By noon the rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through cummulus clouds. I had the Harley Davidson Electraglide Classic packed and ready for a southern road trip the night before. Rain turned me back. Not the way to begin a trip.
Today there was sun. I geared up and threw my bag into the top luggage. My cameras and Western Canada bird book fit in the side luggage. It was time to go. I said good bye to Gilbert who believed he'd really enjoy a long high speed freeway ride but I knew better. A half hour and he'd want to stop and run and sniff and do dog things. He's ridden backroads to Harrison's Hot Springs from Vancouver but he doesn't like when we go over a 100 km. I planned on flying on this trip. Better he stay with Laura who just loves having her canine "baby" with her when I'm not around. For a cockapoo he's big and tough and barks and protects her too.
With such silly thoughts and prayers to Jesus I was on the road heading out Oak Street south. Not too much traffic. Always feels good to be leaving the city. Past Richmond, I could feel bits of worry and care flying off me when I opened up the Harley at 110 km. It does more than that in miles but I was just warming up. I had the tunnel to go through then I was smelling the manure north of White Rock. Green fields and blue skies with fluffy white clouds.
The sunshine was incredible. It kept overhead and I could feel the warmth it was bringing.
I'm convinced I'm part vegetable. Maybe it's just aging. I need sun. I felt energized as I screamed down the highway in the early spring sunshine.
Even the border crossing was no problem. Really pleasant guy on the American side. Asked me what I going to the states for, "I've got 4 days before the Canadian election. I'm going south to find the sun." He thereupon asked me why my son was missing. I gathered by his comment he'd not been in Vancouver or maybe recently shipped in from some place where there actually is 'global warming' and not just cold precipitation. I pointed at the sun. "I"m following it." He laughed. A border crossing guy in the age of Homeland Security with nano Ossamas everywhere with weapons of mass destruction and this young good looking border guy laughs. Maybe he was from Vancouver after all. Jealous of me with time to seek the sun and the machine for doing it too.
I hardly noticed the stretch of No 5 highway between Bellingham and Skagit Harley Davidson. I was flying. The wings were out and Hans Solo had nothing on me. I figure Gilbert needs an enclosed side car to really appreciate the airbourne Harley Experience. He's my little Chewy. Skagit Harley had a pair of jeans. The trouble with laundry is that it robs one of clothes. After finding out on Easter Morning at church my black cords had a ripped crotch I was sure I should have a second pair of pants for the trip. I'm staying in Best Westerns so it's not like I have to pack tents or anything more than cameras, computers, t shirts, socks, and now I had the extra pants. I also picked up one of those neck face tube warmers.
Back on the road I noted my fuel was low so got off at a gas stop only to find it was a Costco Gas Station. I love my Costco card. The price really was a saving.
Back on the road again the skies opened at Everett with rain then hail but I was out of it before it was more than just plain miserable. I 'd crossed over to the slow lane with reduced visibility. I was thankful for the neck face warmer. Without it the hail would have ripped chunks of flesh from my face. I felt one piece hit and was surprised it didn't draw blood. Everett is a navy base. I knew they'd have good surgeons if the hail got through the cloth peirced the skin and made a beeline for my brain.
When the hail passed so I moved out to the centre lane again to get out of the slow lane truck backwash. Coming into Seattle I saw the exit lane and signalled to move over, shoulder checked and moved slowly into the lane. This bitch must have been in her own cellphone world because she passed me in that lane taking 2/3's of the lane and leaving me the edge. I think she realized what she did because she was out of there turn off looking back at me over her shoulder, no doubt expecting me to go American on her with a Glock 9 mm. I was happy to survive the close call and returned to saying Jesus over and over as the high speed traffic merged and I took the first exit into Seattle.
I've been to Seattle alot. A few times I've come in on my older Harley Roadster. This was the first time on the new Harley Electraglide. The new Harley is heavier and prettier and sweet. I thought the same of the old Harley but I didn't know better like I do now. Riding into a city on a Harley is like something out of the Old West. There are all these silly city folk in their carriages and us riders on our hogs.
I liked passing Pike and Pine. The trouble with Seattle is parking. There is nowhere to park and have coffee and be able to watch your motorcycle. Who wants to park a Harley and go for coffee and wonder if it's being vandalized. I like to look at my bike. Right now it's sitting in the parking lot and I'm sitting here looking at it.
So I drove down along the waterfront in Seattle thinking I'd love to stop for the fabulous Seattle Oysters but finding no parking ended back on the freeway again. It was a nice slow down warm up break. The sun was hot overhead and the town was actually warm.
On the freeway a sign said 90 Spokane. I had never gone on this route before. It was 120 kms with vehicles all around me like someone had shouted fire in the theatre. Underpasses, bridges, turns and finally I was out of the city. That's how I got here. It's a suburb town of the city I think. South of Bellevue.
Lots of new houses. Pretty little town. A great friendly young guy came in and told me I'd left my lights on. "I looked around for a Harley guy. I didn't want you to have no battery." What a great guy. This Snoqualmie rocks. I'd stay the night here but I'd have to buy a new house to do that. Somewhere around here there are famous ski mountains.
