Touchstones

             A touchstone is a reference point against which things can be evaluated. It is an ideal by which something may be measured. It is a measure by which we can assess and then discern. Touchstones are a “standard or criterion by which something is judged or recognized.” A touchstone can be an object of significance. Whether a memento, a pet, or even the dead , a touchstone is an acknowledgment, sometimes a memory. A touchstone can be a significant other, a person you believe completes you and makes you whole. Ideally, this person comes without criticism and judgements. They love unconditionally and hold great importance. We turn to our touchstones when we need them the most. We rely on them to ground us, to bring us back to reality even in the midst of great chaos. Some of my greatest touchstones are not just people or places. Physical objects in of themselves hold much meaning. I think we all have little trinkets and keepsakes that we give not only great sentimental value but they act as a touchstone, a way to treasure or fear, depending on your state of mind. Like a cherished old sweater or a picture of your mother, these connections bring us back to a place and a time without having to venture there ourselves. They act not only as a reminder but also as an escape of sorts, an other land of objectification. We feel them. We see them. We know just what they are and why they are with us. Almost literally, noting each is like touching a stone. They can act like old friends if you let them, a safe harbour on a sea of despair. 

             I cannot remember life without it. All these years have passed and it is still with me. It is one of my first memories. I remember spotting it on the corner cabinet in our living room when I was six. It sat there for years. When we moved from Toronto to Strathroy in 1976, it was delegated to a secondary position. The top of our kitchen cabinets would have to do, I supposed. Eventually, I just asked my mom if I could have it and she surprisingly said yes. In hindsight, I think she knew that I would keep it and care for it and hold it to myself. I have many family treasures in my possession for exactly that reason. The tin itself is nothing to speak of. It still holds its shape and most of the illustrations, but it is dented and aged and worn from the life it has passed through. It had looked like that long before it came to me. The ravages of five children clearly shows on its skin. There have been no new dents or scratches since I claimed it from my Mother over thirty years ago. It was once ornate and polished but time and those children have managed to dim and ding the newness away. It is an oriental, eight sided tin with a brass handled top. I treat it like it is worth as much as anything else in my home. It is prominent in the room regardless of its appearance. It is a treasure, a touchstone for me. I don’t have to literally touch it to remember all those years I have held it as my own. It is connected to my childhood and my mother and it represents both at completely the same time. When I miss her, I can caress that silly little tin, almost as if it was a gravestone or burial marker. I could not cherish anything more.

 

            Emma and Abby met on the first day of kindergarten. They became fast friends and travelled through their youth together. No one could have been closer. No one could have been more connected. At least, that is what their youth told them was the truth. More sisters than best friends, the two shared years together. For Emma, no one mattered more. As an only child she had wanted a sibling and Abby was more than she ever asked for. They were kindred spirits. For Abby, her pal gave her refuge and sanity in a world that was not so friendly. Em was an escape from the ravages of abuse.  Whenever she needed to run, whenever she ran, it was always to her bestest friend. There was sanctuary since the day that they met. High school was a experiment in torture. Both girls were not on the top of the popular list. This only strengthened the commitment they had to one another. They joined clubs together and attended social events in spite of the poor reception. They would laugh and then they would laugh some more. There was nothing sweeter than the time they spent together. Eventually, all good things come to an end. After graduation, Emma moved to Montreal to attend Concordia University in pursuit of a Nursing degree. Abby finally found emancipation in New York City. Columbia University offered Film and Media Studies. The day they parted was not a big deal. They could text, they could chat, they could email. They was no real reason not to stay connected. Time surprises everyone it seems. The distance and work load made it difficult for the friends to stay in touch with each other. Eventually, the relationship eroded and slowly faded away. Both women got married and had children. Neither was present for the other’s wedding. They had no clue of anything in the other person’s life. They might as well have been strangers. Social media has its advantage. News spread of Emma’s battle and soon Abby became aware of her friend’s new struggle. Abby knew Emma had once been there to comfort her when the world around her fell apart. It was Abby’s turn now. She left her family and her life and headed home to be with her champion. When she walked into the hospital room, she could see the fighting on her old friend’s face. No words were required. In fact, it was like nothing had happened, like no time at all had passed away. All night long they sat together, playing cards and laughing again. Emma gained much comfort from the visit. It grounded things for her. This was her touchstone. It was well into dawn before the darkness came.

