Tag Archives: poverty

I Often Find Myself Where I Was Never Expected

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I’m not sure I have ever been afflicted with writers block but I do suffer from long silences. I may not put pen to paper but I am usually thinking and as a writer it is always in sentences. Even in my thoughts I manipulate language in my mind. I am often shy about posting and am minus the motivation to speak my truths. Who am I to think another would care what I conjure?
I have a scapegoat for my most recent drought. I have been without paid work in over a decade but of late I am a member of the workforce. I was employed this past decade with speaking, writing and blogging but I am closer to conventional employment these days. I’m not sure milking 1600 goats is conventional but money for manual labour is.
The majority of my work history involves sweat and most recently stiffness. I was going to write sooner of my endeavor into employment but I wasn’t confident of my commitment. For me a disability pension has been a disgrace; I always felt less or worse, lazy. These past few weeks have convinced me again that I am neither. I challenge any twenty something to outperform me in a milking parlour. I’m not bragging, I’m crying.
Writing is a sedentary lifestyle or at least mine was. I sat and smoked organizing my passion into phrases. I have been a month without tobacco and officially a goat milker. I am also officially stupid as I have found a farm where it is my responsibility alone to feed and milk over 1600 goats. That’s two barns full of frustration. Goats are fairly friendly and docile but definitely devious. A goat can see an unfastened gate from a quarter mile and any and all will squeeze through a four millimeter gap.
I’m still trying to figure out if they like to be milked. Feeding is part of the process and though it is a distraction each and every goat knows how to kick off the milking mechanism with a mouthful of food. You might ask “how do you milk 1600 goats in less than five hours?” and some day when I have five seconds or more I will figure it out. The word exhaustion will have to be a clue for now.
When I found the help wanted advertisement I thought, “That might be interesting. I like goats or the three I have met.” I now realize intense is closer than interesting when you’re talking about 1600. I want to quit for the first half of my shift which morphs into I want to finish which is followed by a 35 minute commute where I can say I just milked 1600 goats. I revel in the fact that no other driver on highway 401 is saying anything similar.
It is an agricultural assembly line of sorts but no two goats are the same. Each goat looks different from behind. I don’t have much time to compare but I am recognizing the odd rear end. One goat is freakishly bowlegged and unequivocally the only cooperative goat in the whole flock.
I bought a quart of goat’s milk as a form of job security and I encourage all my readers to do the same. I am giving a one year free subscription to my already free blog for any who mail in proof of purchase. I as yet don’t know how goat’s milk gets distributed in the area but I wouldn’t be surprised if any litre had a spoonful from “my” goats. I can’t say these goats are sweet but a lot of love goes into a gallon.
I use a staff to herd the goats from pen to parlour. I bang it on the gates and walls to speed them from place to place. One goat calmly ignores me. Number 208 waddles along and scratches herself on any and all surfaces. She reminds me not to rush in my fever of frenzy.
Another goat inspires me. It is a young buck who has a triangular wooden yoke fastened around its head to prevent it from escaping from its pen. I find myself confused about six times each night as it defies its constriction and enters and mingles with each pen of goats. I too dislike being told where to be and though not as adept as this bugger I often find myself where I was never expected.

Ignoring inflation it cost $550 000 dollars to deal with my mental illness institutionally.

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I read an article in the London Free Press regarding policing and mental health. In a survey Londoners were asked :

“What do you think is the most important crime-related or policing problem facing the community and London police?”

Mental illness replaced downtown safety/bar issues in the top five. Why do Londoners believe that mental health is a police concern? If physical health is not a police concern why is mental health? If diabetics deserve doctors from start to finish why wouldn’t people with mental illness? If we are ever going to view mental illness differently we need to insist on medical interventions rather than law enforcement interventions. Part of the problem is the widespread perception that mental illness is synonymous with dangerousness.

