Easter Camping Trip

We have arrived.  I’ve just set up the camper outside while Laura organized inside.  It turns out that we’re not the only ones skipping church this Easter weekend. We may still make a Sunday service near here but the wilderness is godly.  There’s a few millions campers and RV’s in the beyond Princeton area. More than I’ve ever seen in the summer or fall.  Our favourite place was packed but here we’re still by the Similkameen River and not so surrounded.  We heard on the way up that an unprecedented number of Vancouverites had fled the city and backed up the ferry sailing 4 sailings.

I slept in an hour. Laura arrived at 9.  I had to figure out how to mount the KTM690 on the front of the truck.  I forgot I had to take off one of the aluminum panniers to make it work. Laura helped me push the KTM onto the rack.

Loading gear. I’d gone off and brought home the Winchester Coyote and the Sexcaliber the night before.  I loaded them with their companions.  I loaded the Honda generator then just had Laura and my travel bags and my computer case.  It was l0 am.

I don’t know why traffic was slow. Laura said it wasn’t rush hour. But still the Langley bottleneck black hole was twilight zoning the freeway.  I gassed up in Abbotsford.  $200 will get me 650 KM.  Justin Trudeau money. I remember yesterday. before Jihadi Justin,  when a hundred dollars filled my tank and gave me 900 km.  Now there’s going to be a gay loonie. I sure hope it’s sexy.  We could use anything now to make Justin Trudeau’s Quebec UN sponsored economic rape more appealing.  

News reported unprecedented line ups at the border too. Everyone is crossing to get American oil that despite the inflationary Canadian money is worth the trip for a tank of gas.

I was delighted to get to Chilliwack RV STorage. John is one of the finest most trustworthy men I know.  His wife is beautiful and very intelligent while his son is everything a family could want. He reminds me of the my nephews.

I’d forgotten to take the tail gate off the Ford. It weights more than the truck itself. Laura and I did a Laurel and Hardy routine getting it off. 

I next found the remote for the Happy Jacks.  But I didn’t remember the ‘trick’ to turning it on. I vaguely remembered it needed to be pressed in two places. Laura was skimming the Adventure Camper manual when I truly just lucked out and got the light on the remote to work. The Easy Jacks didn’t work though. Then I remembered I needed to turn on the battery. It took me a minute to remember the battery wasn’t where the old camper battery was and then to locate the switch.  Voila!

What a happy sound the Happy Jacks make as they lift the camper to a height where we can ease the truck box under the truck. That was a whole other adventure. I’d totally destroyed the previous camper crashing into it so was intent on not doing a personal Rambo on my new camper. 

We’d learned from the fabulous fellow at Frazerway where our glorious Adventurer Camper came from ,that the best way to ease back  very slowly with back and forth movements and getting out of the truck to check  every foot or so of progress. Laura was immensely helpful repeatedly screaming “Stop. Stop.”  

It really worked. Together we got the camper properly positioned in the truck box. Then with the easy jacks we lowered the  camper.  Voila!

I found the skookum tie downs and forgetting a bit jury rigged a second attachment.  All’s well that ends well.  

Laura with the strength that women have lifting trucks off babies, helped me get the Ford tailgate into the camper to leave with John. At the office, John agreed to stow the tailgate and lifted it like Samson into his office, letting me carry a bit to save face.

“Have a great weekend camping,” he said as I pulled away.

We’re away.

We stopped at Canadian Tire in Chilliwack for a hammer. I have several hammers, just not one with me.  I love hammers. A Thor thing. Next Stop Husky.  Filed the jerry cans with gas and then filled the camper with water.  

“I feel Shannon’s vibes’, Laura said. She called her daughter who was serendipitously nearby. I said I wanted steak from Superstore. She was blocks away and joined Laura there.

I got my steaks, potatoes, coffee cream, Chocolate bars, croissants, and all the other necessities we generally need when we’re roughing it in the Canadian wilderness.  

“Ham is the Traditional Easter dish,” Laura said.  I had a ham for us and picked up a smoked honey ham Easter gift for Shannon and her oodles of children.

When I got back to the truck she was there. She had Evie with her. One of Laura’s 6 grand children. The youngest. 1 1/2  years old Cutest smiling little angel I’ve seen in a dog’s age. Gilbert was in love. He loves little children. Thinks he’s one himself. They hit it off immediately I loved seeing the Grandmother, Daughter, Grandaughter combination. All beautiful and very Celtic. 

Hugs and kisses.

“I forgot to take pictures. I was so happy to see my children.”  Laura said as we were driving away. 

We were headed up the Number 3 Highway past Hope  to Princeton.

The evergreens were beautiful and the air was so fresh.  

“On the Road again. One more time I’m on the road again. I”m on the road again.” I sang.

“Whose song is that, “ I asked Laura who was still glowing from her motherly encounter. 

“Willie Nelson.” She said.  

“I’ve been singing that song forever. Probably sang it when I hitchhiked across Canada as a hippie in early 1970’s” on our way to wear flower in our hair in San Francsisco. 

