Last night I went out for a business meeting, hoping to improve my future employment. It involved a few pints of Stella Artois, nachos and chicken wings. And salacious gossip. The evening went well, that’s all I can say for now.
Tonight I’m out for a few drinks with my sailboat racing crew.
Tomorrow night is Poker Night at the sailing club.
Saturday morning I will wake up early to accept the delivery of moving bins, and to somehow rest my liver.
In case you haven't noticed, i have started drinking again, but in moderation. To clarify, i drink less at one time.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
No More TTC!
I got to the subway station early this morning. And it was a good thing too – I had to wait for 3 trains to pass before I could squeeze onto the 4th. And then, to add to the fun, we sat north of Bloor Station for around 10 minutes.
I’ll be very happy, come the end of the month, to NOT buy another TTC pass. They have a complicated and expensive system, but it is horribly mismanaged and don’t deserve the fare.
Thankfully, I will finally be back within walking distance of my office.
I’ll be very happy, come the end of the month, to NOT buy another TTC pass. They have a complicated and expensive system, but it is horribly mismanaged and don’t deserve the fare.
Thankfully, I will finally be back within walking distance of my office.
Monday, March 5, 2012
New House
Did I tell you that Wife and I are moving?
We’ve joined a Co-op, and will be getting a 3-storey townhouse downtown for less than we’re paying in rent for our 1-bedroom apartment! We took possession last week, and spent the entire weekend painting. We’re very excited, and for a few reasons. We’ve decided to get out of the Midtown Toronto sterility, and relocate to an “up-and-coming” neighbourhood. The new neighbourhood is an interesting mix of low-income and wealthy. As a friend wrote in a song about the area “lawyers and addicts, new age fanatics…”
Surprisingly, I’ve always liked the area (at least the district a 5-minute walk from our house) but never spent much time there. I was glad to get out yesterday for a lunch break, we wandered up to a restaurant while windowshopping and people-watching.
We also moved because we REALLY need more space. If Wife is quilting or working on a play, she needs space. So I get relocated to the bedroom. If I am working on music (or, less likely, work), she gets relocated to the bedroom. In the new place we will each have our own work studio, as well as a comfy living room that neither of us will invade with our artistic stuff.
This month will be a whirlwind of preparing, packing, and moving. And in the midst of this, I’m rehearsing for a band that’s got a few shows booked for St.Patrick’s day (email me for details, I’m trying to regain my anonymity) and Wife is busy with fundraisers for her theatre company.
We’ve joined a Co-op, and will be getting a 3-storey townhouse downtown for less than we’re paying in rent for our 1-bedroom apartment! We took possession last week, and spent the entire weekend painting. We’re very excited, and for a few reasons. We’ve decided to get out of the Midtown Toronto sterility, and relocate to an “up-and-coming” neighbourhood. The new neighbourhood is an interesting mix of low-income and wealthy. As a friend wrote in a song about the area “lawyers and addicts, new age fanatics…”
Surprisingly, I’ve always liked the area (at least the district a 5-minute walk from our house) but never spent much time there. I was glad to get out yesterday for a lunch break, we wandered up to a restaurant while windowshopping and people-watching.
We also moved because we REALLY need more space. If Wife is quilting or working on a play, she needs space. So I get relocated to the bedroom. If I am working on music (or, less likely, work), she gets relocated to the bedroom. In the new place we will each have our own work studio, as well as a comfy living room that neither of us will invade with our artistic stuff.
This month will be a whirlwind of preparing, packing, and moving. And in the midst of this, I’m rehearsing for a band that’s got a few shows booked for St.Patrick’s day (email me for details, I’m trying to regain my anonymity) and Wife is busy with fundraisers for her theatre company.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Burying My Mother
Sorry it took so long to write this.
I expected it to be a quiet (if stressful) week in Family Hometown. Not likely! The phone rang nonstop all day, and neighbours stopped by often to offer their condolences. Not that they weren’t appreciated, but MY GOD I was glad to get home for some rest!
Family conflicts rose their weary heads again, but were ignored with the knowledge that my mother’s death were adding to the fire. I have spent the last 20 years thinking that I was a tough teenager to raise. That I was obstinate and somewhat disrespectful to my parents. Now I think that was an incorrect assumption. The same arguments and offenses returned, and with the same results. The difference is that I’m now nearly 40 years old, have lived more than ½ my life outside their home, and understand reality and society’s rules. And I still disagreed with much of what that household did (and how they did it). It reassured me that I was justified in all my teenage rebellion, and that I was not the Royal Pain In The Ass that I’d assumed I’d been. This has nothing to do with the death and funeral, mind you – strictly life in the Hometown House.
The funeral was a mess, but in a way that only my family could expect. We asked an old family friend to perform the ceremony. He was my parents’ first minister when we moved to Canada 30 years ago. I don’t think anyone had seen him in the last decade or so.
When I phoned to tell him of my mum’s passing, instead of focusing on how his friend of three decades had died, he started telling me about the temperature in the Ukraine and how it the poverty there is killing people. Not a good sign… However, he wanted to perform the funeral service and booked a room for the nights before and after. The hotel was a 5-minute walk from the church.
He didn’t phone the family to discuss the service. Nobody could get in touch with him on the morning of the service. Twenty minutes after the service was supposed to start, the in-house minister offered to run things. So 30 minutes late we decided to start with the stand-in. The stranger did a great job under the circumstances, and was ½ way through the final prayer when the Original Minister barged in.
Frothing at the mouth, he grabbed the microphone (without an apology for his timing), and quickly mentioned my mother by name. Then he went on a 45-minute tangent about his running out of gas in Nova Scotia, poverty in Eastern Europe, and something else that I blocked out… But NONE of it had anything to do with the deceased. NONE! The stand-in minister crept up behind me and asked if I was okay with the speech. I mentioned that he was a welcome guest, but was getting quite long-winded. The stand-in calmly approached the pulpit, pulled the microphone from Original Minister’s hand, and announced that we would be ending the service and heading to the burial.
Pure awesome. Completely wrong. But with an inappropriateness that my mother would have found hilarious.
The burial went without a hitch, and we headed to the pub for a few much-needed pints.
The next day Wife and I came back to Toronto to hibernate for a couple of days before rejoining reality.
I expected it to be a quiet (if stressful) week in Family Hometown. Not likely! The phone rang nonstop all day, and neighbours stopped by often to offer their condolences. Not that they weren’t appreciated, but MY GOD I was glad to get home for some rest!
Family conflicts rose their weary heads again, but were ignored with the knowledge that my mother’s death were adding to the fire. I have spent the last 20 years thinking that I was a tough teenager to raise. That I was obstinate and somewhat disrespectful to my parents. Now I think that was an incorrect assumption. The same arguments and offenses returned, and with the same results. The difference is that I’m now nearly 40 years old, have lived more than ½ my life outside their home, and understand reality and society’s rules. And I still disagreed with much of what that household did (and how they did it). It reassured me that I was justified in all my teenage rebellion, and that I was not the Royal Pain In The Ass that I’d assumed I’d been. This has nothing to do with the death and funeral, mind you – strictly life in the Hometown House.
The funeral was a mess, but in a way that only my family could expect. We asked an old family friend to perform the ceremony. He was my parents’ first minister when we moved to Canada 30 years ago. I don’t think anyone had seen him in the last decade or so.
When I phoned to tell him of my mum’s passing, instead of focusing on how his friend of three decades had died, he started telling me about the temperature in the Ukraine and how it the poverty there is killing people. Not a good sign… However, he wanted to perform the funeral service and booked a room for the nights before and after. The hotel was a 5-minute walk from the church.
He didn’t phone the family to discuss the service. Nobody could get in touch with him on the morning of the service. Twenty minutes after the service was supposed to start, the in-house minister offered to run things. So 30 minutes late we decided to start with the stand-in. The stranger did a great job under the circumstances, and was ½ way through the final prayer when the Original Minister barged in.
