What I wrote yesterday was pure crap.

I reread that today and almost deleted it. Admittedly I was slightly inebriated at the time, so that's my out. Note to self, don't do that. Well I appreciate the positivity, I also am my own worse critic. I know I can write, I know I have some amount of talent with words, I know I've written some things over the years that have been quite profound. That piece of garbage from yesterday wasn't one of them.

I decided not to delete it for.... reasons. First of which is that maybe it will serve as a reminder that I can always... or... we... can always do better. Secondly, someone told me not to. Okay, you win, that piece of inhebrius rat poop stays.

I started again because I'm in a mood again. I usually only write when I'm in a mood. Last night I was in a mood, with a side of whisky. The world isn't in a good place right now, and hell, if it's gonna burn I may as well wax poetic about things that make me happy. That ended up being the neighbourhood pub. We all need a happy place in this collapsing broken world, mine happens to be out in a little town called McGregor. Unfortunately, the whisky dulled the charm of the place, ironically. Also ironically, I didn't even go there yesterday. 

My intention was to discuss how to keep ourselves sane and happy, I heavily digressed. So let me clarify in a sober state. 

Depending on how you view things, the world is in a strange state right now. Some of you may think things are peachy, in my view, they aren't. Regardless of opinion, we all need to have somewhere or something to ground us. We all have our little piece of paradise that keeps the demons away from us. Mine happens to be a little pub in McGregor. It's not because I like to drink, it's because that's where I found friends, who have become family. It's the place where I can have good conversations, good food, and yeah, good drink. It's a place I feel comfortable in turbulent times. I've found a few of these little places over the years, and it's never about the selection, or the food, or the decor. Believe me, some places have been... questionable.

It's about the people.

And some of those people there have done more to help me than I could have ever imagined. They have become my second family. Forgive me for sounding melancholy and mushy, but that's just truth. The only thing I said in yesterday's post I don't regret is that the world is going to shit. 

If you don't watch news, good. Stay on Netfix and Sportsnet. You'll be safe. If you do, then find a happy place. Find your McGregor. You're gonna need it. You're gonna need to find somewhere you feel like you can talk to someone who understands and not be alone in this really fucked up universe. Somewhere you can turn off the conflict and fear. And if you can't do that, maybe someplace where there is a person who understands your fears, and can empathize. 

That was my point yesterday. But then some guy named Gibson got in the way of a viewpoint. 

Cheers. 

 57.

 I'm 57 fucking years old now. Can I still do this? Should I still do this? Is anyone even reading this? I don't know anymore. And frankly I don't care. I've been writing crap on here randomly for over 20 years. It started as a mid-life crisis kind of thing, but now I'm getting old and I just don't give a shit anymore.

 I'm Gen X, which means I really don't give a crap anymore. I'm just gonna go to work, go to the pub and see my friends, I'm gonna watch some TV and go to bed by 9. Go ahead, judge me. Go ahead, I don't really care.

 At some point I'll not have to do the go to work thing anymore, but the pub, that's a constant. That's where all my old retired friends are, and the daily sign in book. Which, by the way, I never fucking win. I need to bribe Mel a little more. Maybe she'll cook it one day.

The pub is my happy place. Where my weird friends live. My friend bought it last year, and is trying hard to make it prosperous, that's a fight these days. Times are not good to us all, but we persevere, we push forward. We fight. That's what Canadians do. When we are done fighting, we go back to the pub, which we are fighting for, kind of a Canadian roundabout. Either way, we help our friends and our families. 

 57.

Fuck. I didn't think I'd be this old and just working and going to the pub. I thought I'd be rich and living on a Caribbean island somewhere. But nope, I'm still working like a dog and trying to survive like most other people. Like my kids, like my friends, we just survive, and then we go see Mel, and we wax poetic about what could have been, and what might be. Everyone needs a therapist. And therapists are better when they have a bottle of scotch nearby.

But I persevere. I survive. I live. And I occasionally blog. I write to who reads blogs anymore, nobody. Like, really who reads this stuff anymore? I've been doing this for two fucking decades and my readership is minimal. Admittedly, I don't write much, but still, who reads this random shit?

Anyway, life is still worth living, Trump invaded Venezuela, Iran is about to fall, Greenland is in peril, Ukraine is still being attacked, the world is burning. So let's live for our family and friends. Let's live for ourselves. Let's live for those who can't defend themselves. 

This wasn't the best post, but I don't care. It's my space. My rules.  And I'm old now. So the mid-life rules change. Love you all. Peace and happiness, go have a pint at your pub.

Cheers. 