“We’re on a road trip.” Laura said filled with greed and setting Gilbert to barking delightfully.  

“I love road trips.”

“On the Road again. One more time I’m on the road again. I”m on the road again.”

The rain and gloom hit us in Manning Park with high piles of snow and drifts along the river.  It was looking grim until we came over Sunday Summit and the sky cleared.  Blue sky and white clouds.  Coming down into the Princeton Valley it was beautiful breath takingly beautiful.  A grand rainbow crossed the whole sky.

“Rainbows are always appearing at Easter. You see them in cards with a Lamb.”  Laura said as we continued driving west.  The wilderness campgrounds were full till we found this one. It’s perfect. Gilbert made it his with a great poop in the middle of the little road that ran beside the picnic table. 

Now I’ve made a coffee and written a bit. I found the grinder and have Ethiopian coffee beans set aside for the morning. They’re the best coffee beans in the world. So we’ll just have to rough it a bit more. Laura is reading in the bed. The air is truly delicious. The sound of the river running nearby is heavenly. Our furnace goes on and off. It’s so cozy. I’m so happy.  Good FRiday.  Hallelujah. 

       

Palm Sunday at St. Barnabus Church

We arrived at church this morning to find it empty. I immediately assumed we were at the wrong time or wrong Sunday. Thankfully a lovely parishioner told they had all assembled in the church hall to make a procession around the neighbourhood. We were encouraged to join but I figured I’d best stay in the church rather than get lost searching for the congregation. Let them find us.

It was a truly delightful combined service with St. Barnabus Anglican and Shiloh Fifth Avenue United.  The combined congregation eventually returned carrying cedar and hemlock branches in lieu of palms, singing Hosanna,  beating drums and tambourines.  Despite some with walkers, chairs and canes they were a robust group with hearts and limbs lightened by the Lord.  Rev. Emilie and Rev. Shannon proceeded to lead the service together like a regular “tag team” event. Satan was nowhere to be seen. Great chant leaders and marvellus songs drove the devil far away.  He’s likely preoccupied in Ottawa and Victoria.  So we were blessed with peace and joy.  What a great little community.  I love the PEACE as we move about acknowledging each other  individually. Gilbert thinks it’s the best part as he gets to sniff other dogs and people’s pant legs.  

I loved the New Creed of the United Church.   

Communion is always a moving time. It was just so hopeful, so spring like, so moving forward.  The sadness of Easter is coupled with the joy of resurrection. As Rev. Emilie said , the rocks are singing hossana till this day.  The Cosmic Christ.  God Within. God Will Come Again.  Another year has passed and we are celebrating this central event of the Christian calendars. So much happening at this church with these two congregations and their loving leaders.

(If anyone is “curious” about Christianity or fallen in attendance , especially the “C&E” (Christmas and Easter) Christians this is the time of the year to drop in and feel the warmth and welcome.)

Simon Frazer Pipe Band Concert at Vogue Theatre

Even without haggis  we still loved the SFU Pipe Band. Laura said, “I’m used to getting roast beef while I’m listening to them.”  We have so enjoyed the SFU and RMM Pipe Bands over the years at their annual Robbie Burns Gala in January. This was really a treat. Just wall to wall music in the best venue and one great number after another.  Such great musicians playing such exaltant music lifted my soul.  I loved the drummers. I’m so thankful for this event. The little ones in the RMM Pipe Band were an inspiration. The accomplished repeated world championship winning SFU Pipe Band was mesmerizing.  A great evening with friend Lorne from Chilliwack and Laverne who had just returned from a course in Israel.

  

8 years old: Sunday School and Cub Scouts

8 years old. This is a real memory exercise. I’ve been recommending it for years to my older patients.  Write a page a year of your life journal. Make sure you have positives and negatives, assuming that there was at least a balance. I believe if the year isn’t at least 51% a person dies.  Some years have to my mind, been bad years, other’s better. I sometimes tell a person who is suicidal that I know that year is a really bad year but next year will be better.

Now I’m just having trouble remembering these early years. I miss my family because I could have called them up and asked.  What was the name of our Gr. 2 teacher? I expect one of my friends could tell me but I’m sitting here wondering if it’s Mrs. Murray or Mrs. Glover. Those are the two early elementary school teachers names that stick in my head. It think they’re Gr 3 and 4. Yet for a year I used those names daily. I talked about my teachers hundreds of times over the last years. I even remember when those of us on the Fort Garry page of Facebook tried to remember all the Viscount and Vincent Massey teachers.  I suppose I wasn’t shocked by how few each person remembered. Together we got the list.  My memory has been ‘rated’ as better than most. Still I miss it at these times like one misses an old friend.

The Thought police are at it again.  Dementia isn’t forgetting things.  It’s forgetting the meaning of things. The best little book on head injury was the “man who mistook his wife for a hat’.  It gave some sense of the field.  When I forget what a car is for I’ve got dementia. Forgetting where I parked it is a whole bunch of other things.

