The Check Engine Light Came On

It's 5:30am. Victoria Day. I'm sitting at my computer writing, listening to the birds greeting a new day, the sun is rising. I've always loved this time of day. But today is different. I'm hurting.

I've gone thru some medical issues these past months, Vespecular Neuritis (100% chance I spelled that wrong), Acid Reflux, breathing issues related to my Lobecomy, and for fucks sakes, Hemorrhoids. Yesterday, a weird rash showed up on my leg. I don't know, just a random bad rash. By the way, is it for fucks sake, or fuck sakes? I never really knew.

 My check engine light is on and it's fucking flashing. 

 All this has happened in the past four months, all at once. I'm concerned to say the least, why all this shit all at the same time, besides the fact I'm 57 years old, and falling apart. People can restore a 57 year old car, but a 57 year old man? Interesting. Can I get new parts? Is there a medical mechanic out there that can get the lights to reset? Or is it a matter of putting electrical tape over them. Don't know.

The coyotes are howling.

 Anyway. The rash is taking up half my thigh, it itches, and it showed up out of nowhere today. So that concerns me. Worst case is Shingles, best case, I rubbed against something I shouldn't have. Of course the optimist in me thinks the latter, but what? I haven't done anything lately that would cause a rash. Like 20 years recently. So what the fuck? I need to see a doctor. Or a mechanic. 

 Now the roosters are going at it. It's 5:45am. Why wouldn't they?

 I've been lucky with my health up to this point, but know, know I want my doctor on speed dial. A couple years ago I would have looked at this beautiful sunrise and thought - canoe now! I'd do that. I want to do that now, it's a gorgeous morning and I live in paradise so why no head to the river.  The quick answer is I don't have the energy anymore. I got old. Quickly. So instead of jumping out there, I'm here, writing about how I think I should be heading to the hospital to find out what the fuck is wrong with me now, instead of enjoying the bliss of a beautiful summer morning.

The melancholy of getting older.  

My mind is racing right now with thoughts of medical needs, practical needs, prescriptions, tests, blood work, sitting in a clinic waiting room. I should download some new apps, I'm gonna have time to waste. Fuck. I'd rather have the river. The peace. The birds, the sunrise. But no, I'm heading for a waiting room.

The rash doesn't hurt, but it's there, taunting me, scaring me. It's a holiday today so I have to go to the ER if I choose to waste my entire day sitting with a bunch of other sickies. Nope. I'll go tomorrow. Today, I'm hitting the water, regardless of my health because I don't know how more times I can do this until I get answers. I'm a little scared, but I'm not an old man yet, just gotta get the lights off one by one.

Anyway, cheers, have a great Victoria Day.

Cheers. 

 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.

Lost

Life is strange, a meandering compilation of events.
Seemingly random, without purpose, without order.
Today happens, yesterday is finished, tomorrow is yet to be.
Time is a meaningless frivolity.
What happens at any given moment has purpose at that time,
But tomorrow that purpose gone. Meaningless now.
It's done.

What's in the past is beyond trying to do anything about.
It's tomorrow now that matters.
Even the present is meaningless to adjust as it happens too fast.
Each moment in the present unfolds as fate requires.
The past can hurt you, memories good and bad have meaning.
The moment is gone, but the pain lingers, or the jubilation.
The pain is always there.

It gets into your head, stuck there, like a sore that won't heal.
It gets into your soul and never lets go.
It gets more difficult to deal with the deeper you go into the rabbit hole.
Your mind gets stuck on memories, good or bad.
And you linger there.

Things that were, things that could have been, things that hurt.
Your mind will always remind you of them, whether you want it to or not.
You try to remember good things, fond memories.
Then you realize you don't have them anymore, and it hurts more.
The pain lingers again, deeper now. More afflicting now.
Why couldn't that good memory remain constant now?
Why couldn't it still be that good.
It can, but we don't let it.

We linger on the bad, we long for the good times.
We long for the things we've lost.
Even though we live in the moment of positivity,
The pain of the past keeps the spirit from truly flourishing.
We try, and try again, until it hurts to keep trying.
Then we give up.

But no matter how far we go forward and stay positive,
No matter how much we endeavour to make new positive memories,
The old negatives still flourish there, in your mind, in your heart.
Things that were once upbeat and happy,
Are now painful to recall.
Because we've lost it.

We want it back and we can't have it, that is where the pain comes from.
Tomorrow is another day in a long series of moments in life.
We can only hope that tomorrow brings forth memories that we don't have to suppress.
Like so many others that were once happy.
And now hurt.

Renewal, forced.

I just realized I haven't written in almost a year.

Shit, I'm slipping.

There was a time when these posts were quite common, and unread. I post this crap for me. I'm not looking for anyone's approval. This is supposed to be my diary as it were.  But apparently nothing has happened since March 2019 that required me to take notes. Nadda. Nothing, Fuck all.

Not entirely true, lots happened, but the other thing that happened is that I just stopped writing anything down. I stopped worrying about logging into my life every week, I stopped caring what others thought of me. Maybe I've grown up, finally. At 51 years old.