I'm getting back on the road to get to a place called Yakima. Ellensburg is before that. I'll see how far I can go now that I've warmed up.
Given that the chaps don't have a leather crotch, my poor penis experienced cryotherapy. It's died and come back to life just sitting here. Some enterprising fashion sort will come come up with a biker cod piece that's kevlar for the rain and fur lined for warmth. Otherwise my leathers have been fine and kept me warm. It's supposed to be 60 and sunny in Yakima. Spokane was supposed to be hot but the weather forecast was overly optimistic. Just an hour or two of riding more and I should find a Best Western in either Ellensberg, a rodeo town or Yakima, where 75% of America Hops is produced. Wonder where I 'll find an AA meeting.
Enough laying about and hanging out in Starbucks scaring the clientele with mean biker looks. Time to be back on the road!
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Libby Davis
Now Libby Davis is this great NDP political representative who has served East Vancouver for many years. I've so often admired her views and really enjoyed her contribution to parliament. She really has made a contribution locally as well. The problem from my point of view is she is not with the Conservatives and I'm voting Conservative. Churchill said if you are not a socialist at 20 you have no heart but if you are not a capitalist at 40 you have no brains. I'm well over 40. Mostly these days I'm worried for my soul.
I said that earlier that voting for Libby Davis would be a wasted vote. Clearly everyone should vote Conservatives and cheer the Canucks as well. If the Canucks were NDP they would not have won against the BlackHawks. Liberals would outlaw or tax hockey as politically incorrect. They'd certainly require all those who ever played hockey to register their hockey sticks given the potential for violence inherrent in that game. There are some things that are that obvious.
However I earlier wrote that voting for the NDP would be a wasted vote and that the Conservatives were likely to regain Vancouver East. This I hope would be true. The Canucks beat the Blackhawks in overtime so I am hoping.
However, in an interesting twist of Canadian politics according to preliminary polls and what we can glean from the left wing Canadian media, that the NDP are walking all over the two tongued Liberals. It actually appears that the NDP are going to be the official opposition to a Conservative majority government.
In this case having Libby Davis as an opposition leader would be a great asset to Canadians with her desire for democratic reform of parliament. Western Canada is simply not proportionally represented federally. Were the West represented Quebec would have been carved out of the country by Alberta drillers and set adrift to join Iceland years ago. When I'm not Conservative I'm in favour of the Western Canada Separatist Movement. I think that British Columbia in the Pacific Rim should ally with Hawaii so we have a winter vacation spot to escape the rain.
However if Quebec is going to go NDP rather than separate then an argument could be made for the West seeing some value in the NDP. Locally we could join French with Mandarin, Spanish, Punjabi, Ukranian, or German as a multilingual second language province in tune with the times
When I lived in Manitoba we had NDP and Conservatives without any harm to the local population as a result of the bipolar swings like the old Whig and Tory British situation. Here in British Columbia it's almost always been Liberal (which locally means Conservative) and NDP (which provincially means Red light district Commie left wing tree hungers and lunatic artists to name a few of the fringe elements). There is no middle party in provincial politics.
That said, it's possible that Chretien and the gross corruptions, scandals, deceit and wasted spending of that unforgettable era of government party time, the liberals last years of power, will not be forgotten despite Ignatieff's belief Canadians have collective alzheimers , and clearly won't be forgiven this election.
So I recommend that Libby Davis be made ambassador so that East Vancouver can vote Conservative but that when when the NDP make up the opposition party in Ottawa she remains in politics. Troudeau did something like that to Broadbent when Broadbent had the potential of making the NDP Canada's opposition party of choice. Vote Conservative but tell the NDP to make Libby Davis the ambassador to Hawaii so we can begin negotiations for our place in the sun.
I said that earlier that voting for Libby Davis would be a wasted vote. Clearly everyone should vote Conservatives and cheer the Canucks as well. If the Canucks were NDP they would not have won against the BlackHawks. Liberals would outlaw or tax hockey as politically incorrect. They'd certainly require all those who ever played hockey to register their hockey sticks given the potential for violence inherrent in that game. There are some things that are that obvious.
However I earlier wrote that voting for the NDP would be a wasted vote and that the Conservatives were likely to regain Vancouver East. This I hope would be true. The Canucks beat the Blackhawks in overtime so I am hoping.
However, in an interesting twist of Canadian politics according to preliminary polls and what we can glean from the left wing Canadian media, that the NDP are walking all over the two tongued Liberals. It actually appears that the NDP are going to be the official opposition to a Conservative majority government.
In this case having Libby Davis as an opposition leader would be a great asset to Canadians with her desire for democratic reform of parliament. Western Canada is simply not proportionally represented federally. Were the West represented Quebec would have been carved out of the country by Alberta drillers and set adrift to join Iceland years ago. When I'm not Conservative I'm in favour of the Western Canada Separatist Movement. I think that British Columbia in the Pacific Rim should ally with Hawaii so we have a winter vacation spot to escape the rain.
