Victoria

I loved riding my HD Lightning Special Motorcycle to the Twassassen Ferry.  The rain had stopped and blue sky was muscling out the grey clouds of morning.  I’d just bought my ferry ticket when I was being directed onto the ferry with the other bikes. 5 minute wait at most and when I’d looked before leaving reserving for cars was booked two sailing ahead.  It was a rainy windy ferry ride but lots of good memories

I’d lived for years in Errington North Vancouver and even before that loved to visit Victoria.  After I moved to Vancouver and had my sailboat, SV Giri I’d often sail to Victoria and stay in the Innner Harbour. I was married once at the Empress but I won’t hold that against it.  I took my Mom and Dad there and have so enjoyed the tea.  It was Victoria that I left from when I sailed in winter hurricanes to Hawaii to go on to work in Northern Mariana Islands.  Lots of memories. It’s still so beautiful.

I had the Bacon Cheese Burger “as always’ and it was delicious.  The last time I was on the ferry was returning from the Saltspring Island Round Up.  I’ve not been to the Island since Covid.  It’s amazing how Isolate we became. Now I’m out here on Government Street having a Murchie’s Mocha.  Crowds and crowds of young people.  So many beautiful women too. Victoria has always had that. Something like a 10 to 1 , female to male ration because of Victoria is a government town.  Most are young and beautiful. Always were and still are.

The ride to Best Western Plus Inner Harbour was wet. Rained the whole way. I saw the Butchart Gardens sign and was so tempted to take a detour.  Mom and Dad and I had one of our most memorable times together walking in all that beautiful.  Mom was such a horticulturalist and Dad loved growing things as well. In later years they rented grow space along the rail way tracks.  I miss them.  Life long lovers and best of friends.  I was blessed to have them as parents.

I like Best Western.  I picked this one for underground parking since I came on motorcycle.  Laura’s at my place with Madigan.   This trip was a bit impulsive. I saw that the British Columbia Museum was having a Stonehenge Exhibit.  Because I’d been so moved by the Prehistory exhibit at the British Museum when Laura and I were in London a couple of years back I signed up the the Oxford Univeristy online Prehistory, Ritual and Religion course.  I paid for the credit course and tried to switch to audit only to learn it wasn’t so easy. Now I’m committed to writing a paper on Stonehenge.  I did a masters in religion at night school when John was alive.  We attended Shirleys spirituality courses at St. Marks and Dr. James Houstons courses at Regent.  Those were good years.  Pizza night and coffee at Johns’. Dinners with professors and missionaries.  Then I’d go to church with my friend George and we’d discussed God and women at our ‘sole’ fold monthly dinner in North Vancouver before the Whitcliffe meeting.  John and George have died like my father and mother and brother.  Vivian my Urban Aborigianal priest friend died of Covid complications too. I feel alone at time.  I cry even.  Just choke and squint a bit. Not sobbing.  Self pity, really.  Regret too.  I’d paid attention and asked more questions.  

Life is good. I thought that riding my Harley under the blue sky.  Looking into the Inner harbour here and remember all the days and nights I was moored there.  I picked up some perfume for Laura. I’d asked her what she wanted a few weeks back and she said she was running low on the Lancomme Julia Robert’s one I bought her a while back.  She always smells so nice its kind of self serving gift.  The Parfumery makes their own perfume so I picked one I hope she likes. She says she likes the one I can smell. I lost a lot of my ability to smell as side effect of an antibiotic i took. I think it was the one I had to take for a year after getting TB working as a fly in doctor in northern Canada.  The Ameerican’s found it . I wasn’t infectious but needed to be on medication a year and there went a lot of my sense of smell. I can still smell smoke and musks scents.  I like this oak musk citrous one so hope Laura does too.  

I bought her a swatch too from Madigan. I’d bought her a Swatch in London. She likes them. This is the Tate Gallery collection. I took a picture and showed her a Chagall and a Mattise .  She like the Matisse. We’d seen Mattise when we were in New York for New Years Eve. I think it’s was at the MONA but it could have been the Met.  

