These Roots Were Made For Walking

A green thumb I am not, in fact you would do well to keep anything plant like away from me as I would probably kill it just by being near it. I can't grow things and I can't start a proper fire...I'd be dead in about 18 minutes if the apocalypse started because of these two simple facts. Sadly, I am not at all knowledgeable in how the natural world truly works. I didn't know until maybe 10 years ago or so how bees are used to pollinate fields. I mean I know bees pollinate but I didn't realize that it was actually an "industry"used to, well, feed us. Told you I wasn't all that smart.

But worry not, smarter people than I are all over this thing. And worry not, I'm not going to talk about the birds and the bees either. No, I wanted to talk about roots. There was a video posted somewhere that caught my attention, a time lapse of a bean seed germinating and sprouting. Incredible this nature thing I must say. It has always amazed me to see plant life sprout out through concrete in the middle of the downtown core, as they said in Jurassic Park "life finds a way". The largest living organism on earth is a fungus down in the States, nearly 4 km across. Imagine the root system on this baby, I wonder if it has anything to do with the shit above it, Drumphland and all right?

To watch the complex system spreading from this tiny seed, roots and off shoots working through photosynthesis and molecular processes all in support of the final product, the humble bean. It is of course a metaphor for life and yes you'd be right in assuming that this is what is jangling around in my head at the moment. Roots and how they play in the tapestry of our lives.

Our roots run deep. They nourish us, sustain us, support us and allow us to grow into whatever it is we will be. Photosynthesis replaced by life experiences of our own and of those around us. This is how we become who we are...simple right? Hardly. Complex systems that work together for a common purpose are just that, complex, so never easy. From defective cells (fuck off cancer) to any number of variables that can affect our system it's a wonder that we have flourished as we have. Life finds a way I guess, and thank fuck that it does because life can be beautiful if you let it in.

Spending an evening with Scott last night where we dined and drank as men do on the eve of battle, with little regard to the next day because what was important was the here and now. We sat for an excellent Japanese meal where  we let the chef choose our food for us...we were in his hands and it was amazing. A pre-dinner drink surrounded by warm wood and comfortable chairs to allow for our particular brand of discourse. And finally back to the apartment for an excellent bottle of Spanish wine that we have always enjoyed while talking about the coming apocalypse and the funny things in our lives. It was a privilege to spend this kind of time with him, it allowed for us to talk through things. So while the occasion was created out of a somber reason we shared a beautiful evening together strengthening our roots some more and weaving some more of our tapestries together.

The paradox of these strong roots that keep us in check and grounded is that they also allow us to move freely about to garner new experiences, to live and love and set down even more roots which will allow for even more of the same again. Feeding our system with love, life and happiness is how we continue to grow, both as individuals and as people together. Principles, integrity, courage and character...these are the by products of our roots and the hope is that these are the traits that get pollinated over to other people in our lives. The best of us becoming part of another root system...green thumb after all, perhaps.

Ciao
D

Peekaboo

I see you. Do you see me? Ahh, I remember that game well. My three little birds bouncing on my knee and giggling their asses off with this cute diversion. Seemingly simpler times when you could easily make them laugh and they actually enjoyed getting tickled. If I tried that today with my boy I'd end up on the other side of the room nursing bruises I'm sure.

But as you can imagine, this ain't about that. The game of peekaboo we play in our daily lives, with loved ones and strangers alike. People float in and out of our lives on a daily basis and one gets to wondering about what others actually see. I mean the real thing, not if my hair is parted correctly or if I have the right pair of shoes on, the real me. Or the real you.

A friend had recently posted something on Facebook about the word sonder, with the following explanation:

"the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, 

as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk."

That's cool, I like that something that should be innate to us has been captured in such a way. Of course all those people are living their lives as we pass them on the streets, their hopes and fears, their struggles and triumphs. We'd do well to remember that before passing judgement or acting out of some notion of one upmanship. As a society we don't really see people. And while that is bad enough, what's worse is when that happens for people you actually care about.

Our self worth is a delicate thing. The smallest seemingly insignificant comment or look can burn right through us. Scarring us in ways that can be hard to imagine. Anxiety born from malice or not is still painful. It can be a hard thing to pinpoint and just when you think you have it all figured out, the goal posts get moved and you realize you don't know shit. I'm talking about how we value ourselves and how we love ourselves. It has to start there, with ourselves.

As unique as we all are the answers are just as unique. What works for me doesn't have to work for you and often it doesn't. We struggle mightily and sometimes when blessed with someone that truly sees you and values you we still will think the worse. "It's happened before so I'm sure it will happen again, so why bother." Sound familiar?

If only you could see yourself as I do. There is beauty and power there. Wrapped up in a perfectly imperfect package. If only you could see what I see. Your good heart shielded by past hurt. Your tenderness tempered by the tapestry of your life. If only you could see what I see you'd see that you have real worth and you matter greatly.

Let yourself go. Lose yourself in love so that you can find yourself. There, at the ends of your fingertips we have it, we just need to believe.

"And in the end

The love you take

Is equal to the love you make"

The Beatles

Fear Not

I've been thinking a lot lately about the passage of time and our place in the here and now. Swirling emotions that are leaving me a tad too raw for my own liking. A combination of great joy and deep sadness, so much so that I feel I might need to pay attention to my state of mind in a more than cursory way. Perhaps the very act of thinking about it and than writing about it is probably what I need so please be patient while I process away.

The other night, while chopping a boat load of onions, I watched a few clips from the movie One Week that hit a little too close to home for me. Hence the onion reference of course. Our hero Ben is diagnosed with stage four cancer and decides that this is the time to buy a motorcycle and ride west. Have an adventure as they say. Jettisoning his treatment despite his fiances pleadings, Ben needed to do something before chaining himself to an IV tree. The road trip to end all road trips for our budding writer.

Motorcycle diaries aside I'm so glad this movie came across my field of vision, it is a tremendous little Canadian movie with cameos by Gord Downie and Joel Plaskett amongst others, with a wonderful soundtrack and a message that hit home then and more so over the past few years. I love the movie but find it difficult to even think of sitting through it all now...who needs those tears after all? Simon and Scott's terrible news and my own brush with fuck you cancer have left me, as I said, a little too raw.

There was a scene in the movie, well actually many scenes to be honest, that came to mind and I wanted to be reminded about it. Ben was on the beach in British Columbia when a German newlywed couple asked him to take a picture of them. Being Canadian he did so without stealing their camera and then the narrator took over:

"Their love wasn't an illusion, however, like most relationships there were a 
few rogue waves that could have capsized it. In those times of rough seas, 
Ben's photograph was a touchstone for what was best."

The notion of the touchstone has always been one of interest for me. How we mark our time on this tiny blue dot. How we can relate, in an instant, a funny or sad or poignant story at the mere mention of a word we associate with a moment in time. Like music, these benchmarks can transport us to anywhere and anytime. Say the word Quebec to me and I'm 18 years old again running wild through that snow globe pretty town. Just like that.

I know I've used this quote before in my writing but I can't help but use it again, it is and will continue to be one of the best ways I know to express the sentiments that I have around all that is going on:

"When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold on to them. They are the life boats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely illusive. So the question becomes, or should have been all a long... What would you do if you knew you only had one day, or one week, or one month to live. What life boat would you grab on to? What secret would you tell? What band would you see? What person would you declare your love to? What wish would you fulfil? What exotic locale would you fly to for coffee? What book would you write?"

To me, this is telling us to leave it all out on the field. No regrets. We have our one shot at life and tomorrow is not guaranteed. Be it an errant bus or brain cancer, life as we know it today can be changed in a moment. While I live with hope always I also know that waiting for that "right time" is not the way I want to go through this life of mine. I'm eating that cake, sipping that wine, walking out my door and falling madly and deeply in love.

At the end of it all, if I can say that I did my best, lived without fear or regret and was a good father then I would say that I have had a good life. If I helped people along the way and was a positive influence on some of the people I walked with through my life, well...that's a great life in my book.

Ciao
D

Tarzan, Superman and Infinite Capacity

Words seem hard to come by these days for this blog o' mine. For reasons made obvious from my previous post the brain is otherwise preoccupied. I have ideas bouncing around but unifying themes seem to be elusive, the nebulous fog of my brain is leaving me grasping at threads and when I finally manage to grab onto one it doesn't seem to want to come easily. C'est la vie I suppose, life has bigger fish to fry it would seem.

But the other day while driving home from Scott's little soiree of life the Crash Test Dummies Superman Song came on. I admit that when this song first came out back in the early 90's I hated it. Couldn't stand the tone, the mood and the annoying deep voice of the singer. But as has happened often enough, later in life the song entered into a new place with me and I learned to appreciate it. Learned to love the understated mood and I strove to understand what he was singing about in his lilty deep way with haunting harmonies. Cruising along the 103 and trying to wrap my brain around this sublime song I knew I had to write about it at some point.

Tarzan

Wasn't a ladies' man

He'd just come along and scoop 'em up under his arm like that

Quick as a cat

In the jungle

But Clark Kent

Now there was a real gent

He would not be caught sittin' around in no junglescape,

Dumb as an ape

Doing nothing

Superman never made any money

For saving the world from Solomon Grundy

And sometimes I despair the world will never see another man like him

Hey Bob,

Supe had a straight job

Even though he could have smashed through any bank in the United States,

Well he had the strength,

But he would not

Folks said

His family were all dead

Planet crumbled but Superman, he forced himself to carry on,

Forget Krypton,

And keep going

Superman never made any money

For saving the world from Solomon Grundy

And sometimes I despair the world will never see another man like him

Tarzan was king of the jungle and Lord over all the apes

But he could hardly string together four words "I Tarzan, You Jane"

Sometimes when

Supe was stopping crimes

I'll bet that he was tempted to just quit and turn his back on man

Join Tarzan

In the forest

But he

Stayed in the city,

And kept on changing clothes in dirty old phone booths 'til his work was through

And nothing to do

But go on home

Superman never made any money

For saving the world from Solomon Grundy

And sometimes I despair the world will never see another man like him

And sometimes I despair the world will never see another man like him

It seems to me that this is about the struggle to do better when everything else in your life and in the world is telling you to just follow the crowd and don't rock the boat. Hide in your shell and say nothing. The enlightened man versus the common man sort of thing in simple terms. The man of steel representing the person that is altruistic in a real way. Someone that feeds off of a genuine interest in the well being of others, sometimes to their own detriment. Not to say that Tarzan is a bad guy just that he is happiest canoodling Jane and the apes. He'll fight when he has to but he prefers the swinging lifestyle that he has become accustomed to while leaving the ills of the world behind him.

Who can blame him really? The idea that you can retreat into your own sanctuary, leaving the problems of others aside until they actually stop on your door, sounds like a bit of a recipe for blissful ignorance. You and I know what the problem is though, the world stops working when this is the norm. We become desensitized to the horrors out there and find it easier to simply shake our heads and turn away. Case in point: Two weeks ago the students from Parkland were everywhere and today we're talking about whatever else Drumph and his band of idiots have done this week, this day. By sheer volume and quantity, sane is drowned out by the ridiculous and the grotesque. And I haven't heard of a thing from those brave students that simply want to go to school without worrying about getting shot.

This isn't new of course, Hitler and his goosestepping band of fuckheads did a marvellous job of having people accept the unacceptable. We remember the Holocaust and Remembrance Day to tell ourselves that we will not forget or never again, yet it is happening again. Ultra nationalist leaders emerging in Hungary and Poland, right leaning parties making deals with really right leaning parties to grab the reigns of power. Orange idiot pushing us closer to the brink of who knows what. Tarzan might have a good idea with his response but this is precisely why we need more of Superman.

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

Edmund Burke

To see the protests that have happened and will continue to happen it fills me with hope. Reaffirming the belief in good people. In response to every douchey thing the powers that be do we have people standing up against it. I believe there is an infinite capacity for love and for hope. Hope for the future, hope for a better tomorrow by standing up today. If it isn't working, tear the mother fucker down and build it again. And be a Superman.

Ciao

D

Before You Go

My Brother,

That was quite the shindig Saturday night. Friends and family from near and far gathering in your honour to hoist a drink with you, share memories and watch you try your hand at dancing. Elaine's little kicks come to mind watching you trip the light fantastic. I say blame it on the Willie Nelson.

The news that your days are numbered has hit like the proverbial ton of bricks. For all of us it is a shock to the system that can't be believed much less comprehended. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How is this even possible? Who ordered this? I want to know who I can lodge a complaint with. Fuck! I know...it's not anyone's fault, it just is. To quote you, I want to shake my fist at something.

I don't know what tomorrow or the next day will look like so I wanted to put some thoughts down as a testament to what our friendship means to me. I wonder if, in your advanced years, you remember when we first met? My cheesy Rub-a-dub-dub reference to you and Dennis chatting away in his butcher shop as I strolled in looking for meat. All that was missing was the candlestick maker. I'm sure you rolled your eyes but had the good grace, for some reason, not to show it. Serendipity at play more than 20 years ago as a starting point of our friendship. Who would have thought this day would have led to our particular brand of tomfoolery and mayhem?

In short time we developed a cordial business relationship; my brilliant and inspired food paired with your unbelievably expensive bread that I bought from you. It was good bread but as you liked to point out, you really ripped me off. And it brought you no small amount of joy at telling me that you were ripping me off. This was when we formed our bonds, we saw in each other kindred souls with a true disdain for the moronic morons and all people named Todd out there.