Time

     Time, as they say, is on your side. (Or was that the Rolling Stones?) Well, seems they might have been wrong. Time seems to be on the opposing side these days, the side of those who oppose my every move. Those who want to stop me from doing all the things I need to do in my life, get my house stuff done, finish the pet projects I have on the go, see those in my life who bring me purpose, take a vacation, you know, the crap we want to do instead of the crap we have to do.

 

The older I get the more this fact is fucking annoying.

 

    There's a garden wheelbarrow in my shop that's been sitting untouched for almost a year, a promise to a friend. Unfinished. Story of my life. The other story is the promise I made to said friend. Seems as time goes on, the more that happens. I think I've got lots of time to do these things, then reality hits. Or work hits, or unexpected emergencies hit, or some other damn thing. Time isn't being kind. That wheelbarrow is one of three unfinished projects here, add that to two others at another house I haven't started yet. Yes Jen, I am going to paint.

 

    Youth gave us unlimited time, mostly because we had unlimited energy. We could make a day last 18 hours and still have energy to go out, or indulge in a hobby. All well raising kids, breeding pets, and doing random stupid shit our parents warned us not to do. (And then we told our kids not to do... but anyway). We're old now. We need naps. We get warn out quicker, work hurts. Hell at this point doing laundry hurts. How in the living hell did we accomplish so much all those years ago! When I look back on things and compare my accomplishments to today, I'm embarrassed at my late achievements. Which are.. in a word, slim. 

   

    This past weekend I achieved something at home, I spent half a day killing myself expanding my patio. Did I finish it? Nope. But hey, I started. Now knowing my current age and daily exhaustion quota, I can't see it being done anytime soon. That's the way things are now, we do things a bit at a time instead of start to finish in one shot. Because naps are more fun. Add to that the work took a lot out of me and I'm not in a hurry to repeat that day. I have to, I'm just not in a hurry to. That's the old guy talking - I can easily justify stopping because I'm not 25 anymore, and this shit hurts. Every morning I play the 'what's that pain' game. I'm blessed that I'm still in good shape, and I still have most of my hair. Call that a win. What I don't have is the eternal stamina and energy of youth. The patio will be done, in steps. Over time. Time I don't seem to have.

 

    I have many hobbies, many friends, many interests, and one amazing girl in my life. I'm blessed. I'm well rounded, life is a dear thing to me and I want to suck in everything it gives us, I want to experience everything, I want to share life with everyone. The people in my life give me joy and happiness, the past times I love give me passion and happiness. But I don't have enough time. Seems to be the underlying concern with life now. How can I get more time? Especially when you're at the point in life when there's more behind you than in front of you.

 

I simply need more time. (Wasn't that in a movie somewhere?) 

     

    My last entry was called Work Life Balance. I think that needs to be changed to Life/Life balance. We need to level out the playing field of things we need to do compared to things we want to do, but how? Do we cut things out because there isn't enough time? Do we cut corners on chores? Errands? Friends? What goes, what stays. We have to give everything and everyone in our lives, whether it be mandatory or optional, equal time. Hell, I don't want to do that. I don't want to devote more time to work, chores, errands paying bills, shopping, fixing shit, or anything else that is deemed a necessary evil. I want to devote ALL my time to my girlfriend, friends, family, hobbies, even writing this blog post.  As I write this I can count on both hands crap that needs to be done around here, things I don't have time for, and they bug me. Then there's work, which never seems to go away long enough for me to have some time.

    My boss asked me the other day if I'd put the canoe in the water yet. I kinda chuckled to myself at that, my boss thinks I have time. Yet I'm on his clock. I'm in a weird position at work where I'm on call a lot. Time away, time waiting, time getting background stuff done, even when I come home, I'm still answering messages, planning the next day, or answering texts. Time waits for no one, especially when my boss is controlling it. Lately I've backed off and learned to plan ahead more, but there's always something that comes up at the last minute, things that can't wait til tomorrow. It's a balancing act between me and my job. I could bang on again about how I'd love to be retired, but I beat that horse up in the last entry. So let's not. I just have to learn balance better. You'd think at 55 years old I'd know how. 

    Time is everyone's enemy. Our constant nemesis. If you've ever experienced the perfect moment in time, that one instance where time seems to stop or have no meaning, where nothing else in the world matters except that thing in that moment, you're lucky. I've made myself have those moments more lately. A place holder in time that emblazes itself on you. Keep that, cherish it, and for all it's worth, make it happen again. Make it happen often. There will come a time when those moments will rarely or never happen again. Make the most of them before they're gone. Time won't stop, you have to make it stop, even if for that one fleeting moment. That one time that will forever be in the forefront of your memory. 

 

On that note, ladies and gentleman,

Time.