However if Quebec is going to go NDP rather than separate then an argument could be made for the West seeing some value in the NDP. Locally we could join French with Mandarin, Spanish, Punjabi, Ukranian, or German as a multilingual second language province in tune with the times
When I lived in Manitoba we had NDP and Conservatives without any harm to the local population as a result of the bipolar swings like the old Whig and Tory British situation. Here in British Columbia it's almost always been Liberal (which locally means Conservative) and NDP (which provincially means Red light district Commie left wing tree hungers and lunatic artists to name a few of the fringe elements). There is no middle party in provincial politics.
That said, it's possible that Chretien and the gross corruptions, scandals, deceit and wasted spending of that unforgettable era of government party time, the liberals last years of power, will not be forgotten despite Ignatieff's belief Canadians have collective alzheimers , and clearly won't be forgiven this election.
So I recommend that Libby Davis be made ambassador so that East Vancouver can vote Conservative but that when when the NDP make up the opposition party in Ottawa she remains in politics. Troudeau did something like that to Broadbent when Broadbent had the potential of making the NDP Canada's opposition party of choice. Vote Conservative but tell the NDP to make Libby Davis the ambassador to Hawaii so we can begin negotiations for our place in the sun.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
The Lilliputian Nightmare
I dreamed about her again. The little girl. A pretty happy pleasant little girl dressed in a white cotton frock. She was with her mommy. She's never been tied down to a train track in my dreams but that's how I recognise her. She has the look of someone who has. Big big eyes. Trusting. She's with her mommy in this dream. Her mommy is afraid for her. We're in a hospital building and there are line ups everywhere. Everywhere there are sick people and wheelchairs, stretchers and crutches. The sick are waiting. The party is happening as always, the back rooms. Patients lined up but behind the counters out of sight the dancing and whiskey and champagne flowing. It used to be a surgery I dreamed of and the girl was dying lying on the table. The party was going on around the table and the anesthetist nurse and I couldn't get to the table to do the surgery. There wasn't any room. Now she's walking through a hospital with her mommy holding her hand.
I'm walking beside her and see she's lilliluputian, that the girl is only the size of my hand . Talk about failure to thrive. I think she must be one of the girls I aborted.
"Whose her pediatrician?" I ask her mother. She tells me his name. I just know he's young. He won't rock the boat. He doesn't dare. Hold the party line. Here I am at my age and I still don't know. I wish I was dead at these times. Taking on causes. Rising out of my despondency. I hate the idealism. I hate belief. I wish I could have just done as I was told. I'd like a ferrari and a mansion home too. The administrators have lear jets and dachaus. Make so much more than nurses and doctors. CEO's . Why shouldn't they? If it wasn't a government job and he has no risk, just priviledge.
"He's had me doing all these tests and none of them are helping." The little girls legs are less than my fingers. Her pediatrician is one of those I'm thinking. Countless tests. By doing tests he feels he's doing something. Taking pictures. Making notes. Sampling. In the days of old the generals lost the wars waiting for more and more reconnaissance while the enemy invaded their camps. No one can make decisions today. Decisions are where the rubber meets the road. Waffle. Look intelligent and waffle. Delay. Death by waitlist is better than a person dying because of a failure of treatment. Better they die by test.
I know I shouldn't get involved. My health is gone getting involved. There are so many forces of death. The power of devolution is so great these days. We'll all die anyway. Remain philosophical. She's not your concern. Just another stranger. So many strangers. You've helped so many strangers. And been paid for it. With misery, disease and contempt. The silver too. Don't forget the silver. You like your Ford.
"Why won't anyone do anything. Why doesn't anyone care.?" The mother is saying. I've heard that thousands of times. Miracles are what shows people care and no one wants miracles. Kill people who do miracles.
I am about to explain the success of doctors and how men and women who didn't want to be doctors decided they could have it all by owning doctors. Doctors became their commodities. Doctors did as they were told. Doctors used what they were given. Some had sports teams. Some had armies. Some had doctors.
The little girl the size of my hand was nobody. She was playing with a piece of fluff as I was thinking. I've explained this so many times but it does no good.
They couldn't afford to pay for the service. Their doctor knew they were nobody. Everyone was influence pedalling these days. The whole idea was how to get to the top of the waitlists. It was like a football game with hawkers selling seats. I know someone who knows someone who knows someone. Such a great place for graft and corruption. I was standing there not knowing what to do. I had my own lines all around me but someone had told them to see me. And she'd come in my sleep looking very much like the girl I imagined I aborted all those years ago.
In my mind I'm hearing another tell me I 'm not fit for work, that I care, that I have to separate my feelings from my job, that it's just a job, that they're not people they're numbers, and she's smiling that hollow smile and I'm afraid like she is. We're all afraid.
"They just got another doctor for swearing. Everyone knew he was the best but he said 'shit' and they had him. He's being removed. They'll reeducate him I suppose. Can't say 'shit' anymore. Not like the days."
I laugh at the popularity of "House MD". A dinosaur and anachronism. Wouldn't last a day in a Canadian hospital Administration would be all over him like flies on rotting flesh.
"I couldn't get any of the tests he ordered done because they said the requisitions had changed." I'm looking down at the little waiff and hearing the mother. They don't realize they've been doing that for all the decades I've worked. Changing forms. Denying invoices. It's escallated. A day doesn't go by I don't get a dozen's of phone calls saying I've not filled some form in right. The tone is 'why can't you do your job." I've a thousand forms changing weekly and this person has only their one.