You always struck me as an enigma of some sort. You and your cursed eidetic memory allowing you to quote Chaucer or Shakespeare while proclaiming the brilliance of The Stooges and having a secret love affair with Lemmy. I had a hard time believing half of your tall tales from your youth because I thought there was no way this nerdy looking guy would ever score in such a way, who the fuck do you think you're kidding anyway? Of course, over time, I came to learn that it was what was behind your fuck face that mattered, and in that you are unique my friend.

Fast forward a few years and you have come to work with me at Chez Go Fuck Yourself. This is when we solidified our particular vortex of stupidity. We worked so well together that a simple grunt or glance was all the communication we would need. My foray into Mahi Mahi and your mistaking pork for salmon not withstanding, we simply got it absolutely right for those years. It was perfect.

Our friendship, born through experiences, food and an unwavering view of the world at large, is a special thing to behold. People, if they weren't afraid of us, would tell us that we were perfect for each other. Like an old married couple. Not sure if that was meant as a compliment but what did we care anyway. A somewhat less gentle version of schadenfreude as we hid from guests who may have tried to enter our business past the time we deemed acceptable. Impromptu marketing meetings out in the yard chucking the baseball around waiting for someone to drive in and the jokes played out on each other as we mused about everything. Rudy Tarquin, you became my brother then.

As you know my friend, I like to quote people that are smarter than I, and since that pretty much encompasses a boat load of people, the sky is the limit. But I know George Carlin is your spirit animal so I will use him liberally I think.

“No matter how you care to define it, I do not identify with the local group. Planet, species, race, nation, state, religion, party, union, club, association, neighbourhood improvement committee; I have no interest in any of it. I love and treasure individuals as I meet them, I loathe and despise the groups they identify with and belong to.”

That seems to be a fair characterization of you buddy. We often preached of hating people but in reality, it was groups of people and not individuals that earned our scorn. Be it the Tilley hat wearing fucks that thought our town was quaint as they walked in the middle of the road looking up at ornate cornices or worse the losers with the $195,000 RV's towing their Yukon's and their backyards behind them as they pulled into town. They deserved no quarter...Flaming RV's forever!!

Our stories will live on my friend. It matters not that some of the salient details may get changed or even forgotten, the essence of them is what I will always remember. Don't tell anybody but I really learned a lot from you. I enjoyed your company to be sure but I also looked up to you in a lot of ways. The older brother I never had. Maybe that is why I drug you around when we closed up shop and I went to work for others. I wanted a playmate at the junk houses I ended up at.

Our cottage forays, guys 'spa' weekends, sushi, Thai, Drambuie, Willie Nelson, Yuk Yuks....too many to mention. Our days and nights filled with laughter, great conversation and a few well placed adjectives describing all manner of stupid. The type of friendship that you could go a month without hearing from each other and still pick up exactly as we left it. As you pointed out, we don't take attendance, we simply appreciate the time we have.

Which brings us to recent memory. Life kicking back hard. The year from hell you and your family had isn't something you would wish on your worst enemy. Your beautiful boy taken too soon from you because of a bad cell. Fuck Cancer and the horse they rode in on. The phrase "I can't imagine" became as ubiquitous as fuck during that horrible time. But through it all you displayed an unbelievable and inspiring way of being. You showed us all that there is another way to respond, through humour and humanity you told cancer to go fuck it self. And then when the worst thing possible came to bear you got mad and you got involved. Driving an RV across country to help with the Kids Cancer ride is nothing short of inspirational. Sending me this grainy picture of what you can do on the plains with a beat up Winnebago is pure you.

"I don't like ass kissers, flag wavers or team players. I like people who buck the system. Individualists. I often warn people: "Somewhere along the way, someone is going to tell you, 'There is no "I" in team.' What you should tell them is, 'Maybe not. But there is an "I" in independence, individuality and integrity.'"

Once again Monsieur Carlin encapsulates a bit of who you are. Your desire to tear down the shit that doesn't work and to question everything is only topped by your fierce belief in what is right and your faith in the individual. Your kids are a testament to that and to the love that you and Fifi showed them. Unique and beautiful souls they are. You guys did well

"People who see life as anything more than pure entertainment are missing the point.”

You have been with me through my own trials, divorce and my own scrape with cancer, and through it all your humour and humanity have been a beacon of sanity and insanity in equal proportions. You were there for me and I will never forget that. Your quasi punk like presence coupled with your quick wit and giving heart will always be a source of comfort for me in the years to come.

You will be missed by many my brother. I will miss our laughs together, our chats and simply being by your side as we did this thing called life. You helped shape the way I view life and I will miss you more than you can possibly know.

So, with a heavy sigh but a full heart I want to say thank you for allowing me to walk with you all these years and to be with you on this last journey - see you on the other side my friend.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas