The Game

I had the privelege of seeing Lennie Gallant this past weekend with good friends. A small perfect setting in Chester for a superb singer song writer, the man tells a good story through song. He played a song he had written to celebrate hockey in Canada, called Has Anyone Seen My Skates and as he strummed along and painted his picture I was brought back to this point in my life...probably hidden from my companions, I teared up a bit thinking of this. Once again proving that bond between music, words and emotions...here is what I "wrote" while he sung away...

There was, when I was growing up, a ritual for young boys growing up in suburban Toronto that was as certain as the coming winter, an absolute really, that you adhered to no matter the consequences. It revolved around the most Canadian of all Canadian things, hockey of course. You followed it, you played it, you lived and breathed it…it was sewn into the very fiber of your being. Even for me, despite not being born here, I was pulled by the tradition around me and the mania that surrounded the start of the season. There was no avoiding it.

In the later 70’s and early 80’s, for me and my mates, you were either a Leafs or a Habs fan, there was no other choice. Hockey cards were treasured bargaining chips and testaments of allegiances and persona. When your cards were pulled out of your too full pockets, the card on top was your calling card, marking you as if you had been branded by your chosen team. For me, let us say that I bleed Blue and White.

With this background it was no surprise that I wanted to play hockey. I pleaded with my parents to put me in hockey. As a way to follow my ‘passion’, as a way of fitting in with my friends and in the end, as a way of being Canadian. Whether you were new to the country or a fifth generation Upper Canadian you had to play hockey. It mattered not that I could barely skate and hadn’t played anything organized outside of pickup games of ball hockey. Nor that I had nothing outside of skates and a stick to call my own…I wanted, I needed to play. They had to understand.

What I didn’t understand though was what kind of position I was putting them into. How could they afford this extravagance? How were they supposed to make any sense of this stupid game? Barely in the country for ten years, accents as thick as bramble and their English not even a second language, third at best. I was ten years old and I had no concept of anything that they might have been going through, I simply wanted to play hockey.

Somehow they made it work. Resplendent with new equipment from Canadian Tire, not really certain how or where any of it went I showed up for tryouts. I assumed my combination of ball and foot hockey skills as well as plenty of Saturday Night Hockey games on TV would carry me forward just fine. I had this. Hell, I was going to make the Rep team. A first for a kid with zero experience playing on the ice, I was going right to the top tier, with the accompanying maroon and gold jackets. If team coaches picked teams the way we did while playing a game of pick up, trading back and forth from best to worst, I would have been near the bottom and grudgingly taken with a sigh. It was obvious I didn’t belong, not owning a hockey sweater I did my tryouts in a sweater that would have won honourable mention in a ugly sweater contest stretched over my shoulder pads. I was playing house league

Looking back what becomes apparent is that I didn’t know what I didn’t know. We were working poor working towards working middle class. Recent new comers to the country with factory jobs, no support and nothing to fall back on, my parents did as so many before and after had done…uprooted their lives in search of a better life for us all. Can you imagine showing up the shores of a new country, babe in arms, not speaking the language and making a go of it? It must have been terrifying.

Fast forward one year and my second season is just a few games into the schedule. We had won the league championship the year before and now I was a seasoned veteran, meaning that I could actually hold my own from time to time. When not tripping over the blue line I managed to play some decent defense…the poke check was my best friend. I hadn’t scored a goal but that was OK, I would have thought myself as the old school stay at home defenseman…Bobby Orr could take the glory. I was quite happy, even with the 6:00 AM outdoor practices. On this particular game night, as usual, my dad was driving me to the game and as usual I was already half dressed in shin pads, socks and hockey pants as we made the short trip to the arena. All I needed to do when I arrived was to throw on my upper body padding and lace up my skates. I was ready and excited. We pulled into the darkened lot at Albion Arena, dad got out of the car to retrieve my gear and in a momentary lapse of attention he left the key in the ignition…and then locked the door behind him. There we were, staring at each other with the car running, doors locked and my bag locked in the cavernous trunk of that ’77 Chevy Nova.