It's all compartmentalized. "The protocols are there for a reason," the administrator is shouting at me. "If the protocol says she's supposed to die, she's supposed to die and you're not supposed to interfere." Her voice is nails on glass. Of course I know the protocols and the reason. I'm not getting kick backs for the research. That day I'd taken the person out of the trial and I'm being treated like I'm unpatriotic like I don't care if there's a cure for cancer. Always it comes back to "don't you care." The administrator is looking at me down her aquline nose when she says, "You don't care, you sanctimonious self aggrandising shit." Administrators can say shit.
I'm wasting the girls time. I have my own lines that run around the block and then some.. These days there's an endless stream outside my door. Now I'm taking time I don't have to fill out the form for the tiny nobody girl and her nobody mother who aren't supposed to be here. I was just trying to get through to my door when I saw them. So tiny and insignificant. I can't get over her being only the size of my hand and no one else is taking any notice.
I'm showing the mother how to fill out the form. I'm writing a consult for her to see a pediatrician who still cares hoping they still do and the administration hasn't got to them too. My heart sank when my friend wrote, please don't send me anymore referrals. You know we can't help them or we're not supposed to help them. I'm just trying to do what I can till I retire. I don't want to fight any more battles with administration. I'm sorry I can't help you anymore."
It's so obvious the girl has love the way she holds onto her mommy's little finger. It's everything else that's missing. Even as I sign my name, a name so used up and tired, I see the tiny little girl crying as the mother thanks me. I know I'm going to get shit for helping but I can't believe medicine isn't interested in a crying lilliputian.
I'm walking beside her and see she's lilliluputian, that the girl is only the size of my hand . Talk about failure to thrive. I think she must be one of the girls I aborted.
"Whose her pediatrician?" I ask her mother. She tells me his name. I just know he's young. He won't rock the boat. He doesn't dare. Hold the party line. Here I am at my age and I still don't know. I wish I was dead at these times. Taking on causes. Rising out of my despondency. I hate the idealism. I hate belief. I wish I could have just done as I was told. I'd like a ferrari and a mansion home too. The administrators have lear jets and dachaus. Make so much more than nurses and doctors. CEO's . Why shouldn't they? If it wasn't a government job and he has no risk, just priviledge.
"He's had me doing all these tests and none of them are helping." The little girls legs are less than my fingers. Her pediatrician is one of those I'm thinking. Countless tests. By doing tests he feels he's doing something. Taking pictures. Making notes. Sampling. In the days of old the generals lost the wars waiting for more and more reconnaissance while the enemy invaded their camps. No one can make decisions today. Decisions are where the rubber meets the road. Waffle. Look intelligent and waffle. Delay. Death by waitlist is better than a person dying because of a failure of treatment. Better they die by test.
I know I shouldn't get involved. My health is gone getting involved. There are so many forces of death. The power of devolution is so great these days. We'll all die anyway. Remain philosophical. She's not your concern. Just another stranger. So many strangers. You've helped so many strangers. And been paid for it. With misery, disease and contempt. The silver too. Don't forget the silver. You like your Ford.
"Why won't anyone do anything. Why doesn't anyone care.?" The mother is saying. I've heard that thousands of times. Miracles are what shows people care and no one wants miracles. Kill people who do miracles.
I am about to explain the success of doctors and how men and women who didn't want to be doctors decided they could have it all by owning doctors. Doctors became their commodities. Doctors did as they were told. Doctors used what they were given. Some had sports teams. Some had armies. Some had doctors.
The little girl the size of my hand was nobody. She was playing with a piece of fluff as I was thinking. I've explained this so many times but it does no good.
They couldn't afford to pay for the service. Their doctor knew they were nobody. Everyone was influence pedalling these days. The whole idea was how to get to the top of the waitlists. It was like a football game with hawkers selling seats. I know someone who knows someone who knows someone. Such a great place for graft and corruption. I was standing there not knowing what to do. I had my own lines all around me but someone had told them to see me. And she'd come in my sleep looking very much like the girl I imagined I aborted all those years ago.
In my mind I'm hearing another tell me I 'm not fit for work, that I care, that I have to separate my feelings from my job, that it's just a job, that they're not people they're numbers, and she's smiling that hollow smile and I'm afraid like she is. We're all afraid.
"They just got another doctor for swearing. Everyone knew he was the best but he said 'shit' and they had him. He's being removed. They'll reeducate him I suppose. Can't say 'shit' anymore. Not like the days."
I laugh at the popularity of "House MD". A dinosaur and anachronism. Wouldn't last a day in a Canadian hospital Administration would be all over him like flies on rotting flesh.
"I couldn't get any of the tests he ordered done because they said the requisitions had changed." I'm looking down at the little waiff and hearing the mother. They don't realize they've been doing that for all the decades I've worked. Changing forms. Denying invoices. It's escallated. A day doesn't go by I don't get a dozen's of phone calls saying I've not filled some form in right. The tone is 'why can't you do your job." I've a thousand forms changing weekly and this person has only their one.