Now I’m trying to sort out Gr. 2 and Gr.3. Age 6,7,8, 9.  When I’m a teen it begins to coalesce well. But these good years kind of run together.

Every Sunday Dad drove us to Trinity Baptist Church in Fort Rouge.  I didn’t like the minister, nor did Dad but my brother and sister in law liked him.  We had an actual pool behind curtains by the altar.  Full immersion baptism.  As a kid I was fascinated by that. But I really was thankful when we got to leave the old people and go down to the church basement.  This was where we had Sunday School. We did colouring of church comic books and had quizzes.  We prayed together and sang songs.

I remember one particular Sunday school memory  that stayed with me. It was a sacred moment. I’ve had these Sychronistic incidences since childhood though they were much more common back then.  

A missionary lady, lovely motherly like woman, had come from India to talk to us children about her Indian mission. I really believe it was near Bombay but that’s probably just conjecture.  She had slides of the people and the places.  Lots of smiling brown kids. I liked that monkeys, chickens and cows were there walking around the peoples’ yards.  She told of us of the work they were doing among the ‘heathen’ .  The terms used for ‘non christian’ weren’t that  very purjorative as they are commonly translated by those on the receiving end. Terms such as ‘unwashed’, were said more in ‘sadness’ though ,of course in a distinctly superior sense.  Like a person might refer to a friend who does’t have a car.  In ignorant political dialogue and of course in times of war these terms lose the sense of sadness that goes with them.

The missionary lady referred to one such heathen Hindu as a lovely man but so sad that he had not found Jesus.  There was this smiling man in white cloth clothing looking out at us from the black and white slide projected on the white screen pulled down from the ceiling. We kids were all sitting in rows on folding grey metal chairs. The Hindu Holy man’s lawn was a profusion of life size pictures of all the saints and leaders of different religions. There must have been 20 or thirty such pictures like political signs during campaigns. He, looking like Gandhi, dressed in white cloth, was standing in the middle beside a picture of Jesus . I simply never forgot him.

“The Hindu’s are polytheistic, “ the missionary told us.  “Christians are monotheistic’.  As little kids we then tried pronouncing these big words.  Polytheists believe there are many Gods but Christians know there is only one God.’  She said. That smiling Hindu man who ‘accepted’ all religions and had the generosity to display the gods of all the religions on his lawn really captured me.

It was a white light moment.  

I was very young and ideas of ‘manifestations’ of God, or the Trinity, three person’s in one, three god’s in one God, the story of the wise men and the camel, all this would have to wait until much later for me to sort out.  But I remember that day really liking that motherly missionary lady and really liking the picture of the Holy man who looked like Gandhi.  I also liked the monkeys. These people were also like my uncles who’d disagree but still be friends.  I was taken at a very young age with the idea of two people being right but that one might be more right.  

Year’s later I’d learn that ‘psychological mindedness’ was the ‘ability to tolerate the tension of opposites’ and that it was a relatively rare trait in humans. I happened to be blessed or cursed with it. That occasion in Sunday School that day is my first memory of my being able to hold two ‘truths’ because I believe both the Holy Man of India and Missionary Lady were both right. I’d have to study C.S. Lewis and Piaget years later before I could understand this.

My Jewish friend, the son of the policeman, was going to Jewish school on Saturday while we were out playing and the rest of the kids were playing while the Christians and Catholics were going to church on Sunday’s.  Looking back I think that ‘extra’ education explained our subsequent success in school and society.  In the ‘negligent nuclear family’ society with few siblings and parents away or tired from working , there was a breakdown of community and family. Certainly Marx and Engles designed the destruction of the family so that there would be no other gods but the State.  The greatest threat to State authority has always been ‘blood’.  Blood more often than  not ‘trumps’ ideology as the Civil War in the states broke up families but made it nearly impossible for people to fight their own. The Romans long before knew that to put down rebellions they had to bring in outsiders.  Scab labour wasn’t drawn from blood relations but rather from outsiders. 

Sunday school gave us more contact with adults and with adult learning. 

 The Trinity Baptist Church Basement was also where I attended Cub Scouts. “Akela I will dib dib dib!”  My father would take my brother and I to Trinity Baptist Church so we could join all these other kids learning outdoor lore of Baden Powell.  My father’s best friend in the church was Murray who convinced him to help. Murray was a city guy who had 4 girls and finally one little boy. He was a great guy with a beautiful wife. The type of Christian man you’d wish we all were. He volunteered to lead the Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts then convinced my Dad who was a real outdoorsman to help him. Dad wasn’t one to take on ‘leadership roles’ or ‘responsible positions’ outside of work. I think he got enough of that at work. But he’d been in the RCAF and he certainly knew all that the Scouts wanted to teach boys. He was a consummate outdoorsman who today would be considered a great ‘survivalist’.  In those days the country kids were all like this.  They knew ‘stuff’.  The city kids were rapidly losing ‘competence’ and becoming increasingly dependent on the ‘hive’.  

