Tuesday, November 21, 2017
Given the liberal lack of intellectual stamina indicated by their difficulties with computer payroll schemes and obvious difficulty with big numbers such as budgets, the 60's cardboard cut out did seem to use up their collective creativity at the time. However this 70's pull tab doll in parliament suggests the progressives are finally making some progress despite all the evidence to the contrary.
What ever question Justin Trudeau is asked he answers with a propaganda pitch reminiscent of the pull cord doll toys.
Question: What is 1+1?:
Answer: “I believe the Liberals are doing a great job. We believe in diversity and climate change. We are helping women, aboriginal people and refugees. "
Question: "Is there gravity? Mr. Trudeau?"
Answer: “I believe the Liberals are doing a great job. We believe in diversity and climate change. We are helping women , aboriginal people and refugees."
The oddest program though is the sock program.
Question: “Is the sun an orb?"
“I believe the Liberals are doing a great job. We believe in diversity and climate change. We are helping women, aboriginal people and refugees. Do you like my socks?"
Saturday, November 18, 2017
I’ve just watched Interstellar. Second time round. Better this time I think. I’m watching re runs more often older and enjoying them. I’ve been reading Dan Brown’s “Origen” and very much enjoying that. Since I first read Da Vinci Code before the movie I’ve read all of Dan Brown’s books. I’m glad for the new one. Like the Star Trek Discovery. I’d pretty much settled into a rut of NCIS, Big Bang Theory, Hawaii 5.0 and Blue Bloods until that new Star Trek appeared. I look forward to Sunday night for each episode. The other TV just seems to be on when I’m eating or bored.
I swam yesterday. I’ve been walking Gilbert 2 sometimes 4 times a day. He comes a long with me most places but in addition we walk some. The rest is work. Work seems to take more time during the week with the hour long commutes.
I”m grateful. I’ve been praying thankfully a lot but soul tired. `The Fake News and News are tedious. Some days I feel at ground zero for WW3. The Communists and Fascists joined forces before the last war. Now they seem to be doing the same. Archaic legal political systems with cutting edge science. I’d be happier if we were doing more to get to Mars. I’d hoped to visit in my life time. Instead of ‘watching ‘ safe’ Survivor series we might instead be in the action of actual expansion and colonization. The day will come.
I’m struggling with suicide and the microcosm macrocosm of life and death wishes. Are they wishes or simply competing forces. I do wonder about death and after life. The rise in aetheism, materialism’s and consumerism go against the spiritual and transcendent. I am an idea and love. This entity of self is what I know. I feel contained and constrained in an artificial limition of self with the capacity to go so much beyond this sometimes prison.
I love watching the Camille Paulia and Christina Hoff Summers dialogue. There were a number of good presentations I came across that gave me hope.
I had thought to go out tonight to an event or a meeting. I could be with others but it’s been a fairly busy day, shopping, doing chores. Tomorrow there’s church and we’re having a party for friends leaving. Laura is with her niece whose leaving too. I think of sailing a lot. I long to face the Atlantic. Then there’s this fifth wheel. I’ve the enorsement tests to do. I barely did the phone calls and paper work this week, there was just so much of it. The toxic workplace is frightening. The new politics of ‘induced paranoia’. We talk among ourselves about everyone being offended. The shock troops of the dying nation. I worry about every nuance of speech, fear speaking, feel scripted, inauthentic. I have been told that I am at work to do the least. Here take this pill. How are your bowels? I worry I won’t be able to be minimalist. I worry that will offend. I’m utterly exhausted at the end of the day, watching my back, looking over my shoulder, seeking approval of the authorities, attempting desperately to not offend. I worry too that this is my future, people like I’m trying to be, caring for me. It’s twisted but I don’t know what to do. Carrying on. Euthanasia on the horizon.
I thought what I did was ‘service’. I volunteered for the toughest assignments. Did the decades and some of education and more. Did more education. Did more service. But to them it’s just a job. I’ve taken life all too seriously. I wonder at the metaphors that others live by. These new aetheists, communists and activists. They talk so much of power and so little of truth. I spent my life trying to understand and healing. I did my best to do good. I’ve danced with the devil over and over again and walked so many miles in others shoes. And it just comes down to they’ve got the guns, prisons, asylums and money and how alone I feel at times.
Then I turn to God and promises. I really am blessed. Grace is good to me. God is Good. Life is good. I am so thankful for my dog, for the cat, for this place with indoor plumbing, heat, and a refrigerator with food. I cooked a venison chilli with the deer I shot last year. I froze it all and took some out last night to microwave. It was delicious. What a wonder to eat a living creature I’ve shared with untouched by other hands, respected, blessed, touched, a mystical gift. Then add to that cans of tomato and beans and fresh celery , carrots, zucchini, garlic and onion. I bought the vegetables from a little market near here where big trucks bring fresh produce daily. I’ve been enjoying local apples too. I left the propane stove on low simmer till it was tasty, a little under done so that the microwaving would finish the process. I’m thankful to have the means to do this, the training, skills , the eperience.
I’ve met others with skills while I see so many addicts who have spent their lives in search of pleasure. A false pleasure. This time now brings me joy. I’ve a cat rubbing against me. He was asleep and now is awake. The dog is sleeping with a ball at his nose.
It’s been raining. I’m yawning and looking forward to my warm and comfortable bed. The critters often join me initially but prefer to sleep on the floor once they’re comfortable I’m not leaving the bed. These are idyllic times. I hear Crosby Stills Nash and Young singing “our house’ in the distance. Thank you. I enjoyed seeing friends on face book, their activities, gatherings, interests and birthdays. I like the animal stories too. The politics isn’t as vapid and loud. This may be the lull before the storm. But it’s just as likely things will muddle along as they do.
I’m thankful. Thank you.
Friday, November 17, 2017
A central feature of a personality disorder is an externalized ‘locus of control’. Developmentally such a person is fixated before the development of self awareness, at a time when their emotional senses are attributed to the environment. Some theorists say that they have not severed the umbilical cord remaining as an infant emotionally despite outwardly having an adult body and lizard like intellectual development.
Sociopaths use such individuals as weapons, shields and battering rams for their own personal agendas of greed and self agrandisement. Such sociopaths can claim to be helping these individuals while using them to advance their own power with plausible deniability.
In political jardon these individuals constitute a significant portion of what were called ‘useful idiots’ or ‘useful fools’.
Like sociopaths they have superego lacunae and lack the capacity for empathy. Given sociopaths commonly use such individuals for camouflage it’s worthwhile to to think of them as part of the sociopath ‘nest’.
Among emotionally healthy individuals these developmentally delayed individuals would grow and adapt but among sociopaths their disability is sadly tragically capitalized and promoted.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
This trip was a joy. A great drive north leaving the maddening city of Vancouver for God’s Country of British Columbia. Friday afternoon. Laura and I had completed morning clinics and blind Gilbert was excited to be on a hunting trip. The 2017 Ford F350 Lariat edition truck is a joy to drive. The 450 km of driving, starting in light in the valley ending in dark on the plateau. I love passing the tumble weeds. I’ve travelled up and down the canyon for 4O years. I came first to Vancouver by that route as a child a decade before that with my father driving, my brother and I awed first by the Rockies then this great river passage.
I’d booked ahead with the Cariboo Lodge. Great people. Great accommodation. I remember when I was young how much I loved the happy loud pub music and dancing. Older I just love the food and hospitality. This time we had rooms in main lodge, log cabin walls. I was even able to order a Cariboo special pizza when I signed in.
While we’d missed the young Mewhort’s, Derek and Naomi were there this weekend. We’d been at their amazing wedding with the incredible ballroom dance routines that reminded me of my youth. When I saw Derek I said, ‘You know we’re the losers. The other hunters and us are here because we’ve not got game earlier in the season.” This was the last spike moose and 4 point mule deer weekend. Princeton, where I might otherwise have hunted was already closed for moose.