It's all compartmentalized. "The protocols are there for a reason," the administrator is shouting at me. "If the protocol says she's supposed to die, she's supposed to die and you're not supposed to interfere." Her voice is nails on glass. Of course I know the protocols and the reason. I'm not getting kick backs for the research. That day I'd taken the person out of the trial and I'm being treated like I'm unpatriotic like I don't care if there's a cure for cancer. Always it comes back to "don't you care." The administrator is looking at me down her aquline nose when she says, "You don't care, you sanctimonious self aggrandising shit." Administrators can say shit.
I'm wasting the girls time. I have my own lines that run around the block and then some.. These days there's an endless stream outside my door. Now I'm taking time I don't have to fill out the form for the tiny nobody girl and her nobody mother who aren't supposed to be here. I was just trying to get through to my door when I saw them. So tiny and insignificant. I can't get over her being only the size of my hand and no one else is taking any notice.
I'm showing the mother how to fill out the form. I'm writing a consult for her to see a pediatrician who still cares hoping they still do and the administration hasn't got to them too. My heart sank when my friend wrote, please don't send me anymore referrals. You know we can't help them or we're not supposed to help them. I'm just trying to do what I can till I retire. I don't want to fight any more battles with administration. I'm sorry I can't help you anymore."
It's so obvious the girl has love the way she holds onto her mommy's little finger. It's everything else that's missing. Even as I sign my name, a name so used up and tired, I see the tiny little girl crying as the mother thanks me. I know I'm going to get shit for helping but I can't believe medicine isn't interested in a crying lilliputian.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Saint Matthews Anglican Church Easter Service
Laura and I were supposed to be celebrating Easter Sunday in Kamloops. The inaugural towing of the mobile home up the Coquihala met a glitch, an overheating engine. A touch of hell in the heaven of British Columbia.
I returned to Chilliwack where Ford dealers are well represented. Cottonwood RV park was easily accessible. My sailing pilot, engineer, Anglican Conservative friend Tom lives in Chilliwack. I phoned him up to tell him we were in town and planned to accompany him to church in the morning. He was on his way to St. Matthew's Anglican in Abbotsford that night. I told him what had happened with the Ford F350 diesel. He wanted to smell my transmission fluid before going on to evening church. He came by. The transmission fluid smelt sweet. We brainstormed the engine issues and concluded no damage and a quirk that were it to arise again might simply respond to manually changing gear. Tom said he'd come by to pick us up in the morning. We used to attend St. John's Anglican Church, Sardis but Tom's becoming more mystical, has shifted church to Saint Matthews.
"St. Matthew's is a very mystical church," he said.
Alot of the Trinity Western University teachers and students attend there. The Regent College University teachers and students attended at St. John's Anglican Church, Shaughnassey. Both churches are in the news alot these days. They've separated from the Anglican Church of Canada and the Diocese of Bishop Michael Ingham. They are now under the oversight of the Anglican Network of Canada. I usually attend Christ Church Cathedral or St. James Anglican in Vancouver. Both remain with Bishop Ingham.
While I was raised Baptist and taught Sunday School and attended the United Church of Canada as an adult, I was baptised into the Anglican Church by Rev. Peter Elliott and Bishop Michael Ingham at Christ Church Cathedral. Tom stood up for me. Father Fred at St. John's Sardis had been a great inspiration. I liked the ecumenicalism of the Anglican Church, the inclusivity. Yet , I' m a biblical student and there's a fine line between everything goes and what is spiritual. I'd not try to argue the point with a hedonist sensualist though. Certainly not in Canada where Christians are routinely verbally abused and persecuted.
I was a member of the United Church of Canada when it split and now I'm sitting in the midst of a divisive Anglican Church.
"At least 4 diocese have left the US Episcopalean church over it's radical departure from Biblical principles," Tom told me. I know that Jesus isn't very much spoken of in some mainstream Christian churches these days. To hear some Christians talk the Bible is just a story book and there's really no difference between philosophy and theology.
My friend George and I were just enjoying Christ Church Cathedral the week before. George is a former Lutheran. Elizabeth and Phil are so much apart of St. James. Gilbert, my cockapoo, is welcome in both. Christians are good people and I enjoy them all. For years I attended St. John's Shaughnassey and loved the folk there. So sad that they're all in dispute. I think of the times when the Roman Catholics and Orthodox Catholics were dividing. Then the Lutherans, Baptists, Anglicans, Presbyterian, Dutch Reformed, and all the sects of Christendom. There's 3 divisions of Judaism we hear about and countless more including my favourite, Jews for Jesus. Then there are the Sunni and Shiite Moslems, Sufis and countless other Moslem sects. The Buddhists are a hodge podge of different denominations and Hindus hardly get together without celebrating their individuality. When I was drinking chai in the late night streets of Bombay and anger would rise with religious sentiment, an old man would hold up one finger, and say "One God." We'd all settle down after that. I noticed knives being sheathed at times.
So when Tom came to pick us up in his maroon jaguar sporting a jacket and tie, I quickly added a tie to my own dress. Laura was divine in her spring frock. Gilbert was left at home to guard the RV.
I'd not been to Saint Matthews in years. I envisioned barbed wire fences, parapets and clergy in cammo. Ecclesiastical wars unfortunately are more of an "inside job' . There's no place for Spielberg. Anything but. Hand grenades couldn't break the peaceful smiles of the people congregating there. The church was decked out for spring rejoicing with white robed clergy and ladies sporting flowered bonnets
The church was soon full and all ages were represented. Rector Mike Stewart greeted the congregation. He was a thoroughly delightful man with a twinkle in his eye and a zest for life. The children loved him. We sang songs from the Anglican red Hymmnary and songs thrown up on the wall by the overhead projector. It was such an up tempo church with so much song and even dancing I kept looking for Dr. Willi and Anita Gutowski my Pentecostal friends whose church services are regular work outs.
Easter is Resurrection, The Easter egg is a symbol of rebirth. I love the Third Day Rock Band whose music is featured on Mel Gibson's movie about the Passion of Christ. This was the Third Day. Christ has Risen. Hallelujah!. Christ has Risen. The readings told of the empty tomb after the crucifixion and Christ meeting his disciples before ascension to sit at the right hand of God. As we all recited the Nicene Creed it had special poignancy. The fabric of the universe had altered with the death and resurrection of Jesus. A monumental difference, like a world in black and white, becoming a world of colour and smells had occurred historically. The beginning of that first Easter continues today and every day. Christ is Risen. Hallelujah. This is a spiritual universe and death has no hold on us.
Faces radiant, voices rising in song, it was an exhilerating service. I nodded during the sermon. I've nodded in the very best so it's probably a reflection on the highest quality of a sermon. I fell asleep so many times at the symphony with the greatest of composers I've not dared return without some medieval torture suit to keep me attentive. Laura in recent years at church has been kind enough to nudge me before I snore. Being of Catholic origins I trust her to avoid such mortification There were definitely good parts about Mary talking to Jesus. Then we were thick into the eucharist, Rt. Rev. Dr. Trevor Walters presciding.
That's when I realized there was a second floor to the church. All these strangers started funnelling forward out of nowhere. I leaned over to Tom then and said, "You sat us at the back of the communion bus."
"Better for your humility." he smugly answered.
"I hope they don't run out of bread, " said Laura. She's very fond of bread.
After a very long time we were finally funnelling towards the blood and body of Christ.
"Do you think anyone will notice my crotch?" I said to Laura. I'd noticed I had a significant tear in my black cordoroys. It was what I was thinking of as we waited in line.
"No one's looking at your crotch," she whispered over her shoulder. I didn't quite know how to take that.
I kneeled beside Tom and Laura trying to keep my legs together.
Then we were back in the pew for more singing and prayers and general Christian carrying on. Christ has Risen. Hallelujah!
After we made for the coffee and hot cross buns in the church hall. Tom's nurse friend Sharon kept the Christian Hot Cross buns coming. Jesus may have given out loaves but the church has grown stingy with it's bread at Eucharist. It's just a taster. The real meals always happen after the service.
Tom introduced me to a man who wrote about the appearances of Jesus since the initial ones reported in the Bible. I talked to him about visions for a while. Next I was talking to another parishioner about the irony that the overwhelming persecution of Christians by communists in Russia first and now China has proved that Christianity is not the hot house flower that poor communism has proven. It's resilience was evident today.
When we drove away in Tom's jag I thought how sad that Christians, like families the world over, have so much difficulty finding the love for one another they both so clearly hold. Saint Matthews Anglican was the mystical church Tom said it was. So much energy and enthusiasm. Like the book of C.S. Lewis I was 'Surprised by Joy".
I am thankful that despite the divisions in the church we all are Christians. It's embarrassing that the secular courts are being called on to settle matters eclesiastical. I'm ashamed of all the clergy and bishops and arch bishops for that reversion to Henry the VIIIth and the Borgias. The Supreme Court of Canada outlawed the Bible, for God's sake.
But that's very unChristian of me. Christ has Risen. Hallelujah. You will know we are Christians by our Love. At Easter we are all Christians loving. My mom used to say that we always hurt the ones we loved because they were closest. Sometimes it's easier to love a two headed alien than an Anglican.
I returned to Chilliwack where Ford dealers are well represented. Cottonwood RV park was easily accessible. My sailing pilot, engineer, Anglican Conservative friend Tom lives in Chilliwack. I phoned him up to tell him we were in town and planned to accompany him to church in the morning. He was on his way to St. Matthew's Anglican in Abbotsford that night. I told him what had happened with the Ford F350 diesel. He wanted to smell my transmission fluid before going on to evening church. He came by. The transmission fluid smelt sweet. We brainstormed the engine issues and concluded no damage and a quirk that were it to arise again might simply respond to manually changing gear. Tom said he'd come by to pick us up in the morning. We used to attend St. John's Anglican Church, Sardis but Tom's becoming more mystical, has shifted church to Saint Matthews.
"St. Matthew's is a very mystical church," he said.
Alot of the Trinity Western University teachers and students attend there. The Regent College University teachers and students attended at St. John's Anglican Church, Shaughnassey. Both churches are in the news alot these days. They've separated from the Anglican Church of Canada and the Diocese of Bishop Michael Ingham. They are now under the oversight of the Anglican Network of Canada. I usually attend Christ Church Cathedral or St. James Anglican in Vancouver. Both remain with Bishop Ingham.
