Christmas is here, which is the season of giving and receiving as well as the season of excess. I was thinking about the people I work with and how we are all part of the proletariat in true Marxist terms. We spent the entire Christmas season putting on parties for those that made more money than us. We made them prime rib and lobster tails and crab and steaks and anything else they desired. Our company never gave us a Christmas party, in fact they gave us nothing but hours and work and dirty dishes.
As a cook I make a semi decent wage for my efforts but the people who support me make next to nothing. I watch the woman that washes dishes during the day for eleven dollars an hour and wonder how she does it with a teenage daughter to support and the insane rental prices in Whitehorse. The dishwasher that makes my life easier at night is from Zimbabwe. She has been in Canada a year and she works two very hard jobs at the age of 58. She does housekeeping for eight hours then comes to my kitchen and washes dishes for another five. I know she is so tired some nights and I asked her how she does it and she tells me that for most of her life in Zimbabwe she spent endless hours hauling firewood and water and she is accustomed to hard work.
I wonder how many people with their cushy well paid jobs think about these people who are working to give them a nice Christmas party. There are so many out there struggling just to pay the necessities of life. Maybe it is the season to think about that. Cheers!
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
On Reincarnation
I believe in reincarnation. As some famous dead guy said, " I find it no more miraculous to have been born many times than to have been born once." Christianity wants us to believe that we have one kick at the can and we should be without sin or we don't go to heaven. Having people believe in sin is a good way to control them. Buddhists on the other hand believe we have many turns in the "life school" to learn what we need. Karma is the ultimate leveler of the playing field. Whatever we put out there we get back. It is cause and effect, very simple and very effective. So every asshole deed we do we will get back at some point. Every good deed we do we will also get back. It is a concept with beautiful symmetry, it is simple and fair. People have said to me that they don't "believe" in karma. Again it is not that crazy an idea. We know in Physics that there is cause and effect. So why would our actions not have an effect? The world would be a kinder place if more people did believe in karma. So many people bully their way through life taking what they want and stepping on the necks of others to get it. At times we would love to seek revenge on these people but ultimately the universe will take care of them.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Government is the New Elite
Whitehorse is a government town. We have the Feds in their big fancy building downtown and we have our Territorial Government as well. There was a time when working for the Government was not a sought after career but that has now changed. I listen to people around me telling me how they are working toward securing that government job.
How did it happen that having a public sector job is a sought after career choice? Is being a government employee the new elite? It seems that in the North it is. I guess because of the strength of unions, jobs with government are the best bet in a flailing economy. It once was the ideal to own your own business but that is no longer the case.
I work in a hotel and I listen to people I work with saying how they are going to go about securing that government job. I can't blame them. They work in an industry without benefits or any sort of security. But there is also this thread of pride in the fact that we don't have one of "those" jobs. We mock the government types that come in for lunch. We talk about how spoiled they are. On election day they all got off work early so they could vote. The polls didn't close until 8pm and government shuts down at 5 but I guess 3 hours was not enough to make it to the polls.
My feeling is that people who work in government really do not understand the real world. They are coddled and given such a sense of security that when a new government comes into power they all fret about what benefits they will lose. They don't understand that the rest of us live with uncertainty every day.
It has become a point of pride for me not to work for the government. I often think about applying but I am not sure I would even survive that process. I have heard that you can take a class on how to go through the application and interview process for a Govt job. They teach you how to say all the right things to ensure success. This makes no sense to me. They are not even getting a sense of who they are interviewing if everyone has been coached to say what they want to hear. I guess that is the first step in becoming a govt drone though. Say what is expected and act like all the other drones so that you can join the hive.
A friend at work told me how someone she knew was taking a year sabbatical from her govt job and she asked who was going to replace her. The woman said no one. We laughed about this. If I took a year off from my job I would certainly have to be replaced because I actually produce something in my job. Not everyone does apparently.
I must admit that I and my fellow workers feel a bit superior to the Govvies even though we make a pittance in comparison and we have no benefits or security. We feel like we haven't sold out.
How did it happen that having a public sector job is a sought after career choice? Is being a government employee the new elite? It seems that in the North it is. I guess because of the strength of unions, jobs with government are the best bet in a flailing economy. It once was the ideal to own your own business but that is no longer the case.
I work in a hotel and I listen to people I work with saying how they are going to go about securing that government job. I can't blame them. They work in an industry without benefits or any sort of security. But there is also this thread of pride in the fact that we don't have one of "those" jobs. We mock the government types that come in for lunch. We talk about how spoiled they are. On election day they all got off work early so they could vote. The polls didn't close until 8pm and government shuts down at 5 but I guess 3 hours was not enough to make it to the polls.
My feeling is that people who work in government really do not understand the real world. They are coddled and given such a sense of security that when a new government comes into power they all fret about what benefits they will lose. They don't understand that the rest of us live with uncertainty every day.
It has become a point of pride for me not to work for the government. I often think about applying but I am not sure I would even survive that process. I have heard that you can take a class on how to go through the application and interview process for a Govt job. They teach you how to say all the right things to ensure success. This makes no sense to me. They are not even getting a sense of who they are interviewing if everyone has been coached to say what they want to hear. I guess that is the first step in becoming a govt drone though. Say what is expected and act like all the other drones so that you can join the hive.