So here's a small synopsis of my life since my last post:

• I shattered my foot and went off work for three months.
• I developed a blood clot in my leg because of it.
• I bought a Mustang.
• I made several new friends, and can't imagine my life without them now.
• I'm still NOT finished trucking school (see points one and two).
• I found a brother I never knew I had.
• I sold my house.
• My daughter started college in another city and that freaks me out.
• I've made concerted effort to fix my physical issues. IE, I started working out for the first time in years. I even bought a home gym.
• I'm out of town a lot on business, so I post from Chicago, Louisville, Oakville and Detroit.

In a nutshell, that's not much. I still live alone in the county, in God's country. This brings me strength and peace. Many days I wish I could share that with everyone, so everyone's life has all of that. I've become a simple man, living within simple means, with a neurotic cat as a companion. But I am also gifted with many friends. Life is good.

I've had my share of troubles lately, I've been fighting inner demons as we all do. Sometimes life changes on you and you wonder what path to take. As Robert Frost once mentioned, there is a path less travelled. I took that, and life is better to its means. But that path comes with challenges. Once one is released from bonds of responsibility, one can make a multitude of decisions. Some are regretful, some are promising. I kinda lie in the middle. I have many choices to make, and only I can decide which are the right ones.

These changes and choices have affected my relationships and simply common habits. There are friends I don't see much anymore, but others I see often. There are hobbies I used to indulge in, and other fanciful distractions I revel in. Such is life, it changes. We change. Life changes. I believe this new environment I find myself in has affected some old habits, to the better or worse depending on you point of view. I like who I am now, I like the changes I've made but in honesty I miss who I was years ago. This blog, if you read back far enough will prove that. I don't ever want to lose that old me, but I've evolved; changed. We all do. But we all have our roots, and our passions.

This post is me telling myself to get back to who I was while at the same time keeping who I've become. This post is also now a rambling changing diatribe in which I push myself to pick up pieces of my past and mesh it into my future. You decide.

Ultimately, it's about having a chance encounter with someone with passion for writing, and has awakened something in me that used to exist. Something I really never want to lose. So Thank you Karyn, a women I randomly met and found to have a kindred spirit. You awoken the kraken.

You have made me write again, and dammit, you'll regret it.

Cheers.

Currents

I came from the south today, drifting along the invisible ocean of air that feeds this place, that gives it life. I came up to push out my colleagues from the north, who have kept their grasp for many months on this place. I convinced them it was time for change, and so I took over.

I began my day gently enough, meandering down a country river, slowly, taking in all the beauty that is the earth. I absorbed the water and the land, the plant life, and wildlife, and the people who call this place home. Slowly I drifted down the river, darting here and there to take a closer look at the landscape I haven't seen in so long, this place of beauty and serenity. And now that I'm back, I can make it what it was so long ago, before my cousins from the north took grasp. Drifting down to the water, back out to the shoreline, then across the fields, over houses and shops, I took it all in again. I was home.

There was so much to see. I crossed the waters of the river it rippled in my wake, creating what appeared to be a current, endless concentric ripples of water crossed to both shores as I passed, the river was alive again. As I passed trees the leaves waved as if to say hello old friend, at least those that were left after the long cold months since my last visit. So many more then, many still strewn about the ground where they fell, and as I passed they came to life, darting up from the ground that had become their home for the long cold. They would never see the trees again, but still, they moved as I passed as if in anticipation of something grand, or, simply showing their reluctance to pass the torch to this season's crop of beauty. Their duty done.

A flock of geese passed by me, their wings opened as if to catch me in their feathers. They knew who was there to keep them aloft, to keep them alive, and help them to their destination, somewhere along the meandering streams. The beauty of the birds was only outshone by their grace, silent and still, they took my hand eagerly, and I knew that my warmth was a welcome feeling to them. They seemed to enjoy my helping hand as they soared over the fields and houses for what seemed like and eternity. It was good to be welcomed back.

More trees, more fields, more waters, this time vast expanses in the distance, it seemed like a good place to wander.

Across the bay were small sailboats, eager to take advantage of the changing weather. Hearty people were aboard, as it was still quite brisk and not quite the season, but they were up to the challenge of the new birth, and took full advantage of my presence. I came across their sails one by one, each sail billowing forth and propelling the craft forward. The crew on these small ships revelled in my presence as well, smiling and laughing, it was what they looked forward to all the cold months, a chance at rebirth, a chance at living again. And the boats lived, I'm happy to have helped.

I myself sailed across the waters of the lake, the water churned and rippled in my wake, moving swiftly as I gained speed. The water rose and fell with my passing, moving in whatever direction suited the currents, eventually crashing onto the shores lined with homes and small beaches, and a few breakwaters. A marina in the distance caught my attention, without a care I headed over, to see other boats, many still tied down from the winter, but some preparing to venture out into the expanse, adventure in their hearts. As I passed the water between the boats rippled and moved them about in their berths, rocking not with the cold harshness of my cousin from the north, but with the warm inviting sense of anticipation, you see, I'm the one people let touch their faces. I'm the one who brings happiness.

In the distance clouds began to form. Curious, I moved toward them. As I closed on the clouds, I moved slightly faster. As I passed people on the streets below some had to catch their hats, much to my amusement. Leaves, paper and various assorted small things moved up from the ground behind me, playing a sort of cat and mouse game with me, and of course those folks who were in the way. I caught up to the clouds a short time later, just as it began to rain, a spring rain. A warm rain. Nothing like that had been seen since the last time I visited, it was as if nature was saying hello old friend, nice to see you again.

The rain fell most of that afternoon, lightly, but briskly. It washed away the remaining shards of the harsh cold, the leftover ice patches, the random debris that always gets trapped by the snow. The rain provided a rebirth for the streets, the trees, the grass, and whatever else it touched. Warmed by me, it continued unabated through the day and into the night. I was happy to help it along. Together we made the city smile, warm spring showers moving just enough to acknowledge my assistance. Harmonious teamwork, helping the season along, and renewing life, all life, not just the trees and grass, but the smiles on children's faces as they stood in the warm rain proved we were there for everyone and everything.

Again it was time to move on. I parted ways with the clouds and again greeted the sun, who as always, warmed me. Still moving briskly as one does when happy, I made my presence known everywhere I went. I passed a flag hanging limp, and made it furl out, presenting it's majesty to the people. Those who noticed seemed to smile in approval. I passed children blowing bubbles, and was only to happy to oblige them, again I was greeted with smiles and adoration, as nothing shows thanks like a child's smile and laughter. I passed a balloon that had lost it's owner, and it followed me for quite a while, until it too ran out of air. I passed a kite in a park, and took it for a short journey into the clouds, only to release it back to it's owner, who had no intention of ever losing it anyway.

I passed out of the city and back into the countryside, over fields of fledgling green embracing the new season. Not large enough yet to answer my call, but soon. Back over the water, back over more boats, over animals and birds who seemed to simply stop and say hello, and enjoy what I had to offer them, again.

It is good to be home, to be the gentle breeze that caresses the life force of all living things, to be the strong wind that moves the sails on high seas, to be the friend you've longed to feel the presence of for so long!

Windsor's District 9

Welcome to Windsor, Poor people to the left, rich to the right please, mind the gap, keep moving, and keep your eyes forward please.

This city treats poor people like a plague as the rich and affluent ignore them, the middle class ignores them, politicians ignore everyone but themselves. The downtrodden in Windsor are everywhere, their shopping carts with every possession they own, are everywhere, panhandlers are everywhere, drugs are everywhere. And behind everyone of them is a cop pushing them along to the next unseen alleyway or abandoned doorway, at the behest of city council and our illustrious mayor, Drew Fucking Dilkens. (I'm fairly certain his middle name is Fucking, but don't quote me). 

Poor and homelessness is now a crime in Windsor. A crime nobody wanted to ever commit and nobody wants to be a part of but its now against Windsor's moral and ethical code to be not comfortably set financially. If you don't work in the tech or auto sector, and aren't part of a union, fuck you then. If you haven't been lucky enough to inherit dad's cash, have a mental illness, or have lost a job, fuck you then, enter through the left door. No right door for you.

And nobody gives a fuck.

Dilkens doesn't, he has a house, money and a career. The police don't, or can't, as they're job is to keep the peace and enforce the law. If city council determines that placing your shopping cart full of your own life behind a building is illegal, the police must move it. The lawyers don't give a shit, they just see a paycheck on the backs of the poor. The average person living in this city cares, but drugs, crime brought on by rampant poverty keeps most people from getting involved. Frankly, nobody wants to get shanked for trying to do the right thing. (Yeah, I'm generalizing, sue me).

Most people look at the homeless in this city as a burden to be pushed under the rug, out of sight out of mind kind of shit. Well, take a drive late at night and maybe open your fucking eyes for once (Drew). Drug addicts are on every corner, panhandlers are everywhere, shopping carts are scattered around town and left abandoned as their owners seek whatever shelter they can, or their next fix. You can't escape it if you simply open your fucking eyes (Drew).

The other night I pulled into a 7-11 at about 3am. As I got out of my car, I noticed two women sitting in front of the store on the curb, one of them asked me for a lift to the casino before I even got out. They were both a mess, more than likely messed up on something, and their clothing was a dishevelled mess. Now I'm all about helping people, but that night I became the person I'm bitching about. I said no, I'm not a taxi and walked on.

I've become part of the problem.

Last night while on call with my partner, we stood around his car at a Tim Hortons shooting the shit. A sketchy looking guy we had been keeping our eyes on butted into our conversation. It was obvious he was looking for a fight. My first reaction was that I really didn't feel like getting stabbed or shot tonight, so we go into the car and left. This guy was obviously on something but we weren't about to find out what.

