I have rants up the wazoo, plenty up my sleeve for a long time to come, actually.  But I am thinking this one may be my last (or near to last) to go public.  Only a fool paints his butt red and wiggles it at a bull.

When Bill C-51 is passed and Canada’s secret police have even MORE powers (which, by the way, should be read as Canadians having FEWER personal powers, rights and freedoms as citizens), then expressing myself freely will no longer be legal.  I am sure I will be able to express myself in some way but I’ll have to get a permit first and be vetted by security. They’ll screen me.  I’ll have a ‘file’. They may haul me in and hold me in jail for whimsical reasons – because they won’t need any real reasons.  They may even taser me for resisting arrest and striking an officer – which will not be true (not the first time, anyway) – but they will say it and that seems to be good enough for what will soon be our justice system. The government bully is just getting even more belligerent.

But you already know that.  C-51 is in the news and you know it is wrong.  Don’t you?

So, here is the rant-cum conspiracy theory: We have had no terrorist attacks in Canada since the Squamish Five blew up a shack in the wilds of BC.  We’ve had nut-bars going on shooting sprees or buying pressure cookers but, of course, we have had those almost as long as the US has.  Marc Lepine was the closest we came to a terrorist but he doesn’t count as a terrorist because his war was with women rather than the government.

Admittedly, the odd nut-bar has identified with some political terrorists and dressed up in funny garb to affect the ‘look’ but none of our home grown nutters were affiliated in any way with any organization whatsoever.  And the government knows this.

But they want more powers anyway.  As soon as C-51 passes they will get them.  They do not want us to resist that bill.  And so they skew the news reports.  Maybe even make them up?  And the media is complicit.  And they pump the propaganda.  And we are manipulated and truth and honesty and facts are lost while fear and prejudice is fomented. It is blatant.  It is planned. It is evil.  And we are falling for it.

Today I read that some remarkably fit-looking fellow wearing a face-covering dressed in an exceptionally clean and neat camo jacket spoke on an alleged terrorist video representing the al Shabaab terrorist campaign in Somalia (probably the only well-fed, clean Somalian in the country).  Our video’d terrorist referred to an attack on the West Edmonton Mall (WEM).

Right.  A Somalian terrorist threatens the WEM at precisely the time our nation is contemplating imposing a police state by way of new legislation?  Could the timing be any better?  Or could the timing be so good as to be implausible?  I think the latter.  Canada is NOT above black flag operations and this sure smells like one to me.

Again – don’t get me wrong.  There are such things as terrorists.  They do horrific things like beheadings and stuff.  They shoot people.   They are bad.  Mind you, we shoot people, too.  And our allies do beheadings (Saudi Arabia) and we all do horrific things when we want to or need to but I get it; we do bad things because we are the good guys and they do bad things because they are the crazy bad guys.  Simple really.  We are good.  They are bad. Let’s kill ’em.  Not only are we doing good work, we get their oil.

So, where is the doubt coming from, Dave?

I have no doubt.  I know how it works.  Us against them.  Harper is just telling us the truth. They lie.  So we kill ’em. What’s not to like?

The problem for me is that we are actually and obviously lied to by our own government in so many ways. All the time.  They feel the need to lie to us, manipulate us, control us, take our rights, freedoms and sense of well-being.  They fear-monger us.  They push propaganda on us. They tax us and restrict us and watch us and even arrest and taser us and, for the life of me, I don’t understand that because we are clearly NOT the enemy, the enemy is an obviously nasty but well-dressed Somalian or an ISIL member.

Now, to be fair, and if I am being honest…..I, personally, have never suffered at the hands of a Somalian.  Or ISIL member.  Or any terrorist in Canada.  I know, I know, the terrorists are evil and they behead people but, well, I haven’t seen it.  Not up close. But I have seen our police taser and kill innocent people.  I have heard Harper’s outright lies and blatant propaganda. And I see our armed forces bombing them.  That has to make one think….no?