Now I’m here outside on Government Street truly grateful having had a blessed life so thankful for the study , work and friends and the adventures.  I feel guilty as I’d like to visit a friend whose health has been poor but he lives up a mountain and I’d not be able to drive the motorcycle up the hill. I’m being very cautious not like I was when I crashed my first Norton in Sooke.  Wild times hunting an motorcycling.  

Time to get back.  I’ve a ticket for the morning and am going back tomorrow.  Another drop of rain.  Better pack up.  

Struggle

Recently I’ve found the word struggle is the underlying theme of my life of work, love and play.  I don’t think it’s helpful.  It’s like ‘enduring’. I’m ‘enduring my life’.  I would much rather be dancing through life, sailing through life, exploring, treasure hunting, adventuring.

My life is very good right now.  Spring has arrived, my Truck camper has returned. I’ve had a splendid weekend disconnected from the grid, cooking, eating, sleeping and reading.  I’ve been with Laura who is a gem and the nutbar dog Madigan a terror in her company.  It’s been domestic.  Like the lives the men described who returned from the ‘front’, those sailors who on leave returned to their farms which competent wives ran.  The pressure was off. I enjoyed the weekend.  I imagined that this sense of contentment was somewhere in the future in some assisted living place.  Aging was not necessarily lonely and a struggle with fear of being robbed but rather it could go easy.  I long for easy.  Despite the idea that the ‘easier, softer way, “ lacks the stoic romance of the fellow ‘strugglers’.  Vigilance I can contend with. I really feel I must pay attention.  The threats are ever there. I don’t feel protected in an AI way but rathe than I’m walking along with my hand held by Jesus. I will not be alone but I will still face challenges.

Challenge is a better word than struggle.  I had visions younger. I had goals and drives and bridges to cross and mountains to climb.  I see my friends with children and grandchildren being uplifted by their own presence in the future. I’m without children and it tells. I am feeling time running out and that there are children carrying on but I don’t feel the obligation or duty of a parent.  I’m an accessory , not necessary.  

I do good work but it’s waning.  My wisdom increases but my reach has decreased. Looking back I see that the gp I was could have been contented and I could have have saved myself the ‘struggle’ of four more years of double specialty and sub speciality as well as special interest in trauma and head injury. I could have avoided forensics but I was curious. The challenge of understanding mental illness not only for the communication with the patient but as their advocate was a whole other domain of learning. I remember liking teaching but am glad I avoided that in this world of stupid folk being ‘offended’, the euphemism of blame.  I am at a time where I’m reducing my sense of accountability and responsibility.  I felt so so long it was all on me and I had to achieve the desired goal.  I stopped the hallucinations, I stopped the suicide. It’s as my fault and my job.  I was the little boy holding him thumb in the hole in the dike.  But now I’m increasingly self centred. The thought of dying does that.

I’m caring for myself.  Speaking with a friend they were surprised I was taking lunch breaks as they remembered me working always through lunch, late into the evening, leaving the office or hospital past seven and being at work in the weekends. With the governments all out attack on the middle class, taxation and condemnation, I don’t know it gained me at all personally to work so hard and diligently. My tax dollars went to criminals and tyrants.  What little was left over I paid dearly in health.

But I sailed. I danced. I loved. I muddled on with naivity and foolishness. I had high ideals and literally would work harder when abused.  I was always believing it was my ‘duty’ and that I had somehow failed. Now I’m more ready to think it’s not the ‘fit’ or yes ‘I’ve failed’. Can we move on. The cost and waste of the institutions of blame and money are long overdue for reconstruction. I was told I had to perfect and if I wasn’t the evidence was right there.  Those other places were human constructs with lots of psychological abuse but not the death and disease that attested to errors in the emergency room. I’m glad I’ve done so little damage with the trials errors of treatment in the most difficult of patients.

Working in addiction I was forever playing poker with brains full of chemicals in various states of excitation and withdrawal giving medication to people who lied routinely about what they were already on often themselves not knowing. I never knew their hands and yet played mine the best I could with surprising success knowing the casino always wins in the end. I ‘ve sevens a whole lot of death and disease but didn’t cause it directly myself.  