I used to like the city at night, but now it scares the hell out of me. I'm sure Drew isn't too scared, I think he'd melt if he went out at night. There was a time when you'd be able to walk down street late at night and enjoy the nightlife, smells and sounds of the Windsor at night. Now, you run into meth heads with guns. Shootings and stabbings are commonplace now, and all of it, drugs. Every night another stabbing on the news, another shooting on the news, another half dozen police cruisers blocking off another street for the night. Another homeless person is found dead in an alley and nobody knows, or cares, how they died. 

You don't see this on the news much, but it's out there. I see it every night. I see cruisers blocking a street, or parked crooked on a lawn, or zipping past at high speed. I see our police doing their jobs the best they can in  a city rife with crime, and the rich choose not to see it. (Drew). Now, I know I'm comparing homeless people with crime here, but there's a point to that.

Homeless and downtrodden people in this city, or simply the poor, find themselves caught in the middle constantly. The aforementioned shopping carts affirm that. At the Tim Hortons we sit at while on call, there is a motel across the street well known to the police as a centre of trafficking and prostitution (hence last night's methed up idiot). And every night there's a shopping cart full of someone's life here as well. The two situations always end up close together. Those owning the carts don't want to be there, they want a home. But they can't have one because the system failed them and they end up on the wrong side of the tracks.

This week it was announced that Street Help is closing down. Now, the woman who runs that place, Christine Wilson-Furlonger, is no friend of the city. Frankly, most people believe she's profiting on the back of poor people. But whatever you feel about her, the fact is she tried to do something. She made an attempt to help those who nobody else would help. And if your only possession in this dump is a shopping cart with junk in it, she was your friend. Now she's closing over a fued with the city (Drew).

So what's left? The Downtown Mission. A great organization I admit, they do great work. Lately they've installed a pay as you can dental clinic that amazingly enough is overbooked and jammed. (Can't imagine why, any ideas Drew?)

The Mission is over capacity, dirty, and constantly running out of food and money. With the announcement of Street Help closing it will surely get worse.

But don't worry! Drew has a solution! Drew and his council croneys to the rescue! Windsor City Council is selling the main branch of the Windsor Public Library downtown, to the Mission. Problem solved! Located just a few feet away from their current digs, the library building will fully contain all Windsor's homelessness away from anyone who might see them, like, you know, rich people. And all it will cost the residents of Windsor is their iconic cultural learning resource centre. (Who needs that anyway, we have the internet). Besides, the library hosts homeless people all day anyway. They go there to catch up on the news, sit down in a comfy chair and read books. So nothing much will change, right?

Welcome to the new Downtown Mission, our old library, Windsor's new District 9.

Obligatory Uplifting Summer Bullshit Post

I was informed that I haven't written for quite a while, and some people who think I have a gift for this are annoyed. So... this.

And if you are thinking that I'm starting to write this with no destination or even frankly, any point, you're correct. I'm winging this one.

Summer arrived last week, the day after it snowed. It was gone in a few hours, but it made a shy appearance, and today, the rain has finally stopped, bringing the sun with it. Birds are singing, people are out in droves, leaves are budding, blah blah blah blah summer bullshit. It's nice, it happens every year around this time, and we relish it. I'm already staring at my canoe.

This summer has new focus for me, I'll be in school for the first time in over 25 years by June. I'm getting my AZ licence and getting into a truck. This is a huge career change, I'm a graphic designer, pretty far removed from the open road. But I can't wait, this process has taken five months and a ton of paperwork, but it's now real, and I'm geeked to start. I had other plans this summer, I almost sold my house, so I've been working like a dog on it to get it ready for market, but a new career takes precedence. So I'll stay in my little basement apartment for a while longer yet. My new car also got pushed down the list of things to blow a ton of money on. I'll save the new Camaro for my congrats present to myself once I get a new gig driving somewhere.

Summer brings motivation. We're out of the doldrums of winter, the sun beckons, and renewed vigor and attitude have prevailed. So I'm working out. A lot. It feels great to get moving again as my energy levels have elevated me to a point of wanting more. Winter meant not wanting to do anything that didn't require a pillow and remote control. Now, I don't want to be anywhere but on my bike, on the drums, or in the gym. I turn 50 this year, and I'm not taking that kick in the teeth sitting down, (here we go with metaphors). I'm taking the bull by the horns and knocking that bugger down. As it is, I don't look my age at all, and I love it. Most people guess my age around late 30s. Sometimes I've not corrected them just for my own amusement or self-gratification. Other times I love seeing the looks on their faces when I tell them I've been around for a half century. I smile with the reactions. So why should I act it?

Age is a number, 50 is a bloody big one, and it scares me, so I'm refusing to accept it and go down without a fight. Summer is the key to that, getting outside and getting active is the only way to fight the onslaught of aging. I love seeing older folks out cycling, walking, playing ball in the park. At this point in our lives rebirth and rejuvenation is everything. Last week I went for a walk with my friend, and we passed a playground. She's 53, I'm 49, and it didn't fucking matter. We jumped on the swings, went down the slide a few times, climbed the monkey bars and tried to bump each other off the teeter totter. I'm sure there were kids looking at us like we invaded their space. I'm sure they were thinking 'what's with these old fuckers on OUR playground!' I'm sure they went home and complained to their parents, who in turn, went and played on the swings themselves.