But do I have doubts about our government and it’s intentions?  Of course not; we are the good guys and they are the bad guys and they need to be killed and we need to be lied to for our own good.  Get used to Harper taking care of you that way, it is only going to get worse.

Our boat is out of the water, stored on the hard.  We put it up when we leave for a month or more.  Pull the transom plug and let ‘er rain and drain.  Usually that works just fine.  But I have two boats (and Sal has one more plus a small flotilla of kayaks and dinghys).  One of the boats is kinda permanently stored up on the beach in the manner that is so common to coastal folks.  After a few years the bushes grow up around it and then, after a few more years, there are more and bigger trees and the boat just disappears.   But last month, my permanently-on-the-hard boat almost disappeared ahead of it’s time.  The tides were so high and the storm surge so strong the waves came up higher on the beach than ever before and lifted the boat off it’s cradle.  Had it not been tied, it would have floated off. As it was, my neighbour saw it all askew a few days later and made the effort to re-position it.  Just part of being neighbourly for him.  It is likely fine.

But this global warming thing almost bit me in the boat.

When we get back, something will be amiss.  Always is.  A pilot light won’t start in the stove.  The fridge will stay warm.  Water pump makes noise.  Whatever.  Or, maybe we just forgot something we really needed.  Going home is such a wonderful feeling but Murphy usually adds a little reality to the moment.  Getting re-established and comfortable again usually takes at least all of one day futzing and putzing, fiddling and jury-rigging, making amends with Murphy.   It is rarely ever serious (altho losing the boat could have been…?) but there is always something.

I am kinda looking forward to it.

Kinda.

I like resolving little hiccups, but I am not keen on the catastrophic.  If all the panels fell down, I would be upset. If the water line broke, no biggie.  I can be a handyman and have it going in no time and still get kudos for being manly.  So, arriving is a gamble.  “I wonder how it will go this time…..?”

One thing is pretty dependable – my neighbour.  I call a week before we arrive and ask if it is possible for him to launch the boat and leave it at the other island for my arriving convenience. He always says ‘yes’.  Never a problem.  What isn’t said out loud is the obvious: the boat weighs a ton (with the engine), it is ‘on the hard’ which makes it weigh all that much heavier and it is awkward as hell to re-launch.  My neighbour always makes sure the engine is in running condition, too.  Of course, I leave it ready to go but I know how Murphy works. Nothing starts the first time. There is futzing and putzing and jury-rigging involved there, too.   ‘Course, it was never a mentioned problem for him and all is good and we are supported and befriended as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

And the nice part about it is that it is mostly like that.  We are all mostly like that to each other up there.  It is very, very good.  I miss the place and I miss my neighbours.  I am ready to go home.

And it will be very, very good to get back again for all that.

….well, tolerable few, anyway.  We are getting near the end of our winter sojourn, our hiatus, our respite.  Our big shopping foray.  Our winter dip in the shallow end.  We have stayed our welcome but only just, we could be past it…hard to say. Ten days from now, we begin the trek home and what a convoluted trek that will be taking us first to Victoria before the car points in the right direction. I am getting closer to home by the day and I can taste it.  Homesickness, bittersweet.

Mostly just sweet.  If there is any bitter it is just in the anticipation of creaky bones, aged muscles and loads of loads to carry and schlep when we get home.  We are once again heavily laden from the treasures and junque that will fill the car and the trailer to the brim. We are much less like vacationers and more like outfitters, salvagers and opportunists with too much time on their hands and too much treasure at hand.  Did I tell you I got two more winches?

Seriously, my only limitation to acquisition is the vehicle and trailer capacity and, as you know from last year, I added the roof rack from hell to extend our potential for more and we use it!  This year I cheated and shipped a 1400 pound box by truck and barge.  I could star in Hoarders: the hermit kind.