As I was running down Albion Road for home, half dressed in my gear, I was thinking how this exertion was going to affect my game. Which was probably good because if I was thinking about the darkened streets and dodgy neighbourhoods I was going to pass through to get home…two kilometers away, I might have taken a longer safer path. If I made it through alive I still had to play a 45 minute game. I reached my door knocking wildly to be let in. Probably from the lack of oxygen and extra exertion I simply grabbed the spare keys and started running again after a brief explanation to my mom…I got to get going!! It didn’t cross my mind to have her drive me back to the arena in our second car, the venerable Chevy Vega. Like Forrest Gump, I simply started running.

I can truly imagine trumpets blaring as I rounded into the parking area, striving those last few steps as I gave over the keys to my dad. Doubled over trying to catch my breath it dawned on me that we should have simply called my mom to bring us the keys from the payphone inside the front doors of the rink in the first place. Oh well, the ice awaits.

I asked my coach to sit me for a couple of shifts to let me get some energy back and in those few moments I lost track of the game. Something had gotten my attention, my dad sitting in the stands had grabbed my gaze and I watched him. Quietly sitting there on the bleachers, trying to follow the game, I came to see something different. For the first time I thought of what it must be like for him, the sacrifices he was making to simply just watch the game. All of eleven years old, I was only scratching the surface of those thoughts. I knew he hated hockey, it wasn’t his thing. How could it be? Growing up in war torn cobbled together Yugoslavia, he was far removed from the world of Salming and LaFleur. But there he was…my hockey dad.

Now, 38 years later, I have a deeper and much more profound understanding. Like Joni’s reinterpretation of Both Sides Now, there is more depth and more context to appreciate what I had seen. He wasn’t a “hockey dad” in the traditional way. Not because he didn’t want to be there for me and cheer me on, but because he did it despite the obstacles in his way. When I wasn’t on the ice did his mind wander off as my mind did when my kids played basketball. Sitting there was he thinking about how much gas was wasted while I did my Chariots of Fire run? How tired he must have been at 8:30 at night, working overtime whenever he could and putting in 50 and 60 hour weeks. Instead of being at home resting he was watching me play this stupid game. Speaking to no one because maybe he was self conscious of his accent and his education. The fear of standing out can be a strong motivator. How did he end up here? Was he thinking of his family back home? I bet he was. How could he not after all? Missing the language that he grew up with, his mother and brother still toiling away scratching a living out of the dirt back home. How hard it must have been for both of my parents.

In my short two year hockey career I never had a better night than that night. I scored a goal, my only goal, and added two assists. This was my silent dedication to the guy sitting alone in the crowd, huddled against the chill of the arena, watching but maybe not seeing a game he didn’t love. My sprint through the wilds of Etobicoke were small compared to what my parents had sacrificed so I could play that game. He embodies what I believe fatherhood stands for, in his way a quiet humbleness, content in knowing that he was doing his very best but always driven to do better.

Ciao

D

The eyes have it

Mother clucker!!!!

It would seem that I am not yet done dealing with issues around my eye...fuck! After experiencing a further loss in vision out of my irradiated eye I went to visit my super villain ophthalmologist to make sure there was nothing to worry about. Turns there is. I have something called radiation retinopathy which, as the name would suggest, is directly attributed to my radiation treatment in January.

This condition is entirely predictable and expected when working with radiation near sensitive body parts....like sewing a radioactive disk to my eye for a week, that might count as near a sensitive body part right? But no one bothered to tell me in advance of this, which leads to a couple of questions but I don't want to mess with Karma too much today so I'll leave it at this for now.

And what does this mean for your intrepid protagonist? In a few weeks I go back to my Ernst Stavro Blofeld wannabe where he will reassess and most likely tell me that I will need laser eye surgery to repair the issue after getting my eye washed out of all the blood in it....gross eh. I'm told anything done around the eye can carry some significant risk so this may not be a little thing. It's not cancer coming back and I'm not likely to die from it, unlike the doctor performing the treatment as he approaches me with a needle to my eye....sorry doc, didn't mean to kick you in the sack, reflex you know....seriously, you OK man?