Sins of omission came to fascinated me, covert and passive aggression, negligence and fate.  I still wonder about the balance and how effort and prayer can ever so slightly alter trajectories.  So many variables.  Good intentions are all to so many but I specialized in outcome analysis.  Now I’m more likely to follow protocols and do as I’m told because the punishment for doing the ‘right’ thing as opposed to what the authorities say is the ‘right’ thing is too overwhelming. I sacrificed so much for patients and others. Today I’m doing my bit. I’m not a hero. I’ve surrendered and at best am cleaning up.

If I was independently wealthy I’d probably just travel and write, play guitar more, maybe play chess. I’m paying for the travel aids I think I need ideally, outfitting for retirement but I have all I need right now. I’m ready to slip away. I’ve not cured cancer and there doesn’t seem time left for me to even write the great Canadian novel or reach Samadi or find Nirvana or levitate, or even get a spot on the mars flight or rule the world. I’ve lesser desires.  I’d like to again lie in the sun and day dream. I did this weekend, put out the lawn chairs and make a fire with split logs and sit enjoying the wind wafting the wood smoke my way.  I moved my chair to the right place so I only had wisps of smoke, just enough to bring back memories of Blue Lake, Minaki, family, Boy Scouts, Camp Steven’s,  Church campus and later hippies. It really was just nostalgia. Memories of youth. Skinny dipping with beautiful girls or later lying under the full moon.  The conditions had to be just right. A marvellous confluence. When bugs were not present so that love making on a beach or a mountain side or in a tent was idyllic.  There have been countless moments of wonder and grace. I too often forget them as my mind today is drawn to the ‘struggle’s. 

I’m the proverbial old general replaying the battles but it’s all just been water under the bridge with eddys and rapids.  We’ll floating with the stream. It’s a good feeling. 

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.    