Sally, usually the voice of reason, has become an enabler.  She ferrets about, collects and finds like I do now.  She no longer complains about a salvage op or a junque trawl.  She’s onside so long as it is NOT in Surrey.  She hates Surrey.  The other day, she elicited a promise from me; “I don’t care if there are ten free, new winches, nine new gensets and a Toyota Tundra with a camper on it, all for free!  We don’t go to Surrey!  OK?  Deal?”

I had to agree.  I have always maintained (even after the first Pit Bull launched itself at Sal only to be stopped by the barbed wired, chain-link fence as it splattered all-legs pressed against the fence) that one could not determine the potential for ‘good junque’ by the neighbourhood.  “Sal, think about it, a person in Surrey could have a good used car, could have a good used tool, some nice salvaged construction materials.  They could advertise on Craigslist like anyone else and have the item of your desire like anywhere else, eh? Why not?”

That argument pretty much won the day twenty years ago when we were looking for a step van (another story) but the legitimacy of the argument eroded as the years yielded one major (and usually scary) disappointment after the other.  I confess to having serious doubts about anything-Surrey for the last few years but I refused to let experience be my teacher.

But Sal became more and more convinced that Surrey was a black hole for honesty and truth.  Even when she saw an ad that looked great and promised even better, she’d say, “It won’t be true.  It’ll be bait and switch. You’ll see.”   And we’d go.  And it was.  Some so blatant you wonder how they can answer the door.

But I mention this mostly because of the new Surrey phenomena of last minute location disclosure.  Seriously.  It is weird.  “So, I saw your ad for an anvil.  The blacksmith’s anvil? On Craigslist?  Do you still have it?”

“Unh.  You better talk to Sam.  He has the anvil for sale.”

“Well, I don’t have to talk to Sam if he still has it.  I can, it seems, just come and see it.  No?”

Unh, like, you better talk to Sam.”

“OK.  Is Sam there?”

“Unh, I dunno….I ‘ll go see….but, like, he likes it that you leave a number, OK?  And then he can phone you back…OK, like?”

“You live in Surrey…right…am I guessing right…?”

“Unh, do you want to leave a number?  Sam says he’ll call you right back.” (……..if you are talking with Sam why not just put him on?…Oh, never mind).  I leave my number and a few minutes later Sam calls.

“Yeah, Sam here.  Ya wanna anvil?”

“Yeah.  That anvil seems the perfect size for me.  About thirty pounds, maybe 40?”

“I dunno, man, its f’ing heavy, like.”

“Yeah, OK.  Give me your address and we’ll come out.  Is today good for you?  Mid afternoon-ish?”

“Yeah.  I’ll be here.  Phone me when you get close and I’ll give you the address.”

“OK.  Fine.  But close to where?  Don’t you have to at least give me a hint as to what is the nearest large intersection or something…”

“Yeah, like, OK…right…unh..we are close to 132nd and 80th ave.  Ya know Surrey?”

“More and more all the time.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.  I’ll call as we enter your airspace…see you in an hour or so…”

Any one of several scenarios then unfolds: the anvil was sold or was made of ceramic or wood or was out back in the chicken coop near where the Pit Bull was tethered.  They would only open the door an inch and, scanning me with a flinty eye, would only tell me where to look.  The smells wafting out from the door ajar suggested that the chickens lived and died in the house along with them and a gro-op. Sally was pulling on my arm and saying in hissed tones, “See!  What’d I tell you.  Let’s get out of here.”

“Geez, now that we are here, sweetie, don’t you at least wanna see if we can get past the Pit Bull?”

Surrey, BC.  Don’t Craigslist there.

So, anyway, we are going home soon. Lots of stuff.  Wintertime pretty well spent.  But no anvil this time.  Lots of weird stories about Craigslist characters, Surrey neighbourhoods and Sal’s growing bias towards the closer proximity neighbourhoods for buying second hand junque.  And I have to agree with her, I am afraid.  I gave Surrey over twenty years and came up with zip every time.  It’s just that not too many people living in Shaughnessy have second hand old anvils, ya know?.

