Marvelous Mother Nature. Today is a definite fall day, air cool, a bit of breeze, a bit of sunny and clear sky that is only slightly forest fire hazy. The day is so pleasant, you can hardly hear Donald Trump lie. The last little flying creatures are buzzing around every open soda on the patio and the remaining birds are making a racket as they pack their bags. Pumpkins are piled at every fruit stand and in a last, mad dash to finish, the road crews are out in full. Every route slows you and you are forced to settle down, ease back, chill out. I smiled nicely at one of the road crew guys as I passed and he gave me a bewildered look. Perhaps, I used the wrong bag of smiles smile? He might have thought it was a ‘spider to the fly’ sort of smile. Haha. Perhaps, it was. Maybe, I am suffering a delayed spring, a delayed ‘merry month of May’? No, I am not dead yet. Further proof is that I noticed not only the young lad on the road crew but the young, built guy at Starbucks.

“I am not dead, yet,” is what Ed’s mother used to say. She really appreciated a handsome man and did so to the very last. After her final, ultimately fatal stroke, she was ensconced at the emergency room. She was in bad shape and could only move one arm, one hand. Early on as events were still unfolding, she was yet able to connect and respond with the world. A very good looking young doctor was assessing her condition. At one point during the interview, she kept raising her arm and wiggling her fingers with a gripping motion. The doctor appeared puzzled and looked at me, as if to ask, “What does this mean?” I responded, “Take her hand, she likes you.” He did so but with an odd look on his face. When he took her hand, she smiled that certain smile. It made me feel so cheerful. I guess it gave me courage for my own time of decay, incapacity. That time is rapidly approaching.

I was out in the back yard last weekend, doing a bit of work on the summer-long project that should have been finished a month or two ago. As I worked, my back began to give way. It wasn’t long and I was out of commission, in the house and flat on the sofa. I hardly did anything strenuous at all, it was a ‘just one of those things’ kind of injury. Sigh. Since I was knocked out, I had to prolong the project yet another week or so. I needed time to recuperate. Recuperation time seems the biggest problem. “Oh, well,” do the other things I can still do,” I thought. I struggled into the car and drove to Starbucks for a tea, a bagel and a rant on Facebook. Getting out of the car, I noticed that there was a low tire. “Crap.” Aiyiyi. With my back gone, I simply could not lean over or squat in order to refill the tire. It dawned on me that I was going to have to take the car in and have a mechanic check and refill the tire. Wow.

It was a bit of a blow to my indoctrinated sense of masculinity that I had to have a mechanic fix a tire on the car. I even apologized and offered excuse to the mechanic. I thought about the making excuses bit. I am more than old-fashioned. I am still living in the social time of the dinosaur. For me, it is the manly thing to do, fixing my own stuff. I don’t ask for directions, I don’t ask for help. I am like many men of my age and if I can’t do a thing, I usually leave it undone rather than confront my incapacity. As concerns the building and fixing, it is silly, but I am having trouble accepting that I have declined physically. It isn’t a dangerous situation yet. I can still do most of what I always did but there are those days, like yesterday. I had to have the tire working and I couldn’t do it myself. Sigh again.

Along with my physical limits are other new boundaries. My romantic boundaries are pretty apparent, now. I can wink and smile at the construction worker, but that’s it. I have gained a bit (a lot bit) of saggy weight and am completely grey now. Someone just told me that I don’t need to lighten my hair…it is already pure white. Haha. I am not desireable, exactly and romantic escapades are gettin’ fewer and further between. That has to be ok because that is the way of the world. It’s Mother at work. We decline, all of us. It can be a matter of degree and we can do some work to delay the inevitable but the destination is the same for all. Letting go and accepting what we cannot prevent or change isn’t so easy. Young is a nice place to be. The smartest ones of us do let go and let life be what it is, easing in to the new times, the conditions. It can also be seen as a relief to be having some nice young person fix your tire, a relief to toss a spider/fly smile at the little sweethearts and not have to deal with relationship drama. Ah yes. Better warn the ER doctor that I am on my way. Hahahahaha

Oh, my goodness. Msr. Trump is now discussing out loud how he is ‘owed’ a third term? His buddy Roger Stone is advising him to declare martial law and take over the government if he loses? I wish I could laugh. I wish I could laugh. The impossible is happening, the U.S. is going down to dictatorship and chaos. I wish they would just get it over with, I am tired. What a sad scene. I found a nice political cartoon and shared it on Facebook. In the cartoon, Canadians are sitting near the U.S. border, watching the action and eating popcorn. It’s funny but implies that we might not be doing enough to stop the shit. Yeah. Never was there truer confusion and noise. Msr. Trump and his persistent hyperbole have indeed created a ‘never before seen’ situation. My poor family remaining in the States are thinking, “This is supposed to be the way of life elsewhere, not here.”

My growing to old age was to a backdrop of third world revolutions and a stable, somewhat moral government to live under. The world economy was growing, technology held out promises, there were safety nets if you hit a bump. We were not a wealthy family or even middle class but, because we were white, we had opportunity. It was not a completely moral government, not an honest time socially. Prejudice abounded in the system. Whiteness made a huge difference in the kind of America you lived in. There was Nixon, there was McCarthy, there were endless wars fomented and presided over by the U.S. Still, it was a luxury to be able to sit on the sidelines and watch the collapses elsewhere, the local wildness of the 60’s and 70’s notwithstanding. Now, I am elsewhere and watching the collapse of my former home.