 

 

            I was born and raised in Toronto, so when my first partner and I moved there in the spring of 1994, I fell back into heaven. You can go home again. For seven months we lived in the Kensington Market area, just minutes from the downtown core. The CN Tower was a neighbour and Lake Ontario was just down the street. When life got complicated, or when the money ran out, we would take our miniature television set and head down to the Skydome. While my friend listened to the baseball game, I would toss bread up for the seagulls to catch. It was an easy time, these moments I remember. I can still see him sitting on a grassy knoll, volume turned up and not a care in world. At least, that’s how things looked at the time. I could not foresee the darkness brewing within him. I am glad to have such memories to remind me. Things were good between us, most of the time. Every time I have stood at the base of the CN Tower since then, I can hear the gulls calling and the Blue Jays squawking. I am with him and he is with me. I do not mind a journey through this place. It is a pleasant standard by which I judge all of my memories of him. I don’t even need to actually be there to visit. That miniature television set, antenna and all, still rests in my home like it always has. I am not sure if it even works anymore but I have it. I am lucky to have two interconnected touchstones, both a place and an object. One has granted easy access while the other requires some effort. In 2014, I travelled to this familiar place. I had not been there in years and it clearly had a new tenant. The Ripley’s Aquarium of Canada opened earlier that year and it sits just feet to the west of the CN Tower’s base. Yes, I could still feed the birds if I wanted and the grassy knoll sits just as it did before. It’s now a crowed space, however, and the foot traffic is severe. I don’t suppose I could recreate those moments. I could try but there really is no sense. I have both touchstones to measure my world against. Whether I am standing face to face with 553 metres of concrete or holding a broken down piece of technological history, I am at once in a happy place. It’s nice to have things that make you go there.

             When my first partner died I was left with little choice. I tried to give up only to have to go on without him anyway. It was humbling to experience such darkness, such gloom. Out of nowhere there came a glimmer of light. I met Rob and Brenda when I returned to the United Church my family attended. I reverted to Christianity out of fear and hopelessness and despair. I was crying out and somehow thought if I was actually part of a community, I could find more strength to carry on. With that community came my new friends. The married couple were only a few years older than me. They came with a young son and lived on the far side of Strathroy. For a few years we made much history. We studied together, sang together, we ate and laughed and shared together. During that time, the couple visited Israel. I would have loved to go with them but they never asked. Rob waited until Christmas to give it to  me. The polished cedar box came with Hebrew markings on a simple wood background. The lid was to shape. Inside, tiny scrolls of Hebrew writings wrapped themselves around  a rather plain and uninspiring stone. I had no idea that Rob had grabbed a piece of the Wailing Wall for me. He hid it well and brought it back, just for me. I still have that tiny morsel from the Holy Land.  Although, I haven’t seen either Rob or Brenda for years, I often look back on that time with good thoughts. We just faded away from each other. Some people come into our lives not to stay but to serve a purpose then leave. At the time, I had just come out of the closet and in so doing lost almost all of my friends. Brenda and Rob were hope when all seemed lost. Their friendship was a pleasant distraction from the reality that I faced.  If I am looking for an example of hopefulness, I always find it in that small cedar box, sitting on my television stand with all the other little extras.

            Christmas (2020) was a little strange. With Covid-19 nipping at our heels, everyone exchanged gifts from a distance and celebrated, in many cases, all alone. It was no different at our house. The entire  holiday seemed to come then go in a flash, a heartbeat. Christmas morning was standard fair. We opened presents like we always do but something was different. With no family or friends to share the holiday with there was little fanfare. When I was a boy (7 years or so), I purchased a Green Lantern ring from a gumball machine at the local grocery store. The ring was simple darker green with a insignia of the actual lantern pressed into its crown. I cherished it more than anything and was heartbroken when it was lost to eternity. I had not forgotten my pal. The idea of finding it was a fantasy I played with for years. I always kept an eye out for it in antique shops and flea markets. I opened the gift with no expectations. Sitting pretty something looked familiar the moment it was revealed. I held it, staring at it, I initially didn't really get it. The flood gates then opened. It was like I held it in my hand, for the first time, all over again. The simple dark green ring with a Green Lantern insignia on the crown was almost an exact copy of my original. For a moment I felt like I was home. 

            Just to see it meant a flood of memory and feelings. Every association came spilling back with my long lost friend. It may be a clone but it's way better than nothing. This was one of the sweetest and most considerate gifts I have ever received. It allowed me to touch my youth all over again. I cherish it already and it has become one of my favourite gifts ever. I hope that the givers of the gift recognize my appreciation. I have an old and a new touchstone all in one ring..    

             I have many mementos that I cling to for a sense of what once was and what might well have been. For example, the two collars once warn by our two dead dogs hang about for all the world to see. One even dangles from the rear view mirror of our car. My Dad’s fireman badge, sits in glass and safety. His picture, in uniform, rests beside the silver pin. I have pictures of my mother, and my first partner, and cuttings from the hair of each. A wooden box and a monument are left to remain. I have people that I turn to in times of crisis. Some of those people I even turn to on better days. I have places I can visit when I am looking for any sign of that often elusive peace. I have many things in my life that act as a touchstone. The security they bring me may be artificial but they feel as real as anything. Anything that acts in such a capacity, is good for the soul. We need to touch base sometimes. We need to feel the connection we once had with something. A touchstone can be a great source for reconnecting,  reconnection with the past as well as our own place within it. We hug our touchstones. We hold them dear. We use them to measure the things we hold near. In the end, the only thing a touchstone does is activate whatever rests within each person. All that we call upon is already there. Sometimes we just need something to tweak us, to awaken that part of us. 

This is what a touchstone is for.

 

 

 

 

 

https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/touchstone