 

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Tired of lying in the sunshine
Staying home to watch the rain
And you are young and life is long
And there is time to kill today

And then one day you find
Ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun

And you run, and you run to catch up with the sun
But it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way
But you're older
Shorter of breath, and one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter
Never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught
Or half a page of scribbled lines

Hanging on in quiet desperation
Is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over
Thought I'd something more to say

Home, home again

I like to be here when I can

When I come home cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones beside the fire

Far away, across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells

 

 

David Gilmour/Richard Wright/Nick Mason/Roger Waters

Work Life Balance

    So... it was noted by a dear friend that I haven't been here for a long time. Yeah, I know. I stopped writing. If it wasn't for this particular friend, I wouldn't be doing this now, I lost my mojo. Caput. None. No motivation to write. Thanks Dave, this is your fault.

    As I sit here at the computer for the first time in (checks notes...) fucking years, listening to Dvorak's Symphony Number 4 in G, I'll put pen to paper, so to speak, and Dave can just can it. I'm writing, get off my case.

 

Work. 

    Work is life's perpetrator of bad moods, the fly in all our ointments. We have to do it, because let's face it, we all like to eat. And work keeps us in that habit, as well as other bad habits like a home, a car, cat food, dish soap, pants. Things that we could likely do without if given a choice. We're not allowed to steal money, so we have to earn it honestly (unlike some people in the news these days). We have to work or we die, which ironically is the end result anyway. We must fill those long years of adulthood with the grind or we end up on the street wondering what life would have been like if we just... you know... worked.

 

Life is like a car...

Ignition

Warm up the engine

Drive the hell out of it, 

Idle

Shut off the ignition.

If you don't get the analogy here, then I'm not going to explain it, stop reading this and go pick up a Dr. Suess book.

 

    The bits in between are the juicy ones, the times where you stop driving and go sit on a beach somewhere, or park the car and take the kayak off the roof. Maybe the times where you stop at a little out of the way diner with your love, then the times where you fix the car. All these little places in your life where you stop driving for a while and do something else matter more than the drive. Simply put once in a while you need a break from driving. Stop the car and find a rose to smell. Then the grind seems slightly more bearable. Keep the rose on the dashboard as you go down the road. Remember it, and get more.

That's the balance.

    I'm at the age where thirty years ago I said I wanted to be retired. I'm not. And I can't see that happening anytime soon, as the old joke goes, I have to work til noon on the day of my funeral. Years ago retirement was the end result of a work life, now it's a dream many will never see, how things change. I envy people who can relax in their oncoming golden years, I envy them and curse them in the same thought. Fuck you, people retiring with pensions. I hate you. As we bust our backs at work you sit around planning your next vacation or outing, not worrying about if you can get the time off work. Dammit. You pension fund babies. Lucky fucking people. Anyway, I digress. 

Side note: Hate is a strong word, maybe change that too GRRRRRRRR. jealous! (Yes, that paragraph was intentionally harsh Dave).

    I'm very lucky with my job, I get to chill and travel. I spent last night in Toronto seeing the sights. I spent this morning walking around that city taking in the sights and sounds, all while on the clock. I don't complain. (Okay, well yeah, I do but anyway...)  Most aren't as lucky. 9 to 5 slugs doing their bit for their corporate overlords. Putting in the 40 and paying their taxes like good little Canadians should. That's the deal right? Work for your pay, pay your taxes, get your little house, put food in your fridge, and save up for that trip to Punta Cana. Use your credit card, the banks love that... And now, on top of huge taxes, you're in debt to the banks. Ain't working life grand.

    Do I sound cynical? Well yes, yes I do. I am cynical. Because I'm getting old, and I'm not retiring anytime soon. Either are you Dave.

     When you're young 40 hours seems doable. Out of a 168 hour week you only have to output 40 of it. That leave 128 hours to do what you want. Seems reasonable. But in your fifties, you may as well switch the hours around, and feel like we're working 128 and have 40 off. Because dammit, we're tired. We aren't young anymore! And I like to nap. So....

    Time to do stuff for yourself is fleeting and always centred around the all-present work schedule. "Wanna go to the show Friday?... Nope, gotta work early Saturday".  That's our thing. Work controls everything, but also make us not die of starvation. Now add that little fun bit of your life to your friends equation. Wanna see your friends? See if your schedules mesh. Wanna have a party? How many friends can't make it because they have to work. Now... If we all had retiree pensions..... Imagine the fun we'd have! Again, GRRRRRR, Jealous! 

    Is all this worth it? Of course it is. Until we live in Gene Roddenberry's Utopia of money not existing this is our fate. This is what we have to do. We work, we play, we love, we chill. We accept this life we've been given and we enjoy the hell out of it until we can't physically do it anymore, then we give up and die. That's life in a nutshell. 