A friend at work told me how someone she knew was taking a year sabbatical from her govt job and she asked who was going to replace her. The woman said no one. We laughed about this. If I took a year off from my job I would certainly have to be replaced because I actually produce something in my job. Not everyone does apparently.
I must admit that I and my fellow workers feel a bit superior to the Govvies even though we make a pittance in comparison and we have no benefits or security. We feel like we haven't sold out.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
How Far Can Social Media Go?
I am now Facebook free and so far there have been no side effects. People are assuming that I quit because I spent too much time on it but that is not the case. I didn't spend a lot of time on it because frankly it was kind of boring. People post everything they are doing all day long. I am surprised I haven't read 'feet in stirrups, just waiting for my pap smear.' But give it time.....
One part of social media that really gives me pause is how invasive it is. If someone posts something that offends someone else they can report that person and some faceless facebook cop will delete the post. It happened to a friend of mine. He had put up some pro life video of a baby at so many weeks and what it looks like. It was promptly taken down. This bothers me. I may not agree with him but I do have the choice to ignore it. That is the cyber equivalent of the nosy neighbour who cannot help sticking their nose into everything you do on your property.
I also don't like how they constantly change it. They put up a new feature that tells people what you are doing on Facebook. If you are wasting time playing some dumb game everyone is informed of it. I don't like that lack of control over my own profile page.
I recently discovered from a friend of mine that the government uses Facebook to monitor illegal activities. My friend was contacted by social services because her underage son was posting drinking pictures. This scared the hell out of me. Now social media is being used to judge how well you are parenting? Who doesn't have a 17 year old kid that has been caught drinking? My fear is that this is just the beginning.
I enjoy freedom too much to be cool with this type of Big Brother monitoring.
One part of social media that really gives me pause is how invasive it is. If someone posts something that offends someone else they can report that person and some faceless facebook cop will delete the post. It happened to a friend of mine. He had put up some pro life video of a baby at so many weeks and what it looks like. It was promptly taken down. This bothers me. I may not agree with him but I do have the choice to ignore it. That is the cyber equivalent of the nosy neighbour who cannot help sticking their nose into everything you do on your property.
I also don't like how they constantly change it. They put up a new feature that tells people what you are doing on Facebook. If you are wasting time playing some dumb game everyone is informed of it. I don't like that lack of control over my own profile page.
I recently discovered from a friend of mine that the government uses Facebook to monitor illegal activities. My friend was contacted by social services because her underage son was posting drinking pictures. This scared the hell out of me. Now social media is being used to judge how well you are parenting? Who doesn't have a 17 year old kid that has been caught drinking? My fear is that this is just the beginning.
I enjoy freedom too much to be cool with this type of Big Brother monitoring.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Leaving Facebook
I have decided to leave Facebook. I read an article recently that said those that give up all methods of instantaneous cyber social networking are doing a radical thing. I guess because I am old enough to remember a world without cell phones and internet I don't think it is a radical act. Quitting your job to go and volunteer for an aid agency in Africa is a radical act, leaving Facebook is not.
I watch people at work constantly texting and I wonder what is so interesting about the day to day minutiae of our lives that we have to constantly be sharing it. I don't carry a cell phone at all and when asked by a business or a person what my cell phone number is I am met with a look of shock when I tell them I don't have one. They probably just think I am a dinosaur and maybe I am. There is something oddly liberating about not being wired constantly. A truly radical act would be to give up internet altogether. I am not there yet, but maybe in time.
I watch people at work constantly texting and I wonder what is so interesting about the day to day minutiae of our lives that we have to constantly be sharing it. I don't carry a cell phone at all and when asked by a business or a person what my cell phone number is I am met with a look of shock when I tell them I don't have one. They probably just think I am a dinosaur and maybe I am. There is something oddly liberating about not being wired constantly. A truly radical act would be to give up internet altogether. I am not there yet, but maybe in time.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Zazen
I have been turned on to zazen practice recently when a friend recommended a book called Hardcore Zen. I liked the style of the writer. He was completely self deprecating about his life and his journey from a punk rocker to a Zen Master. I have read so many books over the years about different spiritual practices and ideas. I spent some time in a forest Wat with Thai Buddhist monks trying to learn about meditation but this book struck me as so practical and cutting through all the bullshit to get to the heart of practicing Zazen as a real person in the real world.
So much about Buddhism speaks to me. The middle way is something I have thought to be right for a long time. Our society reveres extremists be it in business or sports or any other avenue of human endeavour. We admire the workaholics who spend most of their waking hours trying to be "successful." We are taught that this is the way life should be. If we can achieve some level of financial security and have all those "things" then life is good. We admire that extreme athlete that pushes their body beyond what is a normal level. Buddhism teaches us that this is NOT the way to live life. This is not healthy and this is not what we should strive for.
Even in zazen practice doing too much is not beneficial. Some sects believe that sitting for hours will get you closer to enlightenment or whatever you want to call it. However, this too is false. Moderation in all things is key.
Yesterday I began meditation practice once again. I sat Zazen and was immediately disturbed by phone calls. This morning I sat zazen for 13 minutes. It is not a lot but it was enough for me this morning. Master Nishijima whose lectures I have been watching online, said that the beginners zen practice is no different than a master's zen practice. There is no competition in Buddhism, there is no better or worse. This is a heartening philosophy for someone whose legs are cramping and mind is wandering as I try and sit zazen for a short time. All that matters is consistency of practice. Doing it every single day is the key and not something that is very easy. Nishijima began zazen practice at 16 and did not miss a day, he is now in his 80's.
So much about Buddhism speaks to me. The middle way is something I have thought to be right for a long time. Our society reveres extremists be it in business or sports or any other avenue of human endeavour. We admire the workaholics who spend most of their waking hours trying to be "successful." We are taught that this is the way life should be. If we can achieve some level of financial security and have all those "things" then life is good. We admire that extreme athlete that pushes their body beyond what is a normal level. Buddhism teaches us that this is NOT the way to live life. This is not healthy and this is not what we should strive for.
Even in zazen practice doing too much is not beneficial. Some sects believe that sitting for hours will get you closer to enlightenment or whatever you want to call it. However, this too is false. Moderation in all things is key.
Yesterday I began meditation practice once again. I sat Zazen and was immediately disturbed by phone calls. This morning I sat zazen for 13 minutes. It is not a lot but it was enough for me this morning. Master Nishijima whose lectures I have been watching online, said that the beginners zen practice is no different than a master's zen practice. There is no competition in Buddhism, there is no better or worse. This is a heartening philosophy for someone whose legs are cramping and mind is wandering as I try and sit zazen for a short time. All that matters is consistency of practice. Doing it every single day is the key and not something that is very easy. Nishijima began zazen practice at 16 and did not miss a day, he is now in his 80's.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Bitter Old Women
Why do so many women reach the "golden" years with such bitterness? They look at their life, not as the sum of their experiences, but as a huge pile of regret like forgotten, unwashed laundry. "If I had left the marriage sooner, "if I had gone to school," "if I had not married that man," "if I had been born in a different era; if, if if.
Regret is a huge rock tied to your ankle that sinks you deeper and deeper into that morass of hopelessness. Nothing can change those choices, those mistakes, those very human decisions that fill in the lines of your life. The only thing that changes is how you decipher the code.
To become old women who think our lives were a wasted mess is to deprive ourselves of the wisdom gained through hardship.
Regret is bitter and foul tasting. We should look in the mirror every morning and spit out that foul taste. We should run our fingers over the lines in our face and be cognizant that every line speaks to our experience.
We should celebrate our saggy breasts and loose skin because they are who we have become. We should strive to fend off that dark visitor called regret that threatens to visit us in the waning years of our life. We should celebrate the good times and remember all we have gained from the bad. We should lead the way with our children, not through criticism, contempt and jealousy but with wisdom and good humour. We should become spirited, foolish old wisdom women who look to the past and say, "Yes! I made it!"
Regret is a huge rock tied to your ankle that sinks you deeper and deeper into that morass of hopelessness. Nothing can change those choices, those mistakes, those very human decisions that fill in the lines of your life. The only thing that changes is how you decipher the code.
To become old women who think our lives were a wasted mess is to deprive ourselves of the wisdom gained through hardship.
Regret is bitter and foul tasting. We should look in the mirror every morning and spit out that foul taste. We should run our fingers over the lines in our face and be cognizant that every line speaks to our experience.
We should celebrate our saggy breasts and loose skin because they are who we have become. We should strive to fend off that dark visitor called regret that threatens to visit us in the waning years of our life. We should celebrate the good times and remember all we have gained from the bad. We should lead the way with our children, not through criticism, contempt and jealousy but with wisdom and good humour. We should become spirited, foolish old wisdom women who look to the past and say, "Yes! I made it!"
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Regrets
Someone asked me a while ago if I had any regrets and I spontaneously answered, "no." They looked at me and said 'good for you.' I thought about it afterwards and realized how full of shit I was. I hate having regrets and I try not to focus on them but some days they sit in the back of my mind like that sullen teenager at the back of class. I know how pointless it is to think about what might have been, its not like you can go into a time machine and have a do over. I just have days where I do regret the choices I made and I wonder what trajectory my life would be on now if I had made different choices.
I have about five major regrets in my life. I regret that I never pursued the journalism degree I had thought about pursuing. I regret not being braver about acknowledging my sexuality at a younger age. My other regrets are too personal to share. Today that sullen teenager is lurking at the back of my mind and saying to me, 'what if?' There is nothing I can say back except 'it is what it is,' and carry on. Such is the nature of regret.
I have about five major regrets in my life. I regret that I never pursued the journalism degree I had thought about pursuing. I regret not being braver about acknowledging my sexuality at a younger age. My other regrets are too personal to share. Today that sullen teenager is lurking at the back of my mind and saying to me, 'what if?' There is nothing I can say back except 'it is what it is,' and carry on. Such is the nature of regret.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Elections and Other Nonsense
As we approach yet another election it makes me wonder why any of us bother. We will either get the same group of assholes or a whole new group of assholes to run our lives. The prospect is depressing. I have an urge to get rid of all my bank accounts and government issued numbers and ID's and sell everything I own, buy a motor home and hit the open road. We have been brain washed all our lives into believing that having a mortgage and a job and some RRSP's is the way life is supposed to be lived. We've been brain washed because the drones in Ottawa need a lot of good little tax-paying citizens to pay for all this government nonsense inflicted on us on a daily basis.
I have had enough of the nonsense and want to get off the wheel.
I have had enough of the nonsense and want to get off the wheel.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Mass consciousness
I don't know if it is 'mass consciousness' or 'collective consciousness' but working in a restaurant I know it exists. We are all tuned into the same shit. The reason I believe this is because I am always amazed at how everyone will order the same thing. I am not talking about the ordinary stuff, but the unusual. One day we had a run on shrimp ceasar salads. We may get one order of this a month normally but on this particular day we did scads of them. It isn't because other people saw them and ordered them because it happened all day long. It is like the consciousness of ordering this particular dish is out there and they all tune into it.
Now if only we could take this mass consciousness and do something worthwhile with it. Maybe we could all focus on being less greedy and materialistic. Maybe we could focus on what actually matters instead of trying attain things we think make us happy but ultimately make us miserable.
I told my 18 year old son about my theory and he called it 'hive mind.' We are all connected in some bizarre way even when it comes to ordering food, we tune into the same stuff. We all need to realize what matters over what we are spoon fed to believe matters. We need to stop drinking the kool-aid and get a mass consciouness about the real stuff, beyond shrimp ceasar salads.
Now if only we could take this mass consciousness and do something worthwhile with it. Maybe we could all focus on being less greedy and materialistic. Maybe we could focus on what actually matters instead of trying attain things we think make us happy but ultimately make us miserable.
I told my 18 year old son about my theory and he called it 'hive mind.' We are all connected in some bizarre way even when it comes to ordering food, we tune into the same stuff. We all need to realize what matters over what we are spoon fed to believe matters. We need to stop drinking the kool-aid and get a mass consciouness about the real stuff, beyond shrimp ceasar salads.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Used up
sucked dry like an empty husk that once held life.
i have nothing left to give
or
i want to give nothing more.
i have nothing left to give
or
i want to give nothing more.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Travel
I am planning a trip to India. The thing I love about going to a country like this is that not only is it so different from where I am from but it is also because there are less rules. You can actually breathe. Maybe it is because I live in one of the most over beauracritized places in Canada, but I get so tired of faceless government people telling me how to live my life. I moved to the Yukon because twenty years ago it still had that frontier feel of letting people just do their thing. Of course all the government types are doing their level best to make sure we have lots of rules and regulations to live by so they can control our every move. They are quickly ruining what was once a very cool place to live.
I think there are two types of people; those that love the rules because life is too frightening to contemplate without a blueprint to go by and those that like to just live it, maybe fucking up on occasion but still living their life in a free way. It is the difference between living with the volume turned up or turned down.
So I look forward to India where they ride their motorcycles with four members of the family hanging off of it and !gasp! without helmets. It's a place where smokers can smoke where ever the hell they want without getting a fine. It's a place where you are not "ruled" to death. That is my kind of holiday. It renews the spirit so I can come back home and deal with all the bullshit and minutiae that has become part of our lives here.
I think there are two types of people; those that love the rules because life is too frightening to contemplate without a blueprint to go by and those that like to just live it, maybe fucking up on occasion but still living their life in a free way. It is the difference between living with the volume turned up or turned down.
So I look forward to India where they ride their motorcycles with four members of the family hanging off of it and !gasp! without helmets. It's a place where smokers can smoke where ever the hell they want without getting a fine. It's a place where you are not "ruled" to death. That is my kind of holiday. It renews the spirit so I can come back home and deal with all the bullshit and minutiae that has become part of our lives here.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The One Thing
This is a story of how one small change can have a huge impact on one town and can change it forever. The town in question was a small mining town, one of those one industry towns where everyone worked for that one industry. The miners worked 12 hour shifts in four day rotations so it gave everyone a lot of recreation time. This town was one of those places where everyone came out and participated in the activities. There were hockey games and curling matches in winter and softball games and bowling league in summer. The men played hockey while the wives watched and chatted and drank beer. It was a community minded town that shared in everyone’s joys and shouldered everyone’s sorrows.
This story was told to me by the town doctor. He was a guy who knew everyone intimately. He had seen most of the people naked at one time or another and he had delivered almost all of the babies born in recent years. He said that one thing that came to the town changed that town irrevocably. After its arrival no one came out to the hockey games anymore. The rink stood silent. The bingo games at the community center were no longer attended. At night you could have shot a gun down the center of the road and hit no one. Even the kids weren’t around anymore. The town stood silent and quiet every night. The people were inside their houses with the doors locked. This is a true story. Can you guess the one thing?
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Losing One's Ambition
I don't know if that is an appropriate title for this blog but I am now seeking out permanent employment in eeek can I say this out loud? the government or in one of the big employers like Northwestel. It kind of feels like I am giving up but I no longer have the will to go out and try to make a business for myself. I had a store in Carcross for a few years that was seasonal and did well but I gave it up to run a restaurant there instead. My father asked me why I didn't do both but it was impossible to find reliable staff for one business let alone two. The lack of staff made me walk away from the restaurant even though it was a big money maker. I wanted to have a life and my kids were always saying they never saw me. Then I opened a store in Whitehorse and everyone said what a great idea it was. It was a learning experience. Private retail is doable but you have to be committed to putting in years and to working long hours to get established and I realized that kids clothing just did not interest me enough. So now I am thinking about retirement and how I will acheive that and it certainly won't be by being an entrepreneur. The taxes and fees and labour stuff a private business person has to pay out makes it too difficult and on top of that you have no benefits and the risk of losing it all is too great. It is too bad that this is what we have become. It is kind of pathetic that the most sought after jobs in Yukon are with the government. I remember a conversation I had at my store with a customer just before I closed and she was saying how it was too bad I was closing since my store was the only option besides Walmart for this age group. I said Yes, it was too bad but the locals don't want to support it. Her response was that since she travelled outside 3 times a month (with her government job) she did all her shopping outside. Then she looked appropriately embarassed that she had actually admitted that to me. I can't hold it against people, most of my friends with kids in the age group I catered to never came in either. If you can't get your friends to come in you have a problem.
So, I guess I am going to join the others who have gone into the public sector. Most of them seem to hate their jobs or find them boring but the big paycheck and stability and benefits outweigh the cons.
Now the big hurdle is to see if anyone will hire me.
So, I guess I am going to join the others who have gone into the public sector. Most of them seem to hate their jobs or find them boring but the big paycheck and stability and benefits outweigh the cons.
Now the big hurdle is to see if anyone will hire me.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
1973
Late summer 1973 found us on a train in the middle of rainy England. My father had been posted, once again, overseas. The countryside was bleary but verdantly green. I was ten and I knew I was going to hate it here. We had left all of our good friends behind on the air force base in Canada to come to this wet boggy country. I was going to hate it.
We finally made it to what would be our new home for the next two years. My father had said he had found an unusual house to rent. We pulled up in front of a grey stone castle. The house was huge, octagonal in shape and over three hundred years old. We raced through the house checking every room. The foyer was a huge room itself and the living room had a great stone hearth that I could lie in comfortably. We each had our own bedroom for the first time in our lives. The upstairs hallway was not a straight line but curved so that you could never see what was around the corner. The best part though was in the back yard. The yard itself covered over an acre and the stone steps leading down to the cellar also led to tunnels that skirted under the lawn and came out several hundred yards later at the end of the yard. The tunnels had been built hundreds of years ago to hide fleeing nuns and priests who were being persecuted. The original tunnels had run all the way to the Abbey, which was miles away but they had been blocked off when rats had become a problem. What a boon this was for a ten-year-old kid. We had to crouch down to walk through the tunnels and they were claustrophobic and smelled moldy. Summer was quickly coming to a close. We had to enroll in school. My parents heard that the local school had its problems so they decided to put me in Catholic school. I wasn’t catholic and had no idea what that meant. We were given the name of a shop where we could buy our school uniforms. We went in and an old man greeted us. My mother told him which schools we were going to and he brought out the appropriate uniforms.
“And for the lad,” he said looking at me.
“But I’m a girl,” I said for the thousandth time in my life.
“Oh,” he said looking embarrassed. He silently went and found the skirt and sweater that I needed. I took it hating the fact that I had to wear a skirt. I wished for the thousandth time that I had been born a boy. Instead of the runners that I always wore we were required to wear proper shoes. For some reason I will never understand I chose platform shoes, they were awkward and I felt like I was walking on stilts.
School started and everything about it was weird. First of all we had to stand every time a teacher came in the room. I was a newly minted catholic so I had to get my own rosary beads and I started learning all the prayers and chants that catholic’s did. The other kids looked at me like I was from Mars. They had never met a Canadian before and they must have been delinquent in Geography because one kid told me when they heard a Canadian was coming to their school, they thought I would be black.
I took an early dislike to the Headmistress. She was a pinched faced old lady; at least she looked old. I heard after I left that she had married the Vicar and had a baby, so she was not as old as I thought. I liked defying the myriad sets of rules the school had. My favourite was to wear my runners instead of my proper shoes. This got me the punishment of having to run laps around the schoolyard in my platform shoes. This may be the genesis of my on-going ankle issues.
I made a friend called Lizzie Hopgood. She was blond like me but her hair was long and golden like a sheaf of wheat and mine was always short and boyish. She was a rebel too. We would leave school and go into the village and buy cigarettes from the vending machine. Those were the days before you needed four different ID’s and a blood sample to buy a pack of smokes. We would head down to the Avon River and smoke. They tasted like shit but we knew we were super cool so it didn’t matter. On one particular day, we were sitting on the riverbank when we heard splashing. We stood up and peeked through the reeds and saw a naked man walking into the river. It was the first naked man that either of us had ever seen and we were fascinated and horrified at the same time. We were astonished to discover that men had pubic hair too. We thought only women and pubic hair. We always assumed that men’s parts hung down nakedly like a hanged man without any protection. Pubic hair had been on my mind a lot that year. I had grown my own, and although it was sparse and fair, it was a fascination to me. I was what my mother called an early developer. My chest was already sprouting small mounds of flesh, which I hated. My mom kept warning me that it was just about time to get me a bra. It was like I was being summoned to execution. In a way it was a death. It was death to my tomboyness. I didn’t want to give up my undershirts. I did not look forward to that girly rite of passage. Buying a bra was a terrible prospect. Again I wished I had been born a boy. I wanted to pee standing up and wear t-shirts with a pack of smokes rolled up in the sleeve.
The bra ordeal was nothing though in comparison to the morning I woke up to find the red stain on my underwear. I was just eleven and I had my period. I wadded toilet paper into my underwear and went downstairs for breakfast. I looked at my mother fussing over breakfast and I couldn’t tell her. I sat there trying to choke down my toast with this hideous secret gnawing at me. Finally I summoned the courage. She looked at me and exclaimed in a cheery Mrs. Cleaver voice, “Oh all my girls now.” I followed her morosely up the stairs where she showed me the life raft sized pads and the belt they hooked onto. She asked if I needed help. I shook my head in mortification. I just wanted her out of the damn bathroom. I put the contraption on. I could barely walk properly it was so big. I can’t remember when some genius decided that getting rid of the belt and putting adhesive strips on the pads was a better plan but I do know that most of that school day was a horror of trying to move this thing to pee and trying to walk without looking like I had just dismounted a horse. The worst part was swimming class. I had to tell the teacher and then all the other girls knew. They whispered. I was the first to get my period. I wish I had been born a boy.
In my second year in England the school organized a ski trip to Scotland. I was an avid skier and was missing that part of my Canadian life badly. I wasn’t old enough to go on the trip but somehow my mother convinced them that all my “acting out” was because I missed Canada so much. That wasn’t true at all but if it got me on the ski trip I wouldn’t argue; and it did. We took the train up to Scotland and I reveled in the fact that I was the only one who could ski. I got to go in the advanced class and whiz by my classmates with superiority. I discovered something truly great while I was in the country. I discovered that I could go into the bar and order a shandy. It was beer with lemonade and I could legally order it. We ordered big pints and set about playing pool.
I spent two years in England. I spent most of those two years getting into trouble and then getting away with it. All because my parents thought that it was because I missed Canada. Except for the beer swilling ski trip, that annoyed me. I didn’t want their understanding. I was a rebel.
We finally made it to what would be our new home for the next two years. My father had said he had found an unusual house to rent. We pulled up in front of a grey stone castle. The house was huge, octagonal in shape and over three hundred years old. We raced through the house checking every room. The foyer was a huge room itself and the living room had a great stone hearth that I could lie in comfortably. We each had our own bedroom for the first time in our lives. The upstairs hallway was not a straight line but curved so that you could never see what was around the corner. The best part though was in the back yard. The yard itself covered over an acre and the stone steps leading down to the cellar also led to tunnels that skirted under the lawn and came out several hundred yards later at the end of the yard. The tunnels had been built hundreds of years ago to hide fleeing nuns and priests who were being persecuted. The original tunnels had run all the way to the Abbey, which was miles away but they had been blocked off when rats had become a problem. What a boon this was for a ten-year-old kid. We had to crouch down to walk through the tunnels and they were claustrophobic and smelled moldy. Summer was quickly coming to a close. We had to enroll in school. My parents heard that the local school had its problems so they decided to put me in Catholic school. I wasn’t catholic and had no idea what that meant. We were given the name of a shop where we could buy our school uniforms. We went in and an old man greeted us. My mother told him which schools we were going to and he brought out the appropriate uniforms.
“And for the lad,” he said looking at me.
“But I’m a girl,” I said for the thousandth time in my life.
“Oh,” he said looking embarrassed. He silently went and found the skirt and sweater that I needed. I took it hating the fact that I had to wear a skirt. I wished for the thousandth time that I had been born a boy. Instead of the runners that I always wore we were required to wear proper shoes. For some reason I will never understand I chose platform shoes, they were awkward and I felt like I was walking on stilts.
School started and everything about it was weird. First of all we had to stand every time a teacher came in the room. I was a newly minted catholic so I had to get my own rosary beads and I started learning all the prayers and chants that catholic’s did. The other kids looked at me like I was from Mars. They had never met a Canadian before and they must have been delinquent in Geography because one kid told me when they heard a Canadian was coming to their school, they thought I would be black.
I took an early dislike to the Headmistress. She was a pinched faced old lady; at least she looked old. I heard after I left that she had married the Vicar and had a baby, so she was not as old as I thought. I liked defying the myriad sets of rules the school had. My favourite was to wear my runners instead of my proper shoes. This got me the punishment of having to run laps around the schoolyard in my platform shoes. This may be the genesis of my on-going ankle issues.
I made a friend called Lizzie Hopgood. She was blond like me but her hair was long and golden like a sheaf of wheat and mine was always short and boyish. She was a rebel too. We would leave school and go into the village and buy cigarettes from the vending machine. Those were the days before you needed four different ID’s and a blood sample to buy a pack of smokes. We would head down to the Avon River and smoke. They tasted like shit but we knew we were super cool so it didn’t matter. On one particular day, we were sitting on the riverbank when we heard splashing. We stood up and peeked through the reeds and saw a naked man walking into the river. It was the first naked man that either of us had ever seen and we were fascinated and horrified at the same time. We were astonished to discover that men had pubic hair too. We thought only women and pubic hair. We always assumed that men’s parts hung down nakedly like a hanged man without any protection. Pubic hair had been on my mind a lot that year. I had grown my own, and although it was sparse and fair, it was a fascination to me. I was what my mother called an early developer. My chest was already sprouting small mounds of flesh, which I hated. My mom kept warning me that it was just about time to get me a bra. It was like I was being summoned to execution. In a way it was a death. It was death to my tomboyness. I didn’t want to give up my undershirts. I did not look forward to that girly rite of passage. Buying a bra was a terrible prospect. Again I wished I had been born a boy. I wanted to pee standing up and wear t-shirts with a pack of smokes rolled up in the sleeve.
The bra ordeal was nothing though in comparison to the morning I woke up to find the red stain on my underwear. I was just eleven and I had my period. I wadded toilet paper into my underwear and went downstairs for breakfast. I looked at my mother fussing over breakfast and I couldn’t tell her. I sat there trying to choke down my toast with this hideous secret gnawing at me. Finally I summoned the courage. She looked at me and exclaimed in a cheery Mrs. Cleaver voice, “Oh all my girls now.” I followed her morosely up the stairs where she showed me the life raft sized pads and the belt they hooked onto. She asked if I needed help. I shook my head in mortification. I just wanted her out of the damn bathroom. I put the contraption on. I could barely walk properly it was so big. I can’t remember when some genius decided that getting rid of the belt and putting adhesive strips on the pads was a better plan but I do know that most of that school day was a horror of trying to move this thing to pee and trying to walk without looking like I had just dismounted a horse. The worst part was swimming class. I had to tell the teacher and then all the other girls knew. They whispered. I was the first to get my period. I wish I had been born a boy.
In my second year in England the school organized a ski trip to Scotland. I was an avid skier and was missing that part of my Canadian life badly. I wasn’t old enough to go on the trip but somehow my mother convinced them that all my “acting out” was because I missed Canada so much. That wasn’t true at all but if it got me on the ski trip I wouldn’t argue; and it did. We took the train up to Scotland and I reveled in the fact that I was the only one who could ski. I got to go in the advanced class and whiz by my classmates with superiority. I discovered something truly great while I was in the country. I discovered that I could go into the bar and order a shandy. It was beer with lemonade and I could legally order it. We ordered big pints and set about playing pool.
I spent two years in England. I spent most of those two years getting into trouble and then getting away with it. All because my parents thought that it was because I missed Canada. Except for the beer swilling ski trip, that annoyed me. I didn’t want their understanding. I was a rebel.
Monday, October 11, 2010
On Happiness
What is happiness? Is it brain chemistry? Is it some random cluster of neurons that fire in the right sequence to give us this illusion? or is it something we have to perceive or believe in to be real. I don't really know but I do know that a true state of happiness is pretty fleeting most of the time. People that profess to be happy all the time make we wonder, are they really happy or is it what they choose to believe.
I know that little kids are generally happy and often very old people are happy. Maybe because they don't have to fight the fight of life. Adults scurry around with all the adult worries and responsibilities. Kids and old people just play. It is something we seem to always be striving for yet I don't think we even know how to accurately define it. It is an odd illusion.
I know that little kids are generally happy and often very old people are happy. Maybe because they don't have to fight the fight of life. Adults scurry around with all the adult worries and responsibilities. Kids and old people just play. It is something we seem to always be striving for yet I don't think we even know how to accurately define it. It is an odd illusion.
Friday, October 8, 2010
From Bingo Halls to Bangkok: A Fast Food Journey to Enlightenment
More than ten years ago I was in a state of existential crisis. I was in my late thirties and had no idea what the hell my life was all about. I was unhappily married with two young children and I was living a life of quiet desperation.
I do believe that the universe provides whatever it is you seek, as long as you are open to receiving it. This is how it happened for me.
There was a trip being planned to Thailand around this time that I really wanted to go on. My ex and I could afford the ticket which was $1750 but I really felt the need to pay for it myself to somehow justify leaving him and my children for three weeks.
Around this time my sister-in-law who was an avid bingo aficionado asked me to accompany her to bingo. I was not a bingo player and had no interest but for some reason I felt compelled to go. We decided ahead of time to split whatever winnings equally. Well several hours later we had won, between us, three bingo games. When we went to do the split of monies, lo and behold the exact share was $1750.
Now people tell me this is just coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence. Coincidence is the universe showing you the way. Some call it synchronicity. Whatever it is, we all need to learn to pay attention to the signs. The universe was providing me with the money to go on this trip.
Next time you have something coincidental happen don't just disregard it. Look at it and see what it is you are being shown. These are the lessons that we thick headed humans are being shown.
This trip at this time in my life was just what I needed and the universe knew this.
I do believe that the universe provides whatever it is you seek, as long as you are open to receiving it. This is how it happened for me.
There was a trip being planned to Thailand around this time that I really wanted to go on. My ex and I could afford the ticket which was $1750 but I really felt the need to pay for it myself to somehow justify leaving him and my children for three weeks.
Around this time my sister-in-law who was an avid bingo aficionado asked me to accompany her to bingo. I was not a bingo player and had no interest but for some reason I felt compelled to go. We decided ahead of time to split whatever winnings equally. Well several hours later we had won, between us, three bingo games. When we went to do the split of monies, lo and behold the exact share was $1750.
Now people tell me this is just coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence. Coincidence is the universe showing you the way. Some call it synchronicity. Whatever it is, we all need to learn to pay attention to the signs. The universe was providing me with the money to go on this trip.
Next time you have something coincidental happen don't just disregard it. Look at it and see what it is you are being shown. These are the lessons that we thick headed humans are being shown.
This trip at this time in my life was just what I needed and the universe knew this.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Cat Insulation
Tagish is a forest community of bush hippies, artists and drop outs with a sprinkling of retired people. It is the kind of place that attracts those people that just don't seem to fit into regular society. One such person was an old guy who lived quietly in his cabin in the woods. He passed away and when the family that probably never saw him came to deal with what was left of his life in this little cabin they were in for a surprise. When they set about fixing up the cabin for sale they pulled the boards off the walls and made an interesting discovery. The walls were filled with dead cats. I am not sure what the R value would be but maybe cats make excellent insulation.
When I first heard this story it piqued my interest because I am always fascinated by people's motivations. What would compel someone to line their walls with dead cats? I know Yukon winters can be long but how does something like this happen? The cat dies and it is too cold to bury it so he puts it in behind a board in the wall? Where do all the other cats come from? Did the neighborhood cats slowly start disappearing like some Feline serial killer was on the loose? I am sure he had a explanation that seemed rational to him. We will never know.
When I first heard this story it piqued my interest because I am always fascinated by people's motivations. What would compel someone to line their walls with dead cats? I know Yukon winters can be long but how does something like this happen? The cat dies and it is too cold to bury it so he puts it in behind a board in the wall? Where do all the other cats come from? Did the neighborhood cats slowly start disappearing like some Feline serial killer was on the loose? I am sure he had a explanation that seemed rational to him. We will never know.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Gay teen suicide....
All of a sudden gay teen suicide is getting a lot of press and attention from famous people. Ellen Degeneres, Sarah Silverman and Lily Tomlin to name a few have made videos pleading with people to be less homophobic. Gay people have been killing themselves for decades, it isn't anything new. Mostly it is young gay men who have the hardest time dealing with their reality.
When will people especially the religious right just let gay people live their lives? Why this war on a group that is doing nothing except wanting to find love like everyone else. The religious right seems to think that part of "freedom of religion" entails enslaving and tromping on another group's rights.
It is truly scary what is happening in the States. There is a man running for the Senate who is campaigning on the belief that homosexuals should not be allowed to be teachers....oh and also women that have sex outside of marriage shouldn't be allowed to teach either (he makes no mention of single men who have sex). Another scary candidate is this Christine O'Donnell who believes that all of us gay folks just need to go and get cured at one of the bible thumping pray the gay away ranches. She even had an "ex-gay" man on her campaign trail extolling the virtues of these christian ranches. Unfortunately for her campaign this man didn't last long. He couldn't deny his authentic self and he defected back to gay land where he now campaigns against the homosexual cure saying..."IT DOESN'T WORK." Thank god for the very intelligent and witty and LESBIAN Rachel Maddow who has been dogging O'Donnell's campaign and showing the idiocy of this woman.
The politics to the south would be hilarious and entertaining if they weren't so damn scary. There are already States like Florida that don't allow gay couples to adopt or foster children. Even California the gayest Sate in the Union has declared war on the homosexuals. I just don't get it.
When will people especially the religious right just let gay people live their lives? Why this war on a group that is doing nothing except wanting to find love like everyone else. The religious right seems to think that part of "freedom of religion" entails enslaving and tromping on another group's rights.
It is truly scary what is happening in the States. There is a man running for the Senate who is campaigning on the belief that homosexuals should not be allowed to be teachers....oh and also women that have sex outside of marriage shouldn't be allowed to teach either (he makes no mention of single men who have sex). Another scary candidate is this Christine O'Donnell who believes that all of us gay folks just need to go and get cured at one of the bible thumping pray the gay away ranches. She even had an "ex-gay" man on her campaign trail extolling the virtues of these christian ranches. Unfortunately for her campaign this man didn't last long. He couldn't deny his authentic self and he defected back to gay land where he now campaigns against the homosexual cure saying..."IT DOESN'T WORK." Thank god for the very intelligent and witty and LESBIAN Rachel Maddow who has been dogging O'Donnell's campaign and showing the idiocy of this woman.
The politics to the south would be hilarious and entertaining if they weren't so damn scary. There are already States like Florida that don't allow gay couples to adopt or foster children. Even California the gayest Sate in the Union has declared war on the homosexuals. I just don't get it.
Crazy Cat Ladies
I watched a compelling documentary last night about how one becomes a crazy cat lady. It showed the progression from owning a few cats to owning hundreds. These women are socially isolated and they all had terrible childhoods. They cannot connect with people so they connect with cats. One woman was 35, attractive but had been raised by an abusive alcoholic father. She had 16 cats and she said they were her excuse not to have to reach out to people. It was kind of sad.
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