Less than 3% of violence is attributable to mental illness in the absence of substance abuse. If ever we notice someone we suspect as hearing voices or disoriented in their thoughts or actions or somewhat delusional we might cross the street. The truth is that on both sides of the street 97% of our vulnerability to violence comes from the people who have no mental illness. People with mental illness are more often the victims of crime than the perpetrator.

When we allow law enforcement to administer to a health concern it is little wonder that the health concern becomes stigmatized, related to crime and associated with violence. If the police escorted diabetics to the hospital we would all have similar impressions about diabetes. Consider what we visualize, assume, think, feel and understand about mental illness. Now imagine having similar perceptions for a cancer patient. It would be unfair to the diabetic person or the individual with cancer but for the mentally ill it is as it would be for others with other illnesses; a barrier to treatment and a difficulty of rehabilitation.

Five years of my life have been spent under 24 hour care 7 days a week in an institution. Ignoring inflation it cost $550 000 dollars to deal with my mental illness institutionally. If a tenth of that money was used for comprehensive treatment in my youth, I might not be writing this.

A mental health clinician paid $60 000 dollars per year could have treated me for one hour a day for 70 years.
If we continue to fund and access policing and correctional measures to deal with mental illness we will forever feed the wrong end of the cow.

We do not fight cancer by building more cemeteries.(King)

When I first started living in the community after the forensic hospital I saw a psychologist once a week, a specialized therapist once a week and my psychiatrist at least once a month. Those supports were needed initially and they would have been expensive but it was nowhere near the near $350 dollars a day it cost to keep me in an institution. People can be monitored and treated in their own homes.

I could simply say an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure but people might miss the point.

We leave mental illness unanswered and instead we deliver services mainly in times of crisis. Figure out the cost of an ambulance, two police officers and a truck or two of firefighters to respond to a suicide call and with any luck deliver that person to an emergency room and possibly a psychiatric unit for an indefinite period.

Now figure out how much it would cost for a therapist to prevent it in the first place.

If the financial realization is not enough for you consider letting heart disease progress to the point where invasive measures were necessary. With every other illness we prescribe the greatest amount of medicine at the beginning because to let any illness worsen is more devastating, difficult and expensive to treat. The social costs are immeasurable.

If you were ask a child how she feels about her father finding the best treatment for his heart she would likely answer the same for helping her father with schizophrenia. The best medicine at the beginning is not rocket science.

We are stupid to continue as we do but we are wrong and inhumane to do nothing.

Stigma and Ignorance are the By-products of Fear, Laziness and Embraced Stupidity

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Stigma is an obtuse, overused and misunderstood word. It affects many and it is prevalent. What is it? Where does it come from? How do we fight it? Can we put an end to it?

Stigma is the steam that rises from boiling ignorance. The ignorance itself can harm you but it is contained in the pot and often kept under the lid of self. The steam is as dangerous and no less powerful. It is difficult to contain and often even escapes the lid, as actions and words. People are less frequently burned by the pot of ignorance boiling on the stove of stupidity; they are burned and scarred by the steam which flies in every direction when we reach to turn the burner off.

People cling to their stupidity and ignorance because it is safe, familiar and requires no effort. Ignorance and laziness perpetuate each other. I don’t have to access or disseminate information. I don’t have to think, change or challenge old perceptions and I do not need to find opposing information or views. I can revel in the incestuousness of my mental capacities and efforts. I don’t have to do much but defend my ignorance as I sit in my easy chair of indifference. I can shout opinions and spew a semblance of knowledge as though I am informed and important. To be the king of incorrect is to rule none the less and we all want to issue creeds even if they are not credible.

Most do not want to change their world view and we cling to what we know because even if it is wrong there is a power to it. We are competent in our incompleteness. Though in reality, we are complete in our incompetence. We don’t alter our world view in even small ways because it causes a huge shift in much of what we know and recognize. A paradigm shift is a new beginning and it is intimidating to start the race over or even have to backtrack to pick up what is missing or needed to continue. It requires effort to go over a series and system of beliefs. It is easier to remain self-righteous and defend what is incorrect than to journey into the difficult work of rearranging perceptions, presumptions and past efforts. It is easier to carry a suitcase full of misinformation than lay it down and decide what is required for the journey. In the end though, we carry the unusable, the unclean and the useless.

It could be likened to colouring with only two crayons. To use the whole box requires further mastery and further attempts. It requires learning, trial and error, mistakes and failure. To paint with a couple of colours a person can become proficient but the final result is often pathetic. It does not inspire, uplift or recreate anything real, as the world is made of all the colours, not just two. Many people would rather be the master of one thought than flounder in the fluidity of alternate information.

We would all prefer to sit on our pride than admit we are mistaken or worse, wrong. Admitting we are mistaken is a process of growth and the fruit of an elastic and engaged mind. I would rather a lifetime of not really knowing than believing half truths and mistaken ideas and theories.

To expand and contribute to the changing atmosphere of knowledge and information means you must embrace change. We all flee change to a degree. We eat the same foods because they are familiar and safe. We will experience what we know. There is little chance of experiencing a bad taste but the risk is never knowing a new flavour. We find comfort in the same friends for similar reasons and read the same newspapers to solidify our beliefs and world view. Familiarity is comfortable and provides a degree of safety in an unpredictable and quickly changing world. Just when we figure out how to program the VCR we have to purchase a DVD, BlueRay and then Netflix. Some of this is fun but some of it is frustrating and it involves learning and an openness to change. It can be daunting, intimidating and it all requires effort. However, if you cling to the VCR, you are destined to watch the same movies and you will become useless by being rewound continuously. You will not witness a changing, evolving and magnificent world. You may be comfortable; it might seem familiar or safe but as predictable and navigable as it might seem it is nothing more than a shame.

We were given minds not to make them but to change and expand them. We are meant to explore and create with them. We are called not to entrench reality but to uncover it. Few gems are found on a beaten path. They are found in far corners and usually require the effort of digging and sifting through what is worthless and unusable. Ignorance and the stigma that steams from its depth are worthless. It is pollution. Those that perpetuate and promote stigma are pathetic as they waste their lives wandering the same paths in the hope of becoming rich. Unfortunately, it impoverishes the entire village when laziness and comfort overpower imagination and curiosity. Thought. Nothing original can be found, dreamed or created from the comfort of conformity and the state of indifference and ignorance.

Welcome to Canada my friend and thanks for diluting these conservative creeps.

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I have been feeling a little low lately but I have received news that if nothing else has cured my cursed cold. It seems Sun News Network has gone off the air. I guess there was some truth to my mother saying “if you have nothing good to say, don’t say anything at all.” She was probably trying to get me to shut up but she might find peace knowing at least a few conservative morons can be muted.

Ezra Levant apparently “doesn’t know what he’ll do next”, like he ever did. I have some suggestions but my blogs of late have been peppered with profanity so I too shall say nothing at all. According to Ezra Levant he still has “a lot of things to say.” So does a three year old high on Kool-Aid but we don’t let them host their own news program. Ezra Levant seems to have borrowed some of the Prime Ministers skills for mathematics. Ezra Levant thinks “people had a passionate response to the Sun News Network, pro or con, that they didn’t feel for all news channels.” Only a conservative political pundit could project that 8 thousand viewers out of a potential 5.1 million is a passionate response. This goof must have had a honeymoon with every girl that rejected him in high school. With an ability to spin like that no doubt Ezra Levant will replace Stephen Harper’s chief spokesman in another 18 months. For some “reason” or lack thereof the Prime Minister goes through spokespeople like a three legged man goes through underwear. “DAMN! Laureen can you get me another one out of the drawer?”