Lieutenant General Robert Stephenson Smith Baden-Powell, 1st Baron Baden-Powell, OM, GCMG,GCVO, KCB, DL was a British Army Officer who was founder of the worldwide Scout movement.  His sister Agnes founded the world wide Girl Guide movement. He was a national hero during the Boer War of 1899-1900.  He wrote a Guide to Scouting in 1903 which became a best seller.  He wrote it for the military but aimed it at young boys with a view to giving them more ‘meaning’ in life. His father was a Church of England priest. The first scouting camp was in 1907 followed by the first National Scout Rally at Crystal Palace. 

On  his retirement from the Scouting Movement in 1937 he wrote:

“I have had a most happy life and I want each of you to have a happy life too.  I believe that God put us in this jolly world to be happy and enjoy life.  Happiness does not come from being rich, nor merely being successful in your career, nor by self indulgence.’ 

“The most worthwhile thing is to try to put happiness into the lives of others’. 

His wife was Olive St. Clare Soames. She was 23. He was 55. Married in 1912 they went on to have 3 children.  He was deeply anti communist and Nazi Germany banned the scouts listing them as a ‘dangerous spy organization.”  

In 2007 there were 38 million Scouts and Guides in over 216 countries.  

“Try and leave the world a little better than you found it and when your turn comes to die, you can die happy in feeling that at any rate you have not wasted your time but have done your best.  “Be prepared” in this way, to live happy and die happy - stick to your Scout Promise always - even after you have ceased to be a boy - and God help you do it.”  Baden Powell

The Scout Promise 

On my honour 

I promise to do my best

To love and serve God

My Queen, my country and my fellowmen

And to live by the Scout Law.

Mom sewed the badges on my green shirt when I passed a test.  I can’t remember all the ‘proficiency’ badges, some in the woods, some cooking and sewing.  I loved passing the proficiency tests and having those badges.  Years later when I was a middle aged man and she was really quite old she gave me a green blanket in which she’d sewn those badges she’d kept from my shirts, long after I’d forgotten what became of those shirts. On that blanket she also had pins and ribbons I won as a child.  

It’s not surprising to day to understand why some kids are successful and others are not. My mother didn’t push me or demand that I succeed in activities but she appreciated it and remembered.  She really was there for me always and I so often just took it for granted. As a child I was about as smart about relationship as my dog is with me.  Food, play,clothes, Doctors all appear magically and only if they’re not there does my dog notice.  

As a child my life was pretty amazing. We loved the cubs and scouts  Each year we’d go to the Scout Camp for days or a week. Dad would go along with Murray and keep us flock of kids from getting killed in the woods. 

I remember wilderness camping at Camp Alloway on the Big Whiteshell. One day we were learning canoeing, a line of boats following the leader like ducklings after a mother goose. A freak wind came up and it was truly a nightmare with the wind coming at us little kids paddling for our lives.  The leader and my father and brother were shooting back and forth among us rallying us.  My brother Ron, 4 years old was a Boy Scout when I was a Cub Scout at this time. He was really incredible. A regular Baden Powel. The best of the best. And dad was like Davey Crocker or Daniel Boone. Us kids were terrified. Two of us little kids and these great waves crashing over the side of our canoes. We were only off the shore a hundred yards or two but we were trying to stay off the reeds and make it back to the dock.  It must have only been 15 minutes of all out paddling after a lovely paddle early along the shore on a sunny day. 

We were all so thankful to make it back. It was also amazing to us that my Dad and brother could turn their canoes around ‘in that storm’ and come back and ride along side us and rally the stragglers at the back. Murray lead the ‘expedition’ and we all arrived safe to later enjoy hot chocolate around a fire telling the story over and over again.  Today there are probably adults still telling the tale of their surviving the tsunami waves and winds of the Big Whiteshell.  

Snow Train was another great Scout outing. In the middle of Winnipeg a whole bunch of us children loaded up with our winter camping and scouting gear said our good byes to our tearful mothers and families. It really was a major ta do.  Such excitement.  You’d think we were headed off to war. The train would pull away from the station and all us kids would be watching our parents left behind. My Dad and brother were with me. We’d said good bye to Mom and the dog at home before loading into Dad’s green ford pick up truck and heading out to the CNR train station.

The train couldn’t have gone more than a half hour or so before it stopped and let us all climb out into the middle of nowhere. As kids we thought we were on the moon or in the arctic. Endless untouched unblemished wind blown snow in great drifts, some bushes and the occasion spruce tree. Not a touch of civilization around. 

The train having left us, quite terrified and alone, we geared up, the older scouts helping us younger boys. We tput on our snow shoes and put our packs on our backs and followed our leaders off to the camp site. I think there was  canvas tent set up for us. But on the way one of us slipped into the stream we were walking beside getting thoroughly wet and creating quite the crisis for the leadership .This was Manitoba in winter and hypothermia a very real thing. I would think Murray and Dad were as worried about helping the child as explaining to the parents why a kid’s leg was amputated for hypothermia on a scout camp outing.

I’ve always admired the volunteers who work with kids knowing how awful some parents can be and their kids not much better. The kid survived. Dad started a fire and got the kid in dry clothes and did all the right things.  That was Dad and I know Murray thanked him over and over again in the years to come for coming with the scouts. Murray would have been beside himself with this but Dad lived on snowshoes as a kid and saw much worse in the RCAF.  

We made forts of snow out there.  The job was to capture the other guys flag. We stumbled about on snowshoes bigger than ourselves following the bigger kids, maybe 6 to a group and 10 groups.  I just remember trying to stay warm and loving the break for hot chocolate by the big fire the adults had made.  

We didn’t stay over night. It was just a day outing.

The train picked up us at dusk and we were back in the city at the train station with our families and a host of memories that would serve us for life. I remember doing Snow Train a couple of years with the Scouts and it remains such a fond memory.  Losing our flag and stealing a flag and flogging through snows awkwardly on snowshoes.  We’d get a patch for Snow Train and wear it on our jersey. 

I attended Scout Rallies and we’d trade our local patches for the patches of other guys and also scout rings and other paraphernalia. I had an American scout ring I got in a trade that I was so proud of. Trading was a thing for little boys. Baseball cards and other things like scout patches. Not the proficiency patches but patches of a general nature. Years later I’d do the same with my Harley Vest and look around at a group of Hell’s Angels and Gospel Riders and think probably all of them had started out in cub scouts. Kids will be kids.

(Camp Alloway - I just remembered another Camp Alloway story. I think it happened when I was 8 or 9.  We were all camping by the lake in tents, tall brown canvas tents with wooden centre poles.  They  slept 4 or 6 boys each.  I remember that year we’d had problems with black bears in the camp and the Park Ranger had been called. My brother Ron had hooked up with him to track a particular black bear that was coming into the camp and frightening the boys.  I was in the out house, ‘doing my business’ when I heard all the screaming “Bear! Bear!.”  A kid had actually climbed on the roof of the outhouse above me while I quickly wiped to be able to get out and see the bear.  “Bear Bear”.  

So I burst out of the outhouse with at least a half dozen boys shouting ‘bear bear’ around me. I was suddenly bowled over by this big black bear. He’d been running away from the boys shouting looking over his shoulder when he collided full on with me. I was knocked to the ground and the big bear stood up above me.  I was lying on my back looking up at this bear in that classic bear pose, arms up, huge claws on his hands, head back, great white teeth roaring.  I was scared. I’d have probably shit and wet myself if I hadn’t just come from the outhouse   I can see that moment vividly in my mind today.  There was the kid on top of the outhouse wide eyed , looking down, another two boys standing on the trail the bear had come from

The Park Ranger was there too about 100 yards away towards the lake.  I only saw him after my brother and he shouted ‘Don’t move. Don’t move Billy.” He had his rifle up pointed at the bear.   My brother was beside the ranger.   I just lay there on my back unable to move  looking up at the bear standing so far above me swaying from side to side.  It really did last a long time.  He then dropped down to all fours and ran away down the trail to the left crashing through the woods where there were no humans.  

Everyone ran up to see if I was okay. I was except for a little bruising on my back where his head hit my like a truck.  The ranger was saying he couldn’t shoot because of all the boys around but would have if the bear had attacked me.   He’d have known as I do today the bear was more scared than I was and just looking for an exit. I think at the time I knew the bear was scared and looking for an exit too.  

I sure was the hero of the camp that year for being ‘mauled’ by a bear.  I certainly wasn’t going to argue with the story but kind of swaggered in the glory of a boy who’d survived a bear attack.  )

Friday Afternoon in Burnaby

It’s Friday. Thank God.  It was a great clinic.

Gilbert is enjoying his hair cut.  Lots of vim and vigour.  We walked with three dogs and three guys around the park today, a couple of times .The sun is a joy,. Laura was at my place when i got home . We hugged. Gilbert barked excited wanting to join in.  The cat joined in. Group hug.  

Later I rode the Harley to Canadian Tire.  I’ve got two folding lawn chairs now to pick up with my  truck.  My old ones are on the camper.  $50 a chair.  They seem to last a few years.  The fabric eventually tears.  I’ve got another gun cleaning tool. If i go bear hunting i will have a clean rifle. I’ve another one somewhere but. I could only find the field one last fall so I’ve now another.  I could use more oil on the mechanism.  I like to put a pole and cloth down the barrel before i hunt and when i return.  I picked up a dewalt sander. Mine is on the boat.  Now Ill have one in the trailer.  I have some rust to remove before i can paint the extending strut holders on the truck.  I like buying the tools for the task more than I like doing the task. I really like when the task is done. I have to work on my enthusiasm for getting down to the task. Once i begin a project I actually enjoy it. It

S the procrastination that irritates.

I’m here at Safeway picking up food for the animals. I love this Bosleys’. At Safeway I’ll get steaks for the humans and barbecue.  

Laura is off buying shoes. Bagpipes tomorrow night. Church Sunday.  Camping soon though snow on the Coquahalla. Love the sun. Love the Harley. 