While I was raised Baptist and taught Sunday School and attended the United Church of Canada as an adult, I was baptised into the Anglican Church by Rev. Peter Elliott and Bishop Michael Ingham at Christ Church Cathedral. Tom stood up for me. Father Fred at St. John's Sardis had been a great inspiration. I liked the ecumenicalism of the Anglican Church, the inclusivity. Yet , I' m a biblical student and there's a fine line between everything goes and what is spiritual. I'd not try to argue the point with a hedonist sensualist though. Certainly not in Canada where Christians are routinely verbally abused and persecuted.
I was a member of the United Church of Canada when it split and now I'm sitting in the midst of a divisive Anglican Church.
"At least 4 diocese have left the US Episcopalean church over it's radical departure from Biblical principles," Tom told me. I know that Jesus isn't very much spoken of in some mainstream Christian churches these days. To hear some Christians talk the Bible is just a story book and there's really no difference between philosophy and theology.
My friend George and I were just enjoying Christ Church Cathedral the week before. George is a former Lutheran. Elizabeth and Phil are so much apart of St. James. Gilbert, my cockapoo, is welcome in both. Christians are good people and I enjoy them all. For years I attended St. John's Shaughnassey and loved the folk there. So sad that they're all in dispute. I think of the times when the Roman Catholics and Orthodox Catholics were dividing. Then the Lutherans, Baptists, Anglicans, Presbyterian, Dutch Reformed, and all the sects of Christendom. There's 3 divisions of Judaism we hear about and countless more including my favourite, Jews for Jesus. Then there are the Sunni and Shiite Moslems, Sufis and countless other Moslem sects. The Buddhists are a hodge podge of different denominations and Hindus hardly get together without celebrating their individuality. When I was drinking chai in the late night streets of Bombay and anger would rise with religious sentiment, an old man would hold up one finger, and say "One God." We'd all settle down after that. I noticed knives being sheathed at times.
So when Tom came to pick us up in his maroon jaguar sporting a jacket and tie, I quickly added a tie to my own dress. Laura was divine in her spring frock. Gilbert was left at home to guard the RV.
I'd not been to Saint Matthews in years. I envisioned barbed wire fences, parapets and clergy in cammo. Ecclesiastical wars unfortunately are more of an "inside job' . There's no place for Spielberg. Anything but. Hand grenades couldn't break the peaceful smiles of the people congregating there. The church was decked out for spring rejoicing with white robed clergy and ladies sporting flowered bonnets
The church was soon full and all ages were represented. Rector Mike Stewart greeted the congregation. He was a thoroughly delightful man with a twinkle in his eye and a zest for life. The children loved him. We sang songs from the Anglican red Hymmnary and songs thrown up on the wall by the overhead projector. It was such an up tempo church with so much song and even dancing I kept looking for Dr. Willi and Anita Gutowski my Pentecostal friends whose church services are regular work outs.
Easter is Resurrection, The Easter egg is a symbol of rebirth. I love the Third Day Rock Band whose music is featured on Mel Gibson's movie about the Passion of Christ. This was the Third Day. Christ has Risen. Hallelujah!. Christ has Risen. The readings told of the empty tomb after the crucifixion and Christ meeting his disciples before ascension to sit at the right hand of God. As we all recited the Nicene Creed it had special poignancy. The fabric of the universe had altered with the death and resurrection of Jesus. A monumental difference, like a world in black and white, becoming a world of colour and smells had occurred historically. The beginning of that first Easter continues today and every day. Christ is Risen. Hallelujah. This is a spiritual universe and death has no hold on us.
Faces radiant, voices rising in song, it was an exhilerating service. I nodded during the sermon. I've nodded in the very best so it's probably a reflection on the highest quality of a sermon. I fell asleep so many times at the symphony with the greatest of composers I've not dared return without some medieval torture suit to keep me attentive. Laura in recent years at church has been kind enough to nudge me before I snore. Being of Catholic origins I trust her to avoid such mortification There were definitely good parts about Mary talking to Jesus. Then we were thick into the eucharist, Rt. Rev. Dr. Trevor Walters presciding.
That's when I realized there was a second floor to the church. All these strangers started funnelling forward out of nowhere. I leaned over to Tom then and said, "You sat us at the back of the communion bus."
"Better for your humility." he smugly answered.
"I hope they don't run out of bread, " said Laura. She's very fond of bread.
After a very long time we were finally funnelling towards the blood and body of Christ.
"Do you think anyone will notice my crotch?" I said to Laura. I'd noticed I had a significant tear in my black cordoroys. It was what I was thinking of as we waited in line.
"No one's looking at your crotch," she whispered over her shoulder. I didn't quite know how to take that.
I kneeled beside Tom and Laura trying to keep my legs together.
Then we were back in the pew for more singing and prayers and general Christian carrying on. Christ has Risen. Hallelujah!
After we made for the coffee and hot cross buns in the church hall. Tom's nurse friend Sharon kept the Christian Hot Cross buns coming. Jesus may have given out loaves but the church has grown stingy with it's bread at Eucharist. It's just a taster. The real meals always happen after the service.