There is little I can do to stop it or slow it down. I could write letters to congress, the newspapers. I could get involved in opposition party politics. I could march in the streets. I could make that sort of noise, but no one is listening now. I am tired and the truth is, to write letters is to get your name put on a list and a target printed on your back. To involve yourself in party politics is to play with dynamic, hierarchal fire. To march in the streets puts your physical safety at risk. With all of the noise created by social media and the legitimate press, no one can hear you anyway. I can vote, I will vote but the orderly transfer of power that was a hallmark of U.S. elections is done. Trump has proved that the election system can be violently corrupted, usurped. It IS possible. Of course, that hasn’t happened this year yet, it is the word of his mouth so far.

The utter silence of the Republican party, save a few rogue members is astonishing. They are allowing Trump to hijack democracy. They want to keep their seats, so they are being quiet, stealthy. Wow. Isn’t that somehow immoral? Yeah. Mitch McConnell and his other cronies seem to believe that they must win, must keep their jobs no matter the cost to the country. The news media have whipped up the flames as well. Their financial bottom line was under stress with the advent of the internet and the loss of subscription sales. They have, in Trump, a goldmine. The “I can’t look away” sense that is in human nature, has offered them a greedy public eye, hungry for more photos of apocalypse. It is, therefore, ‘the love of money’ that brings this all about. It brought us Trump. It brought us Mitch McConnell, Steve Bannon, Rudy Giuliani and so many others. The train wreck that was orderly democracy is making a few people an awful lot of money.

It is an awful lot of hot air blowing through the masks about ‘populism’. What exactly is that? Wikipedia says it is, ‘a range of political stances that emphasize the people and often juxtaposes this group against the elite’. Which people? Which elite? I don’t see a legitimate populism movement. The billionaires and power brokers are for the people, for the most of us? Since when? Aren’t the persons of power, control, the true elite? It is a standard line of the tyrannical autocrat that education and the arts, sciences, the free exchange of information are the reserve of the elite and are enemies of the people. Artists, philosophers are the elite? No. The elite wear Brooks Brothers and ride around in armoured black monster vehicles. The ‘elite’ are Trump and his counterparts on the world stage. They serve only themselves. These folks have not got the best interests of their constituents in mind at all. They want power for themselves and tax breaks for their billionaire friends. How is that ‘populist’? Yes, they are currently appealing to a backlash against extending rights and freedoms to all. They are appealing to the inertia of resistance to social change but that isn’t honestly FOR the people, for the majority and against the elite. These folks are USING the people. Just as the Bolsheviks did.

I believe this situation is impossible to resolve peaceably. I can vote and I requested my absentee ballot but I have little hope that it will be received at the polling place on time. My ballot request took 2 months to arrive at it’s destination. The State of Michigan doesn’t print the ballots until September 15 or so. If it takes me two months to receive my ballot, there is no way to get it in before the cutoff date. I will, in fact, not even receive my ballot before the election. My option remains to travel to the U.S., quarantine, vote in person, travel back and quarantine again. This option may be not possible either, as the Border agents have a lot of lee-way over who can travel across and when. So. I can still do my best to get the thing in the mail and hope it gets there in time? Yeah. That’s the best I can do. Otherwise, there is my remaining life to live and I must live it.

In order to live my life, I have to step back from the fray. Stepping back is not being immoral or lazy. It isn’t ignoring the truth. It isn’t settling for less than you might have done. It is doing your best and accepting that won’t be enough. Now, I have to accept and move on. As the pretty stewardess or handsome steward says “Put your own mask on before assisting others.” I have to save myself before I can do anything to save this beautiful earth home I have been gifted to inhabit. To save myself means to put my own peace of mind front and centre. This means to indulge my creative mind, to sing and play, to write, read books and stare at sunsets. I have to step away from fear and worry. There isn’t much I can do beyond what I have done and continue to do. Things will go as they go. It won’t be pretty. I can’t worry, worry stems the flow. I can’t be afraid, fear chills the heart. That’s how the Nazi’s and the Bolsheviks kept a lid on people. Those sorts of Blue Meanies cannot be allowed to destroy my little Pepperland. We can’t let worry, fear rob us of the colour. We can’t deny our betterness. The Beatles are gone, I will be my own Beatles. I will write the silly poems, songs and be joyful. Give your attention to brightness. That doesn’t mean you are ignoring the darkness. Save yourselves, in order to save us all.

We have to earn our freedom by exercising it. yes, it’s true…I will keep on speaking up, I will keep on trying to get my voice heard, I will keep on trying to get my vote in on time… but, I will also try to step back and keep my head clear. Allowing yourself the luxury of living the best way you can keeps the species alive. Yeah, keep an eye on the bad guys and try to thwart them. Always watch out for the heavy traffic from Capitol City but ride your Yellow Submarine as best you can and please, don’t listen to the folks who say, “I am going to save you.” They only enslave you with their noise. Put your mask on, save yourself. Sing, dance, paint, vote — make a record of your soul, of your being. We aren’t going to be physically here that long.

