When is it enough?

“You people … you love our way of life, you love our milk and honey, at least you can pay a couple bucks for a poppy or something like that,” Cherry said. “These guys paid for your way of life that you enjoy in Canada, these guys paid the biggest price.”

-- Don Cherry

What Don Cherry said is not true. Factually, not true. Most people understand the importance of Nov. 11th and care regardless of their ethnicity.

Some people - of all ethnicities - don’t care or are too busy surviving to pay attention in the very specific way that Don Cherry was demanding.

Remember also, if we’re going to "our way of life," the OUR is the White population of Canada.  And if we're going to speak about skin colour, we should remember that both World Wars were entirely European (yes, White) in origin and nothing to be proud of because they led to the death of millions of people.  Six million of these were also said to be not like us but Other.

The fact that previously colonized nations (African, Asian of the Commonwealth); previously enslaved people (Black Americans) fought and sacrificed their kids for the Wars should be enough.

The fact that people who were targets of genocidal intent (American Natives) and then joined the war effort and became instrumental in the Pacific as code talkers (Navajo, Cree...) should be enough.

The fact that 2 million Indian soldiers were a part of the war effort in Asia and 89,000 Indian soldiers died, should be enough. But it’s not; and it isn’t enough for a Canadian icon.

I’m sad for the loss of Cherry’s place as one of those people that we could point to and say, yep, he’s Canadian and he makes Canada and me more recognizably Canadian. Sad, because he was so damn unique and quick witted and funny and a straight shooter. And annoying. Mostly good annoying.

But at the end of the day, enough is enough.

Cerene's Retirement Party

Working in a large organization, you get used to attending baby showers, wedding showers and retirement parties.  And last Friday, many of us gathered in the morning to celebrate Cerene’s retirement.

By inference then, you should know that Cerene has worked at Surrey Place for a damn long time. You should also know that Cerene may be many things, but she is definitely not serene; and lastly, you should know that Cerene was diagnosed, out of the clear blue, with 4^th stage cancer just over a month ago.  And so, last Friday, that one word – retirement – was heavy with meanings and emotions that are not usual to it.

Some of us lined the hall leading to the room, waiting in anticipation, as one would for a dignitary.  Others, sat in the meeting room designated for the occasion, waiting.  I expected to hear sadness, to hear a few words spoken by the guest of honour about beginnings and endings, chapters and turnings, sadness tinged with hope for the new things to come, talk of bitter-sweetness and doors opening-closing.  I expected someone would remind everyone how wonderful it has been to work with Cerene, how lucky we have been, what a fount of knowledge or pillar of strength she was and will be.  How those strengths can now be directed into activities of family, community and in pursuit of interests, perhaps, put aside for decades.

Apparently, Cerene had not seen that memo or read the script; Or if she had, she must have promptly burned one, the other, or both.

As soon as she made her entrance, Cerene jumped into the deep end of Dolly Parton’s, “Eagle When She Flies,” a song played at her party, by her own request.  Nothing was as expected.  She was not as much singing the lyrics as she spoke them with a depth that was confusing then discomforting.  What to make of this woman that we knew and didn’t know and were about to get to know?

Cerene came to celebrate, to laugh, to reminisce, to scold, to humble, to humour, to cry, to make us cry, to teach and to preach.  Cerene taught us that it’s okay to be fully yourself with no apologies.  She came to show that dressing to the nines – black gown, gold high-heeled shoes and hair done – is okay even at 9:30 in the morning.  Just because.

She said, ‘remember, employees are people and not just numbers; that changes in our work place are a chance to re-tool, transform and most of all, to be bold.’  I heard, ‘move forward,’ as she is doing, with eyes wide open, even with trepidation, but hopeful; above all, hopeful.  By action: do not be afraid to show, not share, just show, your faith; and reveal something of yourself because it gives others permission to also be fully themselves.

And then, she danced!  A song solely chosen by her, for her.  Some clapped along, some cried and Cerene, with eyes closed and hands raised high, praised God and showed us what fortitude and forbearance and just plain not-giving-a-damn-‘cause-life-is-too-short, looked like.  Life affirmed.

Out of breath, she sat, and it was clear that the cancer has indeed taken its toll.  Not plainly seen, not yet anyways, it still made itself manifest.  There was no time for chit-chat and small words.  Cerene needed to leave; nurse’s orders.

She asked someone to cue up a song, her extro music.  She left the room as she had entered, on her own terms, by her command.  She left us all to finally get back on-script with our cheese and crackers.  And she did the one thing no number of team building exercises have ever done, she brought us all closer together.

And the lyrics of that Dolly Parton song?

Her heart's as soft as feathers
Still she weathers stormy skies
And she's a sparrow when she's broken
But she's an eagle when she flies

Foregone chapter 1

Read this slightly revised piece tonight at Firefly Creative.
————————

Foregone -- adjective

1. that which has gone before; previous; past.
2. determined in advance; inevitable.

He will come to you, unbidden.  Gentle as a breeze through a window screen.  A fish breaking the glassy, silvery surface of your hard-won peace.  Maybe you will be sitting on a weathered muskoka chair at the end of a long dock.  Watching dragonflies chase meals in the summer light.  The clatter of dishes from the neighbour your only complaint.

You will hear perhaps the sound of tires rolling slowly over gravel; an engine running a few seconds longer than it should.  Unbelieving.  That engine: you would know it anywhere.  The precise three second run-on.  Thunk.  Thunk.  Before you even turn, your senses, muscle memory, feel the crazy-truth of an old familiar pang.  Up through layers of sedimentation, obfuscation.  Years of therapizing, trees and trees of books, (such defences!), blown away like tiny, yellow specks of pollen.

And because there is no redemption in suffering you reach into the cupboard and fill your cup. Bismillah. Drain your cup. Fill it again and repeat.

Forget the promises – broken, if not now, tomorrow.  Forget the hope, best left to the naïve; and what is naiveté but stupidity ringed with daisies?  Forget the ultimatums, the purview of children and the childish.  Forget the companionability; the gnawing need; the genetic imperative; the sense of belonging and the addictive sighs of contentment.  Forgotten too should be the slope of his shoulders, his veiny hands, the knobby knuckles that you soothed with your own hands and the wine stain next to his belly button.  The warm moisture of his breath mingling with yours.  Forget.  Forgotten.  Forfeit.

You dare not turn. Use the darkened screen of your reader to surreptitiously view what’s behind.  Should be behind you.  So clever.  So clever and fearful.  A car, the colour of which is obscured.  Late model.  The occupant unseen; a conspiracy of light and shadows.  You drop your over-large sunglasses down over your “big-big” eyes.  Beautiful eyes, “cow’s eyes”, he used to say.

Reach into the cupboard to find his razor and toothbrush.  The green floss sticks you’ll never use.  The travel size shaving foam.  Let your hands do the hard work; don’t let your eyes rest on any one object too long. Avoid sniffing the cap of shaving foam.  Wipe off the stains from his coffee cup, the dried signs of his toothpaste in the sink.  Shut your mind and casually drop everything in the bin.  Tie the bag off tightly.  Once, then once again…just to be sure.  Bismillah.  Drain your cup and fill it again for a job well done.

Turn now.  You must turn.  How old are you?  You’re not some little girl after all!  Sitting at the dock, frozen.  Who would dare to come to your aerie, your redoubt?  The one place that you give yourself over to with no misgivings!  Turn now.  Turn.

The car door shuts, daring you.  And then, silence.  Not the sound of footsteps or a clearing of a throat or a simple “hello.”  Maybe you stood up from your camp chair or still seated turned around in the chair.  Your first sight of him after, what, a decade?  More.  Tall, lanky, a little older looking; but still the same somehow.  Cautious smile on his face, khakis sitting a little too high as usual by the grace of that chipped old brown belt. Moss green henley shirt, it’s sleeves rolled back to the elbows.  Left hand squeezing the other.  Nervous.  One glance, a gestaltic snapshot. 

Ah, the old familiar pang.

As he approaches the dock, eyes down, paying careful attention to his footing, you are not standing stock-still.  Your hand moves to the chair’s back to still it’s shaking.  Your eyes are watering, traitors, unfaithful, obscuring your vision.  Blinking now, your hand moves under your glasses to clear your sight.  The sight of him.  Unready, unsteady, undone.

Finally, he says, “Hi, Emma.  How’ve you been?”

Your eyes shut.  One-two-three-four-five.  You open them, adjust your glasses.

"Seb?" you whisper: a question? A greeting maybe?

"Hi, Emma."

Your heart is beating too loud, too fast. You're trying to remember to be present.  Just as quickly as you take a deep, bracing breath, your skin heats, outracing your abilities to calm yourself.  Build the walls now, as fast as you can, against the oncoming tide.  Buttress, fortify, jam supports into place!  And just as  quickly as you do this, your breath blows those ramparts out.

You stand two arm lengths away, years apart; And yet here.

"Sebastian-fucking-Coe. What are you…?”  You stop and try again, Suspiciously, you ask, “What’s happened?"

"I'm not sure.  I was…I needed to see you."

Be Nice, Just Ask

I’ve often said to my son, that a smile, a bit of kindness and simply asking when you’re in need can’t hurt and often has a very happy outcome.  People are usually nice if you give them an opportunity to be nice. 

A few cases to the point: We checked into our hotel in Cleveland to find we three were in a one-bed room. The Manager already having told us that the inn was full. He was clearly a nice guy and we were disappointed but pleasant...’Cause shit happens and if you can’t control the situation, you change your thinking or wallow in misery. Once we got into to the too-tiny-room, my daughter and wife’s demeanours were, uh, deflated. Wife was quite quiet and the girl said with sarcasm, “I’ll just sleep in the tub.”  I said, “Don’t settle in. I’m going to go talk to the front desk.”

At the front desk, just as I began to plead our case, the manager says, “Give me 15 minutes and I can move you to a room with two beds.  One just came free.” Thank you serendipity. 

Case to the point two: I decide to walk to a Starbucks a long block from the hotel. It’s pouring rain. I almost step out of the awning’s protection with my not so water resistant jacket and then think, ‘hmm, can’t hurt to ask...’  Walk to the front desk and sheepishly ask if perhaps, maybe, they have an umbrella to lend a guest down on his luck. Turquoise, lady at the front desk, turns quickly around, ducks into a vestibule and returns with a honking big golfer’s umbrella!  I say, “That’s an umbrella made to make a short man proud.”  She smiles and says, “Bring it back whenever you get back.” Thank you impulsivity!

Case to the point three:  Starbucks. I get my order,  settle into a club chair and realize that reading with the music so loud just is not working for me. Before I stand, I think, “what’s the worst that can happen?”  And so I ask. Politely. The barista is only too happy to turn the music down a bit: “Oh, yeah yeah sure.” I thank her and go back to Archie Bunker’s seat, settle in, eat cake and sip my coffee and no one is worse off for the asks.  Thank you hard-won-cranky-pant old-fart courage. 

My Book List, 2018

Following is a list of books I've read in 2018 using the Toronto Public Library's reading app -- Libby.  There a handful of other "actual" books which I read this year, unfortunately, I didn't keep track of these.

This list is in chronological order with the last read at the top and first read at the bottom of the list.  Looking over the list, I realized that I read a damn lot of science fiction and wartime memoirs.  Note to self: must diversify in 2019.

My ratings "system" should be suspect as I only choose to read books which I'm likely to enjoy in the first place and I usually drop books that don't entertain or interest me after the first few pages...and these are not listed here.

	Author	Title	Rating	Type
1	Kress, Nancy	Probability Space	4/5	Science Fiction
2	Kress, Nancy	Probability Sun	3.5/5	Science Fiction
3	Kress, Nancy	Probability Moon	4/5	Science Fiction
4	Kress, Nancy	After the Fall, Before the Fall, During the Fall	4/5	Science Fiction
5	Chivers, C.J.	The Fighters	3/5	History, Military, Biography
6	Blehm, Eric	Legend	4/5	History, Military, Vietnam
7	Moore, Billy	A Prayer Before Dawn	3/5	Memoir, Thailand
8	Woodward, Bob	Fear: Trump in the White House	3.5/5	Politics, Non-Fiction
9	VanderMeer, Jeff	Annihilation	4/5	Science Fiction
10	Wood, Levinson	Walking the Nile	3/5	Travel, Memoir
11	Strand, Mark	Collected Poems	5/5	Poetry
12	Adiga, Aravind	The White Tiger	3/5	Fiction
13	Crace, Jim	The Pesthouse	4/5	Fiction
14	Marlantes, Karl	Matterhorn	5/5	Fiction, Vietnam War
15	Dozois, Gardner	The Year's Best Science Fiction, 34th	3/5	Science Fiction
16	Lindhout, Amanda	A House in the Sky	5/5	Memoir
17	Le Carre, John	A Legacy of Spies	4/5	Fiction, Spy
18	Sheehan, Neil	A Bright Shining Lie	4/5	Biography, Vietnam War
19	Junger, Sebastian	War	3.5/5	History, Military, Afghanistan
20	Schmidt, B.T.	Infinite Stars	3/5	Science Fiction
21	Roam, Dan	The Back of the Napkin	3.5/5	Business
22	Lane, Andrew	Netherspace	3/5	Science Fiction
23	Herbert, Frank	Heretics of Dune	5/5	Science Fiction

Buying a Ticket as a VIP

I decide to treat myself to the latest Clint Eastwood movie, The Mule, by going to a VIP theatre.  Basically, the seats recline, are a little wider and the popcorn (the same damn popcorn you would get at the peasant seating theatre) is delivered to your seat as if at a fine restaurant.

So i'm standing in line to buy my ticket behind a past-his-prime man (so just like me); except he is wearing under his Hilfiger V-neck sweater a collared shirt.  And the aforementioned collars on the aforementioned shirt are up, pointing skywards.  A religious man, perhaps.  And, he is in deep negotiations with the one attendant selling tickets today.

I wait.  I look at my phone and find no help there.  I hear things: "G7, but can I get H7 too?"

The attendant says, "No. H7 is taken."

"But I looked online and it was free?"

The attendant's will collapses and he calls a higher power by whispering into his neck.  Something is confirmed.  Decisions are made.  Information is transacted.  The attendant says, "L7 is open and so is L6, do you want those seats?"

"L7 is too high up.  Let me check." After which the collared man gets on his phone to call (I don't know) maybe his manager.

A few Letter-Number combos get thrown around.  I look out the window and murmur, "You sunk my battleship."  I am amused.

Finally, the deal is closed with the proper combination of seats, I think, being bought.

My turn: I look at the attendant and he looks not in the least bothered by his previous customer.  I say, "What did that guy think he was doing, buying an airline ticket?"

Attendant: "Pardon?"

"That guy.  Did he think he was buying a plane ticket or something?"

Now we're talking the same language.  Attendant says, "That happens all the time."

Me: "Okay, sooo, I want a ticket on the aisle, can you do that?"

The attendant starts looking at his terminal and points out a seat.  I say, "Okay, as long as it's right behind the pilot."  Small chuckle from the attendant.  Maybe he's heard all this before; but this is all new to me and at the end of the day, my amusement needs matter more than his.  Apparently.

"Do you have a Scene Card, sir?"

I say, "I'm Indian...of course I have a Scene Card."  Badum-bum. He smiles.  My kids would have taken flight before this last comment.  I am amused.  Again.

I take my ticket, thank my travel agent and leave to grab a coffee before the in-flight entertainment begins.

Algonquin Park 2018

I went canoeing/interior camping to Algonquin Park this year using Voyageur Quest outfitter's 3 day guided trip.

Voyageur Quest is located at access point 1 on Kawawaymog Lake.  To get to the access point one has to drive from South River, the closest town, about 15 kms to Kawawaymog.  Voyageur staff then drove our group to our first two portages to Nahma Lake.

After canoeing through Craig Lake from west to east, we took a 155 metre portage to Pischneka Lake and canoed further to the far east end of the lake at a beautiful campsite with a small beach with a view of the western edge of the lake.

The following day, the guides took us through another couple of portages to Charr Lake to explore a dog-sledding shelter at the north end of Charr Lake and some other, more intrepid campers went for a hike in the rain.


South River to Kawawaymog Lake (in red) and Craig Lake (in blue).

Our route beginning with 2 portages at lower-left corner of photo starting with a 200 metre and 345 metre portage to Nahma Lake, followed by a 90 metre portage heading to Craig Lake.



Voyageur Quest Outfitters, Access Point 1

 

Charr Lake

 

Although crossing lakes is fun, I truly enjoy navigating creeks slowly.

 

 





 









 

 

Anthophila

My niece, Janelle, is an environmental educator and and certified teacher based out of Toronto, Ontario and Anthophila is her new social enterprise project.  To help her get started she has started a gofundme page where she writes, "By supporting Anthophila, you will help fund...

- Starting 3 beehives in a local community garden to support pollination
- Production of hyper-local bee products (honey and wax)
- Distribution of plastic-free, all natural and nourishing beauty products for everyone
- Education opportunities to local community groups and school groups on the plight of the bee and bee diversity in the city
- Development of equity-based educational materials about bee conservation

By supporting Anthophila, you're not only supporting our new business but you are also supporting bee conservation, habitat restoration, local economy, and amazing opportunities for community connections and education!"

If you're feeling socially conscious or otherwise generous, please use the above gofundme widget to donate to this worthy cause.

Koi dost hai na raqeeb hai

Koi dost hai
na raqeeb hai,
tera sehar kitna ajeeb hai

Woh jo ishq tha
woh junoon tha,
yeh jo hijre hai
yeh naseeb hai

Yahan kiska chehra
padha karoon,
yahan kaun itna kareeb hai

Main kise kahoon
mere saath chal,
yahan sab ke
sar pe saleeb hai

Tujhe dekh kar
main hun sochta,
Tu habib hai
ya raqeeb hai


Poet : Rana Sahri

Stages of Burnout

I was listening to one of the better shows on CBC Radio, White Coat, Black Art, which happened to focus on the stresses that physicians face in their practices and at hospitals.
In one of the segments the host, Dr. Brian Goldman, speaks to Psychiatrist, Dr. Mamta Gautam -- known as the "doctor's doctor."  The most interesting portion of this segment was a quick sketch of how to tell if you, or in this case physicians, can tell that they are merely stressed or burnt out.
Dr. Gautam "advises people in stressful jobs to make themselves aware of the stages of burnout so they can seek treatment earlier."
A well drawn graphic is worth a thousand words so here's the graphic to help you figure out if you should be seeking help or everyone around you is truly dumb.

Graphic Credit: CBC Radio



Once the problem is identified, what's one to do?  Well, as it turns out, Dr. Gautam has something to say about this.  In an article published in the Canadian Journal of Diagnosis (January, 2004) Dr. Gautam suggests the following:

1. Take care of yourself

• Eat properly, get enough sleep, exercise regularly

2.  Get your own family doctor

3.  Improve time-management skills
• Stay on top of paperwork, so as to be more efficient

4.  Set priorities
• Include yourself and your family at the top of your list of priorities, not just work-related activities
• Make time for supportive family and friends

5.  Anticipate and prepare for situations
• Remain in control at home and at work

6.  Learn to say “no”
• Assert yourself by setting and maintaining limits

7.  Take regular breaks and holidays

8.  Laugh more often
• Be around people who make you laugh

9.  Learn to relax
• Use techniques like meditation, visual imagery, spiritual relaxation, and practice them daily

10.  Let go of the need to be perfect
• Set more realistic expectations

11.  Learn to waste time
• Know that you don’t have to be productive all the time

12.  Manage money better
• Live within your means

13.  Acknowledge guilt
• Realize that you are feeling guilty when you think of doing things for yourself, so that you can go ahead and do these things
Source: Coping with Stress and Burnout

Work and other News

Project Management

I've  officially started working as a project manager. This is the culmination of many months of work, a good amount of study and more than a few acts of kindness.
I was originally rooting around for a short term project at my work place for a change of pace. I asked around for some project which had a definite beginning and end. Three months later, I was asked to help with a collaboration between my work place and an outside agency.
As if this wasn't enough, I am one course away from getting a PM Certificate from my alma mater which would qualify me to take the "gold standard" exam with the vaunted Project Management Institute. This would entail a lot of studying -- there are multi-day courses which help to prepare you -- to sit for the 4 hour exam.
I'vee just started working on a project which will, I think, be challenging and gratifying. It is, in fact, a program in progress with multiple projects within it. At this early stage, the word amorphous comes to mind. But it's still early days and that descriptor is probably, in equal measure, a result of my lack of familiarity with the program and the on-going nature of the program extant.

Maynooth AirBnB

On our way to Algonquin's interior, we decided to split our journey in to two days.  On the first, we started our drive north late in the day, slept overnight at a B&B in Maynooth, about a 30 minutes drive to Algonquin.  The B&B had a beautiful little gallery attached to it.  You can find this gem, Wildewood Guest House, on AirBnB.

Algonquin Park Provincial Park

My trip to Algonquin with a friend from work is best described as a bust. Three days of mostly rain and camping on a promontory (which is great when it's warm and sunny but a windy, exposed hell in inclement weather) wore my co-worker down and we honoured one of the few rules we had for this trip: Either of us could call the trip off without initial explanation. We would pack up and leave and talk about the reasons for bugging out on the paddle back to civilization.
The day we abandoned our trip started  with rain (this was day 3) and the forecast called for thunder showers in the afternoon. Seeing a window of about 3-4 hours we packed and left.
Pics from the trip which, despite its early termination was still memorable....click on the pics for a larger view.

The view from our campsite.

Our kitchen setup.

Tarp setup for the incessant rain.

My favourite pic of the whole trip.

Black Spruce sap...amazing fire starter.

Winding our way through a narrow passage on the way back.

Canoeing on Galeairy Lake on the return trip.

Using the paddle as a sail on the windy paddle back.

Waiting for the unceasing rain to end across the bay from our campsite.

My 2nd best picture of the trip: my paddling partner washing dishes.

Algonquin Park Canoeing 2017

I will finally be returning to Algonquin Park for a canoe trip into the interior.  I was going to go solo this year as I couldn't find a paddling partner.  Seth, who is 16 yrs old, didn't want to go because...he's 16 yrs old and Tarah, who is 12 yrs old, has never enjoyed roughing it because "the washrooms smell!" And Marsh just returned from a 5 week trip to China/Vietnam and camping is not really her thing.

Fortunately, my co-worker, Nya, took pity on me and said she would love to do an interior trip as she's never been canoeing...at least not this kind of wilderness trip.

Amazingly, we put the trip together on the "back of a napkin."  I drew up a list of the essentials, we met once to discuss food and review the equipment list and here we are less than 24 hrs before departure.  I organized and packed for several hours yesterday and did some more detailed gathering of smaller items tonight (August 15th).

I also bought a few new items for the trip: a back pack which happened to be on sale at Canadian Tire; a dry bag which Tracey O. graciously picked up for me from MEC; and a new and more substantial utility knife.  I
passed on getting a sweet gravity water filtration bag by Katadyn even though it quickly filters all impurities (including bacteria and viruses) out because of the cost and the fact that it is bulkier than the alternative -- water purifying tablets.  The tablets or liquid version of the tablets, take about 30 minutes before the water they're dissolved in is safe to drink.  The gravity filtration bag is about $89 and the tablets a mere $14 or so.  Sigh.  The crappy thing is, when I first was looking around for a filtration option, the Katadyn bag was on sale at Canadian Tire for $70.  When I finally finished researching the topic a few days later, the bag was no longer on sale...so, yeah....lesson learned.  Be decisive.  No one likes a ditherer.

The route we'll be taking begins near Algonquin's East Gate and near the town of Whitney, Ontario.  I used this entry point with Tracey, Seth and Mickey John in 2012.  Here's an excerpt from an earlier post:

The route shown has a 1.6 km portage and this would only be possible if I was travelling with another person.  I can haul a canoe a few hundred metres but 1.6 km is just asking for trouble.
We would rent our canoe from the same place I used last time, Opeongo Outfitters.  We will begin at the east end of Galeairy Lake and travel west towards Aubrey Lake and setup camp there for the first night.
The second day we would head in a north-westerly direction to Rocky Lake, turn south at Jean Island and head south towards Pen Lake.  There are two small portages on this day: The first is between Galeairy and Rocky Lake (100 m) and the second is at Pen Falls, between Rocky Lake and Pen Lake.
I'm thinking we'll stay on Pen Lake for two nights before pushing east towards Night Lake.  There is a 1.6 km portage between Pen Lake and Night Lake and once we get through this we will paddle back into the northern part of Galeairy Lake.
The last day, hopefully, we will have any easy paddle back to our starting point in Whitney.

Click on the map to view a larger image of our route.

I will post pics when I return.