Tom introduced me to a man who wrote about the appearances of Jesus since the initial ones reported in the Bible. I talked to him about visions for a while. Next I was talking to another parishioner about the irony that the overwhelming persecution of Christians by communists in Russia first and now China has proved that Christianity is not the hot house flower that poor communism has proven. It's resilience was evident today.
When we drove away in Tom's jag I thought how sad that Christians, like families the world over, have so much difficulty finding the love for one another they both so clearly hold. Saint Matthews Anglican was the mystical church Tom said it was. So much energy and enthusiasm. Like the book of C.S. Lewis I was 'Surprised by Joy".
I am thankful that despite the divisions in the church we all are Christians. It's embarrassing that the secular courts are being called on to settle matters eclesiastical. I'm ashamed of all the clergy and bishops and arch bishops for that reversion to Henry the VIIIth and the Borgias. The Supreme Court of Canada outlawed the Bible, for God's sake.
But that's very unChristian of me. Christ has Risen. Hallelujah. You will know we are Christians by our Love. At Easter we are all Christians loving. My mom used to say that we always hurt the ones we loved because they were closest. Sometimes it's easier to love a two headed alien than an Anglican.
Soldier of the Horse
Soldier of the Horse, by Robert W. Mackay, (robertwmackay.com) published by Touchwood, 2011 (www.touchwoodeditions.com) is an extraordinary historical war and romance novel about Tom, a young lawyer who joins the Canadian Expeditionary Force as a calvaryman. The story begins in Winnipeg 1914 and ends there after the war. Ellen, daughter of a lawyer, meets Tom before the war. Tom is not a crusading hero by any means, rather a truly believable soldier who does his duty well but mostly wants to get through the trenches, the artillery, the machine guns, keeping his loved horse and self in one piece.. The characters came alive in Winnipeg but the novel gathered steam with the troops crossing the Atlantic. Once in France the action exploded. I couldn't put the book down. By Moreuil Wood I was right there with Tom and his comrades, their horses, and the Germans and their machine guns. By the end of the book I was crying. It was that engaging.
Such a truly wonderful story, so well told, I was in tears with the men but mostly with Tom. I don't want to be a spoiler. I don't want to share the letters from home that choked. I don't want to describe each emotionally moving detail. But I do. I'd love to share how it turns out. I'd love to tell you this story, but it would be far better if you bought the book and read it as I have , through tears. I'd love you to see Ellen through Tom's eyes. I'd love you to feel her struggle and Tom's so far apart.
I'd also love to know how Robert MacKay learned the true story that was the basis of the book from his father. For now I'm just thankful to have read a piece of Canadian history, proud to know men like Tom in my life, my father a veteran of WWII, and thankful that Robert cared enough to share. This is a truly brilliant novel that every Canadian should read at least once if only to remember.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
The Mobile Home Experience
The last time I attempted moving my home, I rolled the truck and trailer. Laura thought she was going to die. Gilbert was definitely interested. I got a whiplash and a new trailer. The second hand one had had great potential for error, such as break failure. . I got a bigger truck too. In trailer world, the bigger the truck the less likely the trailer is to win in a contest. My last truck had literally dove into the ditch rather than fight it out with a banshee trailer. That last trailer had been a bully. This trailer was not. The Rockwood Minilite is highly civilized RV from Travelhome, Langley.
I've spent 6 months on and off in the mobile home without it moving. Laura thought it was just fine like it was.
"You don't really need to move a mobile home, " she said. I couldn't stand it any longer. I kept looking at the wheels knowing they were supposed to go round.
Tom came over and checked all the connections with me. It was Good Friday. If we were going to die it was a good day in the Christian calendar. Tom actually suggested we take the mobile home for a ride a round the block. There was no cataclysmic consequences.
Today Laura and I actually got the mobile home organized ourselves. She waved like the queen and somehow we got tongue and ball alligned. Gilbert knowing something was definitely up climbed into the truck to ensure he'd not be left behind. We actually drove out of the Burnaby Caribou RV Park. Dave from the office kindly checked my connections one last time before we exitted. Then we were rolling. Freeway here we come. I've loved all the Chevy Chase movies so his Holliday series was uppermost in mind. That and the Torentino Road Rage Series.
We drove to Chilliwack. We filled up on diesel and propane. We had a terrific lunch at the Husky then we headed up to Hope. Hope is where we rolled the last trailer. There's an anniversary thing going on here. There are trailer demons around Hope.
Just beyond Hope the truck engine overheated. I don't know why. I'm not a Ford Diesel Mechanic. I thought it was a sign from God that this Easter we should go back to Chilliwack. Fortunately we'd not headed up the Coquahalla and I was able to turn around on Highway #3. We're back in Chilliwach. Given that God has spoken to us directly through the Diesel Engine of the Truck I would say it's a time for thanksgiving.
I've already phoned Tom and he's going to pick us up for Easter morning church service. Later I 'll talk to a mechanic and ask if he'll lay hands on my Ford truck. In the meantime, we're loving being alive given how greatly the odds were stacked against us in our minds.
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