A complication to deal with, I'm sure it will be fine but I was hoping to not have any "procedures" in 2017 if you know what I'm saying. We'll see....or not....hahahaha I'm sure it will provide for some funny fodder though, like when I was being wheeled into the OR to remove the disk and the nurses and doctors were asking me a series of questions and marking which eye to work on, as if the bandage over the eye wasn't enough of a marker. One doctor asked me if I had any questions so I asked why I had to remove my underwear for a 15 minute procedure on my eye....supposedly the nylon fibres affect the instruments. If I could have, I would have raised an eyebrow at that moment. Or, when I was being sedated slowly slipping into that foggy state to see the nurses and doctors shrug their shoulders at each other because I didn't get knocked out as quickly as I should have been....pretty funny to me.

A special thank you to my loving sister for once again pushing me to investigate the issue. One would think I would have learned my lesson the first time around, but no...as usual, I was going to blow this latest incident off until she grabbed the phone from my mom and yelled at me for being, how shall we put this...stupid. Can't argue with that. Thanks brat :)

Ciao
D

Caesar

Not the salad. Not the emperor and not Mr Romero. An old friend and colleague and a good guy is the subject of today's little post.

A character amongst characters, Caesar was, when I knew him well, a slightly twisted stylistic semi enigma that had talent to spare in the kitchen and the dance floor. He was quite gifted in the pastry department, his first true love but also quite adept to working the other end of the kitchen with us lesser beings. He was also, at times, frustrating as hell, making choices that would leave you scratching your head in disbelief as well as wondering if true artistry meant some form of insanity...I loved him dearly.

Life being what it is we have drifted apart due to distance and life in general but every once in awhile we do connect for a great conversation. Seems to me that it is way past due for that...so Facebook is being put to work in my desire to say hi. Can't wait to hear what he's been up to.

We met in our first year of college taking Culinary Management way back in 1988....for context, the Leafs had a more dismal year than average, finishing with only 28 wins on the year. Ed Olczyk was the leading scorer and Borje Salming was still playing for the team. The Blue Jays were playing their last season at Exhibition Park and the Raptors did not exist....that's 28 years ago. My, my.

All of us first year chef wannabe's got to know each other really quickly, I'd say we had gelled into a close knit group within the first month and our little groups were well on the way to be formed. Caesar and another friend, Steve, and I had formed a little trio of stupidity. If Steve was the stud muffin than Caesar was the diva and I was the joker. The Id, the Ego and the Super Ego. Good times.

While we were all developing our skills and trying to score with the only two girls in our class we shared some fun times together, I remember much laughter and a special bond being built between us. Steve and Caesar had a love hate relationship going on as well. One most likely driven by Caesars attraction to Steve and Steve's refusal to think with his head based brain...they got on each others nerves constantly but they really did like each other. They took pleasure in egging the other person on, closer to a manic state of mind where literally anything was possible...including threats of violence. Good times.

Caesar is gay, we all thought he was in school but he never came out until a few years later after he left a catering business that he and I and another friend, Peter, had started in 1990. He would regale us with stories of meeting random women and having risque sexual encounters. Really pushing the bounds of legality and morality. None of us believed him but we would have never said a thing...he simply wasn't ready to come out. When the time came it was quite the production for my Filipino frenetic friend. He called me up one Saturday afternoon and asked me to come see him at the restaurant he was working at. For some reason I had the day off so I'm pretty sure I wasn't in the mood to head downtown from the relative safe confines of stylish Etobicoke. He begged me, saying it was important. Sure Caesar, I'll be down in a bit. Once there, sitting in front of him, he looked nervous, he looked stressed out. He talked of how hard it was to be honest and how he was tired of putting up a false face. I really thought he was talking about his job for some reason. He took my hands in his and told me he was gay. Long pause....."you're what?" said I. "I'm gay, please understand" was his reply. I waited for a few seconds before answering, both for effect and for laughs...."you dragged me downtown on a day off to tell me you're gay?" "Are you fucking kidding me...why don't you now tell me about your cat or something else that I already knew?" He actually looked shocked, "what do you mean you already knew?" Caesar, Caesar, Caesar...said in the same tone that Don Corleone whispered Bonaserra's name when the undertaker came looking for vengeance. "Of course I know, we all know...and we couldn't give a rats ass of a fuck about it." We loved the guy for him, not his sexuality and it was a tad off putting to think he was worried that we wouldn't accept him as he was until he explained how some people he knew were pretty homophobic. Well, you're safe with us my friend...now, if there's nothing else please let go of my hand so I can go the fuck home.

