The Angel, The Kitchen, Ramble Creek and Harris Crescent

THE ANGEL, THE KITCHEN, RAMBLE CREEK, AND HARRIS CRESCENT

BURLINGTON AND GRAVENHURST - I LOVE THEM BOTH

     I CERTAINLY NEVER FELT COMFORTABLE, SITTING DOWN WITH MY HOCKEY BUDDIES AND TELLING THEM ABOUT THE "ANGEL DREAM," I HAD AS A KID. IF I HAD BROKEN OUT THIS LITTLE GEM OF PERSONAL HISTORY, IN FRONT OF SOME OF MY NEWSPAPER COLLEAGUES, IN THE PUB AFTER WORK, THEY'D HAVE MADE ME FEEL AWFULLY SILLY. IT WASN'T UNTIL A FEW YEARS AGO, THAT I EVEN FELT COMFORTABLE TELLING MY WIFE, SUZANNE, THAT I ONCE HAD A RELIGIOUSLY SIGNIFICANT DREAM. ALL SHE SAID TO ME WAS, "ONLY ONE!" AS IF ONE ANGEL DREAM ISN'T ENOUGH. OR THAT I SHOULD HAVE HAD MANY, MANY FOLLOW-UP VISITATIONS FROM A VARIETY OF RELIGIOUS FIGURES. I KNEW SHE WAS HAVING FUN WITH ME, BUT IT'S ONE OF THOSE SITUATIONS, THAT NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU TRY TO EXPLAIN IT, AND REMOVE THE MYSTERY, THERE'S SIMPLY NO DENYING IT AFFECTED MY YOUNG LIFE. HOW MANY OF YOU, READING THIS NOW, HAVE HAD A DREAM IN YOUR MIND FOR MORE THAN FIVE OR TEN YEARS? WHAT ABOUT TWENTY-FIVE? FORTY?  WELL, MINE HAS BEEN AS CLEAR AND POIGNANT FOR HALF A CENTURY. THAT'S WHAT I CALL RETENTION. SEEING AS I CAN'T REMEMBER THE DREAM I HAD FROM LAST NIGHT, BUT I WOKE UP THIS MORNING WITH IT FRESH ON MY MIND. BY THE TIME I'D WASHED MY FACE, IT WAS GONE. THE ANGEL IN MY DREAM, IN AND AROUND MY SEVENTH YEAR OF LIFE, IS STILL WHERE SHE WAS BEFORE, HOVERING THERE, IN THE CORNER OF A ROOM, WITH ENORMOUS WINGS, A SHADE OF WHITE I HAD NEVER BEFORE, OR AFTER, EXPERIENCED IN COGNIZANT EXISTENCE. THE SCENT IN THIS ANGEL'S PRESENCE, WAS LIKE NOTHING ON EARTH. SHE WAS SPEAKING TO ME, WITHOUT ANY MOVEMENT OF HER MOUTH, AND I WAS GETTING THE MESSAGE. IT WASN'T MY TIME.

     "ANYONE WHO EXPERIENCES THE ANGEL PRESENCE IS CHANGED BY IT AND BECOMES, IN A VERY REAL SENSE, PART OF IT." THIS IS NOTED IN THE 2004 BOOK, "AN EXTRAORDINARY GATHERING OF ANGELS," BY MARGARET BARKER. "ANGEL' MEANS MESSENGER, AND HUMANS EXPERIENCE ANGELS PRIMARILY AS MESSENGERS. BUT THIS IS NOT WHAT THEY 'ARE,' THIS IS WHAT THEY DO."