While I am nursing on news we might want to discuss our disgusting Justice Minister Putrid Peter MacKay. His cronyism knows no bounds. In Nova Scotia it seems one can purchase the position of a judge. I’m not suggesting that Putrid Peter MacKay is being paid directly but then again I am. It seems if you practice law for ten years and make enough of a donation to the Progressive Conservative Association in Nova Scotia, which resembles a tit for Putrid Peter, you too can earn $300 000 per year. It must be like some pension plan you pay into and to me it resembles a construction contract in Quebec.

Putrid Peter will argue that no such unscrupulous appointments are taking place. Being a lawyer he will enter into evidence the best man from his wedding, the best man’s wife and Putrid Peter’s father’s campaign manager. All are now judges. I’m not sure what you call appointing your cronies but it’s a lot like institutional incest. I am officially frightened to travel to Nova Scotia now. I don’t know any MacKay’s and I’m a leftist lunatic. They will probably put me in front of a firing squad for going 80 in a 60 zone. If I’m lucky my fine will be filtered directly into Progressive Conservative coffers.

While we’re on the topic of stupid things conservatives do and say we need to turn to the “Turkey ala King” himself. Stephen Harper is a national nuisance and upon opening his mouth again he has revealed he is the nincompoop of nuance. He is force feeding the country that anyone with a tan or tint is a conspiring jihadist. He wants to be able to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and root out anyone who doesn’t agree with his cocktail of confusion. It’s not enough to intimidate and audit birdwatchers so now he wants to be able to bust down their doors. Why you ask? Because he thinks he can best display his brand by being the party best suited to defend the nation. It is nothing short of baffling brilliance and strategic stupidity to find Sir Franklin’s centuries past sunken ship in the arctic when in fact we need bullets for barbarians. If this is what the prime minister considers a war measure we are all sunk.

Who wants to go fight anywhere so when you get home he can turn his back on you anyway?

I think we have a problem with ISIS but I don’t think we solve it by becoming anti-Muslim maniacs ourselves. The courts have ruled that signing a citizenship form can be done with a veil or Niqab. I’m not sure why anyone needs to wear a veil but why can’t people eat pork? Because it is part of their belief system which is theirs to cherish and ours to respect and vise versa.

The Prime Minister opposes the court ruling and in defense claims, “This is a society that is transparent, open and where people are equal.” When I hear that man use words like open, transparent and equal I am nauseated by the hypocrisy and I see in front of me the big bad wolf wearing granny’s pajamas. Stephen Harper is about as open as a fossilized clam and as transparent as any of his redacted media releases which usually need subpoenas and official access to information requests. This man’s idea of equality is a special paint job for his airplane while children on federal reservations go without food, medicine and clean water. We didn’t make Diane Finley show her face when she sat in parliament.

I don’t care what your religion is, what you eat, what you believe, what you wear or if you take the citizen oath covered in molasses. Welcome to Canada my friend and thanks for diluting these conservative creeps.

London Elect: You’ll all look swell when you’re sworn in. Thankfully only the mayor will have to pull something over his swollen head.

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I’m a little perturbed by our local politicians. Elected, incumbent and future. As I have stated earlier, I enjoy being alone and I am slightly agoraphobic. I like it out there but I am more at ease between my own walls. That being said or in fact re-said, I don’t often poke my head far from the perimeter of my property. For others it may seem odd but to someone who has spent a few days in cells of confinement, it is endless acres to stride and stretch about 200 feet by 75. I can run a marathon with such dimensions.

This is my present and most thought out excuse for not getting out to meet the candidates. It makes me wonder how many citizens with disabilities that make “getting out to meet the candidate” more difficult than my anxieties, were accommodated in some way?

I hope it happened. It must have. It did! My mistake. It must have been in the small print on the thousands of signs I saw posted about the city. My windows were rolled up when they were shouting and waving from street corners to tell me the number to call if you have political and or municipal concerns you want to share with a candidate but are somehow disadvantaged.

I’m sure the city has accessibility plans for people with disabilities but how many candidates had that as part of their mandate and operating platform?

