Mama’s Bank Account by Kathryn Forbes

When I was in grade school the high school put on a production of “I remember Momma”.  My father, mother , brother and I all went one evening.  Other than church plays it was my first encounter with live theatre.  It so moved me I wanted to be an actor, was in the drama club at Vincent Massey and later at the Manitoba Theatre School.  My first year at University of Winnipeg I took theatre with the aim of being a play write. 

I’d be waylaid by biology and biochemistry only to become a country doctor delivering babies and doing minor surgery.  I’d go onto specialize in Psychiatry where I did further training in psychodrama, dance and music therapy.  Personally I’d have seasons tickets to theatre, ballet, symphony and opera over many years. I really appreciated the arts though my day job was principally science. 

Recently I ordered “Momma’s Bank Account” by Kathryn Forbes.  This was the novel that was the  origin of the play called “I remember Momma’.  

I cried reading again reading it,  remembering my father coming home from work and giving his paycheque to my mother. Together they’d sit at the kitchen table and go through their budget.  

My brother and I didn’t receive an allowance but did jobs like delivering papers, mowing lawns and shovelling snow to have our own money.  All the saving and working and budgeting that’s condemned today as outdated ‘old stock Canadian.’  It’s summed up as ‘white priviledge’ and we’re shamed. 

I gave blood to pay for my books in medical school, along with a half dozen other students.  We formed an ad hoc study group to make use of the time we were being transfused every week until we became too weak and couldn’t carry on.  

These days I’m a dinosaur. Apparently ‘budget’s balance themselves’. Something ‘s rotten in the state of Canada. Unethical behaviour prevails at the very top.  Magical thinking is everywhere.  All manner of negligent and criminal behaviour goes on without any accountability even when exposed.  Billions of taxation money has gone missing.  Theft is the new norm, the new reset. 

I suppose there was a little self pity in my tears. Nostalgia for sure. I remember I didn’t appreciate my parents budgeting and cautious spending.  When I was young I was always exposed to the marketting world of television, the lies and false promises.   Looking at a neighbour’s flash new car, I once said to my father, “isn’t that something?”  He said it was ‘but Bill, I own my car and house and everything we have. The bank owns that car.”  

It was years before the government colluded with thieves and rioters and took money from the working people to give to their friends. The friends were slackards and thieves like them.  Why earn money when you can steal from citizens. 

When I was older I realized that the government used our pension funds as their private bank accounts too.  All the seniors were only getting half of the return on the money they invested in pension because the politicians today were little better than sociopaths.  Voltaire, paraphrased, said “steal a little and they put you in jail, steal a lot on they make you king’.  I wondered if that was truer today that when the cabal was inbred royalty rather than the grovelling elites today. 

The play, I remember Moma,  spoke to family.  Mama’s Bank Account by Kathryn Forbes is that story of a Norwegian family , hard working and loving.  I cried when I saw it as a child sitting beside my own mother with my family so like the family described.  Today, so much older , I cried to read it again.   It’s an old era of family values and responsibility.  Accountability and love.  Motherhood is little respected today as politicians denounce the family and mothers are called ‘ breeders’. The State is all .  Feminism of today is imitation of men.  It celebrates the sexy single girl.  As unCanadian as it is today I miss my homemaker mothr and  love this celebration of the Norwegian American matriarch.    

Sunday morning, rainy Burnaby

The first time I was in Burnaby back in the 70’s I was absolutely uplifted by the brilliant green of the grass and forest. I realized that the rain caused the foliage to be so alive and radiant. It was a wonder to see,  Living here now years I find I’m missing the sun though visiting Arizona last year standing in the desert with little more than cactus about I missed the green of Burnaby.  Now I just long for the summer sun.  

It’s a fact of nature this weather. It’s the weekend. It’s not the problem of the rain but my attitude. I”m not so motivated today. Partly my back aches and I worry about physical tasks thinking I might do damage. I won’t. It’s all psychosomatic .  I saw the chiropracter  yesterday and swam. It was a good day.  Today I’d planned to go to church. I still could. I could take the dog or leave him and go by motorcycle. It’s raining and I’m just on my second cup of coffee. Sloth is holding me,  I thought of an online meeting.,  

Looking at social media I just felt self pity, that others were active and doing things while I was belly aching to myself unable to move,  It’s nothing to do with the outside. It’s my attitude. I need an attitude of gratitude.

