These Women

Since my decision to leave my marriage behind and enter the crazy world of dating in your 40's I have, for the most part, been completely blown away and amazed. I have met wonderful women from all kinds of backgrounds and life experiences. And today I felt compelled to write a few things down about them. This isn't a reflection on individual women or a history of my love life so nobody need worry if you're reading this...I only hope I can capture what is going through my mind right now.

Last week I saw Slut! The Play with my youngest daughter. Topics that are hard to think of as a father and even harder to deal with if you're a women. It was quietly powerful and to be honest I vacillated between anger and shame for being a male. Because I may, by association, be lumped together with the douche canoes out there that, as a friend of mine had eloquently encapsulated, were either too casual with emotions or downright hurtful. Physically and emotionally. Of course, to me, I think of my daughters and other daughters out there that have to put up with a society that has simply treated them like shit. While immense strides have been made over the years there is still so much to do...and that's coming from a guy who knows very little. Talking to the women I know I feel like naive doesn't go far enough for me.

A friend of mine, while talking about this very subject, commented that she felt blessed that she hadn't been sexually assaulted. Think about that for a moment will you. Maybe longer than a moment. She's lucky she hasn't been assaulted. How fucked up is the world that this would even be a thought? What's the equivalent for a man? "I feel blessed that I wasn't kidnapped, dangled from a speeding bus and then killed after having my balls fed to me."

I literally could go on for hours on this kind of tangent. I'm fortunate that women I have known feel comfortable in sharing with me. That, despite my failings and the fact that I am a man, they feel secure enough to confide in me. The stories I have heard are sometimes too painful to even contemplate. But at the end of the day what I have found are some of the most amazing souls out there. Through the pain there is hope, passion, intelligence, limitless love and strength. I am in awe sometimes.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with life's garbage and unexpected turns, some do better than others at coming to grips with the minutes that turn to memories but from afar I see, very clearly, the spirit that carries them forward.

“You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, 

smarter than you think, and loved more than you know.”

I can't think of anything that is a more appropriate message to pass along to everyone in the world but especially to these women. One would need to look no further than a mirror to see the courage and strength coupled with vulnerability that simply scratches the surface of complexity that a woman is. 

I really do feel like I am a better person for knowing so many of you. You have taught me valuable lessons and helped me to grow as a man. On different levels and in my own way I love you all. You know where to find me if you ever need a shoulder to lean on or an ear to chew.

Ciao

D

Marbles and Chaos Theory

If you find yourself with a few minutes to spare have a look see at how marbles are made on YouTube. It's quite cool to watch what it takes to make these little works of art that we used, as kids, literally throw away. Winging them at our friends and enemies alike when pissed at them. Of course, playing marbles, that silly and beautiful game that seemed to have rules that changed with the passing of the sun was the point of marbles. That and collecting them for their implied value.

I don't remember all the terms and what each marble could and could not do. Between cat's eyes and aggies and everything else that might have made sense at the time the basic principle was to shoot your opponents marbles with your marbles to get them out of the ring. Down on all fours, one eye closed, tongue hanging out in concentration and a wing and a prayer on your shot. It was a great afternoon diversion that, like golf, was both fun and frustrating as hell.

Taking your little colourful sphere and hoping that your aim was true was only half the battle....chaos theory was the rest. At least my version of it. Playing marbles on a polished perfectly flat surface will offer you better chances of success as the path to your opponents marble is less affected by changes in circumstances. The pavement in front of our house growing up was far from flat and perfectly even. Imperfections, both tiny and not, invariably had an affect on the trajectory of that marble. My aim might have been true but there were other factors at play here.

Kind of like life. How often do we feel like we're in control of our lives, motoring along, firing on all cylinders and BAM!!!! So much for the easy road eh. You simply don't know what is coming down the mountain at you at any given time...shit, this blog exists because of that. Everything was going great back in December of 2015 when that question was asked "Do you smoke?" Fuck Cancer by the way. A change in circumstances is what we are dealing with, a new reality to consider and react to.

If life is a crap shoot, then that moment the dice are released, when anything can and usually does happen, the bets should be off the table as there is way too much at stake, but of course that is precisely when the bets are down...it's called gambling after all. See the conundrum? Subscribe to whatever you want to believe in, whatever brings you comfort and joy. In the end though, whatever is going to happen is what your reality will become. It is what it is, as they say...fuck I hate that saying, going to have to stop using it.

Despite the imperfections of my playing field I got pretty good at marbles. Overcoming the surrounding circumstances often enough that I would carry a pretty good collection of vanquished marbles. The jury is still out on real life but I feel confident in saying that at the end of it all I'll be pretty happy with my bag of marbles.

Ciao
D

Purgatory

Neither here nor there. A place holder for your sinful soul, or so the Catholic church would have you believe. Horse hockey I say. But that's for another day. Today it's about our own purgatory, the ones we have placed ourselves into or have been thrown into by the trials of these lives we live.

Someone who is becoming a close and dear friend broached this subject recently, a painful place to be in where it would be easy to spew forth well worn platitudes because really, in the end, it's easy to say those things compared to not being able to say anything. Casting about for a nugget of light to grasp onto in the hopes of being able to offer some sort of comfort, some sort of relief.

I imagine being able to have someone simply to talk to, to be listened to without agenda is something that a lot of us look for. I tend to think the answers we seek or the advice we need are within ourselves and sometimes we simply need a way for them to come out. I know this has been the case in my own life and I don't think I am any more unique then the next person so I like to think that is possible for all of us. The answers are already out there, we just need to be able to hear them.

Hearing those answers can take time, false starts and losing hope coupled with life getting in the way and you can easily see how your world can unravel. Allowing ourselves to be helped, to feel love and regain that elusive hope is simply a step in the journey, there are no easy answers and what works for you may not work for me, but taking the step in the first place is the only way to move forward. It's not easy, hell it's about as hard as you can imagine...and that's coming from a guy that hasn't suffered that tragedy of life yet. I know it's around the corner and while I dread it when I care to think about it I try not to let it hold dominion over me. Instead taking solace in today.

Which leads me to the idea of which is worse or sadder really...

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

Tennyson had a way with words and I tend to think he is right, but believing this to be true the inexorable truth is that the person that has lost is sadder still.

Some are born to move the world —

To live their fantasies

But most of us just dream about

The things we’d like to be

Sadder still to watch it die

Than never to have known it

For you — the blind who once could see —

The bell tolls for thee…

What does it all mean? Hell if I know, I know only what works for me today. I do, however, know this, talking is better than not, getting up is better than not. As hopeless as it may seem some days, the well of strength that we can find within ourselves is the answer. Other peoples thoughts and words can help but only through what's in you can you move forward. That is all that should matter. 

"Night has always pushed up day

You must know life to see decay

But I won't rot, I won't rot

Not this mind and not this heart,

I won't rot."

Ciao

D

Get on the bus Gus

For the first time in a very long time I found myself on a transit bus the other day. Why you ask? Well, I smeared my car onto a guard rail whilst avoiding a texting driving twit, so I was riding the bus to pick up my rental car. It was, blessedly, a short ride, albeit pretty luxurious compared to the mid 80's red menace known as the TTC.

In that short ten minute commute I was taken back to my youth when that was the only way to get around when a car wasn't an option. For 50 cents you could travel the city all you wanted if you played your cards, or transfers, right. All manner of people watching was to be had. Not to mention misadventure and, as always, tomfoolery. One may even find a story or two to file away in the why is he still alive category.

In between my first and second year of cooking school I spent the summer working monster hours at the newly opened Skydome in the heart of Toronto. A stupid busy summer that gave me a taste of the future with regards to my work/life balance, or lack there of, as the case was. When you show up for work at 9:00 and don't get off until 11:00 or so, nine and ten days in a row you tend to lose some of your friends. You also lose a bit of perspective on reality. That summer my world was reduced to the confines of my little satellite kitchen where we would sling 400 or 500 "gourmet" sandwiches a night, my bed and the public transit needed to transport me from Front street to the suburban wilds of Etobicoke.

On a good day I could count on about an hour each way in commute time. On a bad day, tack on an extra 45 minutes at the end of your day. So, 13 or 14 hours spent at work along with a couple of hours of bus and subway time leaves little time for extra curricular activities, as you can well imagine. My stop on the way home was quite literally near the end of the line so I was usually alone at that time of night coming home. The bus driver being my only companion. Not that it mattered, I had my Walkman playing tunes and I was usually asleep way before my exit. So much so that the bus driver would often wake me up at my stop once he saw I was a regular.

The complete opposite in the morning though. By the time the bus got to the station it was completely packed. The subway would fill up as we made our way down to Union station. Kipling, Islington, Runneymede and so on. This is when the transit system really earned its keep in my view. Thousands upon thousands of stories, elbow to elbow in that death tube hurtling underground. Many days I was lost in a book but on the occasions that I would look up to see the world I was hardly ever disappointed. I've been flirted with by both sexes, threatened by wannabe thugs, looked down upon by the "socs" and on more than one occasion been nearly trampled to death by the hordes. Always interesting.

We, my swirling vortex of idiot friends and I, discovered that you could pry open the doors on the subway while it was moving. I know, you're asking yourself why in the fuck would you want to do that? These are the reasons that women live longer than men. I'm sure it dawned on us that maybe doing this wasn't a good idea but we still did it anyway. As we were heading home from a concert one night we nearly got arrested for just such prying. As the subway raced through the darkened tunnels we would open the doors, at first only slightly but we worked our way up to the point that you could slip through the gap easily enough. To what end? Because we could and we were young and stupid. We all thought it was pretty funny. The operators of the train did not. I guess an alarm goes off in a control car when a door is opened at the wrong time. We denied it mightily as we were confronted by a TTC cop/conductor but he was having none of it. I figured we were toast at the next stop and we very well came close...the real police were not amused but I think doing paperwork for a few rebel teenagers was less appealing. Once again, a charmed life right? And I didn't die.

And then there was the time that the bus driver had had enough of every high school student that ever lived. His rage built up to the boiling point that coincided with a nice fall day when his bus was jam packed with all manner of young hormones. Attending a Catholic high school with our shitty uniforms was no guarantee of good behaviour, visual impressions aside. And Newtons law of mass x testosterone over angst to the square of piss and vinegar means that a bus full of us was going to be noisy. And it was. The more rambunctious of us polyester clad hoodlums would ring the bell for the next stop even though there was no one getting off. The driver would stop and people would laugh. It would happen again, and again. The driver couldn't see anything for all the bodies in the way so he had to assume that a legitimate stop was being called for. Finally he had enough, as the stop for the school approached, the bus driver ignored the repeated bells and blazed right past the stop. It was quite funny to see the panic set in, "hey man, stop the bus!!!" and "I'm going to be late for class!!!" rang out. The volume slowly raised to a dull roar as the bus continued on, bells ringing and the driver still ignoring us all. He passed the next stop and the one after that...and I swear to you as he finally stopped to let everyone out he yelled out go fuck yourselves to us all. The bus was stopped on the other side of the highway overpass....bahahahahahahaha. I had a spare first period so I could not care less about getting to school on time...truth be told I wouldn't care either way since I was fully immersed into social life as opposed to school life. But boy oh boy were there some pissed off students on that bus. Every version of I'm telling on you was being spewed forth...can you imagine if they had Twitter or Facebook back then, the son of a bitch would have been fired before getting back to the station. But sure as shit he was there the next day and the next after that. I'm chuckling just thinking about it.

While I have no desire to get back on the bus it was interesting to find myself at the back once again. Like a trip back in time.....at least for a few minutes.

Ciao
D

It's Not Personal

...it's strictly business.

Leave the gun. Take the cannoli. Right?

Yeah. I don't believe that too much. Neither did the young Don actually. Everything is personal according to him. Every piece of shit you have to deal with, the rogue strike of lightening, the hand of god...all are personal. And the sooner you start thinking that way the better off you'll be. I don't believe that either. I'm more of the guy in the middle when it comes to the crap train coming down the tracks, but more importantly I try and take a big picture view of it all. 