I started my day of writing with an odd observation: breasts are trouble. Breasts are trouble for everyone, not the least are they trouble for the women who have to wear them. While on my way to the office, I noticed a woman marching down the sidewalk. One of her breasts was a bit askew under her shirt and it caused me pause. I was trying to figure out if the errant boob was deflated? Was it free of it’s containment device? Was there a containment device being worn? Is any of it my business? I idly considered stopping the car to inform her of the situation, thinking she might prefer to know that she was not presenting as intended. The other half of that consideration was whether or not to invade her personal space with such a comment. It could be easily misconstrued and in fact…it is possible that she was presenting as intended. So, this became an observation, a passing thing and disappeared (other than it’s reappearance here.) The observation did set other thought in motion, however. I quickly remembered a scene from the early days of Ontario’s finally allowing women to be bare-breasted in a public setting. Though few women avail themselves of the freedom, the law did change and that was a good, necessary thing. I wonder now if people even remember that it is legal to do. I digress.

The scene I am remembering from the first days of ‘legality’ was of a woman striding purposefully, briskly along, head held high. I thought that she was wearing a t-shirt printed with a pair of breasts and thought, “Wow, she is clever in her protest!” On another occasion, I had seen a similar sort of printed sweatshirt being worn by Raylene Rankin. The bright red shirt had an image of a pair of glasses, printed such that a large lens was situated over each breast. I thought that was very clever, too. It was as though she were saying, “My eyes are up HERE, dude!” In the case of the t-shirt marcher, I nearly immediately realized that it was not a printed shirt she wore – those firm and resolute breasts were HERS and were totally exposed. It shocked me.

I was shocked by a movie on Netflix a few nights ago, as well. Within minutes of the titles being off, her top was off and the tits were flopping. The fellow who was co-starring was equally exposed, I had two bare chests competing for my attention. No question which I was drawn to… but… What shocked me was more my own opinion of the scene than the relative moral merits of the cast running around shirtless. I was shocked and surprised at my reaction to this particular kind of nudity. My puritanical ideas came fully forth and I didn’t like knowing that part of myself.

The idea of sexualizing a woman’s breasts is incredibly deeply ingrained in western society. That a man’s bare chest is not so much sexualized is horribly unfair. The situation is so bad that even I, as a ‘sworn to the membership’ gay man, am offended by bare breasts/chests. That is how perverse our indoctrination is. They are breasts, folks. Nothing more. They may play a role in sexuality for some? (can’t imagine why) but they are otherwise just a body part. Just a body part, a hand a foot, a knee, a breast. (oooooh, a little bit of fur?) These are body parts with a function, a good purpose for existing. Simple. Nothing more than that even remotely intrinsic. Any connected musing is all subjective. It is in the beholder and is not thrust from the outside upon said witness.

The choice of a person to expose or not, is theirs and the exposure or not implies nothing whatsoever beyond that. This is the core of whether or not a person can or should wear revealing clothing. Wear what makes you comfortable, excepting in cases where sanitation or physical danger is an issue in public. (Masks, underwear, hairnets, or… Don’t bare it, if it bothers me..) Somehow, we have to get past ourselves. A bare body part has nothing to do with sex unless the owner of the part is whispering something in your little ear to the contrary. We humans are wacky, the little animals only sniff when the pheromones are ripe, otherwise allowing the relative nudity of each other without incident. We are not better or more than the beasts, we just know that we exist. We have eaten the fruit of the tree of the knowledge or our nudity and that’s all. Actually, I think the beasts did, too but they have a better attitude about existence. They just accept what is and deal with it. They don’t mind if little ‘Chloe’ has no pants on. When ‘Bowser’ sprints by, stops and lifts a leg, it is what it is and not a major social incident. Little Choe does not turn her head nor does she call the police. Since that is true, I am taking these now restrictive pants off in a few minutes! Whew! I can match dingle for dangle with the rest of the kingdom. “Are my breasts even?” Laugh Out Loud

I tried. I did , I did. I am weak and I am hooked on Facebook. Perhaps, I can return to the on-line world very carefully. No scrolling anymore. Just an occasional peek? Hahahahahahahah. Best of luck with that. I am so intensely worried about our end of days that I can’t look away. It looks as though Facebook is part of my life until the servers are shut down during the mass rioting, looting and property damage that is coming up in November. Other countries have exploded at election time, happens regularly, has happened before in the U.S. but not like this. Now, a right wing religious organization that has already been involved in voter suppression is training ‘volunteers’ to oversee mail-in voting in the ‘battleground’ states. They are ‘saving the country’ from SATAN. That is unconstitutional. There is, embedded in the U.S. Constituion, a statement that ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion…etc.’ There is, throughout U.S. history, an unwillingness on the part of any Supreme Court (conservative or otherwise) to disregard the founders’ obvious intent to separate state from religion. As far as I know, there are laws in place to prevent the very sort of thing – the vigilantes holding the door closed – that the right wing are now advocating. There are rules about how close to the polls a person can be when they are advocating for a candidate but ‘religious group volunteers’ can be scrutineers? Um…no. Someone, some organization that is not trained and does not have official status (election worker – state official) CANNOT review the documents and may not monitor the mail. Looks like they intend to try no matter what the consequences. It is a dangerous thing to brag about. Trump and his people are guilty of treason in a thousand ways. The end result of all these news stories and threats is that people will be deterred from attending the possible violence at ‘monitored’ polling sites.

The very idea of an evangelist presence at any polling place is chilling. My fear was that this would be the tactic the right wing would employ during the election cycle. They cannot do what they are suggesting but… they are spreading fear so that people won’t bother to vote. I can hardly wait until the lawyers get going on this. I have it half in my mind to return to the U.S., quarantine and then go to monitor the monitors. That’s unwise. Far better to shelter in place, safe in Canada (although only safe for the time being, I understand there is a serious problem of far-right activity amongst the Canadian Forces. So much so that I believe our elected government to be at serious risk. That is a whole ‘nother blog.).

All of this would be no problem excepting that I am an out gay man with socially liberal politics. I haven’t been shy about saying so. That becomes a problem. They know where I am, who I am and I am the one they are shooting at. Conservative politics and church rhetoric has either not been kind to me or has stood silently by and allowed the unkindness. Since none of my readers or my people have any right-wing bent whatsoever, you my friends, are in the cross – hairs of this ‘new populism’ with me. The educated folks I know are state enemies as far as the right wing is concerned. The artists, the teachers, the readers of books and the thinkers for themselves are all on the crap list with me. Those banging the drums are familiar. They are our former neighbours and friends, our former community. They are the people we thought we could trust. Maybe, they ate too many twinkies and watched too much ‘Judge Judy’ or ‘Maury Povich’ or ‘Survivor’. Maybe, they went to the local ‘mega-church’ and fed millions into the coffers of hate. They didn’t realize they were doing it, they are reasonably innocent. The problem is: They don’t stop. The problem is: The problem is….. how do we stop them from destroying us all?

I start each day with a variation on the following statement: “One of the worst things about getting older is…”. After that opening, I just fill in the blank. I am boring myself with it. On we go. When my mother was in her forties, she complained about the arthritis and I didn’t believe her. Now that arthritis is a major factor, being in most areas of my structure, I understand. Oooops, sorry for the unvoiced dismissal of your situation, Mom. I don’t want to believe that stiffness is getting in the way of piano and guitar playing. I would rather put that down to a lack of regular, efficient practice. Well, the lack of practice IS the bigger factor but arthritis is also making a difference in my flexibility, agility. No doubt about it. So, in hindsight, I apologize for not fully recognizing another’s suffering or my own. Again, sorry, Mom.

I am a dismissive sort. Yesterday, I was outside doing a bit of minor landscaping. Within minutes of starting, my back went out. I spent the rest of the evening and all night flat on my back. It was a very minor task that put me out of commition. I did a bit of hoeing and within seconds was nearly doubled over. Of course, I dismissed the fact that I have had a chronic back problem since I seriously injured myself at age 25. I put my struggles down to obesity and an extremely sedentary lifestyle. Well, yes… I am obese and sedentary. I also have a damaged back that rears it’s ugly head at the most inconvenient times. I cannot now deny it. No, I probably won’t surrender to my easy chair, the way Mom eventually did but I will likely struggle to recognize my affliction and accept it.

Recognizing and accepting limitations is a difficult thing to do. I feel as though I am ‘coddling’ myself when I admit there are things I cannot do. I think I am taking the easy way out and not trying hard enough. Hmmm. Funny that this attitude permeates my living. If I can’t sing a G#4, then I blame my untrained voice. I accuse myself of weakness, sloth, what have you. Well, I have only a bit of training and I don’t work as hard as many do but I am just not a tenor. My vocal cords will NOT produce sound reliably at that pitch. Ain’t happenin’ without the help of Helium. I envy those who can easily sail right up there but I am not one of them. That said, G#4 is not necessary for me to be a good singer. I am cool with my little baritone. I am beginning to appreciate it and what it can be. I will capo the guitar up three half steps and sing down the octave! Hah! Fie on you, Freddy Mercury! I am going to go with my strengths on this one. I will see you, at times, a perfect fifth away…haha. Somebody has to do harmony! Don’t fry yourself! Do you have enough oxygen up there?

I am limited in so many ways, friends. Are we all in this shape? Yeah, I guess. The shape is different but we are all facing limits. The adage, “You can do anything you put your mind too,” is only true in a sense. You CAN do anything, if you realize that what your mind pictures, is not exactly what is going to happen. Yeah, reach for it, try for it, work hard for it but accept that what you will get is what you are capable of, not always what you believe you have earned. You will be capable of what you are capable of for all the reasons. The reasons that make you individual. They are not negatives, they are evidence of uniqueness. You, I, am not/are not bad at being people because we have a bad back or can’t hit G#4. We is okay.