Thank you God for this day. Thank you for a good sleep in a warm and safe place, Thank you for Madigan. Thank you for the coffee. Thank you for all the rest of my body that doesn’t feel pain. Thank you for the quiche I bought yesterday for this morning. Thank you for the refridgerator. Thank you for family and friends.  Thank you for recovery. Thank you for all that I have. Thank you for life.

I’m not ready to rush,  I’m off the clock. I worked all week.  I will work this week again.  I’m a little concerned because sitting my back is painful and I sit to work.  Walking and standing cause pain too at time.  Right now I’m not in pain. I’m a little sore and stiff.  

I know the formula is that I focus on the positive and distract myself from the pain. I can go through the pain, I can pray. I can ask for help.  Instead I wallow in self pity. I’m addict ed to my couch. I like to half sit and lie in a comfortable position and read or watch tv and drink coffee.  Madigan lies on top of me and pins me down.  A

It’s getting to the time when I will have missed the window of opportunity to attend church.  It’s rainy and chilly outside.  I don’t think I’m going to make it to church.  I’m really more partial to the couch.  

Church is participating. It’s okay. God is everywhere.  Prayer together is sometimes more potent. I like the people. I wish to support the church.  Yet I could go back to sleep. I could do so many things but sloth has me in it’s clutches.  An on line meetings might be inspirational.  

I will walk the dog.  Madigan is a reason for movement.  He’s so precious. He’s welcome at church but taking him is a bit of a chore as it’s still wanting to be entertained .  He’s no more socialized than I am.  

That’s it.  If I wait the weather may improve.  I really ought to put together my machine for hanging upside down like a bat.  There are so many ‘shoulds’ .  I could go for a massage today to.

Each day we wake up and seek to reduce discomfort and maximize joy.  I seek to do your will God. I’ve had coffee and eaten quiche, used the toilet and feel better, I shave and brushed my hair. I ‘ll walk and every move will be better. It might have been better to go to church.  Good people.  Godly .  But right now I feel I’ll lie on the couch for a bit and gather energy for next move.  

Thank you God.  Thank you Jesus.  Thank you for this day and this being ness,  

Full moon earlier this month. 

Turn down day

I woke from a complex dream.  Lots of action and people. Not my normal peaceful place by the ocean but rather a forest scene with bare trees.  I’d incorporated some of the previous night’s tv show into it.  I hit the snooze bar three times.  I had to get up to go to the chiropractor. My back was better than a few days before and way better than months before but it had been a tough week.  Now I was looking forward to the chiropractor.

Nothing else was planned. I hoped to ride on my new motorcycle but despite having a coffee I was a little slow on the clutch change in 1.  I’d choked going up the hill.  I was anxious learning and distracted.  I had held up others taking off from the light.  I’d no difficulty all week then yesterday I had the problem. Out of sync. Now I was doing it consciously noticing the difference from the glide. The Glide has much smother gear shift.  I resented learning but the rest of the day. I was fine. The problem arose on the up hill starts.  I’d rev and let off the clutch but not get the revs high enough to let off the clutch then I’d clutch again and choke. It’s happened a couple of times,  Otherwise I’m loving the bike.  Just more learning.  I remember the same with the Roadster and how I’d loved the gear shift on the glide by comparison. Now I like the light weight and sportiness of this bike.

I was surprised at how well Dr. Ready identified the place of pain and loosened it up. As always when I leave his office I’m so much better. It’s something that lasts weeks and then I do something. This time it was the way I slept I think, also the tension sitting in my desk at work and the weather change.

I stopped at the store on the way home picking up lox, bagel and cream cheese sandwiches.  I’ve only my packsack till I get saddlebags next Friday.  It limits what I carry.

Before I went to the visit I’d sat in on the international virtual IDAA meeting at 8 am.  Good to see the folks I know. I’d walked Madigan but it’s been raining all day and he’s not been that keen on walking much.  He was keen on sharing the salmon sandwich though.. 

I’ve finished reading Ken Follett’s ‘ on the wings of eagles’ about the Ross Perot rescue of his executives from the corrupt Iranian regime and the daring escape when the Shah’s regime was overthrown by the Ayatollah.  It was awful to read the extortion, the terrible abuse of prisoners.  I thought of the Michaels who Xi Jinping kept jailed and Trudeau delayed release because it was politically better for him.  I was touched by Follett’s story of the men in jail and their families.  1979. I remember my friend Simon’s brother was involved in the escape of the Canadian and US embassy.  I was finishing medical school then.