I tend to not get bogged down in the minutiae of it all, preferring to see the glass not only as half full but refillable as well. Preferably with a nice Rijoa. Life is too short for bad moods, bad food and bad wine. Why kill yourself fretting over it?

I've been fortunate enough to have had people try and stand on my throat in an effort to get ahead or to simply exact their version of revenge. I won't get into specifics too much but suffice to say that there are people, hard as it may to imagine, that don't like me very much. And their version of a happy place is my misery. Well...sucks to be them because I am not miserable in any way. On the contrary, I use these episodes as learning experiences, not only for me but for others. It's a life lesson in how not to be a douche bag.

Still, at the end of it all, I am constantly amazed at these people. Why? Is this a case of nurture versus nature? I really do have a hard time understanding this. Just this morning I was driving my son into work and we were talking about the douche bag in chief and his refusal to call out the Nazi's after the tragedy of Charlottesville this past weekend. OK, I was talking and he was grunting, but at least he was nodding. And I keep coming back to the disbelief that today, this day and age, we would still be dealing with Nazi's. Fucking Nazi's!

Seriously. What is wrong with this world? Seems easy to most of us, stop with the douche baggery and you know what, your life might actually become a little easier. Certainly you'll have more time to devote to other pursuits, the arts, enrichment, video games, being a better lover...whatever floats your boat. But no...everyone is too busy hating or defending hate or responding to hate. It is, quite literally, sucking the oxygen out of the world.

So, you see, it is personal. And it's business as well. Business as usual for too many knuckle dragging fuck wads with hate as their first response. Which in turn becomes personal to many. Vicious circle or what? Sadly, I don't think there is hope for this time. Doesn't mean we don't try and certainly doesn't mean we sit down, on the contrary...stand the fuck up. But Drumph isn't the disease, he's merely a symptom, and now an enabler. Hatred runs deep. Fear and ignorance feeding the fires of that hate. We need to regroup and start again with the only real hope and that is tomorrow.

Ciao
D

Musing

I'm a better man because...

I grew up with two loving and caring parents. An unapologetic combination of old school respect, consequences and the absolute knowledge that no matter what - no matter what, I was loved.

I learned early that it's not about finishing first or last, it's about being the good guy, the nice guy. Doing your best, having a good time while doing it and being able to look at yourself in the mirror.

Knowing people that inspire and challenge me is what separates me from the sycophants and their enablers. Too many to mention but I'm betting dollars to donuts you know exactly who you are. My confidants, my friends, my brothers and sisters. People that, at the end of the day, make me feel like I'm a better person just by knowing them, by having them touch my life.

All those that have taken risks to put themselves out there. Writers, poets, song makers and George Carlin. All of us stand on your shoulders for blazing the way forward.

Food. Good food. That glorious tomato touched with sea salt. That first Thai curry. The spaghettini with truffles. Proscuitto and cheese. Sushi. The list is huge. Food is life of course and being able to tie moments in life to a tasteful memory, be it my own cooking or even better someone else's is reason enough to get up every morning.

Nectar of the gods. Wine is proof that god loves us and wants us to be happy. Throw in the occasional refreshing cider, a good beer and from time to time, a nice single malt or trippy cocktail. Many a wonderful hour spent in engaging conversation, tom foolery and simple pleasures with a drink in hand enjoying la dolce vita.

Music.

I have learned that appreciating the small things in life and being able to enjoy the moments as they arise is one of the ways to be happy.

I understand that the grass is never greener on the other side, just a different shade of green.

Doing stuff is much more satisfying than having stuff.

I've seen the smoke and lived in the weeds. Through chaos comes serenity.

I know everyone is crazy to some extent or other.

How you say things matter.

My kids. My three little birds. The best part of me lives with them. Both proud and humbled because of them.

A better man. Not the best man, just a better man. Tomorrow will be better still.

Ciao
D

Dear God

Oh unknowable one. Dropper of churches on worshippers heads, smiter of trailer parks, famine lover and flood aficionado. How the heck are ya?

With all respect and humility I must ask you a few questions as I search for answers. Conundrums and oxymoron's plague me at every turn, so I must ask the omniscient one.

According to your many followers here on earth, if you believe that all comes from God and he has a plan, than everything that happens in the world is his doing. The good and the bad.

Evangelicals and fundamentalists all around will tell you that if something horrible happens it was because they deserved it. They had impure thoughts and actions, like support a woman's right to choice or they are gay...and God is watching. So to that end you killed 48 other people with that tornado so they could learn your lesson. Harsh man, just harsh.

Oh God, always trying to teach us a lesson. Seems you are happiest when spreading the word and showing us your love by wreaking havoc and bringing on all manner of calamity. Tough love I suppose. Of course if I pulled that sort of divine inspiration I'd be pretty sure to be in jail, but hey, you're God right.

Sort of like the other day when you spoke to one crack pot, I mean pastor, and told him that Trump had your permission to blow the North Koreans back to the middle ages. Makes sense, the godless heathens after all believe in things other you. And that short guy with the funny haircut sure seems like an evil dude. Who am I to question your mysterious ways? But if I may, killing a few million innocent people, who's only crime seems to be that they were born in the wrong country, might be a bit of an overkill don't you think?

I'm sure your divine plans makes sense to you, such as when you take away young children due to cancer or car accidents. Could you do us a favour though? Your flock needs to cool it with the almost crass way that they look down on people when tragedy(you) strikes and with an almost holier than thou smugness proclaim that the only way is the way of God so obviously, the inference being, that the kid wasn't worthy. Being two years old really isn't an excuse right?

I know I may treading dangerously close to what may be perceived as sarcasm, I assure you that it's really only the tip of the iceberg. Speaking of icebergs, this global warming situation we have is probably not going to turn out well for any of us...your flock included, so maybe turn the AC up a bit will ya.

Considering that the best I can say is that I am agnostic, a pleasant blend of contradictions, sort of like the church really, I feel that if you truly are all knowing you know where I stand and how I stand. Possibly even why I stand. Must be nice, that power, that confidence. You'd do well if you set up a Tinder profile I think.

I often think of song lyrics when I do take the time to think of you. Little treasures that, probably through your good grace, we humans have come up with to express all manner of God related ideals. Here are a few of my favourites:

"Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?"

"Imagine there's no heaven

It's easy if you try

No hell below us

Above us only sky

Imagine all the people

Living for today... Aha-ah..."

"Your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

She tied you to her kitchen chair

She broke your throne and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah"

I'm curious what was really meant by that last one, a little bit with the kink maybe?

Like most mere mortals I will often look to what others may have said as a clue to what may be going on, a little bit of help in understanding the great unknown. So, thanks for giving us that at least. I'm sure most of us can do without the fire and brimstone though.

Well, I must go now....infidel time is upon us.

Ciao

D

TFIF

The weekend is here. A somewhat long weekend at that. Freedom from work. Collective Yeah Baby!!!! Scott's cottage awaits for a bit of relaxation by the crystal waters of Lake Annis, no motorized traffic, peaceful bliss and us two knobs. Perfecto.

An escape from the every day grind if you will. Willie will probably join us and good times shall be had, our version of them of course. Times have changed from yesteryear and these kinds of escapes. Be it Bide a Wee cottage at Wasaga Beach, Dave's cottage after graduation, ice fishing near Barrie or sunfish fishing on Rice Lake, good times with good friends and libations enough for all were all we needed. These days debauched behaviour being replaced with observations on daily life and our take on everything from ex wives to religion to politics and farts. Oh, and a little debauchery I'm sure.

Looking back at those epic escapes during what could be charitably called my formative years I am left with a couple of thoughts, brief as they may be. Number one, why am I still alive? Number two, could I do it again knowing what I know today? No kidding, there were a number of occasions that death was a distinct possibility. Swimming across a fast moving river to save a half hour walk to all the action on Wasaga beach would be a perfect example. To our credit we didn't drink and drive but somehow swimming was OK. Fuck we were stupid.