Summer isn't all fun, working outside on a hot day is a bitch. I've got work to do around here and it's been pushed back, fuck it, it's playtime. We've all got a finite time on this pale blue dot, and for many they wasted their time here. Work, work, work. All work and no play makes Keith an asshole. So nope. In another month I'll be spending my summer in a classroom. For now, I spend my nights driving and my days daydreaming under a warm sun. It will have to end soon, so why not take advantage of it. Why not embrace your inner child and just enjoy life. 

I took some hits this past year and I've spent much of my time mired in my own negative thoughts and fears. Nobody is going to fix that for me, and nobody is going to fix your fears. However good it feels to let my hair down and see life's little spontaneous brilliance, I still have to keep grounded in the affairs that have kept me back, and fix them. We all do. But perspective is key. Maintain your negative mindset without creating a path forward is cowardly. Get yourself fixed the best way you can, take time to appreciate the little things and bigger things will follow. I'm starting to sound like a broken record here, same old positive enforcing bullshit. But frankly it's true. 

The rebirth outside has brought a rebirth inside.

In another month or so the summer will be old hat, again. As it does every year. But this year I'm not letting it get old. I'll be out on the water, camping, biking, walking, drinking, playing, enjoying. I'll be with my friends, and making new ones, I'll be spending a terrific day with people I love doing things I shouldn't. Because at some point adulting will happen again, and I'll have to be responsible, I'll have to fix things, pay bills, write tests, and answer for my silliness.

At some point, but not today.

Cheers.

Fear

At a certain point in our lives we become complacent. We become stagnant, and we make a decision to float along the river of life. Not paddling anymore, just riding the current. Our families are established, our careers are winding down the road, and we're just happy to spend the time we have with those we love and do the things that make us happy.

Then opportunity comes knocking. Or, as in my case, you force yourself to find the opportunity. That's where I find myself today. Sitting in my little apartment facing the prospect of my life completely changing at 49 years old. Not really any big deal if you consider my father was 49 when I was born, so his life changed radically at this age as well. I think my issue is that I'm slow to grab the paddle and change the course of the boat.

For the most part I like my life. I have a great degree of freedom, I'm not tied down, I have great friends and family, and I love the fact that I can do pretty much anything I want within reason. (and within my wallet). Don't get me wrong I do have responsibilities, but they don't control me the way they did when I spent 10 hours a day in a cubicle. Working for myself has several advantages and allows me the flexibility I have become accustomed to. But something is missing. Actually, a lot is missing.

I have three phone calls to make today. Phone calls that will change the course of the river and open new possibilities to me. But I'm afraid to make them. The phone sits in front of me as I type this, the numbers written on a small sheet of paper on the table. And I'm afraid to make the calls. Why? Am I too engrossed in this lifestyle I've become accustomed to? Am I afraid of change? Am I just lazy? I don't know. I do know that these three phone calls will each affect me, and the sum of those changes will add up to a completely new life for me if all pans out. 

This isn't the first time in my life I've stared at a phone. I've done many things in my life but at the end of the day there are things that remain constant; things that are a solid foundation of my existence. These phone calls will uproot those very foundations. I shouldn't be afraid of this, I should be exited. I should be eager to jump at new challenges and opportunities. 

The phone is still sitting there.

I know one thing that will come of these decisions is that someone close to me will not like them. Changes in my life will affect others, and of course that bothers me. But at the end of it all, this is my life. Nobody else can dictate to me what I do with it. Unless of course I decide on something ridiculous, then I'd expect the obvious intervention. That isn't the case here. I'm sure those affected will understand. Maybe that's another reason I haven't pulled the trigger? 

I'm not a jealous type. I see people doing what they want in life with lots of money and freedom, to that I say good for them. That being said, It does make me think there's no reason why anyone else can't do that as well, hence the phone calls. The phone calls I haven't made yet. I can do this, I just have to push past the self-imposed barriers and realize that I'm the one who will create this change. I'm the one who will initialize the butterfly affect. I'm the one who matters here.

Fear of the unknown is what keeps us from experiencing life to it's fullest. Many people thrive on this fear and embrace it. For the past few years I've evaded it. I think it's time to try again and just into the unknown waters.

I'm dialing now.

Parallel Epiphany

In the course of the past year and a half in this job I have met many interesting and unique people. Most of whom are just folks going about life in the best way they know, raising families, going to events, going out with friends, yadda yadda, standard issue people. Every once in a while though, someone comes across your path who makes you stop and take notice of life's intricacies and hard lessons. 

Tonight I met someone who was not only experiencing the things that test us in life, but completely paralleled my own experiences. The difference is she is just 45 days into that path, where I have almost six years under my belt. It was eerie to say the least.

I don't often write about this sort of thing but meeting her tonight sparked something in me. Something was strange and surreal about the whole experience. In the course of driving her home I met a younger female version of me. I didn't even get her name, and short of what I'm about to say here, I know nothing about her. I may not ever see her again, but she affected me. The tears she openly displayed let me see a window into her pain. 

She began by asking me questions about myself, as many customers do. Now I should preface this by admitting openly that I maintain pre-prepared lies, as many people ask me very personal questions I don't feel comfortable answering. Rather than 'none of your business', I make shit up. This started randomly enough but over the months I have almost invented a mirror life for the benefit of those who will (for the sake of alcohol) just keep asking anyway.

With this woman I kept the truths up front, as the questions were not unreasonable. What is my day job?  - Graphic Designer. Am I married? -Separated. Why do I do this? - I like meeting new people and I'm doing something positive and helpful. Standard fare. Likewise I always ask my customers standard questions; 'How was your night?' or, 'What kind of trouble were you guys causing this evening?' Most times the answers are positive and innocent, her response was one of pain and distress. Of course that changed the dynamic right there. 

This is when it got weird. In a good way weird. But weird.

She hates her job. She makes damn good money, been at it for 25 years, and hates it. She wants to leave. When she heard me talk about my leaving cubicle world six years ago and starting on my own she was almost jealous, I could hear her tone change, but I, as always remain positive about it. I don't see my departure from the work world as a bad thing, I'm doing what I want, when I want and that makes me happy. No clock, no meeting that should have been memos, no incompetent bosses, no broken down tech to deal with. Just me. Responsible for me and only me. 

This perked her up. 

More questions, about money, happiness, personal life, marriage. The more she inquired the more I could see the gears turning in her head, she wanted what I have, even at the expense of her income. 

"Are you happy with your decision?" I replied most certainly yes.
"No regrets?" I replied a few, but they were easily overcome in time. Of course, what is life without some manor of regret at some point. 
"Kids?" This is where I normally begin to lie. But not tonight. I told her I had two aged 17 and 22. 
"Married?" Separated after 21 years. 

Then she told me 45 days ago her husband left her after 21 years. And that her kids were aged 15 and 20. The more we talked on that short ride the more I could see she saw hope where none manifested before. She saw two things in me; first, our personal lives were almost a mirror, and secondly, I made the choice she is desperate to make. I pulled no punches with her, it wasn't easy, and still isn't. Everyday brings tough choices and decisions, everyday there is a certain degree of regret. Everyday is not like yesterday, that is a double edged sword, some days you don't want it to be, other days you long for the past.

There was a brief silence. She was still crying. She had spent the night at a friend's house trying to find answers to questions she hadn't asked. In the car with me she inadvertently asked all the right ones. When the ride was over and she was home, she got out of the car and grabbed me, insisting on a big hug. Again, I usually don't indulge that in my customers, but sometimes it's just the right thing to do.

I said good night and good luck, gave some obvious words of encouragement like, 'It's going to be tough, but the end result is well worth it', or something along that lines. I got into my partner's car and left. 

As we drove away I began thinking about her more, she said some things that were quite profound, but it was the parallels in our lives that strike me. She in embarking on a journey that I've already taken and I hope she succeeds. It was strange that I felt that way, after all she's just a customer, a first timer, and someone I may not ever encounter again, but her words and predicament resonated with me. I hope she came away from our talk with the same thoughts. 

She seemed genuinely uplifted by my own comments on the trip. On how I made such a drastic work-life change, on my own separation (at the same point I may add). She saw in me someone who had already experienced what she was going through and made it out the other side. I believe it gave her hope for a future, and that life changes, it evolves, and at some point in our lives we will take that road less travelled. The hug said it all. 

I hope I see her again so I can get an update. I'm curious how she fares. Lately I've seen many friends and family experience very difficult circumstances. My nice-guy mode kicks in and I want to help and I know in most cases I can't except to just be there for them to sound off. This woman tonight fits into that category but with one notable exception, I was a complete stranger telling her things that friends would share, and maybe that actually meant more to her. Even though I make a habit of telling my customers white lies, she got a massive dose of truth, and it really was hopeful. 

Many times we meet people in the course of our lives who pass through unnoticed, especially at work. Just people, just customers, just a path to a paycheque. Tonight I met someone who will resonate with me for a long time to come. Someone who made me realize that my own struggles in recent years have not been so unique at all, and that others go through this in their lives as well in their own ways. The similarities to our stories and hopes are striking, at least to me. 

Of all she asked one question stuck out - 'Are you happy'. And yes, I am. Life is worth living and enjoying. Shitty things will happen but we will get past them and in most cases move on. I hope I inspired her to see that. 

I hope I meet her again.

Cheers.

Summer's Swan Song

It's 80 degrees out. I can hear an ice cream truck in the distance, probably surrounded by children while parents dig for cash. People are cycling down the street lazily, just enjoying the sunshine, like I've done so many times this year. It's October 4th, and it's a beautiful summer day. 