I still feel toxic.  I feel that I associate with such sick people that I carry disease myself.  I feel like a leper doctor at times. Then I don’t want to be around others since Covid. I feel lonely but at the same time I turn down invitations. No different from so many of my social phobic patients.  I also feel I’m still grieving all the loss, the run of deaths the last few years. I don’t want to get close to any more people.  I fear intimacy.  Yet I like the people I know and feel badly I’ve not followed up on the phone numbers and invitations.  It was a big deal after the isolation of Covid to get out for dinner.  I did get to Harrison a couple of times but didn’t socialize.  I hang out with Laura and Madigan and talk casually with others.  I miss those people I knew so deeply, their deaths leaving such raw holes.  Meetings are good . I must get to church more too.  

In the evening I scroll social media and watch tv. I could do one evening of Tai Chi.  Any day now I hope to have my Adventurer Camper back. There’s been a terrible time getting parts for it. Given the problems with it I certainly can’t recommend the brand though I know that when Kelvin finishes the repair it will be better than before and the demons that came with the original lies and sale with be exorcised.  Nothing stops me from taking a tent out to the woods either.  I just really look forward to the camper with the luxuries.  

My home is comfortable.  I’ve all I need and life is good now.  I continue to work and hope to travel with the camper while I continue to work later this year.  I am looking forward to carrying my new motorcycle on the truck with the camper.  Maybe at the front like I did the Honda and Vespa.  I checked and there’ a lift rated for 750 lbs just like my 500 pound rated lift but better .  I will enjoy camping with the quad so will tow the trailer for that and the dinghy. I ‘m looking forward to quadding again.  I even plan to fish some.

It’s been raining all day and despite riding in the rain and walking in the rain I’d been grumpy,.  The morning meeting helped me let go of resentment and comparison and get more into gratitude.  I’ve just come back swimming laps and that feels good.

Thank you Jesus for life and depth. Thank you for spirituality. Thank you for love and colour. Thank you for the sun. Thank you for the smell of spring rain. Thank you for the robins and daffodils and magnolias. Thank you for Harley Davidson and Trev Deeley. Watch over my family and friends and patients.  Help them. Thank you for Madigan and protect him. Thank you Lord for all your blessings, May I know you more fully and do thy will.  

Polarization

There are a series of themes of modern life which are reduced to polaritit’s

1. Climate change - the world is about to be fried. We’re all going to die.  Plant food C02 is poison.  It’s an ‘Emergency!!!!!!!!!!”  Fear “ Fear”. Fear. Give me money!

2.  Racism - whites are all bigots and racists and blacks, and browns are saints.  Kill all the whites.  Blacks and browns need to be compensate. The reds too.  The yellows, maybe not so.  Freckled people are fucked.  Mixed people are screwed.  Those with Neanderthal genes aren’t counted.  Only English speaking whites but all of them The new Jews!. Even the children, are racists.  The unborn white babies are racists.  Mothers are the worst.  Worse than grandmothers. They feed racism with pablum and milk to the new race. All blacks are geniuses and saints.  Forget about Africa.  Forget about history.  Racism is anti blacks.  It’s never been black on black or brown on brown or red on red , it’s always been whites on blacks. The yellows are different.

3.  Communism is good. Communist lite is socialism.  More government is good.  Government is necessary. Capitalism is bad.  Doing your own work on anything without a government permit and supervisor is evil.  Profit for individuals must be shared with lawyers and beaurocrats. Without their spending your money they’d not be employed.

4. Homelessness employs 10 people for every homeless

5 There are victims and care givers.

6 In land ‘claims’ the lawyers for one side make millions and the lawyers for the other side make millions. The person whose land was in dispute May get a million is they are lucky.  The world is war and money is white collar war versus blue collar war.  

7. Everyone is in debt. Banks make money by debt.  All but a very few countries are in debt.  Prime Minister’s like Trudeau are loved by bankers. He wastes money and puts the country in debt but his principle payment is to marketeers who spin his corruption and graft to make it seem he’s doing for you. Government for the people is not what is going on today.  Volataire said it, ‘steal a little and they put you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king.”

8 Abortion is about abortionists and their massive assistance making money.  Having a baby is something a capitalist would do. The greatest abortionists of all time are communists.  Communism is a death cult.  Communists kill hundreds of millions at a time in every country they have ruled.  

9.  LGBT - the politics isn’t about freedom but rather about making money for the industry. It could be spotted owls.  Everyone has a ‘cause’ and there’s the rescuers.  Everything is a war.  Leonard Cohen had it right when he said there was a war.   Unions were necessary.  Peace marches were necessary.  Revolutions were necessary.  All were necessary at one time. Andy Warhol was right, everyone needed 15 minutes of fame.  There was the Armenia genocide.  There were genocides against pagans and Christians and Buddhists. Pol Pot slaughtered half of Cambodia.  Auschwitz wasn’t the only genocide. The Tibetans were genocided by the Communist Chinese.  The Rwandans were ethnically cleansed. it’s a regular event. Get down off the cross we can use the wood.