A few years later, after I had moved to Nova Scotia, I had an opportunity to meet up with him while I was visiting Toronto. Now, while he was a sweetheart he sometimes made some funny choices. We hadn't seen each other in probably four years, so of course he picked a loud dance club to meet at. On gay night of all things. And while I couldn't care less what your particular preference his for a mate or sexual partner, I am the straightest guy in the world...I think my love of women practically oozes out of me, and this is how I found myself in this cavern of a club with probably 500 men, all shirtless and in jeans, raving to whatever annoying sounds being played that passed for music. I think I stood out a bit. All good of course and we had a great time catching up, drinking and smoking cigars in a somewhat less noisy lounge. Good times.

I'm hoping we can once again find the time to catch up soon....maybe he can teach me to dance, that stylish smooth easy going nut job artist. Good times.

Ciao
D

Ashes to ashes

Just when you might have thought it was safe to wade into the world of all things Catholic, with a new 'progressive' pope that seems quite a bit more open to, well...open to reality really, we get a decree from the church regarding cremation. I don't know if I care either way with what the church might decree but I have to say something about their reasoning...to not comment would be almost sacrilegious.

The Vatican released a statement this week setting out 'rules' for what happens after cremation, an after the fire dies down directive to the faithful flock. In a nutshell, the ashes of the departed must not be scattered, divvied up or even kept at home...a church approved place is called for, so the church community can, together, remember the dead. For the church, in its infinite wisdom and according to one Cardinal Mueller "The dead body isn't the private property of relatives, but rather a son of God who is part of the people of God," Mueller said. "We have to get over this individualistic thinking."
Yes, most definitely, don't be an individual and please for the love of god don't think for yourself...for those that think for themselves shall...they shall, uhmmmmmm...really mess with the status quo. They're gonna fuck it all up for the rest of us sheep....I mean for the flock.

When this was brought to my attention I laughed and I laughed because really, don't the princes of the church have anything better to do with their spare time? Shouldn't they be chasing down heretics and non believers instead of adding to the trauma of losing a loved one? Or perhaps look inward and see to that whole mess around paedophilia or making amends for the years of abuse at residential schools...just saying, maybe their efforts and energy could be directed towards actually helping. After the laughter though I really took issue with the tone of the release...chastising and arrogant, not to mention over reaching. At a terrible moment in a families life the last thing anyone need worry about is disappointing the church in how to deal with a deceased soul. Comfort seems far better than confrontation.

Further more, the dogmatic belief in all things Catholic over any and all other thoughts and beliefs harkens back to, well I'll say it, yesterday. Maybe the church hasn't really changed that much if they still look down upon others for having differing beliefs and traditions. Saying the following, "The document said remains cannot be divided among family members or put in lockets or other mementos. Nor can the ashes be scattered in the air, land or sea since doing so would give the appearance of "pantheism, naturalism or nihilism," the guidelines said." I'm trying to understand why they would care. It makes no sense to me.

Trying to imagine Scott caring about this development when considering the passing of his son is a non starter. He would do exactly what he felt right for him and his family and pity the church official that might have thought to say something disparaging. I'm not saying that this happened but it would have been a pleasant distraction to have something to focus some rage onto at a desperately painful time.

So let us try this on for size. Instead of trying to control every thought, movement and decision on the part of all Catholics, you instead help people to be better people by leading a life of compassion and understanding, stop putting up walls in an effort to control and instead allow people to grow and know that they are loved. Stop preaching, stop alienating and stop the madness.

And awesome with you

Ciao
D

You are hereby annulled

I've been ruminating over this one for a little while now, wondering from what angle I should approach my thoughts and words. How best to propose my position and articulate my opinion, really how to paint the picture in my head on to this screen. What seems to keep cropping up for me is a very strong image of a toilet. I mean a huge stink ass toilet because this is a crock of shit....

Yes my friends and loyal readers, whomever you may be, the church, in its infinite wisdom has granted my ex an annulment, in effect saying that our marriage of 19 years never happened. Poof...it's gone. Invalid. Hmmmmm, do you think I may have something to say about this? 

First, let me dispense with this disclaimer. I don't care that my ex wanted an annulment, if she is happy to wipe away the idea that we were married, had three kids and did all kinds of things over that time in an effort to be whole again from a Catholic point of view and to be able to marry in the church again...? Whatever. If a little peace is found for her than so be it. I couldn't disagree more with the process and the reasoning but that's not my decision to make. My day started the same way after being informed of my non existent marriage and nothing changes for me in the way I view the whole issue.

Back to the toilet now. I spent some time thinking about an appeal of the decision, for as I have said previously, there didn't seem to be grounds for granting this request. So I needed to read the decision to see on what notion this was granted and if it was worth any additional effort on my part. I spent an hour or so with the nice church lady reading the decision and asking questions of her...I was pretty sure I was reading it correctly and I just wanted to see if she agreed. The long and short of it is that my ex essentially said that the annulment should be granted because of things related to me...that I didn't know what I was doing, that I wasn't fully invested in the idea of marriage...and so on. Obviously we differ on this point since, without equivocation, we knew exactly what we were doing and we were fully committed to each other at the time of the marriage. Which is the key point, a marriage can be declared null if there was a 'fatal flaw' at the time of the sacrament. There was not...the flaws coming later on. The grand wizard though, in all his glory, declared that the marriage was annulled because she had proven that she was not capable of understanding what she was doing when we were married. Anything to do with me was thrown out of the mix. Kind of poetic and kind of sad at the same time if you ask me.

I wasn't allowed to get a copy of the document, for reasons unknown, otherwise I would be quoting verbatim from it to try and explain the utmost ridiculousness of the argument for annulment and it's consequences. So, if A happened which was followed by B, three B's to be specific than the B's are a product of A. So as not to lose you or me, A is the marriage and B are the kids. The B's, in the eyes of the Church, are legitimate because they were brought forth within the context of A. If A ceases to exist and is declared to have never even happened than it stands to reason that the B's are illegitimate, in the eyes of the church. This FAQ response was taken from a web site called beginningcatholic.com

"At the time of the child’s birth, they were born of a legal marriage in civil law and a putative marriage in canon law (which means that everyone thought in good faith that the marriage was valid). So at the moment of the child's birth, he or she was civilly and canonically legitimate. An annulment DOES NOT retroactively affect a child's legitimacy."

I'll leave the canon law expertise to others but I can't help but think that someone is speaking from both sides of their mouths here. A kind of circular argument that really doesn't work leaving more questions than answers. Kind of like, Jesus loves all, he is a a god of love. Except the church has problems with gays and a whole host of others. It's a hard thing to comprehend when, what should be, a moral compass for the world still stands in the way of people's human rights....the church has close to zero credibility as far as I see it. And a boatload of hypocrisy to boot. Thankfully my kids are fully aware and not bothered by this development...their legitimacy coming from within.

Look, I know certain people see me as a godless infidel, that I may have an axe to grind and I'm not filled with the holy spirit; other fellow non deity judgemental fucks aside, that alone shouldn't stop god from loving me if he is truly a god of love. Right? Or is it love for a special sub sect? It seems arbitrary to me...like somebodies interpretation of somebody else's whims and pontifications. Much like the annulment process, a final determination was made without much thought to the after effects on the flock....leading the church to make up cannon law to support and administer their position. And these positions and decision are made on a perception of faith...what they think God wanted them to do. The whole "what would Jesus do?" sideshow. What could possibly go wrong?

The funny hat brigade has had two millennia to sort out their issues and yet here we stand...still dealing with the repercussions of those issues, of those decisions. Be it as insignificant as an annulment such as mine or the horror of the crusades, the church's hands are not clean in this world, perhaps they should seek forgiveness first.

The duplicity, hypocrisy and down right abhorrent nature of this whole process, from beginning to end has only achieved one thing for me...a further strengthening of my distrust and avoidance of religion. Which to be honest, was quite strong before this....what with all the skeletons, just that much more now. As the kids say...I'm done.

Let the church decree what it needs to decree in the name of whatever made up claptrap it is using to justify itself...my reputation, such as it is, is left intact with this decision and the church and everyone can go to the bed they have made for themselves. I'll be sleeping fine.

Ciao
D

Fourth Estate

While enjoying a morning coffee and a bagel in the confines of my office, as opposed to the confines of a terrace overlooking the rolling hills in Provence or outside of Naples, I was flipping through a business magazine where I came upon an opinion piece by John Risley, multimillionaire business man from right here in Nova Scotia. I read the article once through and thought perhaps I could write a post touching on it but I had to go see my doctor so I left it aside. While waiting in my doctors office, lo and behold there is the same magazine, so while patiently awaiting the Doc I read the article again and found myself with other things to say. Unsurprisingly, many things.

I found it paradoxical that this "one percenter" wanted to talk about people voting against their own interests when choosing say "Brexit" or supporting Bernie Sanders, a supposed socialist. His words are couched as advice to the powers that be, that they should "beware the fallout of increased poverty". At first read I was nodding in agreement, yes, for certain we should be doing something about eliminating poverty...but obviously Mr Risley and I are looking at it from different perspectives. The crux of his argument is that society needs to be careful of people making decisions that seem to be against their own self interest. What I think he means to say is economic self interest and what he is really saying is that why would anyone vote to support Bernie Sanders when a socialist government has never succeeded. Me thinks his self interest is at the heart of the matter here....but more importantly I think this touches on something else entirely.

He wrote an article for a business magazine, a pretty specific community that he is a leader in, a magazine for business by business people. And that's all fine and dandy, it's a free world after all, but the whole story isn't being told. There is no context, no perspective and nothing from the other side...there is an opinion and an opinion only. And because he is who he is, he will be heard and some will listen. And those listening will form opinions on the subject. One hopes that they will do so after careful examination of all sides and taking the issue out of the vacuum it may be in, but we all know that there are too many "squirrels" running around for the issue to get proper information on and when we do get information it is almost always biased in one way or another, which is fine in and of it self, but it is also often sensationalised and exaggerated for the sake of content.

What I am chirping about is less about the issue and more about how we get the information on the issue. The election cycle from hell south of the border has yet again ripped open the fragmented, disturbing and downright dangerous reporting that goes on in the world. Screaming the loudest gets you the best ratings and thus the best revenue. True journalism takes a back seat to Nielsen points and everyone is lesser for it. The fourth estate has been turned into a revenue generating arm of some media conglomerate...taking with it a good modicum of integrity, responsibility and respect.

I'm a huge fan of Aaron Sorkin and I loved his show The Newsroom. He held up a mirror to the news industry and the reflection wasn't all too flattering...in a world of 24/7 information saturation he said it simply...the industry is slave to ratings which drives revenue and everything else is paid lip service. Yes, there are pockets of integrity but it would seem that the pool is getting smaller and the chasm between integrity and self serving rhetoric is growing too wide. For a democracy to succeed the electorate needs to be well informed with facts and context. Instead of sombre reflection on issues we get presidential debates being promoted like the Thrilla in Manilla and opponents that dodge questions and out and out lie...and the media has allowed it. They allowed it in the vetting stage...in the early "debates" and in every moment leading up to the conventions. Once the conventions came along and people really started paying attention is when the media tried to dismally report on the goings on. Ham handed editorials and wringing of hands while bringing on to air people that were probably chosen for being both ignorant and controversial....not to mention pretty.