     IN THE CHAPTER, HEADED "PERCEIVING ANGLES," THE AUTHOR WRITES, "ANGELS CAN BE PERCEIVED BY ANY OF THE HUMAN SENSES, BUT ONLY WHEN THEY ENTER OUR STATE OF TIME AND MATTER, ARE THEY PERCEIVED AS DISTINCT BEINGS. A RECENT SURVEY SHOWED THAT MOST PEOPLE WHO EXPERIENCED AN ANGEL HAD NOT SEEN ANYTHING, BUT THERE ARE PRACTICAL DIFFICULTIES IN CONVEYING A SENSE OF PERFUME OR ETHEREAL SOUND, A WARM UNFOLDING PRESENCE, A PARTICULAR TASTE SENSATION, OR A MOMENT OF SPIRITUAL OR INTELLECTUAL ILLUMINATION." SHE ALSO NOTES THAT, "THE PERFUME OF ANGELS IS DESCRIBED IN VARIOUS WAYS; THE SCENT OF FLOWERS, PERHAPS, OF SWEET MYRRH." BUT IT IS THE ASSERTION, BY THE AUTHOR THAT, "THERE CAN BE NO OBJECTIVE KNOWLEDGE OF ANGELS, NO GLIMPSE OF THE STATE BEYOND THE VEIL THAT IS JUST INTELLECTUAL ENQUIRY. KNOWLEDGE OF THE ANGELS, BOTH KNOWING ANGELS AND KNOWING WHAT THEY KNOW, IS KNOWLEDGE OF A DIFFERENT ORDER. IT IS BEYOND HUMAN KNOWLEDGE, AND ONCE RECEIVED, SUPERSEDES ALL HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. IT CANNOT BE UNLEARNED; THERE IS NO GOING BACK." EXPLAINS RATHER BLUNTLY HOW LONG AN ANGEL DREAM CAN LAST.

     SOME TIME AFTER I HAD THIS INCREDIBLY CLEAR, INTER-ACTIVE DREAM, WHILE LIVING AT THE NAGY APARTMENTS, IN BURLINGTON, I ASKED MY MOTHER IF I COULD GO TO CHURCH. SHE WAS ABSOLUTELY STUNNED WHEN I ASKED THIS QUESTION. "WHY DO YOU WANT TO GO TO CHURCH TEDDY," SHE ASKED, AS IT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE FURTHEST THING FROM HER MIND, AT THAT POINT. I DIDN'T HAVE AN ANSWER AS TO WHY, AND I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO ADD FIFTY YEARS LATER. THE ONLY THING SHE ASKED, WAS THAT I GO TO THE BURLINGTON UNITED CHURCH, AS IT WAS APPROPRIATE WITH HER OWN RELIGIOUS BACKGROUND. AS A KID, GROWING UP IN A RELIGIOUS HOUSEHOLD, IN TORONTO, SHE USED TO GO TO CHURCH AT LEAST TWICE ON SUNDAYS, EVERY SINGLE WEEK. LATER IN LIFE, AND ONCE MARRIED, MY PARENTS DIDN'T GO TO CHURCH. MY MOTHER CONFESSED TO ME, ON OCCASION, THAT SHE THOUGHT I SHOULD GO TO CHURCH, BUT IT NEVER HAPPENED. UNTIL THE DAY I THOUGHT I SHOULD GIVE IT A TRY. MERLE FOUND OUT ABOUT SUNDAY SCHOOL CLASSES, AND I WAS INVITED TO ATTEND. I LASTED FOUR SUNDAYS. IT WASN'T FOR ME. BUT IT DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH FAITH, AS I HAVE LONG BELIEVED IN GOD, AND THAT THERE IS AN AFTERLIFE. I HAVE TO ADMIT THIS NOW, THAT BEING IN CHURCH DIDN'T MAKE ME FEEL CLOSER TO GOD, OR MY GUARDIAN ANGEL. RECALLING MY DREAM, WHENEVER I HAVE FELT BLUE OR UNINSPIRED, HAS ALWAYS MADE ME FEEL A LOT CLOSER TO HEAVEN. IT HAS FOR ME, BEEN A FEELING OF SECURITY, AT TIMES OF WEAKNESS, AND A WARM SENSATION IN THE SOUL, WHEN I'VE BEEN ILL AND WONDERING IF MY TIME WAS COMING. THE ANGEL SPOKE TO ME, DURING MY CHURCH DAYS, AND MADE ME FEEL THAT FAITH WAS PERSONAL, AND THAT BELIEVING, IN MY CASE, WASN'T GOING TO BE ENHANCED AT ALL, BY GOING TO CHURCH TWICE ON SUNDAYS, OR JUST ONCE IN A BLUE MOON.