10. I like the ‘give peace a chance’ and “Love is all we need’.  I believe in God and God is love.  There’s meaning somewhere. I have faith.  I’m not sure about a lot. I know I see now through a glass darkly.  I know when I’m negative and judgemental I’m arbitrarily using black and white thinking.

11. The world is grey.  I can intellectualize and miss all the colours. I can be closed minded and not see the lights. I can be focused on the bowl and miss the pastels. 

12 Life is good.  The media is a spoof.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Feel the earth with each step. Get your head in the same room as your ass is.  

Celebrate.

Give thanks and praise

There’s love and fear and all that’s in between.  Hallelujah! This too shall pass and the world is unfolding as it should.  It’s amazing when one considers all the times we thought the worst was here and it got worse and it got better. Change is normal.  Whose in, whose out, is normal.  Peak a boo.

Easter, Christ Church Cathedral

My mother and family attended Dufferin Street Baptist. Toronto. I have her New Testament and Psalms on my desk.  I was raised Christian, first Baptist, then United Church , then Anglican.  I attended evangelical with Willie and Phillip and attended Catholic services with Laura and John. . 

It was Christ Church Cathedral that I was baptized with my friend Tom sponsoring me and Rev. Peter Elliott leading.  It was a sprinkling like the christening as an infant. Later  I’d be baptized full immersion in the River Jordan, Israel.  With Peter and Tom I felt I was lifted on the wings of an  Eagle. I had felt a tremendous weight of guilt and shame lifted from me as I’d confessed to Father John a year or so earlier.  In Israel I felt grounded,  God is an experience.  There’s always at moments like these an inner sense of the self shifting into something a kin to overdrive. 

I attended Christ Church Cathedral after my third divorce when I abstained from marijuana and alcohol having experienced ‘incomprehensible demoralization’ betrayed by my self, my profession and my wife,   having felt I’d lost the path of God I’d taken since praying by my bedside with my mother.  

Here I was again in this magnificent cathedral of high ceilinged architecture, polished wood, blessed  stained glass.  I loved being here praying in the dark night of my soul.  That year I left marriage and medicine and reaffirmed my faith, feeling safe and at peace here. 

I began pastoral counselling and returned to theological study. It had been so many years before at University of Winnipeg I’d studied Literature of the Bible with Dr. Carl Ridd. Here I’d be challenged by the profound thinking of Dr. Peter Elliot. I’d come here with my friend George and after ,over lunch, we’d  discuss the sermon and theology.  I’d go on to study more theology at Vancouver Theological Institude.Regent College and St. Mark’s Catholic College. I lived in the West end and came here for Compline so often. I’d come for the noon time prayers as well. I’d share my struggles and fears with Peter and he’d be welcoming and caring. 

I’d become a reader here.  It was a different view from the front yet the same.  Humility is like that.  Looking out on the congregation I looked up at the truly magnificent organ where the great works of Rupert Lang began and the choir that annually won Canadian awards for church music sat. Here I felt connected to the church all the way back to Peter the rock.  The history of Rome and Constantinople and the Church of England and all joined on this hallowed Musqueem ground. I kneeled to pray with saints, sinners, and the redeemed. It was a place of discovery and recovery, a place of welcome.  I healed here and felt comforted for a decade or more.

John Stephens is the bishop today. I loved his sermon of Easter talking of Mary Magdalene and the resurrection, faith and patience.  It was a moving sermon, an uplifting sermon, a sermon of hope.  I’d not been here at Christ Church since before this last three years of Covid and lockdowns.  I’d been attending dog friendly St. James with Gilbert my first cockapoo,  then Rev Emily’s  dog friendly St. Barnabus with  Madigan, my second cockapoo.   

This Easter  I just wanted to hear the brass again. Christ Church has each Easter added horns and trumpets to the organ and choir.  It’s like attending the Vancouver Symphony, with the Vancouver opera and a lecture worthy of UBC along with children and family all affirming their faith in Jesus.  It was all I hoped it would be. 

 There have been so many deaths these last few years. I’m at an age where the grieving doesn’t seem to end.  It was like those years in college when friends were having  weddings after weddings..  