Frothing at the mouth, he grabbed the microphone (without an apology for his timing), and quickly mentioned my mother by name. Then he went on a 45-minute tangent about his running out of gas in Nova Scotia, poverty in Eastern Europe, and something else that I blocked out… But NONE of it had anything to do with the deceased. NONE! The stand-in minister crept up behind me and asked if I was okay with the speech. I mentioned that he was a welcome guest, but was getting quite long-winded. The stand-in calmly approached the pulpit, pulled the microphone from Original Minister’s hand, and announced that we would be ending the service and heading to the burial.
Pure awesome. Completely wrong. But with an inappropriateness that my mother would have found hilarious.
The burial went without a hitch, and we headed to the pub for a few much-needed pints.
The next day Wife and I came back to Toronto to hibernate for a couple of days before rejoining reality.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Dirty Work for the Family
Well... I said I'd start writing this again, if at least for therapeutic reasons, so here goes.
Friday morning, I got up reluctantly (as usual). Showered, shaved, and prepared for another 8 hours in the office. I picked up my Blackberry, and noted that there had already been 2 phone calls this morning. Notably, they were both from my family.
I listened to the first message, already knowing what was to come: My dad's voice saying "mother... dead. See ya." He had a stroke and has a VERY limited vocabulary -the 'see ya', although strangely comical, wasn't intentional.
Wife and I quickly got ready and booked the train to my family's hometown. Other than brief respite Sunday night back in Toronto, i've been in Hometown since then.
Endless phone calls and drop-ins, while well-meaning, have led to a general state of exhaustion in the house. Surprisingly, most of the funeral and burial arrangements were made within 12 hours of her passing. It's amazing how smoothly these things are set out.
Since then I've been spending most of my time finding and photoshopping a good photo of my mum, writing a speech, fielding phone calls from everyone in town, and searching for those long-lost family friends that may or may not still be alive or in Canada.
My family is dealing with it quite well for now. Her illness debilitated her for around a year, so i think we had unconsciously prepared beforehand.
Anyway, my father is shouting for me to go with him to pick out the gravesite. He knows I like shopping...
Friday morning, I got up reluctantly (as usual). Showered, shaved, and prepared for another 8 hours in the office. I picked up my Blackberry, and noted that there had already been 2 phone calls this morning. Notably, they were both from my family.
I listened to the first message, already knowing what was to come: My dad's voice saying "mother... dead. See ya." He had a stroke and has a VERY limited vocabulary -the 'see ya', although strangely comical, wasn't intentional.
Wife and I quickly got ready and booked the train to my family's hometown. Other than brief respite Sunday night back in Toronto, i've been in Hometown since then.
Endless phone calls and drop-ins, while well-meaning, have led to a general state of exhaustion in the house. Surprisingly, most of the funeral and burial arrangements were made within 12 hours of her passing. It's amazing how smoothly these things are set out.
Since then I've been spending most of my time finding and photoshopping a good photo of my mum, writing a speech, fielding phone calls from everyone in town, and searching for those long-lost family friends that may or may not still be alive or in Canada.
My family is dealing with it quite well for now. Her illness debilitated her for around a year, so i think we had unconsciously prepared beforehand.
Anyway, my father is shouting for me to go with him to pick out the gravesite. He knows I like shopping...
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Return
Last August I was having a rough time.
Frustrated with work, stress, and life in general, I was at a low point. I blogged about it, and it was a tough one to write. Racist slurs, hate, it was pretty bad. I’ve read it a few times since then, and noticed that as soon as I wrote it, I started to feel better. Reading the typeface seemed to clarify my position. Every time I read it, I see how bad I was, and have made an effort to not let the bullshit affect me.
I’m doing much better now and am really glad I wrote that tough post. I’m also going to try restarting this blogging thing, as it is obviously therapeutic. And who knows, maybe people will start reading me again…
Frustrated with work, stress, and life in general, I was at a low point. I blogged about it, and it was a tough one to write. Racist slurs, hate, it was pretty bad. I’ve read it a few times since then, and noticed that as soon as I wrote it, I started to feel better. Reading the typeface seemed to clarify my position. Every time I read it, I see how bad I was, and have made an effort to not let the bullshit affect me.