     FOR THOSE READERS WHO AREN'T AWARE OF MY ANGEL ENCOUNTER, IT OCCURRED DURING A WICKED ILLNESS I HAD, BEFORE I GOT THE IDEA TO GO TO CHURCH; WHEN DOCTORS DEBATED WHETHER I HAD WHOOPING COUGH OR JUST A SERIOUS CHEST INFECTION. EVERY TIME I COUGHED, I WAS SICK TO MY STOMACH. I SAT UP IN A CHAIR FOR ABOUT A WEEK, AND HAD FEVERS ON AND OFF. EVERYTHING I TRIED TO EAT WOULDN'T STAY DOWN, SO I HAD LOST A LOT OF WEIGHT IN A SHORT PERIOD. I KNOW THE WAY MERLE AND ED WERE TALKING, THAT I WAS ON THE BRINK OF GOING TO THE HOSPITAL, BECAUSE I COULDN'T EVEN KEEP FLUIDS DOWN. IT WAS DURING A BAD BOUT OF FEVER, AND A FITFUL SLEEP, BETWEEN COUGHING JAGS, THAT I EXPERIENCED THIS ANGEL DREAM. I REALLY DIDN'T KNOW WHAT AN ANGEL WAS, EXCEPT WHAT WE HAD ON OUR CHRISTMAS TREE, AND AS I HAD NEVER BEEN TO CHURCH IN MY YOUNG LIFE, THE ONLY OTHER ANGEL I MIGHT HAVE SEEN, WOULD HAVE BEEN IN A MOVIE, POTENTIALLY. I DON'T KNOW IF I HAD, TO THAT POINT, EVER BEEN EXPOSED TO A VISUAL DEFINITION OF WHAT AN ANGEL LOOKED LIKE, BEFORE THIS DREAM GAVE ME ALL THE INFORMATION I REQUIRED. IF I WAS AN ARTIST, I COULD DRAW HER EXACTLY. EVEN TODAY. THE ODDEST PART OF COURSE, WAS THAT THE ANGEL APPEARED IN A CORNER OF THE APARTMENT LAUNDRY ROOM OF ALL PLACES. IN THE DREAM, I OPEN THE DOOR TO THE BIG OPEN ROOM, WALK DOWN THE FEW STAIRS ONTO THE CONCRETE FLOOR, AND TURN TO MY LEFT, AS SOMETHING HAD CAUGHT MY ATTENTION.

     Hovering in the corner, with large white wings, and a whiteness that was brilliantly bright,……an illumination, that should have been blinding but it wasn't. Even as a kid, without any real knowledge of what was earthly and what wasn't, the angel in front of me, was definitely not earthly. The knowledge transmitted, as I stood there, made it clear, this was beyond anything I could decipher as a mere mortal. This is exactly how I felt. Mortal. The angel was compelling me to pay attention, but in a loving, dominating way. I remember not being able to move at all. But it wasn't the case I wanted to leave. I wasn't scared, but I was enormously curious. I didn't even know what death was, and how a mortal becomes immortal. There was a sweet aroma, that I have never smelled again. There was a slight chill, but I wasn't cold. I felt as if I was floating, as she was, and there was no way of exiting this situation. There was a sound but it was as if something was "whirring," but in a deep, subtle vibration, and once I laid my eyes on the specter, it was as if my head was in a vice, and I could not look away. As I've noted before, she was telling me something, but there was no movement of her lips, yet the words were being received. I felt at great ease, and physically, it had been more than a week since I could sleep for more than an hour, without a fit of coughing, and wrenching into a container at the side of my chair. I felt at peace. Calm. There was no trepidation being in her presence. There was, however, a keen awareness at the time, this was an unusual circumstance from what I had come to know of life, thus far. I understood what was happening, and that the angel was letting me know I had many more years of life to enjoy. This sickness would pass. The look on her face was so peaceful and calming, that I would have chased death, to take hold of her wing, and fly away to heaven's gate. This was not my destiny. When I woke up, Merle was sitting beside me, half asleep, with a cloth in her hand, she had been using wet, to cool my temperature. She startled awake when I opened my eyes, and she immediately stood up and checked my temperature. She yelled to my father, slumbering in another chair, that the fever had broken. I didn't know what this meant exactly, but I felt much better. I never confessed the alleged meeting with my guardian angel. It wasn't important that she knew about this, because nothing was going to shake the belief I had, something wonderful had just occurred. I did get well, and in only a few days, I was back to Lakeshore Public School, and playing baseball again with Ray Green and the lads. Is it possible, this was a genuine meeting with the angel-kind? What are the odds? What has it meant for this writer, over a lifetime? Was I the benefactor of enlightenment, at this age? Have I been enlightened ever since? My mother told neighbor friends, one day when I was in the lower hall, eavesdropping, that "I was praying to God that Teddy would pull through." Geez, maybe I was in trouble that night. As far as enlightenment, well, that's for you to decide, based on what I've written. I feel enlightened, but that doesn't mean I am thusly endowed.