The idea floating these days that people shouldn’t be given a prize just for showing up and trying is faulty. That we only get out what we put in is a blurred statement, only partly true. I struggle daily to toss that crap on the heap. Yes, I should be recognized (at the least, by myself) for my efforts. My name belongs in the list of chorus members, right up there with the rest. I am not excellent but I am making an effort. Excellence is not the be and end of all. Excellence is lovely but it isn’t perfection, it isn’t the way things MUST be.

If you don’t achieve excellence, you are not – as in the paraphrased meaning of the words of Barbara Streisand – wasting your life, being unworthy, taking up valuable space. Sure, you should try. It’s probably best to go for everything you desire in life. Excellence is a nice thing but the love of excellence over any and all else is the root of evil. The love of it…the love of money…etc. Is what causes all the problems. We can’t have all the money, all the excellence in exactly the way we desire it. That is a misconception. Chillax, enjoy what you can do without destroying yourself or others. That is what our time here is about, enjoying it. You want a boyfriend? Say hello to the good lookin’ guys. You want to sing? Sing. Go join a chorus or step into the shower. Work as hard at it as you can. Enjoy the work. It is just that easy to enjoy life. If you can’t hoe much in the back yard…‘sokay. Hoe what you can and sit down a while. If you never hit the G#4, hit the G#3 and call ‘er good. If you want a damn bagel, have the bagel and don’t fret about the fact you are fat. Fat people are good people. G#3 is a good note. Life is good. A little bit of hoe is in each of us and it is good.

Gosh, I need to lose weight…

I am witnessing one of the more interesting outfits a man could wear, being worn, by a man.  A fellow is dressed completely in black except for some turquoise tennis/walking shoes.  The look is so complete.  He has on a little black mask, stretchy and fitted, tailored.  On his left arm is a compression wrap that covers three quarters of his otherwise exposed skin.  The wrap is black.  He has on an undecorated t-shirt, in black and is dressed in some peculiar black trousers.  There are three black buttons on the back side of the trouser legs where the cuff would be, if there was one.  They are stretchy and quite vulgar, almost dirty looking, like baggy leotards with no fly.  I have to assume the trousers are cheaply made because the seams show in an odd way, they are completely exposed.  The trousers look sort of like a blanket-stitched tent covering. It would appear that IF he is wearing underwear (and by the apparent size and shape of things, I guess not)…well I would bet they are black, too.   I am intrigued.  I would never leave the bedroom wearing something like that.  Hmmm. Maybe, he is finally doing the laundry and had to step out because there is no coffee in the house.  Maybe, he thinks he is Johnny Cash?  Nah. Maybe, he has no more money left.  Maybe, he is building a new house he has invested every last dime in and he’s had to scrounge the outfit from resale.

There seems to be an awful lot of too-expensive house construction going on in this little far-south tip of Canada.  Because we aren’t exactly a high-wage area I’m encouraged to wonder about that.  In the case of the homes being built, most are some sort of mansion house.  Each place, a little bigger than it’s neighbour, having a little extra space that will not be cleaned or maintained because it isn’t possible to do so without ‘staff’. I cannot figure where the money is coming from to do this constant ‘bigger than’ building.  I imagine myself to be middle class and I couldn’t afford  that kind of thing nor do I know many people who could.   Yes, mortgage rates are low but still…even the household dog would have to be donning an apron and dragging a tomato wagon on one of the farms.  Maybe the cats would deign to sell a belly rub or two on some street corner and help out?  Meow.

Construction and the cost of it comes up in conversation often.  Not the least of the costs are environmental and social ones.  Just because it can be done, should it be?  Is it moral to indulge ourselves in orgiastic space, chopping down every available tree, pushing all creatures into the new streets to join a homeless parade?  Is it ok to allow builders and real estate agents to push prices into the stratosphere because they can? As prices for real estate climb,  I wonder how those who are not established already will ever be able to own a place of their own and fully participate in community.  Is that a good thing for our future? Luckily, there is me to worry about this for everyone.   That leaves the rest of you free to buy, build, sell with abandon.  I will discuss this with God and see if I can come up with some sort of agreeable plan forward. 

A few of the folks I have mentioned my concern to think that people are evacuating the high costs of places like Toronto and settling here to retire, pushing up our prices and driving the mini-boom. That sure makes sense.  Stuff is not inexpensive there.  That city, and others has/have exhausted any reason and galloped away on golden chargers.  $3,000,000 for a two bedroom wartime house?  Uh…really?  Without lower costs for renting, where do people who can only get a job at Tim Horton’s live?  What happens and is happening to crime rates/homelessness/grief/sorrow?

When I first became fascinated with Canada (1983), it was on a vacation road trip with my younger brother.  I met someone during our weekend in ‘The Big Smoke’.  The someone started out as a long-distance romantic affair and settled back to long-term friendship because of impracticality.  That affair and multiple trips across the border led to another, nearerby romance.  That romance was also a Canadian/American affair and lasted almost thirty years.  I came here to live and had/am having a darn good life in the land of the Maple Leaf. During my earlier working time, I dove into the ‘work hard, get ahead’ manifesto with zeal.  I never questioned what I was doing.  My ex-husband and I bought real estate, built new houses and owned a condominium in Toronto.  We, too, bought cheap and sold high in ‘hog town’.  I did all of the things I now witness and cluck my tongue at. Are we always too late smart?

I just noticed that Mr. Black is wearing a gold cross on a gold chain around his white neck.  It is worn outside, dangling and bouncing on his black t. I would never do that.  I may have a silver cross that I don’t wear and I may have done what I could because I could.  I may be stopping now to think hard about the relative merits  of building more, building bigger and the possible social/environmental crimes I, too engaged in —— but I would never wear an outfit like that! Whew?  At least I won’t have to discuss that part with St. Peter….  haha.  Enjoy the day and don’t worry about stuff.  I will do the worrying and feeling guilty.

Steady habit draws me back to this place, my chair, my breathing air. This is my room, a good place to go and get out of the house. I am here with a tea and a bagel, my electronic devices, my thoughts and a background of busyness. The radio is still playing, same as any day. All of this feels like a hologram, sometimes. Someone turns a key and it goes on. It starts with a low frequency rumble, a hiss or two and the lights flicker. Then, brightness, false cheer and a signature greyed-green all spray out toward the blank world. This little trailer-like impression of a place is generated at the head office and sent by satellite relay to all parts of the world, maybe also into the deep Amazon jungle? Oh, lord… Starbucks on the shores, just out of reach of piranha with tiny people in a row, smiling for the cameras and looking confused? Is this a phony island in the midst of world-wide chaos? That’s cool. It’s ok, it is normal, regular and I am ok, my folks/friends are ok. It’s a good life until the batteries run out. It’s a good life that is slow tipping toward an end. It’s a good life, slow winding down with certain pre-echoes of the days to come. In politics there is a major pre- and post-echo of change. The once mighty and moral U.S. is disappearing into a mire, no longer a melting pot of freedom for all. Of course, it never was that. The lie is uncovered as the place collapses. It is a rusty old facade.

Myself? I can’t get up and down without a bit of stagger and sigh. Haha. I’ve still some miles to go before the sleep but not so many promises left to honour. Not so many things to leave behind, either, few marks. There are a couple of pissed off folks back there whom are eagerly awaiting my lights out. Perhaps they have that day’s events pre-planned? A bit of celebration? Haha. I did almost have a child, long ago but circumstance stepped in and that ended almost as soon as it began. There won’t be a fortune left behind, I own mostly a pile of vinyl recordings and too much furniture for anyone to sort through. Years of dissipation and foolish real estate moves have used up the ’60 hours per week for 40 years’ money. I am living on Social Security and a smile. All 32 teeth, though.

Mine will probably not be an immediate end nor an anytime soon one. No. Lots of time left to finish some work around the house, finish a book or two, learn to play piano better. Lots of time. Lots of time to live through and beyond the days of Donald Trump and pandemic and Starbucks. Those days will end before I do, most likely. I will disappear and probably quietly one day without a lot of dust or fuss. Most of us go out that way. Unlike my quietness and yours, there is an inglorious end waiting for Trump, no matter how loud the shouts, “I’m the greatest!” Folks will piss on his grave for a while. In the meantime,
he is a sorry mess and so demanding of attention that we have little hope he will go softly. When Muhammed Ali shouted out his greatness to the listening world, it was true but he went softly, gently into the good night to a chorus all ’round of “He Was The Greatest!” Maybe making such a statement yourself is self-serving hyperbole but Mr. Ali was a man of integrity. He had morals, empathy, honesty. Those things are pretty great. I don’t think Mr. Trump can spell any of the words, let alone understand connotations or denotations. I am almost feeling sorry for him. He is a sad man, on his inevitable way out.

I don’t feel sorry for myself and inevitability today. I am not worried about that for a moment. I am just typing. I am just finishing my tea. I am making modest plans for the future. I suppose I should do so but I have no regrets, not really. S’okay. Cheers, mates!

Why do I have such a hard time sleeping? Why am I making silly mistakes managing my life? (spending too much, drinking too much, eating too many donuts, watching too much television) I am, as many seem now to be, denying the stress I am feeling and wondering why we are screwing up. What doesn’t help is that all around, my world still looks ok. Portland is burned out, partly, in the downtown area, in a few blocks… but Leamington is not on fire. Most of us still have a job, most of us have enough to eat, a safe place to live, most of us don’t have Covid, most of us live, if not far away, at least a bit of distance from the bloody United States. There is a temptation to disbelieve we are feeling stress. “Why should I be feeling stress, nothing is that far out of the ordinary, I can still go to Wal-mart and Costco.”

Because our local, pie – wedge of the world seems to be a nice, rich cherry it is easy to devalue nervousness. It is easy to blame the stiff pillow for the difficulty in falling asleep. “It couldn’t be stress, gotta be something else wrong.” “I couldn’t be stressed, this is a piece of cake compared to life under Pharaoh.” The kind of stress we are living is a real thing. The unquiet, the tense feeling should not be dismissed. No, our lIfe is not ‘the way it was during the war’ or ‘the depression’ or at any other time in history. It is a unique time. The stress I am feeling, denying is unique. It is still stress. I/we am/are under pressure. It’s a bit of foolishness to compare pressures, evaluate stress levels and find any one greater than another. That just complicates us. To compare the past to the present isn’t useful. So many other factors were/are involved in each situation. Yeah, it was worse under Pharaoh… Who are we to complain? Are we a bunch of priveleged bums or are we completely worthy folks who had a good thing going that was trashed in so many ways? Yeah.

The ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ or ‘cheerio-stiff upper lip’ attitude can be so destructive because it is a judgement call. Keeping a stiff upper lip still allows the bottom one to tremble unimpeded, though. I think denial might be the most serious of negative thinking patterns. How can we climb out of a pit if we can’t accept there is a ladder necessary? How can you deal with stress if you don’t choose to see it? Denial of your emotions devalues and causes you to question your being. It wastes your time and redirects the anguish, rotting the rungs off your confidence ladder. Without a ladder, ya can’t climb out! It is a vicious pit we deniers are in. “I can’t be feeling real stress. Grandma wouldn’t have complained about this state of affairs.” “It would be petty of me to be feeling uncomfortable and to want something better.”

Is my/our worry such an inconsequential thing? Nah. I don’t think so. It is real, it is serious enough. Left alone to grow, it pops up in the most interesting ways. The woman shouting about having to wear a mask in the store? Stress. The pedestrian who steps out boldly into the street? Stress. The driver who imagines himself running over said pedestrian? The driver who sits writing about the said running over of said pedestrian, gleefully? Stress. Thing is: There isn’t time in living to feel stress and not deal with it. The denied urge to buy an ice cream because you are stressed and need some immediate comfort escalates to the pedestrian’s imagined detriment. There isn’t time to waste dismissing our discomfort as unworthy somehow and judging ourselves for minor slip-ups that let pressure escape. Yeah. I am feeling stress. If I have a donut with my tea and then another one just because? Can’t I allow that? Which is better: If I smile satisfactorily at the thought of crushing a rude pedestrian under all four tires and perhaps reversing to ensure the kill? or If I just go have the donut or ice cream, sit at the marina and waste the day chilling the h out? seems an easy choice.

I have sequestered myself at the office again. I am late arriving because Thursday is my on-line piano lesson. I am not so sure why I continue with the lessons, I never practice much any more. Not having a singing season to attend or the open mic nights has put me off my rhythm in many ways. I so rarely pick up the guitar, that I noticed I hadn’t used my tuner app in 17 WEEKS! arrgh! That is not good. Such a lazy musician… Here is my grand opportunity to really dig in and work at things and what do I do? I surrender to the idea of lock down. I surrendered completely and find myself pacing the room more often than not. That isn’t good. It also isn’t as unusual as I might imagine. There are huge numbers of us, all around the world going through this – feeling the same inertia. When is it going to end? Not likely soon. When are we going to rise into our lives again? Sooner than we think.

Already, many folks are finding work-arounds that really work. The masks are out in full force around here, not many go without and definitely not indoors. Whether that is a fact of being Canadian and a naturalized cooperator or not, is not certain. My piano teacher, who always was a bit daunted by germs, has worked out a method of quickly and thoroughly cleaning her studio between students. She did request hand sanitization before and after but now has installed a hard surface floor and moved her library of books to create a distance between her seat and the student. I feel quite secure and safe from transmission of disease. During the recent months, we have been doing my lesson on-line and successfully, since she has a brilliant ear and doesn’t need to be in the same space as me when I miss the e-flat.

(excuse me, I was distracted by someone’s exposed underwear for a moment)

There are other work-arounds that people are using as we slide back into living our dailyness. The first thing to notice were the clever masks, folks are having fun with this sometimes. We are also adjusted to the line-up at the beer store and some use the time for casual, masked chat with people. Nice, actually. The wheel-chair buttons to open doors are in use almost everywhere by everybody. I even catch myself elbow-bumping the button. Most of us are leaving space when we can and not being so insistent on quick service. It’s ok.

My feeling is that retail is going to die, though. It was on the ropes and as soon as a cheaper, less energy consuming method of home delivery takes off, it’s a goner. Amazon’s push to deliver via drone will likely end up being the way things are done. I am in fact surprised that someone hasn’t grabbed the opportunity already. I will miss being able to look at stuff before I buy it but that was happening anyway. Most of what I go out looking for is not in stock. Since store rents are so high, most businesses only stock what sells quickly. For example, my shoes almost cannot be bought at retail stores. Size 13 and one half is not common enough. Even the on-line shoe sellers carry only one or two styles like that. The lower costs of not supporting a bricks/and store should mean that more business folks will take a risk on slower sales and expand their markets with more stock. Sports have solved the situation in a semi-satisfactory way. The bubble and no-travel Stanley Cup battle is on without major incident. The players are staying healthy and getting on with the game. Our symphony is doing a season on line and the chorus is actually going to do a zoomish kind of rehearsal. Is that best? No. Is it a new way of doing things? Yes.

We are still moving and we will. Covid and Donald Trump will move out of our daily lives at some point. Maybe, it will be a better world? Could be. Already, the economic slow down has impacted the environment in a very positive way. Folks aren’t stupid… they can see that the air is cleaner, the animals returning. Stuff like that. It happened in six months time. That’s good news. We aren’t yet destitute and probably won’t become so. We aren’t going to be able to just buy stuff, willy and nilly anymore. That’s a permanent change. The fantastic costs to taxpayers are looming, so things have been altered for the long term.