Since we were both hunting Derek and I were up at 5 am and headed out at 6 am. I almost immediately shot a white cotton tail with my Argentinian 20 gauge. While Derek had shot bear he’d not shot a rabbit and I was delighted to show him how to clean one. Memories of my father and brother and all the rabbit we’d hunted growing up came back. “I think of deer as just kind of big rabbits and the dressing isn’t all that much different.” The weather couldn’t have been better. Brisk long john weather. Snow on the fields and in the mountains but sunshine and blue sky. Lots of tracks but no big animals interested in making an appearance I encouraged Derek to take the Honda 500 down a side trail while I happily stayed in my truck enjoying the comfort watching an open field and marsh for the night hunt.
I learned from Laura that she and Naomi had a terrific day walking Gilbert about town, talking about pregnancy and babies. Laura thinks the world of Naomi. I told her Derek was as easy to be with, knowledgeable and responsible. Dinner in the pub was a great evening, the women chatting up a storm while each bite of wonderful food made me realize how full and tired I was . It really was good to get to bed feeling every muscle. Again 5 am we were up again Derek was glad to take Charles my Honda 500 Side by Side down the side roads.. I really was enjoying the F350 Lariat. I had new snow tires and the carpet of snow had taken out all the pot holes making the main country road ride as sweet as pavement. I also liked the heat and comfort. I was glad that Derek enjoyed taking the ATV deep in the back woods. He had a Colorado. The Honda Pioneer is made for the bad back roads.
Still no game. Another spectacular day. We came across a herd of wild horses and the cutest little colt. Then some cowboys passed us herding cattle down the road.
More great meals at Caribou Lodge. Derek and Naomi had to leave to get back for work and study the next day. . Laura and I walked Gilbert some more. I road hunted that evening. Echo Valley. Lots of sign but no big animals. I did raise some grouse. I left the truck and hiked a whole lot too. No luck Apparently another hunter group got a deer and young Mewhort got his.
In the morning Laura and I packed up . Ugh Gilbert, we drove off for the last morning hunt. I saw a coyote crossing the road and actually got a picture from a far. The real delight was the grouse I saw and shot with the 20 gauge. Laura in the truck said Gilbert was ecstatic when the gun went off running circles on the front seat. I called for her to let him out and the poor blind dog ran right into the ditch. Calling him I got him to find his way back to the road through the snow and plants and finally to the bird still flopping a bit on reflex. Gilbert the great hunting dog pounced. He grabbed the throat and killed it proudly. He has his smell and hearing and was obviously delighted to be part of the hunt.
Laura and I were so glad to see his excitement and watch him puff up with pride. He was so disheartened and dejected when he lost his sight but everyday he’s getting better and better.
The drive home was beautiful taking the Duffy Lake Road from Lillouette through Pemberton and down the magnificent Sea to Sky Highway. I love the Marble rock in the sun light. We left the snow and returned to the fall colours of trees and leaves.. It was raining as we came into the valley. I loved passing Howe Sound where I sailed so many years. I unloaded all my gear and Charles then stopped to store guns and ammo in the gun storage locker before heading home.
I figured the hunting season was over till Spring. There is winter bow hunting but older I confess I’m more of a fair weather hunter than when I was younger.
Professional recommendations today are eerily militaristic and reminiscent of the 1950’s. Autocracy prevails. Autonomy and freedom are gone. The doctor must apply the ‘strictest privacy settings to maintain control over access to your personal information.”
When the war began even Freud said, “maybe the paranoids are right’. War and rumours of war. The gearing up begins. Relationships ,once membranous and authentic, are now rigid, codified, Sadducean. The less fluidity, the better. “A crossing may be a violation.”
The senior government beurocrat told me days past, “the patient is the enemy’. The leading doctor, ex military, not that many years ago, taught, ‘doctors are officers, don’t fraternize with the enlisted.” On graduation I was taught the only friends I could have were other doctors, lawyers or accountants. Even engineers were suspect. In the government cafeteria ,like the police, the doctors sat apart. As a specialist I sat alone. The divide was never greater. The boundaries celebrated, Moats and walls. Paul Simon sang “A.Winter’s Day”.
The department head told women and men to take off our wedding rings and remove pictures of children from the offices. “Here you are only a doctor and you will never share anything about yourself with the patients. Not what you ate for lunch. Not where you live. Not what sports you play. Not what shows you have seen. Nothing. Everything about yourself must be kept in the strictest of privacy. If I am getting on an elevator and a patient gets on that elevator I will get off even if there are other people on that elevator. Do you understand?”
Today we are told we are always doctors, in and out of the office and hospital, 24/7, weekends and holidays. "You are always a doctor".
The young hospital administrator last year coming into work accosted my colleague after she had delivered a baby in the wee hours of the morning. “Your skirt length should be below your knees.” He said. “You shouldn’t be looking at my legs,” she replied hurrying sleepless, on to the clinic. The administrator took out a black book, made a note and recorded the name.
Today the patient is told, the ‘doctor is the enemy’. The government demands doctors have chaperones. The elite doctors alone practice with a lawyer alongside always. Poor doctors are advised to have their lawyers on speed dial.
Growing numbers of doctors would disband professions. The Government lumps doctors with all the other “unionized’ calling them ‘health care workers’. The doctor is the proletariat to the new beurgeosie elites. The Chinese emperor prided himself on his long finger nails, evidence that he did no manual labour. The doctor who actually touches a patient is sordid, sharing the stigmatization of themselves of the diseased. Priviledged land owners and money changers are above all that.
A good professional is seen but not heard. They are a ‘tool’ and no more. Their opinion should not be heard but read. Their feelings, families and ideas have no place in the protocols dictated from on high. Efficient machines must have interchangeable parts especially in war where there is no time for delicacy or individuality.
The discussion of uniforms has returned. War and rumours of war. The elite are anxious to move forward. My colleague is questioned for wearing ‘shorts’ in the workplace. Sandals and long hair must go.
I’ve made an appointment at the barber. When the war broke out even Freud said, “Maybe the paranoids are right.” War and rumours of war.
Friday, November 10, 2017
“It doesn’t matter if tens of thousands care for you , if even one person( and she may be the wicked witch or Satan incarnate) doesn’t like you ,we will take their side against you. That’s what we do. You’d better be perfect or we will hurt you.”
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Sunday, October 29, 2017
Last spring he developed hereditary glaucoma, correctly diagnosed by Dr. Christopher Douglas at Oak Animal Hospital. He was referred to a Veterinary Ophthalmologist but despite best treatment his pressure didn’t come down. Dr. Christina King his much loved Veterinary Ophthalmologist at Western Canada Veterinary Eye Specialists removed that eye and he did very well. Once the eye was removed the pressure which was like a constant migraine was removed. While he hated the horrid cone of shame that made other dogs think he’d had the dreaded orchiectomy, he recovered very well, returning temperamentally quickly to his old carefree friendly self. He had months more of sight with his remaining eye. Then one day that eye went red and he curled up in a fetal position despite the drops we’d been giving him. He saw Dr. King and despite a couple of weeks more of intensive medical treatment the pressure didn’t come down and really was out of sorts. Both times when the pressure first went up he lost his sight and it just simply didn’t return despite treatment. This apparently was what usually happened as well as the loss of the second eye some time in the year after the diagnosis of the first eye.
And all the other dogs wouldn’t play with him because they didn’t want their genitals or butt banged by the hard plastic edge of the cone. He couldn’t even lick himself. We reassured him. It wasn’t personal and wasn’t even sexual. He was a good dog. I said that every sentence. It was such a hard time. Good dog, Gilbert. Good boy. And Laura reassured her little fur baby too.
Dr. King took off his cone last week saying that he’d healed just fine when she took out the sutures. “I”m sorry to tell you but the eye’s all okay but you dog has fleas.” I felt as ashamed as a parent whose teacher tells them her kid has scabies.
He’s on monthly Sentinel. I’ve sprayed all his beds with industrial dose flea killer and even took him in to Oak for the nuclear subcutaneous Men in Black 3 bug killing one shot injection. Still he’s got fleas.It’s been a bad year. My patients have human fleas, lice. Vancouver has the highest priced property in the world and everywhere there’s bed bugs.The rats come up from the shoreline and run through the $500 to $1000 a night hotels. It’s all quite absurd. Despite working through the Aids epidemics with the Aids Dementia patients I had my personal melt down, despite my doctor denial armour, when a patient dumped a bottle of bed bugs and lice on my desk to show me "how bad it was.” I didn’t need that.
Two bottles of Kwellada total body washes for a couple of days immersion healing got me back into my standard denial. So many of my patients have resistant staphylococcus infections, cellulitis, hepatitis, AIDS, injection site abscesses. Now my dog had fleas. So I went through all the treatments, sprayed everything and concluded that maybe George the indoor cat was passing them back and forth. But Laura and I both looked George over and no fleas and no eggs and no scratching. I just don’t think the Sentinel is working so plan to see the veterinarian and ask if Sentinel resistant fleas have come along.
George, Laura’s rescue cat, a skittish surly guy, has become Gilbert’s best friend and confidant since Gilbert's sbecome blind. Each morning Gilbert wakes up and goes off to rub nose with George then the two of them play before Gilbert and I head out to work.
My nephew Graeme sent Gilbert a toy for blind dogs, a ball he rolls about with his nose. When the toy moves it groans and laughs. Gilbert loves it. We knew he was back to his old self when he began throwing his wee hedgehog toy at Laura for her to throw back to him. I throw him a ball but he loses it. He likes the Kong toy filled with peanut butter. He smells that out.
He’s only slowly learning to locate things purely by smell. I have to remember that it's only days he's been totally blind and that he'll just keep learning. In time I may teach him a blues guitar and get him some gigs on the road to bring in doe for kibbles..
His nemesis is getting caught behind a half open door. He’s woofs then, unable to turn around and not quite sure how to back up. Laura and I have both rescued him several times from that dilemma.
In the new motels and cabins we’ve stayed at he’s had difficulty the first day orienting himself but by the next he’s pretty settled. Strange sounds upset him. He’s thoroughly at home at my place but even now sitting outside he barks when he smells something but there’s nothing I can see.
Hunting on the weekend I took him along in the evening in the truck. He liked being along. He’s a bird hunting dog and always found my grouse for me when I shot them. He retrieved the birds though they were as big as his little head. When I shot a deer once he raced to it before I could get there and when the deer started to raise it’s head he jumped on top of it holding it’s head down till I arrived and put the deer of it’s misery. I always feel sorry for that deer in deer heaven shamefully explaining he was killed by a cockapoo.
We walked along way down a logging road, brush and pine and fir trees along one side with an open clearing along the other. I was carrying the rifle and hoping a deer might come down that hill the other side of the clearing. I let Gilbert off leash with a little blue flashing light on his collar. He walked behind me as I stalked quietly along realizing Gilbert's flashing blue light and my snapping my fingers and calling to Gilbert might not go unnoticed by the deer. I ‘d look back and see him following as he usually did. Then he wasn’t there and I remembered in the past he’d take off circling to raise a grouse I might have passed. Only now he was hung up in fallen trees in their maze of branches with me having to call him orient him to the way out. This happened a couple of times with me actually once having to climb over the trees and lift him out of where he’d got himself stuck. After that he stayed close behind me. It’s all a steep learning curve.
He likest to lie on the bed beside me. Laura saw him jump up on the bed and sit beside me listening to my breathing with his head cocked. Then as if he could see he had his head just above my chest before he lunged forward and lay right across me. This is one of his early morning wake up statements. Normally he’s on my chest but this time he was just off a tad and I had cockapoo draped arcorss my face. “Good Morning, Gilbert!” His tail still wags a mile a minute.
He’s vulnerable but loves meeting other dogs. They say blind dogs in the wild stay with the pack and survive. Blindness in older dogs is quite common. I’m Gilbert’s pack. When my father went blind Mom who was going deaf became his eyes as he was her ears. With all Gilbert's growling and barking at strange noises I think he thinks I’m deafer than normal. He’s elevated himself to Guard Dog too, something I’d discouraged before when he was hunter and therapy dog. But it gives him purpose now. In time he’ll be an even better therapy dog and hunting dog. I might even get him dark glasses and a seeing eye companion dog. I already have a blind dog white leash but draw the line there. My dog’s not getting a cane and cup with a hand printed sign. I say that now but with the way Canada’s economy is being mismanaged, I might have to reconsider our options.
I like holding him closer more. Knowing that my carrying him up and down stairs was tough on me, he began making his way up and down himself. Since the cone's gone, he's been doing everything he can to be independent again. Better natured than me he's going to adapt. However, he’s had so many treats from Laura and I this past week it will be tough to get him back on his regular kibbles and little caesar’s. I say that but know he’ll be sharing the grouse I shot this weekend when I get around to barbecuing it. He's had barbecued steak last week and prime beef on the weekend.
We will prevail. I think of him as a little biblical Samson as well. I feel too he’s Gloucester of Shakespeare’s Lear. All the Blinded character’s in history are now here in Gilbert enshrined. He's given me a whole new appreciation for those who are blind and the amazing cyborg eye advances happening technologically.
As I'm adapting to my increasing deafness and loss of taste I can still help Gilbert who is blind and doing his best to warn me of dangers, albeit too frequently. I’m reminded when I think of the two of us old warriors of the picture I have from the horrific Japanese Changi WWII Prison I visited in Singapore. I made a point of going there after having had the privilege of having a surviving vet from that place as a patient. I brought back the sketch, "Two Malarias and a Cholera" by Ray Parkin.
I'm reminded too of the story of the child, who seeing all the bad news of CNN and CBC, asked her mother how humans could be so bad. The mother instead told her to look for the "helpers." “There are always helpers.” she said.
So in Changi when the prisoners fell from disease the Japanese told the other prisoners to leave them to die not letting the healthier men leave their work to help them. Instead two men with malaria between them helped the worse man with cholera back to camp that day.
Gilbert’s always been a helper. It’s in the nature of cockapoo. He’s been the best of little dogs and my heart goes out to him now. We're in this together and we're get through and thrive. Like that amazing woman I met , Heidi Cave, who wrote the book, "Fancy Feet, Turning My Tragedy into Hope."
I love Princeton. It was the first place I came to hunt, driving a VW Rabbit that got stuck immediately in the snow till I gave up and went home. I had my old Browning 30:06 from Italian Sports and a whole lot of enthusiasm but no luck. It was back in the late 1980’s. I’ve come back again and again over the years mostly staying at Ponderosa Motel, sometimes Princeton Motel and sometimes the Riverside Cabins. Over the years I’ve tended to hunt the Pemberton area, Boston Bar, Merritt, Clinton and 100 mile House, and Princeton. I’ve also really enjoyed hunting north Vancouver Island. We’ve gone far north for Moose, beyond the Prince George area, Pink Mountain or Fort St. James.
Bill Mewhort always laughed because I’d tell everyone I was a grouse hunter and just happened to shoot big game. Once we were hauling home the first moose I shot, these guys asked where I’d shot it and I held up my grouse and told them “just over there. Along the side of the road” . I proceeded to tell them in detail waxing poetic, how I’d seen the grouse, what it was doing and how I’d stalked it, even explaining what what gun I’d used and the merits of the Ruger 22 rifle. All the while they were looking at this great moose with a rack. Bill was chuckling as we drove away saying, “Did you see their faces, how their jaws dropped when you went on about the grouse.?”
Dad and my brother Ron started me prairie chicken and partridge hunting with a 22 when I was 12 yo in Manitoba. I’m thankful to have grown up in Canadian home with Canadian values and an appreciation for conservation, stewardship of resources and the depth of appreciation we have for game and harvest. In the city surrounded by pavement and cut off from God’s country too many people live in echo chambers eating food wrapped in cellophane and not knowing anything about what they go on and on about.
It was a nice drive up to Princeton through the winding roads of Manning Park, leaving after clinics at 3:30 pm. We had the mandatory stop at MacDonald’s for Gilbert’s much loved MacDonald’s burger paddy which Laura breaks up and feeds him by hand. As adults we had cheese burgers and fed ourselves. Did I mention Laura spoils Gilbert, her fur baby. I stopped for weekend snacks in Hope. I’d phoned ahead to Ponderosa and made reservations with the lovely Korean Canadian couple who have owned the motel forever.
At Ponderosa. the lovely lady I’d talked to had reserved the outer spot for my new truck. The last time we were there, the high Pioneer ATV in the back and the length of long box truck made it difficult to get out of an inner parking spot. Fortunately another hunter was leaving so I was able to get out. The previous year I’d shot a deer and hung in the back of the truck till leaving in the morning. The lady had reserved me a perfect spot on the outside parking her own car there so no one took it. . They’re always so helpful.
After checking in I walked across the street to the incredible 5 star restaurant, Little Creek Grill. They had prime rib specials so I got two for Laura and I knowing Gilbert would like the bits. The only trouble we had was carving meat on styrofoam plates with plastic knives on our laps in bed. Laura eventually grabbed the whole piece and began chewing on it like a lovely little animal. I cut through the bottom and spilt the juice on my pyjama bottoms. Gilbert thought this was all for his benefit happy to lick up every drop. We watched NCIS on the cable tv.
This Korean Canadian couple have been the Ponderosa owners for as long as I can remember. They’re terrific people. The rooms have always been so clean and well cared for. Every year there are upgrades. They used to have a pool and hot tub. Now they have a Sushi Restaurant. They serve a smorgasboard breakfast just like European hotels do and travelling tourists love it. I had their sausage and eggs today. It was delicious. Normally I’m gone before 7 am and pick up coffee and sausage at the A&W here which opens at 6 -7 am. Already there’s the local woman with her lap top there and the ubiquitous group of retired men having coffee and talking weather and politics. No one in Canada is happy with Justin Trudeau’s government especially working people, country people and the middle class. So I passed the wisdom circle of grey hairs condemning his latest taxes on the disabled while I waited for my sausage and egger and hash browns.
I didn’t take Gilbert for the morning hunt. He’s still healing. I left him in good company. Laura was still in bed with her blond tossed hair. Poor blind Gilbert was looking at the wall when I went out the door.
Before light I was unloading, “Charles” the glorious Honda Pioneer side by side 500 cc ATV (all terrain vehicle). There’s always a moment before going down the ramp in reverse that I have ‘doubts’. Especially this week after the very funny Facebook video of a fellow loading his offload motorcycle and flipping himself over the hood of his truck. He survived. I’ve survived several ‘incident’s’ of ATV loading or off loading which trigger minor panic attacks for briefest moments and then I’m prayerfully thanking the Lord for survival. Hunting trips are associated with so many such little victories. I can’t say how many times I’m almost died going over cliffs, crashed or rolled vehicles.
I transferred rifles and my bag from the truck, secured the ramps by backing the truck over them, then was off on the back roads. I should walk more. I used to sit in ambush before dawn for a couple of hours and I’d stalk a couple of hours. But since I got this ATV I’ve been pretty much a lazy road hunter. The fact is , I flipped my last ATV and had a bit of pain walking for a couple of years. That’s over but it was a great excuse to eat Hagen Daz ice cream and get out of shape. I’m also a bit older and the last deer I’ve shot have taken all my energy to get them to the truck. I’ve concluded that I’m only going to shoot something close to the road simply because of the issue of hauling and loading. That makes for a pretty good rationalization for not hiking as much. I do. I stop “Charles” and walk the trail ahead of me a lot but I’m impatient and don’t sit in ambush as much simply because I don’t quite know the flow of deer in Princeton. In Pemberton and North Vancouver Island I actually know where the deer highways are but Princeton I’m still exploring. It’s fun too and I just love driving around off road on the Pioneer. The grouse are along the trails too.
I carry my stainless steel Ruger 30:06 Rifle, Bill named “Sexcaliber’” , It was the first of the stainless steel rifles and very sexy in the light. I use 180 grain Nozzler Partition bullets since they’re good for deer, bear and moose. I also have my Miura I Over and under 20 gauge shot gun. . I was shooting the Ruger semi auto 22L with Luke until our Sikh hunting buddy Sonny turned me on to the 20 gauge. The 12 gauge tore up the flesh of the little birds and my 4:10 was just too light. Luke hit the head every shot but I didn’t like missing grouse that would fly as I tried to get close enough. As Sonny had showed, the 20 gauge could be as good a head shot, shooting just above them but if they flew you could still drop them on the fly with the second barrel. I’ve been enjoying this way of hunting grouse the last few years.
I saw a few doe and possibly one buck. A couple ran across the road ahead of me and I saw one dear in the distance so stopped “Charles” and stalked uphill to the tree line. There I spooked the doe and the doe and buck were out of there. Sllogging uphill out of breath knowing this was good exercise, being fat and out of shape. but I did having trouble keeping silent as I was wheezing like a freight train.
The 2 grouse were kind enough to sit long enough for me to stop the vehicle, load my shot gun and sneak up the road where I shot one sitting and the second one on the fly. I missed Gilbert because I almost lost the one as it was wounded and hid under a log. I found it with some serious searching but knew Gilbert would have pounced on it right off.
The morning was spectacular. It had started in the darkness and cold with lots of low level fog. I’d had to scrape the ice off the windshields. As the day moved along the sun came up on the forest alive with fall colours. Evergreens next to the perennials clothed in oranges, yellows and reds. A great day to be alive. I drove at a snails pace all over the mountain drinking Starbuck double shot canned cold coffee and breathing in the forest fragrance and the smell of cut timber. There were dozens of hunters in town staying at the various hotels and motels but out in the woods I only came across one or two waving passing each other on the narrow logging roads. I saw a few camper vans in the back woods and one substantial camp of three vehicles. With all that much wilderness it’s amazing how alone one can be.
On the way back to the truck I saw a huge timber wolf run across a field crossing the road just in front of me and streaking up into the woods uphill. I love seeing wild life back woods. I’ve not seen wolves around Princeton before but sure saw a lot up by Merritt and Clinton. I’ve been blessed to see Cougar, Lynx, bobcats, coyotes and foxes on my various hunts. Sometimes I’m lucky enough to get a photo. I used to carry a camera but now all I’ve got along is my much loved IPhone.
At the truck I loaded the Pionneer finding this time I was missing a bolt on the ramp, That had happened last year and I’d replaced it in Princeton. I’m always looking over my equipment but there’s simply no end of surprises. No harm but that internal “oh shit!” thought.
Back in town I was driving down the highway and there was a deer. A doe. Standing in front of the RCMP headquarters. I really do think they’re smarter than we think.
Back at the motel Laura and Gilbert were waiting. She’d had her bath and taken Gilbert for a walk. We walked up to the hardware store where I got another bolt and a spare. In addition we got Gilbert one of those little flashing collar lights. He didn’t walk into any walls on this walk which was good. We stopped at a little coffeeshop across from Save On.They had a whole bunch of pottery, home made candles and jams inside for sale. We had quiche and turkey soup sitting outside in the sun with Gilbert drinking up the scents of other dogs passing. I’ve always loved the town of Princeton, with it’s war epitaph, legion hall, all the funky little cafe’s and shops and everyone so friendly. It’s nice too that all the housing that would cost millions in the lower mainland only costs hundreds of thousands of dollars here.
Leaving Laura to read and do cross word puzzles at the motel, my big now blind hunting dog, Gilbert, the cockapoo and I headed out for the night hunt in the truck. With his waking me through the night and early morning hunt I’d needed an hour nap before getting going. But there we were doing due hunting diligence. Old fat white guy and old blind cockapoo.
I didn’t unload Charles but drove along the main almost paved logging road in my white Ford F350 truck enjoying the comfort and smooth ride. Past trucks I’ve used for hunting taking them almost everywhere I now take the quad but this truck’s purpose is principally to haul my RV or to get Charles and me too the hunting grounds. The logging road mains are generally kept safe enough for cars with few potholes. Older, hunting now I go very slow. Too many times younger I almost went off cliffs.
Gilbert used to watch the road head like a hawk but now sniffs the air. He’s such a great companion. I didn’t see anything.I have no idea what he smelled. I stopped the truck and stalked a mile ahead with him walking behind. I was thankful for the flashing blue light I’d clipped to his harness. He stumbled off the road a couple of times but only once did I have to go get him as he woofed his distress. He’d walked into a fallen tree and couldn’t find his way out of the maze of branches. By the end of the walk he was keeping closer behind me. They say blind dogs in the wild just stay close to the pack and survive that way. Gilbert’s learning. Back at the truck it was dark and we drove out as the sun set behind the mountains.
I stopped at the great pizza place in town getting us an all Meat Pizza. I love the Princeton Pizza. So another night of TV, an old movie with Anthony Quin and pizza. I walked Gilbert around the town with his flashing light. Unlike the city a country town closes down for the night early and the quiet and peacefulness is a thing of beauty. Overhead I looked at the stars not masked by city lights and waited while Gilbert chose a perfect place to poop.
This morning I’ve just had breakfast while Laura is in the bath. We’re going home early. Sometimes I get an early morning hunt in and back before check out but today I just loved sleeping in. Gilbert had me up at 3 am fuzzing and wanting to play or walk so I stumbled about the town for a bit before going back to bed. Laura told me he’d had her up playing a couple of hours before. He’s insecure in the strange environment and more vulnerable. He’s been able to sleep through a night in my place since his surgery a couple of weeks back so we think he’s still just a little scared and needs reassurance.
Right now he’s facing me and if you didn’t know you’d think he was looking, his hair covers his face. That’s another good reason for a Beatles hair cut.
The fall weather and sunshine has been a god send. It’s been a great weekend and I’m looking forward to heading back for a week of work. Might even get out for another weekend of hunting yet. Next weekend we have BC Ballet and Pacific Theatre to attend.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
The Law of Moses refers primarily to the Torah, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible. The distinction between the law of Israel and the other laws before it was that transgressions of the law were seen as transgressions against God.
These include the contentious passages of Deuteronomy regarding clothing, food and sexuality. A fine British doctor reviewing these early teachings felt that for the day they were the best public health prescriptions of the time among other things.
The question is their ‘timelessness’ and this was where the ongoing ‘interpretation’ of the Jewish Bible was necessary. It is by its very nature a historical document.
By contrast, truth and grace are eternal as Jesus Christ, Son of God, God of Gods, Holy of Holies. God is to Christianity all that is truly eternal, the first mover. Christ is God incarnate as opposed to God transcendent or as the Trinitarian God would say, One God, three persons.
Truth has been demonized in the aetheist communist invasion of culture and society of the west. Truth is called ‘my truth’ by feminists specifically. This short hand suggests that subject ‘perception’ is true rather than the ‘objective’ event. Now the courts of western civilization, as shown in the Perry Mason television crime series, called for the individual to state ‘the truth, whole truth and nothing but the truth.’ Obviously this was silly as the court was asking for ‘version’ of the truth because later the judge would state his ‘truth’.
All perceptions are versions of the truth as we can be thankful for the Hindu story of the elephant with the blind professors surrounding it blindfolded and required to touch the elephant from where they are standing and later comment on what the elephant is. The result is an argument between them with one saying it’s a wall, another that the elephant is a pillar, another that it is a snake and another that it is a hose. They are all right as far as they experience.
In science we increased the number of experiment to lessen the ‘error’ which comes from only one ‘observation’ or a limited perspective observation. Scientists know of ‘tolerances’ and ‘deviations’ and never ‘assume’ the truth but rather that what they know is a ‘hypothesis’. Scientific truth is hypothetical. It is assumed that more observation or different observation might change the ‘truth’ but that as of this number of observations at this time under these condition, practically, and pragmatically this hypotheses approaches truth.
This is all different from the narcissistic ‘my truth’ and worse ‘relative truth’. The problem with ‘arts education’ is that one can live in fiction and even be a drama teacher utterly unable to function in reality. When I left the arts and theatre and began my study of chemistry and physics I was hampered greatly by my having lived in my imagination and the realm of discussion and politics and even the forced agreements of the arts world of legality. In the real world I blew up the experiments several time and repeatedly had the university evacuated because I didn’t appreciate the ‘law’ of this world. I had my ‘ideas’ but had to learn ‘precision’. Only by standing on the learning of the craft of my teachers could I function as a scientist and later as a physician. As a physician I had to know and respect ‘truth’ and acto on it because otherwise my patients became sicker and or died. This was especially true with surgery.
A fundamental failure of the health care ‘system’ is the interface with ‘administration’ and ‘medicine’. Science and medicine has evolved to the 21st century and beyond but the ‘rate limitting step’ is the general persistence of politics and administration that pansies to stupidity and relies on rewarding sociopaths and psychopaths who chameleon and lie.
The Law of Moses included the 10 commandments.
One of the 10 Commandments which socialist and communist political systems fear most is
“Thou shalt not bear false witness.”
Today the courts are a fire with ‘lies’ and judges making pronouncements based not on ‘truth’ but rather ‘on politics’. This is why Christians call those this inn courts and in government the ‘anti Christ’ and see these ‘liars’ and those who support ‘lies’ as evil.
There are many versions of the truth and some say all roads lead to Rome. There is an increasingly farcicalness to our language and the manipulation of language which was fundamental to communist takeover of countries. By altering the meaning of things communists ensured that people in the land to be overtaken could not speak the truth, could not share. Undermining of a culture is a decades long matter. KGB operatives like Putin once was were infiltrated in the west with the express purpose of changing the language and softening up the target.
Grace is what we receive from God not by our ‘work’s but because of the generosity of God. God is love. I have life today and it’s not through what I’ve done. I don’t know why I woke up today. I can only speculate about my purpose or my meaning. It’s true I as a spiritual and mystical being live in this ‘cloud of unknowing’ which some would call politically the ‘fog of war’. The people who were supposed to be on my side and have my back are indeed calling me the enemy and turning their resources against me when I’ve only done as I was taught in the best interests of my patients. I have told the truth and acted in truth.
Yet “he and she” believe the outrageous and utterly obvious psychotic psychopathic lies of a person who has obviously gained greatly by their lying and cheating and continue to profit from deceit.. And I feel alone on the front lines. For a year I was unsupported by those who are paid incredibly from the benefit of health care but did nothing for me while my life and my dog’s life were threatened. Indeed they know that those who have drug and alcohol problems and are psychotic and are are sociopathic doing work at home and collecting insurance for deceit are the most likely to attack doctors. Yesterday I talked to another doctor whose life was threatened. I have had no support whatsoever for these physical attacks and none whatsoever except from lawyers for these attacks on my character and person. I know that I represent my class , we are just others in the middle class , while those who were supposed to work for the common good have chosen ,out of cowardice or avarice or plain stupidity, to allow the individual destruction of the truth telling hard working ones, one at a time. By divide and conquer “he and she”, these rather bad childen, our siblings gone wrong, are attempting an overthrow of society from within.
Truth and the concept of truth areat the centre. Politically the word ‘fake news’ and ‘fake main stream news’ and fake CBC and the lies of the heads of the EPA in the US and so much more are central to this time.
Thank God there is Grace.
Of course ‘maybe I’m wrong.’
“Surely the righteous will never be shaken; they will be remembered forever. They will have no fear of bad news; their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord. Their hearts are secure, they will have no fear, in the end they will look in triumph on their foes.” Psalm 112:6-8
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
I loved the George Harrison song, “My Sweet Lord”. I loved the gospel songs by Elvis Presley. I love the creation stories around the world and especially the creation stories of the Torah. I am so weary from the bullying and crticism of aetheists. Aetheist communists, the Marx’s and Lenin’s, and all the pseudoscience that is propagated by these folk who claim they are ‘secular’ but demand everyone goose step to their dead march.
I love Diwali and I love Christmas but I don’t see those celebrating Christmas demanding that the Diwali lights be put out. I don’t see the Diwali people demanding that Christmas trees come down. I see Aetheists demanding everyone be like them, grey uniforms and painful pretentiousness, so superior, like that awful Kafetch Marx. Marx , a Jew, supported by Jews said “Money is the God of Jews.” Money is not the God of Jews but it was the God of Marx. Materialists worship money as do aetheists who are by default materialists.
I believe in a conscious and unconscious world. I believe in the mystery beyond my senses. Einstein believed in God. The greatest physicist of our times believes in God but a whole lot of political hacks and beurocrats use tax money to persecute those who believe.
Meanwhile Christians are persecuted for wearing a cross while Muslims are the only group who wear burkas which shout religion and yet the aetheists leave them alone. The aetheists are hypocrites and right now there’s been an unholy alliance between the communists and Muslims in this new “Globalism” with thugs like ‘Antifa” who are the new fascists, Hitler Youth, who claim simply with a name change to be something else. A tourd by any name is still a tourd.
Now God is all. God is Good. God is omniscient, omnipotential, omnipotent. God has the capacity to touch me and the God in me, as I am the creation of the creator can know God. Miracles can happen. I believe in a God of mystery and miracles. I believe that I am limited by fear and my need for things to remain ‘safe’. I am afraid of the awesome reality of God. I am the one who limits God in my life. I am the one whose unhappiness and anger and fear shuts out the experience of God which is hope and light and joy. I am on my own just too critical and fearful and negative but I can ask God’s help in addressing these character defects.
Aetheists and fear mongers like Justin Trudeau and the Climate Change Cult with all their ‘the world’s going to end, give me money talk’, constant negative fear monger ing, are so loud but that’s only because I let them ‘steal my joy’. If I focus on God. If I ‘pray unceasingly. If i look to the right and look for the good always I’ll not crash into the left ditch but stay in the middle of the road.
There is always the option to see the sacred. There is always the possibility that Jesus is there in the stranger. There is always the moment of seeing the wonder of creation like admiring the craftsmanship of a great master. There is this possibility. I wake and want this but by the end of a day of seeing drug addicted patients one after another hopeless and worshipping the drugs, having no purpose but slavery to materialism and pleasure, the people thrown out by their masters when they’ve no more money and no more fun. I am there daily worn down by their constant insistence that there are no miracles , that there is no hope , that there is no God. Then at night I hear CBC news and the same nihilism is sold and preached but with a glitter that has worn off my patients lives. There’s this tedium. And then I get to the tv and reading facebook and all the promotions and easily offended aetheists and godless who insist that you believe as they do.
I post a picture of Jesus. I post a picture of my dog. I post a picture of my meal. But my Lord will be attacked always . I have had a life of persecution for belief in God by aetheists who can believe in thier godlessness but must attack me. Now the combinations of Muslims and Aetheists take away my free speech and say that I am Islamaphobic but I’m Christian and in their countries from which they come they kill Christians. They kill Gays and they deny women equality. Christians are the basis of the movement for women’s rights and indeed civil rights. Christianity is where women have the greatest place in history. The aetheist communists reduced everyone to poverty and slavery and killed anyone who disagreed with them by the hundreds of millions.
But I am not allowed to respond to their attacks. I turn to God . I turn my cheek 70 times 70. My head is spinning like Carrie at Halloween and it’s not enough.
I’m seeking God. My sweet Lord. Lord of Light. God of God. I believe in all roads leading to Rome. All saints are headed in the same direction while aetheists are having a temper tantrum and blockading the road to God. I believe the saints of Muslim religions, the Sufis and others are seeking God as I am but that their political leaders of this essentially political religion, much like the Catholic Church before Luther when it was still a physical ‘see’, like Mecca is today, the religion so influenced by the satanic demands of Saudi.
Jesus said “My kingdom is not of this world.”
Buddha and Krishna and Zoraster and the Creator of my Aboriginal brothers and sisters are not of this world. God is all. God is good. The Yahweh of the Jewish Torah is not Israel. Israel and New York demands are political but Yahweh is pure beingness. God is transcendent and immanent.
I would know you more God. Be my lodestar. Guide me. Light my way God. Let me focus on the light and know that the light casts out the darkness. Help me to ignore the shouting and screaming and neon signs of the aetheists. Help me to hear your ‘wee small voice.’ Help me to be still and know that I am God.
Please God I know you hear prayer and respond to prayer. Hear my prayer today. Help me to be a better doctor, a more loving man, a better human and kinder more caring. Help me to be like you Lord who cared for children and the sick. Help me today Lord. Help me when I feel most alone. Help me to know you are always with me and this too shall pass.
Thank you Lord.
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1.5
Thank you God for this morning and this day. It is still dark now but I have faith that the sun shall rise. Thank you for faith and routine and the known.
Thank you for Gilbert’s health. His cone is off and though blind he is once more exploring, eating and sniffing as usual. Thank you for George too who gives Gilbert such comfort. George joins us now in the morning after weeks of isolating himself in his room. I dragged him out into our company a couple of times to show him that his fears were unwarranted. Then I ignored him and in his own time he joined us. Mostly it was Gilbert who bridged the divide. He’d seek out George when he was sighted and stand looking at him till George eventually began again to play with Gilbert. George obviously doesn’t like change and has a lot of issues with safety.
Thank you for the warmth. I’m loving the electric fireplace heater and the propane furnace. It’s chilly outside. Not raining so when I walked Gilbert first thing I was able to wear just a sweater my family gave me. I cherish it not just for the physical warmth but also for my sister in law’s thoughtfulness. With winter coming on I look forward to wearing the scarf that Ann Marie knitted for me. I am thankful for family and friends. Keep them safe and well Lord.
Guide me today.
I was feeling nostalgic. I thought that every day above ground is better than below for the living. So I’ve added quite a few behind me, the simple positives of living and surviving. Now there are fewer ahead of me I have this hope that I will survive today as I did those many yesterdays.
Thank you your protection Lord. There are liars and false accusers and corrupt beurocrats and violent institutions and dishonest courts but in the end Lord you have promised to reward my virtue and truthfulness. You reward service and duty. You reward work and hard work and sobriety. Thank you for my sobriety today and the majority of people who wake aware and contribute to the light rather than the darkness. Help me serve you with those who remain asleep awake and wrap themselves ever tighter in darkness incapable of feeling. Help me to touch them and bring them back from the dark to the light of love.
Jesus is love, Lord. He commanded “Do Not Be Afraid”. He said all scripture and law could be summed up as “ Love God and Love your Neighbour (the other) as Yourself. Thank you for the writings of Martin Buber and Merton.
I pray for Trinity University with its experiment in Monastic heterosexuality and celibacy.
Help me to understand the purpose and meaning of this life I have lived and what life I have to live. Help me to be of service to you, my fellows and myself.
Guide me Lord.
Thank you for science and theology. Thank you for poetry and literature and history. Thank you for quantum leaps of understanding and insight.
Please Lord help the judges and politicians to grow and evolve. Help the police protect those who would live and raise families and not have their work ruined and destroyed or their profits stolen by individuals or corrupt governments.
Thank you for Isaiah who best described the arrogant of his day and this day. Thank you for his prophecies and the prophecies of Jeremiah.
Thank you Lord for this day.
Sunday, October 22, 2017
Gordon Lightfoot was the only singer songwriter my father and I shared an appreciation for. He hated Bob Dylan and the girls screaming at the Beatles. He barely tolerated Elvis Presley, my older brother’s favourite. My mother said, “Elvis Presley sings lovely gospel, John.” Ed Sullivan shows were as important in the Hay home as hockey. My first album I bought was Gordon Lightfoot’s The Way I Feel, 1967 along with a Beatles album. The store owner threw in a Dylan 45 for free. I had to get a portable turntable to play them in my room. My freckled friend Garth Robertson’s older sister was dating the man who started the CBC Radio Folk Night Show in Winnipeg in those early years long before Mitch even thought of the Winnipeg Folk Festival. Neil Young might already have been playing in the church basement coffee houses then. Within a year or two I’d hear him playing at that smoke filled folk friendly restaurant on Pembina Highway. A couple of years later I was on the student council executive of Vincent Massey High School and voted we hire the Guess Who for our high school dance. They charged a whopping $500 for the night..
Garth's father was a commercial pilot and Garth, Kirk and I would listen to turn table 33’s and 45 records in their Fort Gary suburban living room when his family was out. Kirk’s mother had plastic on her living room furniture so we didn’t go there. My mom was always home, so Garth’s was the perfect musical hang out. We all took off ours shoes and Garth made sure we didn’t make a mess of any kind or his parents would ground him.
Kirk and I age age 16 attended Lightfoot’s amazing concert in the Winnipeg Auditorium. We were, as we said back then, simply blown away. Blown away. At the end of the concert there was the beautiful gracious older sister introducing her brothers young friends, Kirk and I, to the idol and god like Gordon Lightfoot who twinkling eyed invited us to come with them after for a drink and a bite. We actually thought he was serious. Kirk and I were stumbling over apologies and other commitments making our escape saying we’d never have been able to live down the shame of being turned away as younger than 21 before our idol Gordon Lightfoot.
That album wore out from playing and several more were bought. Jon Cowtan, my first roommate, and fellow summer kitchen staff at YMCA Camp Steven’s played Canadian Railroad Trilogy the extraordinary Canadian song, Gordon wrote in 1967. I was simply impressed that Jon who went on to be a mathematic teacher and IBM programmer could remember all the words. So I set out myself to learn it too and even learned the guitar to play Gordon Lightfoot. His lyrics haunted me. I was a fledgling poet and felt Gordon Lightfoot’s writing was inconceivably perfect. Fortunately for audience’s I didn’t sing and play Gordon Lightfoot on stages much but always had his song books and spent endless nights playing and singing his songs in the privacy of my home. Admittedly I also believe learning and playing “Soflty’ contributed to my youthful experience in the bedroom. Looking back it probably had more to do with the wine.
Dan Donahue introduced us all to Gordon Lightfoot’s Edmund Fitzgerald playing his guitar as Bruce Coburn and singing like Paul McCartney this all time Canadian classic and mariner favourite. People today often hear music first recorded and much later hear a live performance. It wasn’t that way in the Rennaissance of the Rock and Roll era, the forgotten 60’s and memorable 70’s with the folk rock, country rock and jazz rock spins off. Then we heard the music live and bought albums after. Musicians would hear the music on the radio and learn the songs either from each other or wait till they’d written it down as it came on the radio once or twice a 24 hour period. All my early Dylan I heard first from Dan’s older brother, Jim. Today they say they’re playing ‘covers’ but that was just normal back then with a lot of writers like Carole King not performing. When Dan Donahue did a set despite the brilliance of his own song writing on albums like Long Distance Runner, he’d play Edmund Fitzgerald. Eventually I heard Lightfoot’s ‘version’ but liked Dan’s best.
What was amazing at Friday nights concert was how many of Gordon Lightfoot’s songs were hits and played by everyone including Elvis Presley and Johnny Cash. I remember being in Alabama and hearing Black Day in July. Another time in Wisconsin I heard Sun Down. Travelling as a Canadian on a motorcycle or in my mustang or VW bus I heard Lightfoot and was instantly back in Canada homesick as only a Lightfoot song can make a Canadian. How many times too have I thought ‘You can’t hop a jet plane like you can a freight train’. I’ve actually hopped freight trains but it’s all I can do to explain ‘bumpershing’ to the kids whose idea of adventure is a new game boy. Lightfoot with his songs of love and travel and loss was the epitome of a Canadian man. Stan Rogers was Eastern Canada, Lightfoot was mid west Canada and Tyson was Western Canada. Joni Mitchell and Anne Murray were the women who were the match of any Canadian song writer and they didn’t whine like the Kardashians today. God we were blessed by the music of our era. I wonder if the young people will be able to say the same but then Dad liked Gene Autry.
The next time I heard attended a Gordon Lightfoot concert was at the Morris Manitoba Rodeo. My smart country boy collegue , the amazing Dr. Bob Manness, suggested, “Bill, since you love Gordon Lightfoot, I thought you might like to take call the rodeo weekend so you could take in his concert.” I didn’t mention I was a gullible young man. I volunteered not ever being the country gp during a rodeo like Bob had the previous two years. That weekend I didn’t sleep for three nights, set a half dozen fractures, sutures countless fist fight wounds, treated a few head injuries and reduced every dislocation that a bull or a wild horse could do to a cowboy . I remember loving listening to Gordon Lightfoot as his magnificent voice and fabulous guitar carried through the soft summer night through the windows of the Morris Hospital Emergency where I was masked and gowned and suturing through the whole of his concert. We all sang along to lightfoot favourites like “Pussy Willows Cat Tails” and “Only a Go Go Girl in Love with Someone who doesn’t Care”. The nurses belted out the chorus while cowboy cried over lost loves and lost fist fights.
The last time I saw Gordon Lightfoot was in Vancouver about a decade back, I phoned up my good friend Kirk who’d first seen Lightfoot with me and suggested I’d get us tickets. Lightfoot was incredible and being there with Kirk was especially nostalgic and pleasurable. It was even funnier when we were waiting for the show to begin I saw Kirk turn and in his characteristic way sort of “hit’ on the pretty young woman sitting next to him. As older guys our chests kind of puff up a bit and our voices get deeper and lower and I sensed this happening beside me as Kirk said to the sweet much younger woman, “You like Lightfoot’s music, too.” To this she responded, “Not really, but my mother does and she couldn’t make it so I decided to come.” Kirk’s chest deflated and he turned back to continue conversing with me about how neither of us would have thought Keith Carter would have had so many children and what happened to his South Drive childhood love. And Lightfoot came on with ‘Did she mention my name name just in passing.” We were in Vancouver and both of us were nostalgic for Fort Garry.
When I consulted as a specialist to Port Hardy, North Vancouver Island, I would bring my Martin Guitar to accompany the beautiful young Scottish Canadian social worker, Anne Lindsay who played flute. We practiced , Song for a Winter’s Night "every trip I made with snow falling in the wilderness outside the cabin on on the pines and spruce So many times playing Lightfoot with friends has been so ethereal.
At this concert the standing ovation for “If You Could Read My Mind, Love” was truly amazing when you considered how much arthritis was present that night. Despite my own knees objecting I leapt to my feet to applaud “Beautiful’ and “Ribbon of Darkness”. Having sailed across the north Pacific Ocean solo in winter I was moved to the core to hear Edmund Fitsgerald again. This probably had a lot to do with memories of sailing my boat on Lake Ontario with my brother and his family mere months before he died. He loved Lightfoot too, probably after Elvis, his favourite, sang Steel Rail Blues. I had tears in my eyes with nostalgia and joy with so many songs. Lots of kleenex out around me too. Calls from the audience for songs. Just the name of a Lightfoot song explodes with associations. Song after song being the anthem for a whole country for year after year after year.
I couldn't help reflect that Canadian values for me could be summed up by Gordon Lightfoot and what his songs represented. Hard work, romance, family, love, country, spirituality, nature, identity. Songs of the maritimes, the Great lakes, city lights, the prairies, west coast, railways and planes and lakes and snow and highways. Let me slip away on you. Working people songs by this prodigious hard working wordsmith and troubadour. That's my Canada. Thank you Gordon Lightfoot for celebrating it. Having been reminded of this I'll now be proud to wear the Gordon Lightfoot 150 anniversary Canada t shirt I bought in the lobby. Canada was getting a bit sketchy there before this night.
Thank you Gordon Lightfoot yet again. Thank you Gord was what so many people were shouting when he and his long loyal band bowed farewell. “That’s what you get for loving me.”
Saturday, October 21, 2017
Thank you for this saturday. I would go to a meeting but I must stay with Gilbert as he’s so afraid blind and vulnerable suddenly. I feel such sorrow at times. Thank you for the feelings of empathy. Thank you for connectedness. Thank you for family and friends. Thank you Lord for the Bible, the Holy Book, for the Torah and the New Testament, the Gospel, the Good News. Thank you for prayer and meditation. Today I tried to meditate but both the dog and cat simultaneously began rubbing against me so I was distracted and fed them.
Thank you for writing. Thank you for this Blog. I wanted to challenge the myth that the sane were always sane. I wanted to overturn the ‘marketing’ and ‘lawyer’ lie of the ‘edited’ person. I wanted the Authenticity of Maslow. I wanted to share that the creative process was messy. I wanted write for the rich and the poor. I wasn’t seeking sales and a specific audience, like those judges who make a fortune off rulings of ‘like me’. I wanted a ‘speaker’s corner’ experience. I wanted to show that despite genius, stupidity still reigned. I wanted to show that it was okay to just be and that today the media was lifting everything out of context and the lies were piled deeper and deeper.
In totalitarian countries there is ‘mind control’. It’s alive and well in Canada. Increasingly we are monitored for words and phrases. The expansion of state police is everywhere evidence. It’s disguised in pretty language like ‘banning hate speech’ or banning ‘islamaphobia’. The people with power think the worst things and do the worst things. They are no different except that they are often out of control. The Saudi leadership is out of control. Old wealth tends to let the children play within boundaries. They say it’s okay to fuck the poor man's goat but draw the line with killing the goats so the man and his family starve. They are like anyone else but they usually have a lot more time and money. They crash the helicopter rather than the bicycle.
I’ve been able to walk and talk with people from all religions and countless countries and had patients who were infamous, famous, and multi millionaires. I’ve been to the parties on the street and the parties in mansions that boggled the mind. I’ve known an amazing breadth and so often people have expressed the fear they are going insane. I suppose I’m here to say insane is not so bad. Saniety is much over rated. The message of the 20th century is that the age of reason lead to the greatest killing machine of all time, atheist socialism/communism. The most depraved empire of all time in the modern world was the Ottoman Empire and it’s on the rise again too. Mecca is the centre of sex slaver and slavery and violence and lies. Yet American blacks have ironically fallen for these sophisticated brown masters as have the Canadian feminists who have embraced the most depraved religion of female abuse of all time.
Meanwhile I have felt that it’s important to share thoughts that are contrary to the propaganda of mainstream CBC while the light of freedom in Canada remains. I’ve also shared my Christian faith because everywhere the Jews and Muslims and Atheists and Pagans and even Sikhs and Buddhists and Hindus are in your face. I’m told I can’t wear a cross in Canada but Sikhs were turbans. I’m questioned for carrying a knife but Sikhs are all armed with knives. A Scottish bread knife gets a man in jail but it’s okay for Muslims to cover their faces to avoid cameras. As a Christian I’m persecuted. But I can’t say this.
I’m born white and now that’s racism. The colour of my skin makes me a racist.
I’m a man and that makes me sexist.
I’ve had sex with men and women so I’m excluded from both groups as a pervert.
I’m divorced so I’m a failure.
Everything that I am or represent or have done has been publicly criticized by my government and by the media. When I smoked marijuana I was breaking the law and a danger to the state. I paid more than a hundred thousand dollars in penalties for smoking marijuana and now I don’t smoke marijuana and I’m condemned by the dope smokers who get all the grants as dope smokers. And the Prime Minister broke the law and the ex mayor and ex chief of police are lining up to get rich on smoking dope.
I am disillusioned.
When I worked to save my patients lives I was called a workaholic and administrative doctors long known for their sloth and cowardice flung platitudes at the burning Rome while Trudeau played a tune.
I am grateful because CBT tells me that people who take offence at everything like our Huffington Post girls, (K.D. Laing wrote a great song Miss Chatelaine and needs to write a Huffington Post song today) , those who compete with comparison of hurt.
“I was gang raped and my bowels torn out of me and a stake stuck in my heart but a passing paramedic rescued me after six months in hospital I’ll live but I won’t run or have children and I hurt all the time when I walk."
“Well, you think that’s bad, a man looked at me. Yeah. He looked at me. And I was emotionally abused."
“I was sexually harassed."
So all the funding that once went to help the woman left in a wheel chair goes to the rich privileged huffington post girls who have better lawyers and better marketing people and buy government beurocrats with pocket change, the bane of Nuremberg.
I’m grateful for the training in logic and fallacy and evidence based medicine and scientific method so that I can see the lies and hypocrisy that rules the courts and politics these days.
I’m grateful that history tells me that that even the Hitlers and Lenins and Castros of the world come to an end.
I’m thankful for my life and being older and the education and wisdom of my teachers and elders.
I’m thankful for the travel and the closeness I’ve had to my Aboriginal friends, my Muslim friends, my Christian friends, my atheist friends, especially my Hindu and Sikh and Buddhist friends. I purposely don’t associated with Nazi’s or Communists and don’t hang out with drunks or drug addicts in my home. I don’t like being around the impaired. I’ve done my time in youth with unpredictable and violent people. I’ve known too many psychotics in my work and personal life. I’ve been raped and attacked and I know it’s not right for the narrative. I’m a white man and a doctor and the main stream media says that I’m the enemy. I’ve been told by a nurse even that all doctors should die. I’ve been told by coloured people that white people should just kill themselves. I’ve been called ‘rich’ by the likes of Justin Trudeau whose wealth and privilege are beyond anything I’ve ever known.
I have been blessed. I’ve been poor and wealthy. I’ve been free and locked up. I loved sailing alone at sea as far as humanly possible from the maddening crowd.
I like being in the wilderness with my dog. I like that I can say I’ve been in a plane crash and punched a bear in the nose. These are funny tales that made for much laughter at my friends wedding in India. I love that I was able to share what it was like living in an igloo with my Chamoran friends. I once loved the word ‘multi cultural’ before Justin Trudeau made that mean’ uncultured’ and I loved the word ‘diversity’ before Justin Trudeau and Obama and Hillary and Merkel turned that word into a weapon of slavery.
I still like bikinis and don’t want burqas and hate that men are collectively abused in Canada for liking nude women. I hate that boys are systematically being drugged all over Canada en mass to satisfy the Canadian woman’s idea of men as defective women. I often think, I can’t beat them, so I’ll join them and get castrated and take hormones and have breast. Anything to be anonymous and get away from the constant female hate in Canada that masquerades as anything but.
I’m grateful for the options. I’m thankful for the buddhist sense of suicide as release. I’m thankful for the muslim sense of murder as jihad. I’m thankful that I know the atheist ‘it’s all relative’ and Crawleys’ “man is god.” I’m thankful I know these things. i”m thankful that I have seen the 180 degree lies of text books and leaders and media. I’m sorry that it took me so long.
I’ve shared this journey. My life is just a kazoo in the symphony. All day I hear more exciting lives, more sordid lives, more abuse, more joy. I was by years of work blessed to be able to be with people and learn their true stories. I was blessed to be trained as a psychoanalytic psychotherapist and an eclectic psychotherapist all before psychotherapy was outlawed by the government licensing bodies in Canada. They won’t say that. But only counselling is allowed today. Psychopharmacology and counselling but Freud, Kernberg, Kohut, and Jung and Lang are all topped by like the southern statue of General Lee. 90% of graduated psychiatrists were women. Women psychiatrists and other women doctors have openly said men should not be allowed to enter psychiatry or obstetrics. Sharia medicine is the law of BC.
I am thankful I was here before the fall of Canada. I am thankful I could see the wonders of hypnotherapy and the amazing ‘cure’s’ of people who literally got up and walked after years of disability. But now euthanasia and disability and marijuana are the medicine.
Thank you Lord for this life. Thank you for another day. Thank you for the learning and the books. Thank you for the experience. Thank you for family and friends. Thank you.