7 years old: drunk judge and rock stars

It was 1959. It was a good year. I was living in Winnipeg, Fort Garry, on North Drive, a block from the Badminton Club and Golf Club.  The Red River ran along the end of our back lane.  We lived next to the Anglican Church Manse.

“Your father and the priest have been working on fixing his door for months,” Mom would say the year Dad and the priest would get together in his basement every weekend and spend hours ‘jawwing’.  Dad wasn’t a religious man.  He drove mom to the Baptist Church a half hour away in Fort Rouge every Sunday. Asked, he’d say, “I”m a member of the round church, the one where the devil can’t catch me in the corners.”  Another friend of his was a Catholic priest.  

Dad was a good man and a deep man.  He expressed his love with his hands. Mom was the church woman through and through.  Prudish by contemporary standards, judgemental for sure, highly moral, and a thoroughly good lady, but she did like her gossip.  She was Irish too and held onto resentments.  Red haired, she had a fiery temper.   

Years later, looking at the black and white photos of her and my father, before the children came, it’s so apparent the love and passion literally jump off the page.  My sister in law said, “Your mother loved her husband.”  Her sister said, “Jean and Johnny were the most in love couple we knew.”  They’d all been young at the end of the war.  Later, the love and friendship, youth and industry are so apparent with Dad and his cars and work and mom, her house and garden and babies.

Our other neighbour was out of work a lot of years.I think he’d managed a car dealership and had been laid off. He’d eventually get a government job. He read books and didn’t do much more. His wife was loved by all the children and could be seen always busy. The kids were our friends but out of sync by grades.  The daughter more my brother’s age. The son younger than me. We’d all play ball together though when the kids used the adjacent front lawns on North Drive for epic football games.  The dogs were always involved in those games.  Running to and fro to catch the ball meant dodging about masses of dog shit.  “Ahhhhh” would be a great cry with laughter following when someone slipped in the shit or ball landed in it.

The neighbour next over was a pilot. He’d been in the RCAF too. Dad and he had many a back lane conversation. He hunted ducks as did Dad. The mothers didn’t get along, friendly but nothing in common.  She was more a socialite and had two beautiful daughters she dolted on.  Mom had sons. When I was older but still not older enough to date I’d love to watch the neighbour  daughters all gussied up going on a their dates.  The neighbour’s daughters were hotties by today’s standard’s. The Guess Who would come by in a large white boat like convertible with lots of shouting and laughter.  The girls would out to jump in. Only a few years before these same three beauties had been slipping in dog shit with the rest of us.  

When years later the Monkeys came on television, a show about a band with guys mostly dancing and chasing girls, I’d grown up beside that scene vicariously living it with the neighbour girls who were the favourites of rock stars.  The Guess Who were just one of the bands that came by to pick up one of the three girls in the two houses next to us. Our immediate neighbour sexiest and the most fun with the two daughters of the pilot and his wife, more aloof sophisticated and stunning.  I watched them as a pre teen and dreamed.

The next house over was the judge. He was a drunk.  He and his wife didn’t have any children we knew of.  My greatest memory of him was his driving braille home Friday nights.  A weekly binger, most likely a black out. I remember more than one Saturday morning with a shouting match between him and someone’s whose car had been mauled by his passage. Dad and the other neighbours didn’t park on the front street on Fridays. The victims were mostly visitting th Badminton Club. 

“I never hit your car!” The red nosed judge would be shouting.

The other fellow would be saying,”It’s your car’s paint on my door.”  

“You’ll have to prove that in court,” the judge would say

Other’s knew better than to argue with the judge.  He had a fiery temper. His wife was a quiet mouse like creature who smiled weakly at us kids. Mom just said, “she has a hard life.”

The one time I remember my dad afraid was when I hit the baseball through the judges window. He took me over immediately after school,  

“Now apologize Billy,”

“I’m sorry sir for breaking the window.”

“Don’t worry Judge I’ll fix it myself and be sure it’s better than new. When could I do that for you?” My father grovelled.  I felt so bad I’d done this.  Dad took the window home and fixed it that night returning it later in the evening. 

The judge never gave me back my baseball.  He didn’t say anything but nodded.  

“That will be okay John.  Make sure your son learns his lesson.”

“Yes sir.”  He said as he dragged me home holding on to the sleeve of my shirt. I’d been spanked and then grounded for a week .

I think I got my first baseball glove when I was seven. I remember feeling and smelling the leather.  My brother already had his glove. We’d toss ball back and forth endlessly. Dad would join in weekends and holidays.  He was working installing Matthew Conveyor Systems in the city.  Blue prints would often be laid out on the kitchen table with Dad cursing the architects and engineers for sending parts that didnt fit or having to jury rig an extension around a wiring column which was conveniently left out of the blue print. As kids we did’t understand what he was saying but Mom would listen patiently and say, “you’re figure it out John, you always do.”  