It's the Swan Song for Summer 2017, and that makes me a little sad. You see, like any good Canadian, I hate winter. I absolutely abhore it. I hate shoveling snow, I hate getting stuck on unplowed roads, I hate the fact that the wind makes my face hurt. I hate having to put on three layers of clothes to check the mail. I hate everything about winter except for two things: Winter sports are cool, and the wasps are all fucking dead.

Short of that, nope.

It's time to start winterizing. We have to check our tires, put away the summer toys, check the furnace, pack up the hoses, all that crap. We have to prepare ourselves for the inevitability of hibernation. Or maybe that's just me. I'm not coming out til Spring if I can help it, but sadly I work outside, at night. So many of you love the season, enjoy it. I won't. 

This summer started off with grand plans as they usually do. I had a laundry list of things I wanted to accomplish. I wanted to get back into shape, travel, see a couple concerts, see some old friends, finish my house, (or at least make progress on unfinished projects), I wanted to learn more songs on the drums, buy a new bike, and actually ride it, and so much more.

Amazingly enough, I actually did most of these things this year. That's a first.

I bought my bike, and love riding it. I bought a canoe and through it in the water in Manitoulin Island a few times, I worked out more, I learned new songs, I worked on my house. For the first time in years I feel like I improved my life. Then other things happened. I met people, and I reconnected with others I've lost touch with. With all that happened this year, with all my forward motion this simple act of being a human being meant the most.

I had some very unexpected and happy times with some wonderful folks this summer. Funny as how I'd always imagined my mid-life years in complete solitude, like a monk in my basement with a drum kit. I hadn't counted on people bringing me such happiness. Long afternoons in the sunshine, cold drinks on a patio, walking on a beach barefoot, walking through the woods, all things I love but usually quite alone.

Camping happened a few times too. Soul food for me. There's nothing like the peace of a quiet night in the open air with a canopy of stars as my ceiling. When I get to that place all fear and anxiety leaves me. It's almost as if the air itself has cleansed me and fills me with hope, peace and pure happiness. Then of course I get into the beer and it goes fuzzy again.

I was awarded three new neighbours this summer. Three different homes in spitting distance changed hands, so this street was a flurry of moving vans and service trucks. They all seem nice enough people. One even insisted I keep a spare key to his new home. Trusting lad I think. When I heard my next door neighbour's home had been sold sight unseen by a Toronto family I was concerned, but they've turned out to be incredibly nice folks. But paying 1,300 a month in rent wasn't their game anymore.

My hope is that none of these new neighbours turn into the tinfoil hat-wearing lunatic that another neighbour has become. I've known her for half a dozen years now, and suddenly she's nuts. I feel for her, I know in her heart she's a good person, but wow, this was not her summer. I'm now finding myself heading the other direction when I see her coming.

Tragedy struck as well. This summer's flood directly affected one new friend, and it will be many months before she's out of the woods, I cried with her as we waded through the sludge that infested her home. Then she was injured in the midst of all that, she fell on a large scraper and needed many stitches in her butt. Kinda funny now writing it like that, but that night nobody was laughing. To the contrary there was a lot of tears wiped away. Progress has been made however, the wound is healing and the basement smells much better once the contractors were finished with it. 6,000 people in this city went through this mess, but I'm sure there was only one sutured posterior.

Like everyone else, she came through the trauma and I'm very happy I was there to help. The entire incident put a damper on an otherwise wonderful summer, but hey, shit happens. (that joke has been tossed around way too much since that day, sorry!)

When Spring comes we all become like bears emerging from their lairs, we peek outside and see if it's safe to come out. Then we dust off the summer toys, open our pools, pull out sandals and shorts and and put away the snow shovels. As the season winds down we find ourselves reversing the process. I'm trying to find my boots, and that just sucks.

Some love the season for all it brings, but my attitude toward it only get worse the older I get. Fuck winter. (except for Christmas). As I tuck my canoe in for the long cold months ahead I lament over what's to come. Til next year my friend; the water waits.

With all that summer's swan song brings, one thing it cannot take away from us, that's simply the friendships and memories that a wonderful season has created. Nothing takes those from us.

Cheers.

Manitoulin - Part 2

Edit note: Blogger for some reason will not allow me to upload pics to the post today. I may end up creating a photo blog of the trip when they get that fixed.

Travel tip: Always book passage. Up front. Don't be that guy that shows up at the dock and expects to get aboard, you know, like I did. So, now I know.

I was on the standby list to board the Chi Cheemaun, luckily first so I did get aboard. The ship has a set of moving decks that adjust depending on the height of vehicles below it. Basically, the more RVs board, the more the upper decks get squished. Less RVs=more deck height. I got lucky. Once on board I took the time to explore the ship and position myself for some cool photos. The trip across is one hour 45 minutes, the weather was calm and beautiful, the ship was crowded, and it had a bar. Perfect. As you're leaving Tobermory you're being passed by the glass bottom boats and speed boats tours to Flowerpot Island and the many shipwrecks that litter the area. You pass beautiful vistas and lighthouses that make up Fathom Five National Marine Reserve, and head to the open expanse of Lake Huron.

At no time on the crossing are you out of sight of land. The islands that dot the region separating Lake Huron and the Georgian Bay are numerous and quite large. Eventually the ship turns course to centre on the distant cell mast marking South Baymouth; the port of call for Manitoulin. When she docks, one striking fact emerges - the ship is about as long as the freakin' town itself. Welcome to Manitoulin Island, population 12,600.

Into the car in the belly of the ship, and eventually get spit out with the rest of them, I hit the highway north. The first part of the highway to Manitowaning is the same as the Bruce, large farms, lots of rocks, and a winding road. As you move farther into the island subtle differences in landscape become apparent, the hills roll a little more, the trees close in, civilization becomes sparse. Highway 6  has been recently rebuilt so its new blacktop makes you feel like you're anywhere else in Ontario. Then you turn off it.

The town of Manitowaning, (population 900) is my destination, about a 30 minute drive north. The town is cute. Really no other word for it. It has everything you'd expect, a bank, coffee shop, car garage, gun shop, LCBO, museum, book store and more. A couple motels offer refuge. It's located on Lake Manitou, one of the largest lakes on the island, so it also houses the SS Norisle, the previous incarnation of the Island's ferry. Currently under restoration in the harbour, where it has sat since it was taken out of service in 1974. 

Two minutes down the highway is Manitoulin Resort, my camp. Pulled in, checked in, found paradise, again.

I got to my site and began to set up camp, but one thing caught my eye; the sheer amount of rocks there. Everywhere. It was even hard to find a place to park the car without sitting on one that might puncture a tire. A few minutes of that and I had it figured out. My firewood was delivered in an ATV trailer a hour later, complete with kindling and old newspapers to get me started. Firewood delivery, that's classy. I wasn't lucky enough this time to get a waterside site, so my canoe was unloaded down by Lake Manitou, and safely stored against a tree. My city mindset kicked in, I almost locked it to the tree with my bike lock I brought along for just such a purpose, but I quickly realized where I was. Once I set up everything, I set out across the lake.

The water was just as incredible as the Bruce. Crystal clear, rocks visible all the way to the bottom, and masses of small mouth bass lazily floating by. I headed out to a small island in the lake; chosen as a first random target. On the way I took notice of a house on the lakeside, a couple of people sitting in Adirondack chairs on the lawn having an afternoon drink in the sun, in front of the house, lashed up to the dock was a small powerboat and his float plane. Yeah, he had a plane in front of his house. Welcome to Northern Ontario.

I arrived at my chosen target about a half hour later, I was really in no hurry, it was only a click or so away, but meh, I was on vacation, not in any hurry. I pulled the canoe up onto the rocks, sat down and stared out at what was one of the most beautiful vistas I'd ever seen. Peace and tranquility. The rocks were basically granite slabs that rose out of the lake to form this small island. Massive slabs gave way on both sides to small boulders, and on the landside, trees found root. What amazed me up here was that vegetation takes hold wherever it can and flourishes. Trees grow majestically out of what seems like solid rock. On the waterside, the boulders get continuously smaller until the fish take over. Again, they are plentiful and visible.

After a while in the sun it was time to head back. I paddled across leisurely, watching kids jumping off the campsite's diving platform and doing what kids do. One of them wanted me to give him a lift as I sailed by him. Sorry buddy, not today. I pulled the canoe onto shore and checked on a couple teenagers fishing, they reported catching 45 bass in a couple hours, one of which while he was telling me that. They through 41 of them back.

Dinner was steak and potatoes cooked over an open fire, with a beer. A roaring fire topped the day off. I settled back with a book and took advantage of the waning sunlight. Once the sun went down and the camp became quieter I took a walk back to the docks. There's something about a lake at night. I contemplated going out after dark as I did in Cape Croker, but this lake is enormous and unfamiliar. Something about that idea was uneasy to me.

So instead I looked up. 

The stars. Oh my Lord the stars.

The entire Milky Way in all her glory, right there in front of me, within the canopy of stars that you could almost reach out and touch. The sensation of seeing that was overwhelming. I'm a city boy, on a clear night if we see Venus and the Big Dipper it's a good night. Here, I couldn't pick either of those out for the vast expanse of constellations. I even saw a falling star. I laid down on the dock on my back, the water under me constantly moving it lazily. I laid there for a long time, maybe a half hour? Who knows, I wasn't watching a clock. Of all the memories I brought home with me seeing the Milky Way will stay with me longest. Of all the vistas I recorded on film, I wish I could have gotten that. But If you pull out any basic astronomy textbook and look at the Milky Way, you'll have seen what I had the chance to experience.

Back at camp my tent was calling. A long day, a good day. And I've got lots of Manitoulin left to experience before the week is out. Tomorrow it would be parts unknown.

Cheers.