I’m doing much better now and am really glad I wrote that tough post. I’m also going to try restarting this blogging thing, as it is obviously therapeutic. And who knows, maybe people will start reading me again…
Friday, November 4, 2011
Two Weeks in the Hole
It’s been a busy couple of weeks, but an interesting one.
I’ve been asked to play guitar in a band that’ll be doing a bunch of shows in the winter and spring. This has kept me busy improving my guitar skills. I hadn’t realized how rusty I’ve become, but it’s all coming back quickly…
Sailing is getting costly. Along with my monthly club fees (I knew this would go all year, it just sucks to pay and not utilize the club for the winter), I had to take a couple more prerequisite courses before my live-aboard one in February. I attained my VHF Marine Radio license (ROC-M), and just signed up for 2 weekends of Coastal Navigation. When I was budgeting for the February Caribbean course, I hadn’t taken into account having to take (and pay for) these other classes. They’ll be handy, and are fun and interesting, but still – more money NOT paying down debts.
Speaking of the sailing club, I missed the awards dinner but won 2 of the 5 awards: I was deemed “Rookie of the Year,” and also won for “Best Timing.” This was due to my boat getting slammed by a really bad squall (I believe the remnants of the tornado that hit Goderitch that day) while down below peeing into a water bottle. Specifically, realizing that I was going to overfill the first bottle and frantically looking for a second one. Looking out the companionway hatch and seeing the black sky, at the same time hearing the crew shouting, pinched that off quickly. Nobody was hurt, and it was an exciting fight to keep the sailboat under control. And apparently nobody else had such unfortunate timing this season. I suppose other contenders might have been the person who wasn’t paying attention while her boat was docking, and stepped off 2’ before reaching the slip. SPLASH.
I’m also ½-way through reading The Pirates of Somalia, by Jay Badahur. Fascinating, it seems to be an honest account of what is happening over there along with it’s causes. Jay is a Canadian journalism student that (without telling his family) made his way to Somalia and lived with pirates and supporters for a few months. While showing both sides of the equation, I still think these pirates should be dealt with in the traditional manner. But that’s my opinion. Anyone looking for a good read to pass the cold winter should pick this up.
I’ve been asked to play guitar in a band that’ll be doing a bunch of shows in the winter and spring. This has kept me busy improving my guitar skills. I hadn’t realized how rusty I’ve become, but it’s all coming back quickly…
Sailing is getting costly. Along with my monthly club fees (I knew this would go all year, it just sucks to pay and not utilize the club for the winter), I had to take a couple more prerequisite courses before my live-aboard one in February. I attained my VHF Marine Radio license (ROC-M), and just signed up for 2 weekends of Coastal Navigation. When I was budgeting for the February Caribbean course, I hadn’t taken into account having to take (and pay for) these other classes. They’ll be handy, and are fun and interesting, but still – more money NOT paying down debts.
Speaking of the sailing club, I missed the awards dinner but won 2 of the 5 awards: I was deemed “Rookie of the Year,” and also won for “Best Timing.” This was due to my boat getting slammed by a really bad squall (I believe the remnants of the tornado that hit Goderitch that day) while down below peeing into a water bottle. Specifically, realizing that I was going to overfill the first bottle and frantically looking for a second one. Looking out the companionway hatch and seeing the black sky, at the same time hearing the crew shouting, pinched that off quickly. Nobody was hurt, and it was an exciting fight to keep the sailboat under control. And apparently nobody else had such unfortunate timing this season. I suppose other contenders might have been the person who wasn’t paying attention while her boat was docking, and stepped off 2’ before reaching the slip. SPLASH.
I’m also ½-way through reading The Pirates of Somalia, by Jay Badahur. Fascinating, it seems to be an honest account of what is happening over there along with it’s causes. Jay is a Canadian journalism student that (without telling his family) made his way to Somalia and lived with pirates and supporters for a few months. While showing both sides of the equation, I still think these pirates should be dealt with in the traditional manner. But that’s my opinion. Anyone looking for a good read to pass the cold winter should pick this up.
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