Big, bad things are on the horizon but we will survive through it. As soon as we let go of the longing for the last century and it’s abundance materially…we will be fine. Changed, altered, hurt but fine. S’okay. No guarantees in this universe and lots of surprises to come. Both up and down surprises. We are better for the experience, we are rounder, stronger. What (as they say) doesn’t kill us… makes us. Ha. Somehow, though, I have got to lose the damn donuts.

Dash two

My everything bagel has been burnt a little bit. My tea is in a bent paper cup and it is too hot. It’s going to be a day. That is not the whole story. All around are other things burning, world wide news-wise. There are confused and hesitant steps toward the future. Where are we going? What do I want? What is going to happen? Grey clouds, scary leaders, too much of the ‘news’. The coming times will be unpleasant and much worse than the present time is. That much seems pretty obvious. What we can practically do about it is very little. For example; I can take desperate steps to try and make sure my ballot gets in and gets counted but if the border is not open by November, there will not be much I can do. I have been tracking my recent mailings and it takes about 4-5 weeks for a letter to arrive at a U.S. destination. With the 4-5 weeks return to me, I most likely will not receive my ballot until it is too late to return it on time. The sad folks are having their way with the world. By one method or a worse method, His Royal Highness will rule. I am sure of it but not sure exactly what happens after November. Will the U.S. go up in flames and street gun battles? I think that is very highly likely. It is almost a certainty that the U.S. will be substantially changed and a far less democratic place than it isn’t already. I am going to try, anyway. Miracles exist, things happen and perhaps a kind sun will shine in November. Perhaps, perhaps. I think now of this from ‘Casey At The Bat’… where ‘Casey’ is the spirit of hope and democracy — “.. Oh, somewhere in the favoured land the sun is shining bright / The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light / and somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, / but there is no joy in Mudville — Mighty Casey has struck out…” Earnest Lawrence Thayer.

I am having difficulty getting going and I can’t really paint today, it won’t go well. This means I have to get the paint brushes cleaned up, I can’t let them sit with paint in. Rain appears on it’s way and it’s a dicey thing to use latex paint in the rain. I have decided to sit at Starbucks and force out a word or two, hoping that habit will push something of value onto the page. Writing usually seems like an exercise of futile proportions. It is precisely the size of useless activity. At times like these, I shrink away into a doubt cloud. That is the sad thing about a poseur’s life. Ha. What is nice is to hear from those who are well respected and accomplished artists that they feel the same way from time to time about their work. In my case, I hesitate to call it ‘work’, in my case it is more ‘crap’ than ‘work’. Hahahahah.

There was a good lookin’ feller in here earlier. He didn’t stay long. I think he was negotiating something with the day manager. That reminds me, the original day manager has gone on to other things. Most of the Baristas are now, new. Interesting. The changing of the guard. How often I wish I were young and things were important to do again. I did enjoy working and earning money, it makes you feel good. I would have liked working at Starbucks but it hadn’t been invented yet when I started my financial series of events.

I started with a job at K-mart, one of the first K-marts. That was a good job for me, it got me out and among other folks. I enjoyed running the cash register and stocking shelves. It was ok. Some of my customers were goooood lookin’ guys, I worked in the sporting goods department. An odd place for someone like me, who cared little for sports or outdoor activities. Ha. Some of my co-workers were goooood lookin’ guys, too. One, I remember particularly. He came up to me one day and told me that a girl was interested in me. I was drooling in my heart for him, not a girl. The day and age did not allow for overt gayness or even subtle gayness. I would have needed a heck of a lot of courage to blurt out my Saturday night availability to him, so I didn’t. I regret that. Whichever way it had gone (and I am suspicious to this day about him) would have been fine. If he had beat me up, it would have been okay. I should have tried it out. That’s the best advice… do it, anyway. Life is going to go down the tubes at some point regardless whether you be yourself and ask for what you want or not. You might as well ask, there is a slight chance that you will receive. Think of all the things that might happen for you while life is going to hell, if you just go and do and be – regardless of consequences. You won’t have to sit at Starbucks and daydream about a nice lookin’ fella you never went out with.

I cut the hell out of myself last night while trimming my toenails. Certainly, I am glad the toenails got cut but the cost was I got cut, too. That’s how the nailclipper bounces. It’s okay, something was going to cut me anyway… it might as well be the nail clippers – The trimming is a difficult thing, now and is beginning to require a podiatrist or chiropodist, I fear. I feel too young for that yet but it is a reality. Doing things around the house has also become more than just an emotional hurdle. I can really only do so much. I get very tired, very quickly. I am in a kind of denial that this is real but it is. Time is marching away to it’s own drummer (hahahahahahahhaahhahha — see what I did there?) and I must turn my face toward the music. (?) A nice lookin’ young ‘billabong’ shirt wearing ‘dude’ is standing in front of me. He doesn’t know I am writing about him. Perhaps, I should just sashay over and lower my glasses – give him a wink and my phone number? What have I got to lose? sigh.