I worked at a golf club a few years back, a sweet little gig that afforded me the opportunity to golf a lot and even work some. What I found shocking was the incredibly bad behaviour that a lot of people displayed the second they got out of their cars for their rounds. Now that's saying something coming from me. I mean it was embarrassing to watch some of these clowns and their total lack of social grace as soon as green grass was at their feet and a club was in their hand...simply horrible. That's the best way to describe us when we got to any "off site" venue for our own amusement. We literally exploded from our cars when we arrived at our place of refuge. In scenes that could be best visualized as watching the cartoon Tasmanian Devil we were a combination of pent up energy, testosterone and angst. Where we went, trouble would surely follow....our vortex of stupidity being fuelled by all manner of combustibles.

Could I do it again? Fuck yeah!!! Probably have even more fun.

For better or for worse those days have been replaced with a mellower version, a kinder gentler but no less fun experience.

I'm out of here chicos and chicanas.

Ciao
D

Walls

Back in the day, I might have mentioned, I was in a band while in high school. It truly was something simply to do and a means to an end. I'm speaking of girls of course, rock stars get girls right? We played a few battle of the band events, actually won one of them but mostly we jammed in my basement, much to the chagrin of my parents. Like I said, it was something to do.

In our last year of high school we were entered into the battle of the bands again and I had made a suggestion on a tune and how we could make it theatrical, really give the audience a trippy experience. I suggested we could do Pink Floyd's Mother and part of the performance would be to have moi building a "wall" during the lead up to the crescendo of the song, and when that moment of heightened intensity arrived, kick through the wall in a perfectly timed display of music and theatre coming together. I got voted down. Probably for the best really, because while I was envisioning exploding Styrofoam bricks flying everywhere with my luck the wall would have simply toppled over in an anti climatic and silent whimper. Which gives these lyrics a little poetic justice in reverse...someone would have been breaking my balls for making fools of ourselves.

Mother, do you think they'll try to break my balls?

Ooh, aah, mother, should I build the wall?

I'm a little on the whole walls thing lately it seems. Maybe I'm a little more tuned into what people are really saying when they are saying whatever it is they are saying. What I'm hearing is walls, walls, walls. Or maybe it's me? Maybe I've erected one or two for a reason that I don't think about. A friend of mine, on her own blog, wrote about people and how cold they can be sometimes...their cold gates closing around their hearts and trying to force that upon others. And how she wasn't going to let that happen to herself. Good for her I say. I also say that no walls makes it pointless for there to be a gate in the first place. And this all reminded me about a line in The Outsiders, Dally imploring Pony Boy to get hard, you don't let anything in and you don't get hurt. I think most of us know that to be complete folly yet we all know people that are like that. Why I ask?

What has happened that you would force down your humanity, to abandon your sense of compassion and oneness with your fellow man, or woman? I guess my point to this all revolves around the idea that we don't know often what happened to this person and what made them this way. We haven't walked a mile in their shoes to know what kinds of things have transpired over their lives to make them the cold hearted bastards that they are. I'm not sure that we give a flying fuck in the end anyway because what we are seeing and reacting to is both immediate, often painful and excuses are like ass holes - everyone has one.

I bet if you sat down with someone and found out more of their story you would sing a different tune. A little light shed on a persons experiences can often give us that "oh, I get it now" moment on why someone is being a certain way. In the end though I don't think that in of itself is reason for someone to be a douche canoe all the time. 

Which doesn't absolve the many people that are simply dicks...and you should know who you are. Be self aware enough to take ownership of your own douche baggery so that the rest of us can adapt as required. These people I have no time for and neither should you, for them it's OK to build a wall around, and probably set it on fire afterwards. I might be a closet pyro...just saying.

In the end I'm just not a fan of walls, hypothetical walls to keep immigrants out (fuck you Drumph), physical walls, psychological walls, emotional walls...just walls. Unless they are bramble covered while strolling along the Irish countryside or white washed on the cliffs of Santorini (you get the idea), I'm all for avoiding them. Let things in and let things out I say.

Ciao
D