Late Night Journal

I was looking at old photos, just the last seven years, since Gilbert was born. He’s having an eye out next week. Glaucoma.  They say it’s genetic but I can’t help but blame myself.  The sins of the fathers.  It’s not rational, not even intuitive. Just emotional  I promised to protect him. My last dog was killed by a drug addict.  I cried when my cat was hit by a car.  I’ve learned to live with loss. Patients have died over the year. First the old men, then others, and later the young addicts.  I had so many nightmares but now I dream of parents and the sea. I dream of lovely dreams. Meetings in big rooms. Old women who are kindly. Young women who are beautiful.  Capable men.  I’m often on a sailboat or looking through a many roomed house.  I wake and think of Dr. Carl Jung.
I pray when I wake.  It’s been tedious.  Tiresome. I’ve had so much to do and so many details to maintain with this later unplanned move.  Now I’m spread out in clinics.  So many many new patients and I think of the university and government jobs where the same old same old, the fear of the unknown.  The rapid learning curve.  So many numbers now.  I’ve known tens of thousands and it’s more and more a curiosity.
Tonight looking at old pictures I’m reminded of weekends of sailing or camping, trips to Greece and Moscow.  I’ve liked most the people.  A few are consistent. And these last 7 years there’s always Gilbert.  It’s microscopes and telescoped when I look at it thus.  The movie of the dolphins was reminiscent of the first dolphins I saw off the GIRI bow 25 years ago.
Now I’m writing still.  I costume. I have many facets. Clothing for work, for winter, spring, summer, for sailing, hunting, fishing, swimming, play.  I have grown fatter over the years. I was very slim in one picture where I was scuba diving.  It was something to aim for again. I must return to the exercise. It’s spring. I’ve survived the winter, barely. I could exercise more. Eating less is the difficult task Even tonight I loved the cheese sandwiches on raisin bread. Gilbert and I shared.
The fast boat is gone to Hay Bay today. As Kirk noted I’m down to just a canoe. He didn’t know about that. I’ve used it too little and I’ve a 2.5 hp engine I’ve not used at all.  I am planning to sail the Atlantic.  There’s fewer years for this but not this year. This year I’ve a new truck and want to camp and fish and hunt.  I like the BC wilderness.  I’ve a desire to spend more time with Gilbert. He likes that best. We were in New York at Christmas.  I’ve had my big city experience. I want to go to India again and Scotland and Jerusalem. My favourite conference is in New Delhi not next year but the next.  I ‘d like to go to Goa and Kerala where St. Thomas was. I’ve a desire to go to Ethiopia too and visit the coptic churches.
There’s so much work too. I’ve got to pay the bills.  I’m juggling between health and aging and costs.  I wanted to write.  I wanted to sit outside in cafe’s and drink coffee and journal.  That’s what I enjoy.
Even this late night blogging has appeal to me.
But it’s like pictures.  Personal.
I am looking forward to death. I don’t want it to come soon. There’s so much I yet want to do.  I question if I’m best using my time and resources.  I’ve done my duty. I’ve served my time. I’ve a whole lot of idea that this government has shat on. Things like service and responsibility and caring and all those values of Canadianism or even Christianity are ridiculed by the Trudeau set, a fat elite of silliness.
It’s the next generations issue. They can deal with their own sociopaths and psychopaths.  The sharia law contention and communism are arisen.  I regret being liberal. I enjoyed the time but today my karma is to see the birds come home to roost.  Sad creatures.  I’ve regrets but no praise no blame no regrets. I did the best I could with what I had.
I have identified with the aggressor.
I’ve returned to my roots. I’m socialized differently.  I was caned and hammered.  I had a harsh beginning, the gifted child.  Demands and frustrations.  I may have peaked at 12 as my aunt said. But these are glory days as well. I’ve been so blessed. So much to be thankful for.
Even Gilbert. What a little character. My father called him “monkey dog’.  He’s a fixture in my life.  Right now sleeping.  I’ve put drops in his eyes three times a day or more for a couple of months. Surgery Tuesday.
I loved Bard on the Beach with Laura.
It will be strange to be camping again.  A tent and living out doors with the dirt and gravel floor, picnic table.  Sky for roof.  Sunshine for light.  I look forward to canning.
I’ve been meditating. It’s a discipline.  It’s meditate or do sit ups. I’d rather meditate.  I’m work up to both.  Reading novels and watching NCIS.  I said, I servived the winter. My brother died in the fall.  George died and I go to his celebration of life tomorrow.  A friend in hospital. Richard shot himself dead. Another friend relapsed.  Meanwhile we’re on the verge of civil war with the communism of the UN and the radical Islam invasion. The communists always think they can win a revolution. Let others do the heavy lifting. Then they assassinate the opposition and move in their committee dictatorship.  Atheists are more organized and cold blooded that the Shiite Sunni fighting passionates.
I’m watching with thankfulness the Trump Pearce America brand assert itself.  Trudeau only has the lie of climate change and the dope solution with euthanasia and has bought into Agenda 21 UN.  I can’t wait till they’re gone.  Quebec corruption.
It’s late. I’m backing up my computer. A little housekeeping.
I’ll watch some tv.  Read my book.  Maybe just go to bed and leave this machine to do its own thing.  There’s no originality in the journal

Sears Closing Sale

The girl told me that Sears was closing in October. The downtown Vancouver Pacific Centre Store on the corner of Georgia and Howe is having the most amazing third off and half price sales. All kinds of merchandise are already gone while other areas of the store are flocked with folk.
I just happened in and found to my amazement that a sale was on. Nordstrom's will be replacing Sears.
I was raised on Sears and Hudson's Bay in Winnipeg. The Sears Catalogue was a household word. The latest in fashion was always to be found there whereas the more functional clothing could be found in Hudson's Bay. Sears was definitely Eastern where as Hudson's Bay was northern. I bought my parkas from Hudson's Bay and my dress suits from Sears.
These last few years I've enjoyed a Sears Card and most recently bought house warming gifts there. My own last shopping were the high Egyptian thread count sheets and pillow cases on sale. I'm enjoying those.
But I'll miss Sears. It's been a land mark and emblematic of growing up in Canada.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad