Iris's Bench in the Dog Park

On this sunny Sunday noon, nearly six months after Iris passed away, I finally went to visit the completed park bench at Kings Mill Dog Park in North Vancouver. 

 

This bench was a gift from her friends at KPMG, and her friends from Toronto as well.  I wanted to thank them all for this touching memorial to Iris - it is a reminder of the legacy that Iris left behind. I know that she would have loved that bench, and I plan to visit it often. Knowing that she meant this much to others reaffirms the many reasons I love her. 

 

For those of you that don't know, Iris and I went to this park often, where we taught our dog, Chopper, to be nice to other dogs. Well, Chopper isn't always nice, especially around my neighbourhood, but he is nice at that park. It holds a special place in my heart, and even more so with the bench there. I did visit the bench when it came up before the plaque was put in place. You will see the attached picture of Chopper 'christening' the bench. There's also a picture of me there today - kindly taken by Ada and Eugene, Ada being the coordinator that made this possible. 

 

The donations that were beyond the cost of the bench were given to the BC Cancer Foundation. This foundation helps fund cancer research such as Personalized Oncogenomics and clinical trials for chemotherapy treatment. Iris benefited from both, so it's something I care deeply about. 

I hope you are all well. Be kind to yourself and to all that you cross paths with.

A Tribute from Dan Asfar

I got to know Iris the same way I got to know Brian, by way of many fine meals, raised cups and terrible movies. We were Bad Movie Club (BMC), and we gathered semi-regularly for screenings of panned-by-critics-but-loved-by-knobs (discerning knobs) cinema. Cowboys & Aliens, Speed, Riddick, Big Trouble in Little China, Pacific Rim…you get the picture…the main criteria for selected films was that they were light on “feelings” and heavy on “awesome.” Picture a book club and then go the inverse of that, high-budget hokum in place of literature and no attempts at textual deconstruction allowed.



I don’t mean to suggest that BMC was big on rules or anything. The whole thing was pretty loose, though after a while you could say an unwritten code of conduct kind of organically took shape. I’m not going to attempt to pin down what that was with words here, but it boiled down to a lot of laughs and outstanding meals, an appreciation for the moment and the privilege of real friendship. Like most relationships that matter, BMC started as one thing and then it turned to something else. It meant a lot to me. I’d say it’s a big part of why, after having lived in Vancouver for a couple of years, the city started to feel like home.

Laughter’s no little thing and Iris laughed a lot. I’d like to think there was some pretty high-quality clowning going on during BMC sessions. Brian in particular is quite gifted in the clownish arts, in case you didn’t know. It wasn’t until I got to know Iris better, and came to know the weight she was quietly carrying day to day, that I understood what extraordinary strength and grace there was behind that laughter. To me her laughter and enjoyment of life was a powerful statement about who she was. Getting a good belly-laugh out of Iris was a Top 5 feeling. Like the way she laughed one time while we were eating at Sura on Robson and I told the story of a certain gastro-intestinal misadventure on the streets of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

Iris liked a good story. She was a reader with an eye and an opinion on character, plot and setting. I think this sensibility informed her perspective on all the lousy movies we took-in to during BMC sessions, a critical incredulity at such nonsense and simultaneous appreciation. Iris enjoyed irony. It turns out one thing we had in common was a struggle with creative endeavour, a compulsion to create written worlds, stayed by the mystery of creative obstacles. Iris wrote; she wanted to write more.

Iris was generous. She quite literally changed my life when she introduced me to my fiancé over dinner at Hapa Izakaya on Robson. Christine and I owe our lives together to her. BMC continued but eventually became kind of incidental. We met in Chicago, eating well, drinking to excess and seeing the sights. We traded books. We broke bread. We shared stories.  It was always great to see her. 

Iris, there hasn’t been a day that has passed since August 21 that I haven’t thought of you. Christine and I are both grateful for our time with you and miss you dearly. We’ll keep BMC going. 

(Posted on behalf of Dan Asfar)