have a boyfriend, but I’m going with this on faith.” And on April 29, 2006, I was married and heading to this farm in New York.

The physicist I heard on that podcast would likely come up with some explanation in the physical world, based 100% on physical realities, that would prove to him and those who would listen that there was nothing spiritual about my prophecy, my faith in it, or the fact that it came true.

That doesn’t matter to me. It was spiritual, and I have absolutely no proof whatsoever that it was. It was something I took 100% on faith. I felt it in my bones, so to speak, in the innermost depths of who I am. I am a spiritual being, and that is where my faith resides.

My faith is me. And I will never need any proof from any source in the physical world to know with complete certainty that I am what I am, as Popeye would say—lol.

So, what does this have to do with riding a bike, and how does it tie back to my wonderful, larger-than-life brother?

As I was contemplating faith after that podcast, in my mind I compared experiencing faith to the never-forgotten-once-learned experience of riding a bike. You know that wonderful, magical split-second moment when you first feel the “balance” of riding a bike—once you’ve experienced it just one time, you never forget (barring potential loss due to brain injury or cognitive decline).

I believe it’s the same with faith— the faith that does not rely on proof. Once you have an experience of pure faith—firmly believing in something for which there is no proof whatsoever— once you feel that, you will always have the ability to be a person of faith. I don’t think you lose it, much as you don’t lose the ability to ride a bike. Faith can be shaken, just as confidence in your bike-riding balance can be shaken, but you still know exactly what it feels like to experience true, pure faith based only on faith itself.

So, what does this have to do with my brother Dan?

Well, while I was speaking with my daughter about my connecting faith with bike riding, I told her about how Dan had been the dad in their neighborhood who taught all the kids how to ride bikes. He was especially good at doing that, and parents would bring their kids to him so he could work his bike-riding magic. Then we got into talking about what a wonderful man he was, and how much larger than life he became as time went on.

And this brings me full circle to my wonderful oldest brother … the man, the myth, the legend, and how the last part of his life created such an impact on the best part of mine through a never-ending series of spiritual, faith-based experiences that changed everything for me.  It is all tied up in faith.

I love the subject of faith, I don’t think I could contemplate it too much because it is such a beautiful experience, and I look forward to indulging in it over and over again throughout the remainder of my life … and beyond!

Until next time, this is … ~firefly, out.