It does seem a stretch to accommodate someone politically who has a disability. Sure, you’ll pick me up and almost cast my vote for me but what about what I think? What about my ideas? Disabled may be a political disadvantage but it is rarely an intellectual challenge that would preclude being listened to. I know a man who uses a computer to speak and his wit is unquestionable. Did anyone take the time to listen to him? He is a citizen of this city. We can make voting accessible for him but democracy is lopsided when a citizen does not have the opportunity to speak. Asking questions and making your ideas and feelings known is what gives flesh to bone. Maybe my vote won’t count. Maybe my candidate won’t win but if I should be able to voice my ideas and concerns.

It would be a double stretch to accommodate let alone seek out a community advocate. I don’t have enough cash to propel a politician but the sadness is that none of the candidates had enough cents to question my questionable self.

I know many first thoughts will be: “the vanity of this fool.” I won’t argue vanity (though my baldness is a statement in itself) but this fool has been fairly front and center in the London community when it comes to mental health. It wouldn’t be impossible to overlook me but it could be argued that not a single candidate paid much attention to the citizens of London who have or do suffer from serious and persistent mental illness. I think it’s safe to say none were sought out and queried as to how to best serve them on council.

Can this city influence, progress and promote better mental health for its citizens?

I’m a fool for this page so I shall step on my tongue as to how but possibly one of these politicians elect can make up for not considering people who are marginalized and stigmatized; in their political vision.

Conservative Logic and the Demise of Democracy

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My member of parliament (MP) Ed Holder sent me a 16 page booklet in the mail. According to Ed Holder his “office gets a lot of questions about” how the parliamentary system works. Could it be because it currently doesn’t? Now everyone on my street knows about the Queen, the Governor General, and the Senate, the Cabinet, the Secretary of State and even the Parliamentary Secretary. “Frankly, my dear Ed, I don’t give a damn,” it’s you not doing your job that interests me. Pointing to parliamentary procedure serves seventh graders and costs their parents.

Could Mr. Holder provide us with the number of phone calls, emails and letters that led him to purchase this booklet and mail it out? I find “a lot” a little vague when it comes to thousands of dollars pumping through printers. Members of parliament must keep records; let’s see them. Possibly, it is some final favour to the postal system that is being dismantled. Ed is the Minister for Science and Technology so facts and figures should be a familiar concept. If Ed Holder can’t give us specific numbers to “a lot” maybe he can make up an excuse as to why “a lot” of people can’t type three words into Google and find dozens of documents saying the same or more? While we’re at it why did he send this information to each and every constituent in the riding? Am I “a lot”? If a hundred people have a question do you mail the answers to anyone? No wonder not much has been accomplished on Ed Holder’s watch. He’s too busy being illogical.

There are bombs falling on the Conservatives and their degradation of democracy and failed financial finesse so they fill the constituencies with flyer flack. Only in Canada do we put so much brilliance into Blue Boxes. Don’t get me wrong. I like to see several photographs of my member of parliament so I can know he is well fed. I’m with the Conservatives; we should feed children following the flyers. It sets me at ease to see my member of parliament happy and healthy so he and the prime minster can dabble in democracy.

Recently, we have the Conservatives trying to change Canada’s copyright laws so they can exploit any news piece to make themselves look good or another look bad. The only thing that looks bad is the Conservative government. I would like whoever is heading this charge to change course, to fill me in on how many constituents called for it. Which constituency or constituencies are voicing a concern in this area? How many Canadians have questioned or found fault in the way the laws have been protecting and serving us to date? Is it “a lot?” The Conservatives owe Canadians some numbers. If the political impetus is from politicians mainly, my suspicion is “a lot” of elected Conservatives are trying to stack the deck so they can get elected again. Without facts, numbers and evidence it doesn’t have to serve “a lot” if any common Canadians.