     For years now, I have been drawn to books about angels, china figures, carved wooden angels, pictures and paintings of angels, and just about anything else that reminds me of the strange meeting I had with a dream angel. The only book I have at my desk-side today, is the one I quoted from earlier, by Margaret Barker, because it contains the most information, of all the source books I've consulted, most relevant to my own experience. There are a few reprints of famous paintings, depicting an angel or cluster of God's messengers, that remind me, even in a small way, of the characteristics, and features, I witnessed during that dreamland encounter. I can start re-living the dream from just the slightest provocation or inspiration, of feeling, smelling, touching or seeing something that reminds me of the conditions of that meeting. It has, I suppose, been one of the things that has routinely kept this dream alive, for me, over this half century, when by all the precedents, it should have dissipated years ago. These points of light, jig me back, almost as an imposition of condition, that I not forget, that by the grace of God, I am still very much alive.

     You will understand then, how difficult it has been to admit the context, of what might only ever have been, a delusion brought on by fever. There are certain contemporaries who would think me quite a "nutter," if I was to admit such a belief in something that was, by my own admission, most likely, just a vivid dream. I don't think my revelation would hold up to scrutiny, by others, even if you now, were to consider aggressive dreams you've had, when terribly ill…..but never had a problem discerning a dream from the qualities and quantities of real life experience. If an angel was to come to you, while wide awake, and it was witnessed by several others, and you got a feather as evidence, that would be slightly more compelling, than me telling you, I had a visitation from a dream-angel. The only qualifier here, is that I did survive, as she told me I would; I did go to church to find out about angles, and their relationship to God, and I have never, in 50 years, been able to forget the dream to its finest sensory detail. It was an ethereal, beautiful experience, of peace and tranquility, and a feeling I hope to experience again. If this is what death represents, then we fear unnecessarily, what the after-life represents.

     I have often pondered, whether my great fondness for Burlington, and the Nagy Apartments, had something to do with this experience. Was it the reason that I paid much more attention to my surroundings, and feel today, as if part of my spirit remains there today, liberated, to carry on the play of once…..the adventures that didn't have an end……the times with friends who were blood buddies, to eternity?  I can retrace my steps, sitting nearly two hundred miles to the north, and feel the sensations of the Nagy's cool grass on my bare feet, smell the cherries from the old tree, the gas that Alec poured into the tank of his lawn mower, the blossoms on Mrs. White's fruit trees, and the glorious…..heavenly smells coming from Ann Nagy's kitchen, where her bread was cooling on a rack, and her famous apple pies, were just finishing-up in the oven. It is a sensory bombardment, if I wish, and over the past week, it has been so much fun, re-living those good old days, when my family and I resided at 2138 Harris Crescent.

     Ann Nagy had a masterful way of peeling an apple. She liked to be able to make one cut into the apple, and provide one long, spiraling peel at the end. It was like a challenge for her. My victory, was that I got to eat the peels, and the longer the better. I got to sample everything she cooked. Her culinary talent was beyond what one might call exceptional. Her food was the kind that satisfied every hunger pang you had. It was food for a lumberjack. It was hardy and nutritious, and for years and years I used to say to Merle….who was a mediocre cook at best….."this isn't as good as what Nagy made me." There was no way on earth, Merle or even Ed, who became a good cook in later years, could hold a candle to the master cook, Ann Nagy. Did I mention her cabbage rolls? I would have cut off my arm, for her cabbage rolls. Her hot buttered bread, was sinful. When Alec and I were called from the living room, to come to the kitchen table, we arrived with eyes wide-open…..a minor amount of drool at the corners of our mouths, and feeling our hearts palpitate in respective chests, as casserole dishes steamed, and soup runneth-over, and beautiful brown pie-crusts oozed apple syrup around the edges. When Alec dug-in, it was for the long-haul. He'd wink at me, like a sergeant, getting the platoon ready for a charge onto the battlefield. When he reached for the bread, and the butter knife, he was, you see, telling me, "be brave son, tear off a chunk…..today, is the first day of the rest of our lives." There was an aura of good living in that kitchen, I will never forget, or surrender to old age. I will always remember the smile of satisfaction on Alec's face, when he sat back in his chair, folded his hands across his full belly, and said, "Teddy, have you had enough to eat." If there is a definable heavenly smile, it was painted on my face. Because this was what any one would like of heaven, but this place was on earth.