Years later when I’d work for my Dad as a “millwright’s helper’ I’d hear all these greats stories about how smart my Dad was. He was in charge of hundreds of men on these large projects, always in coveralls, always hands on.  My brother was disappointed he never wore a suit at work. “He could have worn a suit and he should have, “ my brother maintained. Dad dint like suits except when he went out with Mom.“He always talks with pride about his boys,” we’d hear from others but he wasn’t one to praise us directly.  As a child,I just knew him as a man who came and went during the week, was really tired in the evening, often falling asleep after dinner and only able to play with us on the weekend.  On holidays camping and fishing he was the greatest father ever.  Adventures,  Stories.Laughter. 

I think we got Sonny that year. He was a liver coloured Springer Spaniel who loved my dad 100% and hung out with me because I was part of the pack. We were best of friends.  He comforted me a lot. Always keen to go on a walk or explore new places. A constant companion when Dad wasn’t around. I’d feed him and forget so Mom mostly cared for him. He loved Mom too.  He loved us all and was one of the family.  There were so many funny stories he was apart of over the years. Dad would later repeat these tales and we’d all laugh before he got half way started.  Stealing the drunken hunters game bag and bringing us a half dozen ducks. Diving in to catch the fish before we could get it into the boat.  Stealing mom’s home made apple pie.  He was a character, his own personality. When  I cried he sat close beside me.  Whenever I was jumping up and down he was jumping up and down with me.  A great hunting dog. A great family dog.  We all cried when he died so many years later.  We loved when Dad brought him home.

The Carters lived across the street.  Keith would become a friend in the YMCA going on to be an Olympic star. He competed in gymnastics as a Canadian champion and later on the Olympic team. His sisters were beautiful and one was a friend of my brother’s.  Keith figured in a lot of tales later but I didn’t really know him till I joined the YMCA.  Though he lived a few doors down and we went to the same school, it was only in the gym we all became friends.  

Kirk lived in the house across the back lane.  I think their street was Somerset.  Lyons street headed up the road running parallel to the river. Bill Giles, son of the famous and hilarious cartoonist lived up the street, his daughter a friend of my brother’s. Bill and I would become friends years later in Vancouver.  Garth whose father was a commercial pilot lived across Lyon street one over from Kirk.

Kirk’s immediate neighbours were the ‘maiden aunts’.  We’d later learn they were probably Lesbian.  The women’s voices usuaully became a whisper when they spoke of the two who kept much to themselves.  Further along Kirk’s street was the veterinarian. I can’t be sure about this. They had Siamese cats which were so exotic and their son became a doctor ahead of me. A studious quiet boy who’d later be a dissapointment when he left clinical medicine and the university to become a bureaucrat.  I’d always thought he’d be a scientist as he’d pass our house loaded down with books, always reading and talking about science. 

The Red River was there.  It began behind the badminton courts. Our lane ended there and the trail that ran through the woods along the river began.  As boys Kirk and Garth and I roamed up and down that trail.  We’d find golf balls from the golf course. We’d throw rocks in the river. We’d watch ducks and geese go by. We’d make spears and throw those. We’d walk all the way over to Wildwood where the Private Boys School was. It was a hike for us little tykes and of course our parents didn’t know we would go that far away. We weren’t supposed to play by the river.  

Once I looked up and a bob cat was in the tree overhanging the river trail. I stared at him eye to eye. He was  not more than three feet above my face before backing away. Dad had taught us young never to turn our back on wild animals.  He hissed. I backed away.  When I got home I told my parents about the bobcat as a curiosity. Mom phoned the police. There was a search but he wasn’t found. They did find the tracks so no one thought I made up the story. Mostly in those days adults thought all stories us kids told that were unusual were probably made up.  Obviously some were. Kids have a great fantasy life. I’d see the bobcat a couple of times after that but never so close.

Alaska joined the US that year. Fidel Castro and Che Quevara entered Havana Cuba.  The Soviets recognized Cuba.  De Gaulle was inaugurated president of French Fifth Republic. Musicians Buddy Holly,  Ritchie Valens and Gyles Perry died in a plane crash, ‘the day the music died.”.

 The Canadian government cancelled the Avro Interceptor jet contract.  Miles Davis recorded Kind of Blues. The Marx Brothers appeared on television. Martel put out its first Barbie doll. The Dalia Lama escaped to India from Tibet where the barbaric Chinese Imperialists were continuing to enslave,rape and murder.  Queen Elizabeth II and President Eisenhower opened the St. Lawrence Seaway.Two monkeys were launched into space from Cape Canaveral and recovered on return.  Lewis and Mary  Leakey found the first skull of Austhrolipicus in the Oldavai Gorge of Tanzania. Explorer 6 sent the first picture of earth from space. Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone premiered on TV.  In New York the Guggenheim Museum designed by Frank Lloyd Wright opened. Luna 2 crashedon the moon. Rwanda “winds of destruction” begins. Martial law was declared in Laos.  MGM released Ben Hur with Carleton Heston. The Daytona International Speedway was completed.  Erving Goffman, sociologist, published the ‘The Presentation of the Self in Everyday Life.”  Panty hose, or sheer tights were first sold.  Steven Harper, later Canadian Prime Minister was born. Sheena Easton Scottish singer wasborn.  Hugh Laurie, British Actor and Kevin Spacey American Actor were born. Bryan Adams, Canadian rock star was born  Cecile de Mille,American Film Director died. Raymond Chandler, novelist, died. Ethel Barrymore, actress and Errol Flynn, Australian actor died.  Billie Halliday, American singer, died. 

Waking for Work

I actually enjoy waking most mornings. Now that the sun is back from it’s wanderings or baby earth has caught up with the father in their game of revolution.  I like it best when I’ve gone to bed early enough to get hours of sleep. I like it best when nightmares don’t disturb the peace. This last nights, since Ethiopia, since time with a holy man and a masturbating monkey, hippocampus, rock hewn churches, I’ve dreamed so much of family and adventures in heaven.  I love the places I return to where friends and I are messing with boats and guns and engines.  There are gentler mountains and fairer winds, the water is warmer.  I wake happy from the dreams just a little sad to enter into this world.

I have the alarm on my iPad as the song of the Creed. “I believe in God.” It’s a good way to wake as a scientist in face of increasing numbers who hedonistically respond to the programmed fads of the news.  I am a radical, more than I’ve ever been. More than when I wrote peace in paint on my face and marched in streets lined with police.. Now I proclaim Jesus Chist is Lord and know that speaks to the Historic Jesus, the Cosmic Christ and the simple idea of God within and God will come again.  The Messiah is my attention that wavers always.  Jesus said ‘do not be afraid’. It was a command. I wander off into the evil and wickedness of wanton fear, enjoying the sadomasochism of anxiety.  In the law of attraction I bring upon myself the torture of Kaffka’s Castle and Steven King worlds.  Yet I can focus on the light. I can walk to the light. I pray then.

This morning squirming Gilbert joined me after the song began to play licking my face and wanting his belly rubbed.  I revel in indoor plumbing. I am so grateful for clean water that comes from the central line right into my washroom.  

Then I meditate. This cross legged stance is good for my knee, the one I’ve taken to calling bad knee rather than left knee.  The hot tub and valtaren and tensor bandage are all helping. I know I should have rested for days after I strained the old torn calcified ligaments but I was on vacation so continued hiking and climbing and stepping over rocks to get to churches centuries old where millions had come to pray. I joined the song of spirituality despite the intermittent scream at times of the knee.  There seems always that there is a dissenter these days.  The laughter and joy was more than compensation.  Now I play ‘poor me. Poor knee’.  

Sitting cross legged I meditate. I love Dr. Bernie’s prayer, “Holy Spirit Come’....not as a command but as a call.  I love the Lord’s Prayer and only choke at the forgive them part. All the rest is good but everyone is ‘my relations’ as the aboriginal friends would say. How can I hold onto resentments and anger and fear. Let go of all that is negative so that the positive of god can come in. Breathe evil out, breathe good in.

The dog and cat want their morning wet breakfast.  I usually get that first but today went right to meditation. I look up to see the dog in front of me. The cat is right behind me. They’re not letting me escape before I get them their wet food.  

I do the stretches that Dr. Stan Jung taught me. My back has been so much better since I took the time to do these really simple little exercises that now prevent me from injuring myself.  Doing more yoga and more tai chi and gymnastics all would make for a better life. Doing dance again would be a treat. To be singing and chanting more hours of the day would be righteous. I’ve had these blessings. I would be on the ocean enjoying the motion of the sea or riding a Morgan across a moonlit meadow.  I’ve been so blessed by adventures and love.  Now I love my couch. Couches and tv’s are a joy in themselves after a day of work and concentration.

Now I’ve made coffee with the Ethiopian beans, honey and cream.  I’ve had instant rolled oats and banana. I e had  a hard boiled egg I made on the weekend and kept in the refridgerateor I e had the yoghurt drink. Reading FACEBOOK and mail. No terrifying letters from authorities. No threats.  No bad news. I am so grateful for all the good cheer.  Friends sharing baby and animal pictures and news that just keeps turning out, all mostly at variance with the main stream lies and disinformation, the spin doctor propaganda. There is this source of truth.I hope that more and more will wake to the lies, accept the truth. Canada has become so appalling with the death of freedom of speech, anxiety so on the rise.  The elite are now able to literally get away with murder because no one dares to question.  The lights go out here but come on there.

I don’t know where I belong.  Today I look for ward to getting another coffee on the way to work. I go from coffee to coffee in the morning. I enjoy driving my little car. I enjoy the companionship of my little dog. I will help many. I’ve training, experience and talent so for the few offended by everyone I help the many so increasingly thankful for my assistance , words, deeds and simply ‘showing up’....remaining.  Daily I hear of others who are leaving. No one is replacing them. We can’t get new people to join us because there is no money and no protection.  

I’m looking forward to camping. That’s an amazing thing to be working, knowing that in days I’ll be by a stream surrounded by evergreens , enjoying the song of birds and the smell of barbecue.  

Meanwhile I have to shower and get on my way.  Thank you Jesus.