The Conservatives ignore the premise of democracy which is “by the people.” Democracy is for the benefit of all and in the interest of the common people not the House of Commons. An MP’s job is not to keep it. Rest in peace sense, science and statistics. Conservatism is basically asexual reproduction in that an individual can reproduce without involvement with another individual. Hopefully that makes sense to Ed Holder our illustrious Minister for Science.

Boston Pizza

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Fall is here which means hockey. I’m not a huge fan but I do love the game. It’s not about the puck, lines on the ice or even the net; it’s the several times a year my brother and our friend partake in a live game. It could be basketball, tennis or fencing but for me it is an excursion in friendship.

The first London Knights game they took me to was on a weekend pass from the forensic hospital I lived in. I don’t think that memory will ever leave me. For 3 hours I was not unique, I was one of 10 000 fans. Priceless!

On the topic of value and as a direct result of a home team loss I have some observations to share. My first question is who does a colour blind person cheer for in these instances? None of the players are truly local so a person could cheer for either side with as much intimacy. It is basically a matter of a jersey colour that defines allegiance and affection. It would make more sense to cheer for the fans themselves who actually live in the city. I’m not sure why people choose teams to root for and I don’t know if I’m weird but I often cheer for the other team at first just to make things interesting. If it has to do with proximity I’m no more mad than anyone else.

My next question is why does a beer in the arena cost 5 times as much as the ones I drag home myself and up two flights of stairs? With a tip it cost more for three beers than it would for a case of 24.

My main question is why a business that is clearly gouging me and my friends has to have a cup for the poor bartender to receive tips? Should I have to pay for your Mercedes and the help you hire? Tipping confuses me. Being gluttons for punishment or simply gluttons we walked across the road from the arena to see how far our dollars stretched there for a beer. It wasn’t much better. We paid with a stack of 5 dollar bills and were returned with over seven dollars in coins. Hint, hint. If the waitress had a degree of honesty she would have returned one of the 5 dollar bills and mentioned that we had overpaid. Instead she trolled for as much of the remnants as she could expecting coins to be easier to part with than a bank bill.

I realize it is my choice to stay home from these occasions and that I should be thankful I am able to partake in such luxuries but why should going out on the town mean I have to have a psychological wrestling match with my server? Employers could and should pay a proper wage. For me a tip is an excuse to overcharge, make useless calculations and rationalize the more or less of an evening or moment I simply want to enjoy. Often I am left with a full belly and some sense of indignation or guilt for not leaving some defined or acceptable amount of tip.

Shouldn’t I just be able to enjoy my meal or drink and not have to analyze a person’s performance or the timing of their service which may be more in the control of the employer than the employee? Why should every dining experience be an employee performance review? Shouldn’t the employer be doing that before, after and during? If it is my responsibility I should to be compensated for it; give me the tip; no? It all becomes indigestion and a silly pastime employers themselves could and should solve.

Why should it be my responsibility to reward or punish your employees? I’m only there to enjoy the experience but instead I’m backed into a corner of calculations, judgement and mental maneuvering where I am forced to decide if your pimped out, overworked and underpaid employee is worthy of whatever spare change I have or they decide to divide my bills into. Maybe it would be simpler to have a donation box at the entrance of each establishment so I can subsidize the greed of the restaurant industry without thought. That at least would be unbiased.

McDonald’s and Tim Horton’s employees are run off their feet for minimum wage but I am not expected to subsidize their incomplete remuneration. If someone can’t make a profit from selling 10 000 beverages at ten dollars with an investment of two, they can only be an idiot or a capitalist pig.

There are hundreds of occupations where people are paid minimum wage but the food and beverage industry wants public subsidies. This habit leads me to believe people like Jim Treliving who owns Boston Pizza is just scraping by. The truth is Jim Treliving is scraping you and me and his employees. Would you like an appetizer with that?