    So I'm living to the fullest because I know full well one day I won't be able to enjoy those 128 hours like I used to, I know that I will spend at least 20 of them recovering from the first 40. Once day I will spend another 20 just going to appointments trying to fix the damage the 40 caused. Every year those 128 hours get eaked away just a bit more. Too much to do, to much to catch up. Even now that one hour of sitting on the patio on a beautiful spring day listening to the birds may as well be 10 hours. The little time matters. Every. Fucking. Moment.

    So Dave, now that I've heeded your advice and posted no this blog, where are you? And for anyone else reading this (which won't be many), where are you? Are you still plowing full bore down the highway, stopped to smell the roses, or idling?  Personally, I'm about ready to take the kayak off the roof for a few hours before I hit the road again.

Cheers and love.

Ponderence

 I'm staring out my window. 

That's all, drinking coffee, and staring at cars on the highway. All morning. I can't get motivated to do shit. I just stare out the window,

Pondering. Wondering. Worrying.

I can't get out of this funk that I've found myself in many times before. Over the years I've done the same thing, I think everyone has. There's a point where we become philosophical and spiritual, looking inward and outward at the same time. There's a point in all our lives where we begin to ponder the implications of our own existence, and wonder what it all means, to ourselves, our family and our friends. Then we worry about the future.

I can't not do this some days. The traffic on the highway is strangely intoxicating. Not to mention the change of the season visible in the trees. Winter is coming, more change. For me, fall is not my favourite time, but one of depression and low spirits. Even with the beauty it brings, the coming winter does not make me happy, only aggravated and spiritually empty. More cars and trucks rumble down, and once in a while a cruiser pulls someone over in front of my house.

Then it all stops for a while, the road goes quiet, and I can hear the roosters next door for a while. That's usually rudely stopped by a very loud vehicle. I won't hear the roosters again until tomorrow morning, when I'm trying to sleep. The old wives tales about roosters making a ton of noise in the morning is a misnomer - you hear them all day, unless they are drowned out by life going on around you. 

The same goes with our frame of mind. Sometimes we can't hear the positives for all the negatives that drown it all out. We can't find our centre because someone or something has knocked us off. The traffic on the highway is the same. Sometimes a truck will pull in, or a car of a friend, and you can take your focus off the rest of the highway for a while while you deal with whatever is about to happen. Again, the same goes for our centre. We get interrupted by life events. Dates, meetings, appointments, errands, weddings, funerals, work. Then, we go back and watch the traffic again.

That's where I'm at now, watching the traffic. Now and then a vehicle will pass carrying a boat, or an ATV, canoe. Now and then a bicyclist will meander down the road. Now and then an RV will pass. These change my perceptions of life to one of rest and relaxation, and makes you wonder why it's not you in those vehicles, on my way to some pleasant valley, or mountain lake somewhere. Then a semi rolls past, knocking me back to reality, and I stare out the window again, waiting.

In the country I regularly hear the staccato of gunshots from the hunters over at the river. Another allegory for life, serenity interrupted by chaos. Gotta find the balance, gotta find the peace, gotta ignore the shots. Focus on the cyclists, the peace. It's hard to do, but I have to manage.

When I lived in the city chaos was everywhere, you had to look for the peace. The rat race, the constant comings and goings of everyday existence, all of the allegories transferred to a different situation, but still all the same. Raising a family, caring for a household, people closer than here, busier times, most good, a lot bad. And the traffic. Oh, the traffic. Always going, never pausing, endless streams of distractions, endless reasons to stare out the window and ponder.

I moved out here in part to remove myself from that pace of life. For the most part it worked, I found peace and serenity amongst the lower levels of humanity and noise. Or should I say, peace found me. On the river in my canoe, or walking thru one of the area's parks, and even in my own backyard, by a fire at night, with friends. The pace of life slowed and I had many moments of clarity. Again I had the opportunity to smile and thank God for my life, my family, my friends, my job. Things are so much simpler here when you see just how much the wildlife outnumbers the mass of humanity of the city. The birds and the deer do their thing, the frogs that live in the marsh just live their lives, that's what this place has taught me. Just live my life, go with the ebb and flow of it all, go with the traffic.

Again I took a pause while writing this to stare back out the window. Another cyclist went by, as the lawn mowers and trucks took over the sounds of the day. You can't hear the peace of the cyclist, only the calamity of humanity. You have to ignore that and find the serenity.

Life is like that. Find the peace. Find your centre, find your serenity and centre in the midst of all that which tries to deflect your focus and destroy your peace.

Be the cyclist, not the truck.

Cheers.