I don't have a problem with a news organization commenting within the context of their ideals, conservative or liberal, I really don't care. I am relatively smart enough to understand that. What I do have a problem with is the almost gleeful misreporting of facts and highlighting of hyperbole as truth. Case in point, back in 2010 the conservative Obama hating right wing loud mouths reported that Barack Obama's trade trip to India would cost 200 million dollars a day and sortie 34 war ships, or ten percent of the navy, to the coast of India for the safety and comfort of the presidents ten day trip...uhhhmmmmm. The complete and total lack of investigation or even mild disbelief at such a ridiculous assertion can be explained as follows, who cares? I got to rant about it first and it makes Obama look bad and in the noise and confusion, I have gained a few more viewers. Irresponsible and dangerous precedents that make it easy to understand why the press isn't trusted.

Mr Risley is free to express his opinion, he is not a journalist reporting on an issue so there is leeway in making allowances for op-eds that advocate one way or another. If you are a member of the fourth estate, the conscience of the public trust, you have a sacred duty to ask the questions...all of them. A flash headline on the Drudge report can't be your soul source of information...you have an important job to do and regardless of the slant, you have to respect the truth and the public's right to be informed. That's both ethical and professional and we need more of that....a lot more of that.

Ciao
D

Don Quixote and Decency

Lying on my night stand, most likely with a thin layer of dust starting to form on top, is the novel Don Quixote, sitting there, mocking me for not having read it yet despite its prominent positioning next to my bed. Screw you mocking book...it is a colossal struggle for me to keep my eyes open while reading in bed. I need a trip to Cuba, and while I am sipping piña coladas poolside I would finish you...so if you have nothing nice to say, bugger off book! Now that I have that off my chest let me say that since I have not read the novel in its entirety what I say in reference to it is from my collection of ideas and themes that are supposedly contained within it's pages.

The novels full title is The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha. Cervantes masterpiece work from the early 1600's. Which is impressive considering it comes only a few hundred years after the invention of the printing press. To have penned such a mini tome for distribution must have pointed to its relevance and popularity, knowing that in the earliest days of this most significant invention the print medium was almost exclusively set aside for the church and nobles.

Our protagonist with his faithful companion Sancho and the ass Rocinante venture out on a series of adventurers to restore chivalry and decency....at this point you are starting to piece together where this is going...we could use a little Don Quixote to bring back some sanity and most importantly decency.

At a time when we have a presidential candidate openly referring to the size of his junk and what he can and will do to women, a barrage of sexism and racism, an onslaught of turpitude and misguided morality that seeks not to find common ground or compassion but instead tearing down your neighbour while building a wall to keep them all out. Quite the contortionists we have, bending into human pretzels while bemoaning the state of affairs and simultaneously turning a blind eye to the repugnant and vile demagoguery that some leaders use as their founding doctrine. Red versus blue versus orange, white against black against brown, women versus men, conservatives against liberals...nothing, nothing, nothing but us against them....or so it seems. In our overly connected world it really does seem like we only hear about the bad stuff, if it bleeds it leads and going for the shock value means you can charge a few more million for that 30 second spot to sell the masses on the merits of the newest iPhone. How did we get here?

Like anything, there is no one answer or one reason, but I think in the end, for too many people, it's just easier to put a fist up instead of extend a hand in greeting or friendship. Stepping over and on people for personal gain, be it real or feigned, seems easier than getting there together. It can be hard to see the positive in the world....but we must, because  it is there. Everyday and everywhere we are reminded of human decency and our collective humanity, we just need to listen more and make that a part of our lives.

Hold that door open for the person behind you. Offer to help someone with the groceries. Go a day without saying anything negative and than do it for a week. And than just keep going....like Forrest Gump with his ridiculous run across country, for no particular reason, just do it. Expect nothing save the knowledge that you are doing something right. Your reward is a smile or a thank you. Let decency breed decency and let us do right by the Don and Sancho.

“For neither good nor evil can last forever; 

and so it follows that as evil has lasted a long time, 

good must now be close at hand.”