“Let them drink Scotch”

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I read with fascination about the prime minister’s visit to the arctic. I have read about John Franklin’s expedition that disappeared while searching for the Northwest Passage in 1845. I’m happy the prime minister has a history hobby but as a Canadian it raises some serious questions. One headline read “Scotch tumblers were raised last month on the bridge of HMCS Kingston to the search for Erebus and Terror.” Many Canadians are interested in Franklin’s ships but outside of the prime ministers personal obsession, I fail to see the national significance.

Stephen Harper and the conservatives should be paying attention to the terror of the 21st century not the ‘Terror’ of the 19th century. Someone should point the prime minister to a newspaper and highlight a few current concerns. We have a war in Syria, the Ukraine-Russia crisis, conflict in Israel and Palestine, the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS), Ebola, global warming and closer to home the economy, murdered and missing indigenous women, prostitution laws, marijuana laws, the tar sands, the torture of mentally ill offenders and poverty, homelessness and hunger.

It is time the prime minister pulled himself away from the pages of history to take a glance at the misery faced by many Canadians and their children. I’m not sure I could raise a tumbler of Scotch to a dead explorer being the leader of one of the few developed countries without a national meal program for children. It is not liberal or in any way political to ensure all children have access to sufficient, safe and nutritious food.

Fifteen percent or almost 4 million Canadians are considered “food insecure.” While the prime minister is drunk on his hobby many Canadians are unsure of where their next meal is coming from. These people can be sure that next meal will not come from this prime minister. Stephen didn’t say it out loud but his actions and attentions scream, “Let them drink Scotch.”

The conservatives are drunk on perpetuating their power. Stephen Harper is politically shrewd and has clearly calculated a balanced budget is his only key to re-election. He has also calculated that 4 million hungry people don’t stand in line to vote because they are across town in a food line. The prime minister would rather drink Scotch on the bridge of a ship with his conscienceless cronies and imagine an explorer who risked it all for the benefit of a nation. “You sir are no John Franklin. Nice mittens by the way. Take them off and roll up your sleeves. Your nation needs a builder not a bookworm.”

It is not frivolous to feed people and it is fiscally responsible. Hungry children are sick more often and struggle academically. The medical and social costs are future expenses but you were elected to look ahead not look back. Children under 18 represent over 40% of food bank clients in Canada. If the prime minster wants to look back he should travel back to 1989 when Canada made an all-party resolution to end child poverty. I am not geographically gifted but the answers are not in the arctic.

The search for Franklin is a joint public-private partnership. I’m not sure what the unemployed or hungry think but I feel this historical hunt could and should be entirely privately funded. This government can’t find food for families but they dredge dimes from Canadians to find Franklin. With respect to the dead the man and his mission are beyond saving. The voices of the past are important but meaningless in comparison to the voices of hungry children. This prime minister needs to toss the tumbler and drink in some empathy and social responsibility.

We have two Canadian Coast Guard ships propelling past the permafrost on government gas. What exactly are we giving Canadians? I usually save my swear words for when I’m through the drive thru but Canadian school children don’t give a FROSTY about Franklin when they can’t find food.

Sucking back Scotch with the prime minister were Industry Minister James Moore, Environment Minister Leona Aqlukkaq, Aboriginal Affairs Minister Bernard Valcourt and billionaire and Blackberry profiteer Jim Balsille was there to represent common Canadians. The Inuit on shore who pay $8.99 for a head of lettuce and the rest of Canadians were too ashamed to participate, or, a shameful reminder. Billionare Balsille “was very proud. It was a nation-building moment.” Anyone familiar with Jim Balsille or Blackberry might question his perception of building.

There’s nothing wrong with being a geography geek, a history hound, a billionaire or a bureaucrat but when your interests are at the expense of taxpayers and citizens without work or food, you become a “figurehead” of folly. The ass end of a ship is the best place for such individuals. Presently we can’t do much about many of these idiots but when the conservative ship capsizes we won’t have to yell “man overboard” as there weren’t any to begin with.

Canadians will no doubt sleep better when we find splinters of these historic hulls. Too bad the prime minister and his cronies will be the few who have food in their teeth to make use of the toothpicks.