When I travel I visit cathedrals.  The spring of last year I was in Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Oxford, London and Paris. The sermon and service at Christ Church in Oxford was so spiritual as was the sermon and service here. I felt the presence. I entered the flow. I joined in communion with my fellow man and God.  It was a holy time as was this.

When it was over Laura and I left the church to go out into the world, It was raining still and we opened our umbrellas as we were joined  by Laura’s friends, Julia and Patricia. Laura too me Patricia had once played organ in her Trinidad church.  Asked about my colourful Rembrandt umbrella I shared how I loved shopping in the stores of art galleries. It  was a happy time.  Touched by joy we celebrated the risen Christ and glory.  Back in the world of the mundane we carried on.  

Madigan was so excited by our return. He is little and anxious for a guard dog and  enormously glad to be relieved of his lonely heavy duty.  His joy is ever a reward.  Laura would make the Hamm , mashed potatoes and asparagus for our Easter meal. It would be a memorable day.  I would be so grateful for this life and thankful for all the love and joy I had known.  Church is a time of reflection and a reminder of the otherworldly essential so easily overlooked in a consumer society.  Church  is my place of refuge and inspiration, the city equivalent of a walk in a garden with God as companion. .  Thank you Jesus for your presence. Thank you Christ Church Cathedral.

Easter Weekend

It’s Easter Weekend. This is the time when even the C&E Christians do their second pilgrimage to the hallowed halls of higher learning.  It’s also the weekend here when the North Shore Round Up of AA takes place.  This year the round up is at the Vancouver Convention Centre.  

Before Covid when George, Vivian and Antonnio were still alive we’d have these wonderful reunions, lighting up when we saw each other, shaking hands and sharing embraces, our smiles so wide there was no room for face.  

George and I with our lady friends would begin the weekend with Friday night at the speaker meeting for AA.  Antonnio would connect with us then. Along with hundreds of others dozens of whom we called our close friends.  Vivian might be there or we’d connect with her on Saturday.  Being a priest she had so many duties with her church Easter Weekend it was a trial for her to slip out. Saturday meetings at the Round up and the dance that night, often after a dozen or so dined together was, always special.  I remember all these incredible story tellers from the round up, Dr. Bob’s son, and the nun whose vodka bottles clinked when she walked, the lawyer for the Hell’s Angels, all these wonderfully funny inspirational folk who brought us together in the evening.  

Sunday morning though George and I would meet at Christ Church Cathedral  early to get in ,as with each passing year the overflow increased. George, a jazz pianist and physician, would ,like me enjoy the incredible choir and organ at Christ Church.  Easter was the time the Brass was added with horns and trumpets.  We’d burst with song and Hallelujah. Christ is Risen.  We’d love Peter’s sermons and talk of them later over brunch. Often we’d be able to make the spiritual speaker at the Round up after church if we slipped out after sharing communion.  

We’d say hello to Antonnio, Barb, Andrea, Stephen , Vivian, Jackie.  Archie and Bill were always about.  So many people bursting with joy and celebration, clear eyes, where to stones had once been.  Scotty and Michelle, when Scotty was alive and still bursting with wisdom. I loved connecting with Lorne from the country, and others who came in often fo the annual gathering.  We’d lunch with Kevin and Anna before all their kids came along.   I loved most when the AA roundup  was held at the Hyatt with it’s chandeliered  ball room the weekend before EAster.  Then we’d be able to take in both  celebrations before it grew so big it moved to the convention centre.

Then Covid leaked and the lockdowns followed. .  I ‘m still isolating a bit. Each month I’m doing more , coming out more, socializing but still rather content to be alone . I’ve sailed solo so many years that I’m rather content with my hermit friend Laura and the crazy dog.  Our work is very intense and social so weekends I like to be alone in nature though as spiritual meetings works as well as the forest to still the soul.  I have a friend in Jesus.  I sing Hallelujah.  I pray and meditate.  I’m not going to St. Mark’s with John and studying Christian spirituality at Regent College anymore, so many evenings so many years, of meetings and classes after work. We all so loved the Christian dinners together when John was alive and James Houston’s wife was a live and Helen was back from her missionary work in the Sudan.  

As a child with my mom and dad and brother and often with my Aunt Sally visiting we’d go as a family to church, the ladies wearing white gloves and Easter hats.  I’d go on to be an intellectual, doctor, and study multiple religions, always striving to know God and self, the two entwined.  I was awarded a masters in Christian theology and comparative religions to go with the many other pieces of paper on the wall beside the MD , Psychiatry and Addiction medicine degrees.  Each year at this time I’d be as I am today surprised at the time.  We’re here again.  We are blessed to be alive another year.  Another year to contemplate the sacrifice of Jesus ,the deepest meaning of his parables and the beatitudes. 

This year I’ve bought a new motorcycle while Jesus was dying on the cross. It’s wind therapy and moving meditation.  Jesus Christ is an experience not an idea.  I don’t care to argue any more with aetheist prosyletizers or others who would contain God.  I loved Phillips book « your God is too small » . 

 Willie, the Christian psychiatrist would say that Jesus said ‘do not be afraid’ more than once.  He encouraged reading the Bible daily and every time I do I learn more from the living word. Phillip another Christian psychiatrist would say Christ is the celebration of life. Jesus also said ‘where two or more are gathered together , there too am I’.  He also came as a stranger.  Tom and I sailing or driving the back woulds in the truck would contemplate the song ‘were you there when they crucified my lord’.  « I was probably holding the spear’, Tom would say. I recently watched the performance on uTube of   the Thief by Third Day .  I took Laura to hear them when they played in Langley. It was truly a miraculous communion for all there .  The night air when we left was somehow more alive.  

Easter is a time of reflection, celebration and thanksgiving.  Thank you Jesus. Thank you Christ. Thank you Holy Spirit. Thank you God.  

Death

Death is in my thoughts.  I know I’m immortal.  Still these thoughts of finality come upon me.  Intrusive, limiting. I live, as if.  I acknowledge my chronic pain. There’s a fragility in my walk and a fear of falling .  The pain, soreness, stiffness in my back occurs with movement.  I’m doing various activities to live. What I once did for pleasure, like eating, I’m now doing with a conscious effort to gain longevity and to lessen pain.  Suffering is mandatory, they say.  Life is suffering unto death said Kierkegaard.  

Mahler laughs at the unseen world, as only a winner in this world can.  But I’m of an age where friends are dying, literally disappearing.  There remains only a sense that we will meet again in some otherworld beyond rainbow bridge, that mythical place where the pets are waiting to join one before passing on.  

My soul seems like an energy field of high vibration/oscillation shimmering.  In some way this ethereal self is linked with this body, shank’s mare.  The body is sad and the soul remains quizzical.  

I’m past retirement age.  I have no pension or wealth and the government corruption and evil, the mismanagement of resources, and the obscenity of their greed and stupidity has lead to immense loss and destruction of the middle class and aging.  I feel targeted as a group.  The government is at war with me and there is little help as the crunch of rent and cost of living bear down on me and all those I know.  The selfish are being rewarded. The criminals are being rewarded. The slackers are being rewarded. The hard workers, steady Eddie’s, responsible are being stripped of their earnings by the latest collection of thieves and thugs.  

The oldest law in the world is the Chinese law of the fish, there are big fish and little fish. The little fish must be fast and numerous.

I expect my back trauma has left me less capable of running or fighting. I’m fat and less inclined to discomfort. Even sleeping on the ground last year was painful.  I am accustomed to eating, heat and clothing.  

The landlord complained I had two motorcycles at my place.  My Harley Electroglyde 1600 is the ultimate highway motorcycle. I drove 5000 km to Sturges South Dakota and back on it and have used it since for day rides in the country. It’s so big and heavy that I’ve felt unstable in the city with the poor kamikaze drug stoned drivers of Vancouver not signalling their erratic turns and stopping and starting. 

I have a Vespa 300 GTE.  It’s good for the city and sufficient for country  side roads.  I put the Harley in storage and continue to ride the Vespa year round.  In my perpetual struggle to find the right tool I’m trading in the Harley and the Vespa on a new Harley Nightster 1000.  I will have to pay more to do this, the value of my machines leasened by the dealer while the cost of their product is maximized. It’s sharp business policy. The inflation of today, causing my money to be only 2 /3’s the value of the American manufacturer’s money is challenging.  The point is the Vespa is adequate but I want the Harley and mine is too big and heavy and in my mind now too dangerous to run round to the store for mail and groceries.  The new Harley has panache. Laura calls it a spitfire. While I’ve been having trouble managing the big bike because of the stiffness in my back and the weakness in my body I foresee driving the new Harley another decade. 

 Yet I struggle with savings for the future now when I may be less capable and the costs may rise even further. I’m thinking about death and aging. I’m thinking about holding on or expanding.  I was all prepared to sail across the Atlantic but my deteriorating physical strength made the thought of sailing through another hurricane no longer challenging but purely daunting.  

I like being with Laura.  I like being around the guys. I like my colleagues. I rely on others in a way I haven’t in decades. I fear sickness and debility as I hear of more and more with sickness and surgery.  I see so many surviving and thriving but I don’t wish the torture of overcoming disease.  I do not fear dying, not knowing what it is , but imagining it a transition to a different world, with a new body, a passing What I don’t like is the idea of dying.  I fear further suffering.  Yet here I am already in the slipstream as my lumbar spine registers the turbulence approaching death. 

I have faith in God.  I am not God.  I can’t seem to call in place an extra 10 thousand to cover the cost of the change over to a newer lighter Harley. I can’t influence the landlord to leave me alone and not introduce restrictions whimsically and probably driven by fear of the beast government encroaching on all.  We are all on the same sea though different boats.  The landlord’s yacht is different from my little sailboat but there are constant warnings of storms and tsunamis so fear is palpable as everyone struggles to position themselves before the coming threat of war and disorder.  

The concern is that with my back pain and aging I can project the fear and uncertainty I’m feeling onto the whole.  This is not about God or the World but simply about my personal struggle.  I know the Harley represents ego.  It’s the panache of the machine.  It’s manly compared to my womanly Vespa.  It’s a risk when I could be banking money and thinking of the rainy day . Even that is questionable as banks fail and money is squandered in the billions by sociopaths in power.  I see the Harley as a get away machine.

  In the coming wars, there has always been fear of war since the Cold War , and now the Hybrid War of the Communist Chinese coupled with the divisive war mongering of our government forcing us to see our neighbour as different. The government has for three years been a constant Fauci Nocebo and the Trudeau divide and conquer portraying the black man as different, immigrant as different, the aboriginal as different, the female as differnt, the gay as differnt. Then with favouritism and attacks on all others ,  I’ve lost that feeling of safety in my home, that others are fellow Canadians like me, that there is law and order, when no , there’s attacks on the police by the Trudeau supporters, and criminals are celebrated, terrorists paid millions for murdering medics with the new golden calf statue of gold made to Floyd a violent gangster drug addict and abuser of women.  The Statue of John A. Macdonald founder of Canada I knew is destroyed.  It’s all symbolic. It’s all metaphor. It’s all worrying.  

Worrying is wicked.  I have faith in love and comfort and God, or creation, or something , a higher power, something more than me. I feel tiny and infinitesimally weak and alone though I know that’s just the squeak of pain. Pain is that which I can say in no other way.  I feel stabbed in the back and betrayed and that I’ve carried the world on my shoulders and don’t have help.

I fear this weakness. I fear even vulnerability with Laura given the betrayal of ex wives who were there for my strength and turned on me the moment of weakness. I feel like a Wolf among wolves.  If I’m weak, the pack will savage me. That’s been my experience as a caregiver.  When I was weak I was abused and taken advantage of. When I complained I was hurt more.  I was repeatedly told to be a man, man up. Get down off the cross we can use the wood.  I spent years suicidal and now they encourage euthanasia but with pretty names like MAID offered me.  The Feminist solution to the harshness of life. Kill yourself. IF you can’t pay the rent, leave, die.  Heres’ an addiction.Or consume for comfort. Or pray. I pray.

It’s not just the Harley. That’s the symbol of every limited decision,  Should I save and trust the bank and have a place to stay in some care home as more and more elderly I know are homeless.  I imagine jail is there.  I ‘ve a fear of those who lived to fight and hurt physically while I’ve served with specialization and skills , decades of learning.  A desk jockey.  While collar.  Thrown to the masses I’m wasted.  The Harley is escape.  I have a chance of getting away in a high speed chase, better than I would on the Vespa.

I think the Harley ward’s off attack.  I’m old and as so many of us old men say, we have no second round. So attacked we will kill immediately and the best defence is an offensive .

I always know where the sharp weapons and bludgeoning instruments are in a room . I’m always caring keys as weapons. In my world everything is a tool and a weapon.  

The idea of death is peace.  I am not afraid of death but long for it.  It’s just the getting there.  I wonder how much more humiliation I will have to face.  

It doesn’t take a Harley to ask these questions. With cost of living rising I find myself asking whether I ‘can afford’ a steak or should I return to the monastic vegetarianism and cheap living I once knew in spiritual pursuit.  It’s insane the way I think.  My anxiety is for the future which may not come as all I really have is today.  

Carpet diem! Or ODAAT.  Now is okay.  If I keep my head in the same room as my ass is I’m okay. I can work and help others but then I’m downsizing. I ‘m approaching a future where possessions are no longer beneficial because the cost of storage is so exorbitant. I once had houses and acreage but now I’m preparing for the smaller lesser world of the old. I’m trying to clean away excess so that if I was not here family or friends would not be faced with ‘stuff’. I’m giving away stuff but acquiring as quickly. I’ve a storage locker where I have the two or three tools that match the tool I bought last week. I’ve duplicates and yet nostalgia and sadness overcome me as I surrender and let go of the past. 

My back hurt comes from carrying all the memories and love of ages.  I’m  old and weary with good life and good times.  I’m letting go.

I talked to men this week who can’t ride their Harley’s any more.  “My knees, won’t let me.” A big fellow told me as I sat on the new Nightster imagining new adventures wondering if I had time.  I will have to customize it and have to find a way to load and tow it. I’m facing the decision of the toy hauler and trailer. Every change in one physical piece of my life occasioned downstream changes in the projects.  I ask myself now if I still have time Will I have the money. Will I have the energy.  I emptied a closet and was fatigued and sore.  

I have worked more years than most I know. I started work at 12 and have an SIN since I was 16.  Everyone I know is wanting my support and pity and help and understanding and I’ve been channeling and caring, lifting and giving, working long hours, so much for charity, so much underpaid, so much more than was required.  I’ve given mor and more and now like all caregivers wonder about reciprocity. I know I will be loved in life but here I fear I’m only loved because I’ve been strong and wealthy and young. 

Of course I miss my mom and dad and grandparents and aunts and uncles.  Of course I miss my teachers and mentors and all those who have been there .  I have tried to teach reciprocity and karma and yet more and more I live in a world of takers. Sharks , bullies. Their fear and need is palpable,  

We are a consumer society.  The harley will give me as temporary joy. I’ll need a new fix in time, For now I’ll be able to find what gear I have left over from when I had the roadster or buell or KLM or Honda. I gave most of it away but May have some leftover gear from.All the bikes before the bagger.  I might just get by with a back park.  Shopping they don’t have bags and we have to bring our own.  I use the bike for shopping because the cost of fuel for the truck is exorbitant. There will be less cost for licensing only smaller machine and the gas costs have been escalating to match the lie and thieving of the elite bum we have for leader.  Spend thrift trust fund snowboarder. I envy him his irresponsibility. 

I stopped being adolescent when I became a doctor.  I’ve seen way too much disease suffering, loss and death. I’ve had blood and depression and anxiety flung at me weekly. I’ve got suits but nothing like the suits those parliamentary sorts wear, the office money men who are effete and clean and not like me. I’m front row on life and death, dirty with reality.  I’m up to my eye balls in viruses and Bactria. I’m even working virtual in the depth of angst.  I am constantly offering diagnosis understanding  medications and education toease the pain of others.  

I’ve come to work forever and was glad to until I saw that my leadership were shirkers and cowards and that they were offensive abusers of those like me who are the back bone of society. Yet this new managerial class, the new communists, believe that the ‘workers’ like infantry men are expendable. They call us all deplorable. They waste us.  They think ita’s all about them and their ‘intellectual thinking’.  We think too but we do. We are the workers.  Boss man elite effete idiots, those lying scoundrels buying silences and censoring the world, claiming to be doing the evil they do for the benefit of others, narcissists and psychopaths among them. The names on Epsteins’s list remain hidden proving by default that the leadership are a collection of pedophiles, traitors and sociopaths till proven otherwise. Arendt was right. Evil is banal. Where is Bonhoeffer when we need him. Where is  Solzenitzen when we need him?

My minds slips. It’s a loose transmission. When I ride my harley I can’t think of anything but the road. Moving meditation. Medication for me . Wind therapy ,  If  I know I can die a horrible or instant death in a brief distraction. I can live however glorious and free if I pay attention. I don’t feel that way on the Vespa. It’s like a bicycle. Not a rocket ship with power galore.  I am longing for my new nimble machine like a stallion, My old harley spending so much time in storage, rarely ridden these last few years, well I’m glad to see passed on to someone who will enjoy it’s promises as I have . I’m just ready for a younger lighter bike I can ride on to death with.  I really miss my sailboat too. Over the years I’ve been blessed with all these loved  vehicles of life.  

I’m enjoying my family with little ones who are enjoying the world with toys.  I had dinky toys and now I have had the real things. What comes next is levitation and space ships.  It’s all possible. With God life is omnipotential.  Life is infinite.  My soul is laughing .  My body is even laughing at the thought of this new ride together.  All of us meeting one day at Rainbow Bridge.  Thank you Jesus.