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“Watching alone by the ancient city wall, / Thinking of one who was too beautiful, / What did I see? What did I hear?

“Moonlight, quivering over empty courtyards, / A voice calling out of the midnight shadows. / One name, her name, echoes across the silence. / Light feet, her feet, in shoes of peacock feathers, / Dance through the empty halls. Will they never rest?

“Thinking of joys that ended and sorrows which never end / I find my white robe spangled with tears for her.” Thinking Of Lady Yang At Midnight by an Anonymous writer (c. 1100-1150) translated by Jean S. Grigsby and included in the collection, World Poetry: An Anthology of Verse from Antiquity to Our Time, edited by Katherine Washburn and John S. Major. the collection was published by the Quality Paperback Book Club, New York.

Shoes of peacock feathers? I don’t know if the idea would catch on today. My father would have preferred fine leather…

We have every style of shoe imaginable today for sale. Sport shoes for those who run, hike and walk. Dress shoes for every fancy occasion. Sandals so our toes can experience the warm summer breeze and the sensation of sand between them when we walk the beach. We have safety shoes for those who work on construction sites. No longer are they merely functional and clumsy; they’re also easy to wear and still offer the protection needed. It’s not such a stretch to consider a wardrobe of shoes like a closet filled with clothing for all moods and occasions. Imelda Marcos took her obsession with shoes to the extreme, but there are some people who yearn to collect beautiful footwear.

My father spent his life in the leather business. He could look at any pair of shoes and tell you all about the leather that went into their making.

I remember going into the office with him in my youth when he needed to finish a project he was working on. That office would seem almost archaic by today’s standards, more a museum piece than functional workspace. His office included manual typewriters, electric adding machines, blotters on well-polished wooden desks and rotary dial phones. There was no air conditioning, either. The windows in his office opened to let in a breeze during summer.

His brother worked as the night watchman for the plant. If my father needed quiet to get his work finished, I would go with my uncle on his rounds through the factory complex. He carried a special recorder that needed to have a key inserted at every one of the watch station he passed on his rounds. There were mice in the deep, dark corners of the factory. I could hear them scurrying away as he and I entered the cavernous rooms. The machinery was deafening during the day when the plant was filled with workers, but strangely quiet at night. When my father had put his books and ledgers away, he would drop by my uncle’s office to take me home. He often found me putting out some of my uncle’s lunch on the windowsill for the raccoons that always came by for a meal.

My business has changed so much throughout the years, from 45’s and commercials on carts, to digital audio tape and then cds, and finally to computer systems. A lot has changed in this world, but the process of making fine leather is still basically the same. Even years after my father retired, he still retained his passion for the business that he lived for so many years.

I mention all of this because my father was born during the month of August. He passed on fifteen years ago before both my children were born. When we take my children for back-to-school shopping and shoes are on the list, I can’t help but think of him and all that he taught me about fine shoe leather.

***

Don Jackson

Tonight on the program, the origin of something very mysterious that takes place every August called “Cat Nights.”

I must admit that I’m more a dog person than I am a cat person. I grew up with both as family pets. We had a cat by the name of ‘Toby‘ when I was small. He was jet-black except for a white ‘bow-tie’ beneath his chin. We never saw very much of ‘Toby‘ at this time of the year. He would ask to be let out at night and would sometimes disappear for days. My mother and father often feared the worst had happened when he would not be at the door the next morning. I can only imagine where his ’soirees” were spent. When he was home, he would wander off to hide under some piece of furniture. He was stereotypical of the definition of ‘aloof’. Indifferent to his human hosts, he decided when it was time for a back-rub and when it was feeding time.

We also had a standard black poodle called ‘Princess’. She was always around and eager for attention. Any game was just fine with her. I don’t think we ever played frisbee with her, but she had toys that she knew to drop at our feet if we were busy with something other than her. Her favorite spot was beneath the big kitchen table. I was known to crawl under the table and lie down beside her from time to time.