Found In Translation

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I attended a birthday meal for a septuagenarian this evening. I wasn’t the cook so it was this side of better. It seemed a breeze was breathed on us continuously which was relief from the humidity I seemed to experience everywhere else I was present for the day. We were sitting talking before the meal which for me means listening to predominantly Chinese phrases. I am sometimes isolated by my vocabulary which consists of ‘xie xie’ or “thank you” and ‘dou bu qi’ which means “I’m sorry”. I have had a six year relationship with my Canadian Chinese fiancé knowing nothing more and needing not much else. There is some English when we visit her family which provides me the opportunity to put my foot in my mouth and say ‘dou bu qi’ and practice my Chinese.

Someone asked what time it was. My initial reaction was to suggest it was time to eat as BBQ almost everything was already on the table but something struck me. Someone reached into their pocket and siphoned the time from their cell phone while I turned my wrist and glanced at my watch. If I want to know the time I look at the microwave, the oven or my watch before I even think about the cell phone in my pocket. As far as I’m concerned cell phones are for music, EBay and confirming how few of you read this blog. I don’t even use mine to make calls as I have one of those old phones you have to travel half way across the house for. I would like to argue that I like the exercise but there are people I know who do read this blog and they could only laugh at such an argument.

Time means something different to each of us. To the 8 year old at the table it was an eternity until we cut the cake. The chef at the BBQ toiled for hours marinating and turning several forms of flesh and I ate most of it in a fraction of the time it took others. This slight failing falls squarely at the feet of my parents who birthed four hungry boys. Last one to the table scrapes the bowl. My swiftness to swallow was further fine tuned among inmates who would ask “are you going to eat that?” If it was on your tray you didn’t want it.

Like time, life experiences are subjective and subtle. Money for someone who experienced the Great Depression is something different from the 13 year old with the X-Box, IPod and Dr. Dre Headphones. Homelessness is a foreign concept to one and a reflection and reminder to the other. The 8 year old waiting for the cake will likely never fathom his grandmother passing her portion of rice to her children.

If you were to ask one about food, the stories, memories, impressions, meanings and experiences would be as far apart as the years themselves. I hope neither know hunger again or ever but there is nothing like it to add to appetite and to colour food with flavour and celebration. It becomes not something we do three times a day but something we are blessed with in the moment.

Goiter

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His name is S. He lives on another long term ward in the hospital. I stand in a sheltered corner in the dark and watch him for a moment. He is sitting at a picnic table beneath a spruce tree. It is a cold windy night, so windy it’s hard to tell which direction it is coming from. It is snowing so many of the smokers are huddled inside the doors illegally or just outside the doors. This baffles me as it is no warmer beside the building than at the required distance of 60 feet yet we all do it.

He lights up a cigarette and his face with it. He is 50 or 60 with a pleasant face and a clean short haircut. He carries with him his clear garbage bag full of all his possessions. I have never been able to make out anything of value in the bag and I’m sure if he left it anywhere it would be thrown in with the trash. He obviously doesn’t trust anyone which may be a symptom.

S is a lifer, he has been here for many years but appears fairly normal. He is a quiet person and I have seen him smile on occasion. He often only wears a T-shirt or an unbuttoned coat over a T-shirt. His belly protrudes enough to challenge the fabric. He has something resembling a goiter on his belly. It protrudes a good 7 inches in all directions. I am drawn to it like a train wreck, I can see enough that I want to see more.

S is one of the psychiatric poor. I remember sitting with him this summer as he smoked cigarettes rolled with newspaper. In jail rolling paper was at a premium so we often used the waxy paper that the rolls of toilet paper came in or pages torn from a Bible. If we were out of tobacco which was usually the case some of the guys would smoke dried orange peels which had a smell of their own. At times the stringy pulp from bananas would be dried and tried. I’m not sure why you would smoke either of these as there was no nicotine but you can’t underestimate the pleasure of a smoke.