My wife had a cat when we married. Her name was ‘Kimo‘. I don’t think I ever told you the story of our move here to Toronto from Montreal. I started on the air at CHFI in January of 1990. The day before New Year’s eve, we left at 7 in the evening to beat the moving van that would be here early the next day. I was driving my little two-seater, a 1988 Toyoto supercharged MR2. (Look in a past blog called “981” for a picture of the first license plate this car had in Ontario.) We packed what we needed right away in my little trunk, and my wife sat beside me with the special cat-carrier on her lap. That drive, I will never forget. We ran through every imaginable form of bad weather on the drive between Montreal and here. Snow, rain, freezing rain. My car plowed through a few snowdrifts that the wind conveniently placed in my path. Since we were traveling late at night on long, dark stretches of highway, I wouldn’t see the drifts until we were almost upon them. Any other trip, I would have gladly pulled in at a roadside motel. We had to beat the moving van that needed the key to get in the front door of our house. Now, dogs love riding in cars. In summer, they love to hang their heads out through the open windows. One thing I learned very quickly: cats detest moving vehicles - especially in their inside one. That poor animal…She howled all the way. We had no other choice but to place her in the carrier fearing the terrible driving conditions. We all made it safely, though, at a little after 3 in the morning. A trip that normally takes about five hours in the car in good weather took us about eight that night. My nerves were frayed from the drive, and the cat. Over the course of the rest of her life, I never heard her ’sing’ like she did that night in the car. Sadly, she passed on some years back. We kept her collar, and every year at Christmas it has a special place on out tree.

For my all-time favorite feline, it’s a toss-up between Sylvester the cat and Garfield. Both were given human characteristics by their creators, and I often wonder if they were cat people. I still get a laugh when I watch one of those retro-cartoon channels and see Sylvester and his tormentor Tweety Bird. Garfield was Jon Arbuckle’s tormentor. I still get a chuckle from reading his antics in the Sunday paper.

We now have a little Schnoodle who is master of all she surveys. She’s been with us for eight years. A schnoodle is part-poodle, part-schnauzer. She looks like the latter, but has the soft fur of the poodle. Schnauzers are known for their wiry fur. Her game is not frisbee, but tug-of-war. All her toys are pull-toys, and she gives my arm quite the workout, I thought I would include a few of her photos tonight. She’s quite the ham in front of the camera…

At this time of the year, we think of the ‘dog days of summer’. Well, it’s now the time when cats are on the prowl more than usual, hence the term ‘cat nights’. But there is a very specific origin to all this that you’ll hear during my radio show tonight. In the meantime, consider this one last thought…

“Why do they call them dog days? These are obviously cat days. When the soft August breeze is just right, it seems to rub up against you with a purr. The late-gleaming sun, as the days get shorter, is golden as a cat’s eye. And then the elements can start spitting and yowling when you least expect it; The humidity returns and you feel as though a Manx were sleeping on your chest. Like the smile of the Cheshire, cat days come and go. Dog days just lie there waiting for you to take the initiative.” - The Christian Science Monitor, and featured in the August 1985 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine

***

Don Jackson

It will be a short blog tonight. My sister is dropping by to wish my son and daughter happy belated birthdays. It’s been a busy summer and she was unable to be there on their special days. So I’m going to spend a few minutes visiting before I have to drive in for tonight’s radio program.

I mention in tonight’s radio show that both their birthdays were rather subdued affairs compared to the big production numbers we’ve hosted when they were smaller. If you’re a parent I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. Invitations need to go out, a party place has to be reserved, transportation needs to be figured out and loot bags have to be purchased for all those in attendance. When I was small, the only one to receive a gift was the one celebrating the birthday. In this day and age, all the party-goers leave with a small token of appreciation for attending and celebrating the special day. It’s a great day for all who attend, and a tiring affair for the parents hosting the fun and games.

This past weekend, my son was pleased to spend his special day with a few of his hockey buddies. I’m relieved that things have calmed down somewhat. My daughter celebrates a major milestone birthday next year and we’re already talking plans for that special day. She certainly deserves a big bash since it’s been a quiet few years recently on her birthday.

Finances have to be a concern when planning these big parties. I’m sure they would like to invite every friend they’ve ever known, but it’s just not realistic. At the house parties my parents hosted, it was at least a possibility. My mother would bake a huge cake and there was enough homemade food to go around. Today hosting a huge party can be an expensive affair. Most parents keep the invitations to a manageable number, but my children have attended some in past years that were almost too large for the parents to handle.

There is always some friend who gets left out. In tonight’s radio show, there will be a knock at one door of these parties and a unexpected guest will be there with present in hand. It’s a true story and it raises some very important questions. Hindsight is 20/20. Knowing what you know now, as an adult looking back at your own parties in the past, I’m sure there were invitations you might now regret handing out, and others you wish you had included.

While you’re listening to this very poignant story that will conclude tonight’s program, I want you to remember your own celebrations. Looking back, is there one person you wish you could have invited or stayed in touch with? You’ll understand why I ask that question when you hear tonight’s radio show..

See you on the radio… 

***

Don Jackson

“Nothing worthwhile or long-lasting can be achieved without hard work. Former basketball great Bill Bradley once said his father would tell him, ‘Son, when you’re not out practicing, someone else is. And when you meet that person, he’s going to beat you.’” - Gary Franks from Searching for the Promised Land: An African American’s Optimistic Odyssey published by Harper Collins, and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the November 2002 Reader’s Digest

I never told my son that story. The truth is, I never had to. My son is a true athlete through and through. He’s always practicing, always trying to better himself at whatever sport he tries his hand at. He’s played hockey all his young life. Right from the first time he wanted to play road hockey he knew his place was in goal. He had a natural ability. When I bought him his first road hockey net and gear, it was like he was born to be the goalie. He had the moves down perfectly.

He was a late bloomer in learning to skate. A very good friend of mine was coach of a house league hockey team for my son’s age level. He knew my son’s passion for the game and asked me if he wanted to play ice hockey for real. I told him he’d never been on skates before. (I never learned to skate. We had a natural ice rink that formed every year on the property where I grew up. My father, an avid hockey player and ice skater, presented me with a pair of skates one Christmas. Every time I set out, my feet flew up in the air in front of me and I ended up flat on my back. After a few winters of bruises, I gave up on the idea of ever learning how to skate.)

My friend said that he could teach my son how to skate. I’ll never forget that night. He laced up a pair of skates loaned to him by the coach. It was an old pair that one of his son’s had grown out of. He stepped carefully out on the ice and took off like he’d been skating forever. The coach took off after him and told him he was doing well. Then he asked my son the most important question: “Do you know how to stop?” My son said, “No!” The boards at the far end of the rink were approaching rapidly. My friend explained the trick of stopping on skates. My son tried it - thankfully just in time. My son had a wonderful time skating for the rest of the time they were on the ice. Now, my son had roller blades and had no problems with balance. I’m sure that helped when he finally tried on a pair of ice skates.

My friend made him the team’s goalie right from the start of the season. He got a shut-out the first game he ever played. I helped out on the bench for that game, and it is a moment I will never forget.

He played house league hockey for a few years and then we made the transition to the Rep system. The first year he played ‘AE’. The second year, he jumped two levels to ‘AA’. Last year, during this past ‘AA’ season, he and the team’s other goalie helped the team to go on a 16-game winning streak. By the end of the regular season, they both had the best goals-against average in their league. This yeas, he’s back to playing ‘AE’, again through no fault of his own. Any hockey parent who has ever played in the Rep system will have an idea about what happened. He’s kept his skill-level up all summer playing ‘3-on-3′ hockey. Again, back to what I alluded to at the beginning of this blog, his work ethic is such that he wants to be the very best that he can be because he has big dreams for his future. His own ‘field of dreams’ is an ice-pad and a net at one end.

It all began with a road hockey net and pads bought on his 6th birthday that now seems so long ago in the past. I’ve since upgraded the net, but his 5th pair of road hockey pads are frayed and falling apart. It might be time for another set.

My son just celebrated a milestone birthday this weekend. These thoughts about his early hockey career ran through my mind as we celebrated his 13 years, with ice cream cake.

Happy birthday, son. We’re all so very proud of your accomplishments, on and off the ice.

***

your Dad….

“It was impossible to stay indoors. My room seemed too small to contain my happiness. I need the whole of nature to unbosom myself.”-An excerpt from ‘Camille’ by Alexandre Dumas.

We all seem to be in a mad rush today. I watch the cars and trucks flying by me on my way in to do this radio show every night. I always wonder where they’re going and why they seem in such a hurry to get there. I’m content to take my sweet time-unless I’m late for work, and then I’m right up there with them…

We spend our lives trying to fulfill our dreams, and when we finally get there we may be disappointed, that what we had in mind is not what it eventually turned out to be. I’m always reminded of that writing called “The Station” by Robert J. Hasting.

“Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long, long trip that almost spans the continent. We’re travelling by passenger trains, and out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on the nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flat-lands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls, of biting winter and blazing summer and cavorting spring and docile fall. But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station. There will be bands playing and flags waving. And once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true. So many wishes will be fulfilled and so many pieces of our lives will be neatly fitted together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering…waiting, waiting, waiting for the station. However, sooner or later we must realize there is no one station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us, ‘When we reach the station, that will be it!’ We cry. Translated it means, ‘When I’m 18, that will be it! When I buy a new Mercedes-Benz, that will be it! When I put that last kid through college, that will be it! When I have paid off the mortgage, that will be it! When I win a promotion, that will be it! When I reach the age of retirement, that will be it! I shall live happily ever after!’ Unfortunately, once we get ‘it’, then ‘it’ disappears. The station somehow hides itself at the end of an endless track. It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad. Rather, it is regret over yesterday or fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who would rob us of today. So, stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more and cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.” My copy of this writing may not be complete, but you get the point..

“Maybe it’s best to treat happiness like a deer in the forest. Sometimes it will emerge from the woods and pay you a visit. But it dislikes undue attention. And if you chase it, it will run away.”-Phyllis Theroux from Parents Magazine and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the April 1995 Issue of the Reader’s Digest.

One philosopher said, “Trying to live a life filled with happy events is like trying to write a book with nothing but happy endings. We do enjoy the happy ending and read a book vividly to reach it. But, if the happy ending is not preceded by worries and anxieties, it is pointless. In life as well, there can be no happiness without a previous experience of need or unhappiness. To reach the ‘peak’, one must climb from the bottom.”

Margaret Lee Runbeck-20th-Century American writer-said, “Happiness is not a state to arrive at, but a manner of traveling.”

***

Don Jackson

In tonight’s radio program, I feature some rather important life lessons. I thought you might appreciate me posting them in my blog. They are ‘author unknown’ and were sent to me via e-mail some time back by a listener. If you ever do find out who wrote these, please let me know.

“Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back to normal after you’ve had a baby…/…Somebody doesn’t know that once you’re a parent, normal is history…

“Somebody said you learn how to be a parent by instinct… /…Somebody never took a three-year-old shopping…

“Somebody said being a parent is boring… / …Somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver’s permit…

“Somebody said if you’re a ‘good’ parent, your child will ‘turn out well’…/…Somebody thinks a child comes with directions and a guarantee…

“Somebody said ‘good’ parents never raise their voices…/….Somebody never came out the back door just in time to see his or her child hit a golf ball through the neighbor’s kitchen window…

“Somebody said you don’t need an education to be a parent…/….Somebody never helped a fourth grader with his math…

“Somebody said you can’t love the fifth child as much as you love the first…/….Somebody doesn’t have five children…

“Somebody said a parent can find all the answers to child-rearing questions in books…/….Somebody never had a child stuff beans up his nose…

“Somebody said a parent can stop worrying after his or her child gets married…/…Somebody doesn’t know that marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to their heartstrings…

“Somebody said your parents know you love them , so you don’t need to tell them…/….Somebody isn’t a parent…

“Somebody said a parent’s job is done when the last child leaves home…/…Somebody never had grandchildren…” - author unknown

***

Don Jackson

Getting home late allows me the opportunity to watch some of the competitions at this year’s 29th Olympiad in Beijing in real time.

I’ve always cherished this memory of a past competition that was shared by Diane Berke in the May/June 1998 edition of On Course magazine. I found this on the Internet so I can’t be sure of punctuation, but here goes. ”A few years ago, at the Seattle Special Olympics, nine contestants–all physically or mentally disabled–assembled at the starting line for the 100-yard dash. At the gun, all started out–not exactly in a dash–but with relish to run the race to the finish, and win. All–that is–except for one little boy who stumbled on the asphalt, tumbled over a couple of times and began to cry. The other eight heard the boy cry. They slowed down and looked back. Then they all turned around and went back. Every one of them. One girl with Down’s Syndrome bent down and kissed him and said: ‘This will make it better.’ Then all nine linked arms and walked together to the finish line. Everyone in the stadium stood, and the cheering went on for several minutes. People who were there are still telling the story. Why? Because deep down we know this one thing. What matters in life is helping others win–even if it means slowing down and changing our course.”

It’s a short race to the finish line, and it’s a short blog tonight.

“There’s nothing to fear–you’re as good as the best, / As strong as the mightiest, too. / You can win every battle or test; / For there’s no one just like you. / There’s only one you in the world today; / So nobody else, you see, / Can do your work in as fine a way: / You’re the only you there’ll be!

“So face the world, and all life is yours / To conquer and love and live: / And you’ll find happiness that endures / In just the measure you give; / There’s nothing too good for you to possess, / Nor heights where you cannot go: / Your power is more than belief or guess– / It is something you have to know.

“There is nothing to fear– you can and you will. / For you are the invincible you. / Set your foot on the highest hill– / There’s nothing you cannot do.”–Letting Go–Author Unknown.

A good writing for no matter the challenge you face in life…

***

Don Jackson

“We are all still romantics at heart. The romantics gave us back our moon, for instance, which science has taken away from us and made into just another airport. Secretly, we all want the moon to be what it was before - a mysterious, hypnotic light in the sky. We want love to be mysterious too, as it used to be, and not a set of psychotherapeutic rules for interpersonal relationships. We crave mystery even as we forge ahead toward the solution of one cosmic mystery after another.” - Leonard Bernstein in The Infinite Variety of Music published by Simon & Schuster, and featured in the Points to Ponder column on the March 1985 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine

And that’s the problem with growing into maturity: This world has a tendency of pulling the curtain back on just about every mystery. That’s part of the reason why we need to be spontaneous. My radio show tonight provides a few ways for you to be spontaneous in this well-ordered life. This blog contains some thoughts I’ve run across over the years.

“True enough, we all have obligations and duties toward our fellow men., But it does seem curious that in modern, neurotic society, men’s energies are consumed in making a living, and rarely in living itself. It takes a lot of courage for a man to declare, with clarity and simplicity, that the purpose of life is to enjoy it.” - Lin Yutang from The Pleasures of a Nonconformist published by World.

“Risk is essential. There is no growth or inspiration in staying within what is safe and comfortable. Once you find out what you do best, why not try something else?” - Alex Noble, and quoted in the Points to Ponder column on the March 1984 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine

“Freedom is being able to do what you please without considering anyone except your wife, the police, your boss, your life-insurance company, your doctor, your airline, government authorities and your neighbors.” - Martin Buxbaum from Table Talk, and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the March 1984 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine

“If we discovered that we had only five minutes left to say all we wanted to say, every telephone booth would be occupied by people calling other people to stammer that they loved them.” - Christopher Morley, and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the December 1983 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine

If that isn’t reason to be spontaneous, especially with those you love, then I don’t what is…

***

Don Jackson

I read an interesting article in the newspaper the other day. Among other things it dealt with how we may have been saved from a cataclysm by our outer solar system. The huge gas giants, Saturn and Jupiter, may have acted as the Earth’s first line of defence against being bombarded by something really big. They act as interceptors, their huge gravities pulling some of these objects off course and into their dense atmospheres. Being so large they also present a tantalizing target.

You might remember that spectacular show some years back on Jupiter. Cometary fragments were bombarding the largest planet in our system. Had any one of those fragments hit Earth the results would have been nothing short of catastrophic.

That’s not to say that one cometary fragment might escape the pull of these huge planets and continue on a collision course with some of the smaller, interior planets. We see evidence that some of the inner planets have been hit by large objects. Even our moon has signs of earlier collisions.l And our Earth hasn’t escaped unscathed through the millennia. It’s just that our Earth has a way of erasing the outward signs of these disasters.

I didn’t set out to make this blog all doom and gloom. Maybe it was the constant thunder for awhile today that set me on this course. We can’t bury our heads in the sand hoping that we will continue to be missed. Twice yearly, when we pass through sections of the sky where miniscule debris litters our orbit, we’re reminded that things could go awry. The ‘Tears of St. Lawrence” may be romantic to watch but they’re also a wake-up call for funding programs that are in place now. These are programs that help to keep a watchful eye on near-Earth objects that could tumble off course and veer toward us.

We need to be ever vigilant when we look up to the stars at night. That’s if we can ever see the nighttime sky through our perpetual summer cloud cover! We need astronomers, both professional and amateur, to keep a close eye for potential dangers and chart their progress. That way we can be somewhat prepared in the event that one of these objects strays a little too close for comfort.

We’ve been lucky for some time now, but that could change in a heartbeat…

***

Don Jackson

There recently was a film that starred Jim Carrey that dealt with the almost mystical qualities of the number “23.” It was a thriller that led you down many paths that would eventually converge in a surprise ending. People the world over have always been fascinated by the number “13,” for example, it holds superstitious fascination to many people in the Western world. Other numbers have importance to people in the far East. The number “Eight” is one of those numbers. And so when the 29th Olympiad is scheduled to begin on the 8th day of the 8th month of the 8th year in the new century, there is no such thing as coincidence.

In Cantonese the number “Eight” sounds like “prosperity.” “Four” is not such a lucky number you wouldn’t want to see  all “4’s” on the slip inside a fortune cookie. It’s no wonder then that the number “8″ appeared in that number sequence that kept haunting Hurley in the ABC series Lost.

This is an excerpt from the 1989 edition The Friendship Book of Francis Gay, published by D.C. Thompson and Company LTD. “The multi-petalled Chrysanthemum with its bright colors and evocative Autumn scent did not appear in Europe until the 18th Century, although it was known in China from the 5th Century B.C. There’s a nice story about its origin. A young Chinese girl was about to be married and she asked a wise man how long her marriage would last. He told her it would be as long as the number of petals on the flower she wore on her wedding day. Well, the girl searched everywhere, but she could not find flowers with more than five petals. Then, at last, she found one with 17, and with her hairpin she carefully divided each petal into two and then into two again. This became the first Chrysanthemum whose meaning in flower language is ‘long life and purity.’ The Chinese girl and her husband lived together happily for 68 years, the exact number of the Chrysanthemum petals.” My wife tells me our Chrysanthemums will be bountiful this years. It may have to do with all this rain we’ve been having.

I conclude my program tonight with this. It has been circulating in E-mail form for the past few weeks. My wife received it as well as pictures of the couple in her E-mail. Apparently it’s a true story, and one that has garnered a lot of attention while the world is focused on the Olympics. The story is a few years old and was one of the top ten love stories from China collected by China Women Weekly..

“An incredible love story of a man and an older woman has come out of China recently, and managed to touch the world. It is a story of a man and an older woman who ran off to live with each other and to love each other in peace for over half a century.

“The 70-year-old Chinese man who hand carved over 6,000 stairs up a mountain for his 80-year-old wife, passed away in the cave which had been the couple’s home for the last 50 years. Over 50 years ago, a 19-year-old boy fell in love with a 29-year-old widowed mother.. in a twist worthy of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, friends and relatives criticised the relationship because of the age difference and the fact that she already had children. At that time, it was unacceptable and immoral for a young man to love an older woman. To avoid the market gossip and the scorn of their communities, they decided to elope and lived in a cave in a southern municipality. In the beginning, life was harsh as they had nothing-no electricity or even food. They had to eat grass and roots they found on the mountain, and had a kerosene lamp that they used for light. She felt that she had tied him down and repeatedly asked him, ‘Are you regretful?’ He always replied, ‘As long as we are industrious, life will improve.’

“In the second year of living on the mountain, he began to hand-carve the steps so that his wife could get down the mountain easily..this labour of love would continue for fifty years..

“Half a century later, in 2001, a group of adventurers were exploring the forest and were surprised to find the elderly couple and the over 6,000 hand-carved steps. One of their seven children said, ‘My parents loved each other so much, they lived in seclusion for over fifty years and were never apart a single day. He hand carved more than 6,000 steps over the years for my mother’s convenience, although she doesn’t go down the mountain that much.’ The couple had lived in peace until the week before this story appeared. At the time he was 72-years old. He returned from his daily farm work -and collapsed. She sat and prayed with her husband as he passed away in her arms. So in love was he that no one was able to release the grip he had on his wife’s hand-even after he had passed away. ‘You promised me you’ll always take care of me, you’ll always be with me until the day I died; now, you left before me; how am I going to live without you?’ She spent days softly repeating this sentence, touching her husband’s black coffin, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“In 2006, their story became one of the top ten love stories from China, collected by The Chinese Women Weekly. The local government has decided to preserve the love ladder and the place they lived, as a museum, so this love story can live forever.”

I should have reconsidered my title of this blog. I should have named it “6,000-and Fifty.”

***

Don Jackson