We went to do a ‘book signing’ the other day at an alternative school.  The kids there don’t do well in ordinary schools and, in some cases, don’t do well at all anywhere.  A friend of ours is a teacher there. We did not draw a big crowd.  Maybe ten or so.

In fact, one kid had to be dragged in.

Ostensibly, I was there to talk about our book.  But I first spoke about me not feeling ‘right’ in the cul de sac, feeling a bit trapped working urban, being a smidge restless for a bit of adventure and, while getting on in years, feeling those feelings even stronger.  Some of the kids paid attention, most looked at the tops of their desks.

I spoke about not really needing the systems that society had to offer, at least not as much as I or most people thought we did. I spoke about being able to grow food, catch fish, build crap and conduct medical responses to my own physical problems most of the time.  Of course, I admitted to living in the system most of my life and I gave credit to the ‘system’ when I used it.

I really just pointed out that I didn’t need or use the support systems as much as I used to. Nor did I want to.  And I pointedly spoke a similar view about so-called education.  I told them I learned better when I was interested and I was never interested while in school.  All the kids were paying attention at that point.  So were the teachers.

So was an ex-nurse.

I spoke about money, jobs, cost-of-living and the umbilicals of life that we don’t really notice if we are born and raised with them – such as telephones, TV, cable, cell phones, internet, roads, electricity grids, plumbing and sewage and the BIG networks of health, education, politics, employment and living that we are so enmeshed and invested in without really being aware.  I spoke about the beauty of the forest and the feeling of being alive when outside even though I confessed to spending time writing my book and watching cheap B flicks at night.  I guess I conveyed a sense of balance…I don’t know…I was just wingin’ it and talking about our book and our life.

Some of the teachers asked questions.  One of the questions was about our dog.  Sal went and brought Fiddich in.  He has a presence.  The classroom came alive.

I talked about rebelling, swimming against the current, taking risks, NOT planning, leaving the herd and all that ‘freedom’s-just-another-word-for-nothing-left-to-lose’ kind of stuff you might expect from a guy wingin’ it and the the kids themselves started asking questions.

On the face of it, I was a bad influence.  Given another few minutes, I might have advocated dropping out of school and finding a carnival or tramp steamer to sign on with. The interesting part was that the teachers would likely have been the first to sign up!

Of course, it is easy to advocate taking alternative actions in an alternative school.  Even if the teachers were NOT receptive (but they were), I could always hide behind the fact that it was, in fact, a place for alternative thinking and learning that was also in essence what the book was about.  I could safely advocate risk without risking criticism or the bums rush.  In effect, I was a poseur except for the fact that we had done it.  I certainly had no alternatives to offer the kids (or the teachers).  I could only tell our story.

But the result was that all but one of the kids got engaged.  All of them asked questions (even the kid who was dragged in).  All of them made eye contact and laughed at the stupid stuff (there was a lot of stupid stuff).  And the teachers were surprised.  The teachers were actually shocked to see the drag-in so engaged.  The idea of Alternative was connecting with everyone, teachers, students, everyone.  It was good.

We left and went to our car so that we could go shop at Costco.  The kids went back to class.  The ‘life’ moment had passed.  Fleeting, like Boson-Higgs.

I don’t know if Naomi Klein coined the term, Blockadia, but it is, it seems, the new name for universal protest.  And it is growing.

Before we get into what that term means, this post is a small diatribe about the pathetic excuse we refer to as the media, a mild condemnation of BIG GREEN (Sierra Club, WWF, etc.) and a note of optimism regarding the way we all work together when faced with threat.

Seems we don’t rely on the BIG LIE MACHINE as much as I thought.

OK…Blockadia (the term for protest Klein employs for resistance all over the globe) is a grass roots, local and disorganized force for resistance to BIG INDUSTRY beyond the local level.  It is (mostly and currently) protest against the petroleum based economy in essence and, while likely a bit hypocritical (in that protesters drive to the protest site), the protesters are totally aware that petroleum AND BIG BUSINESS is the root cause of global warming and that they have to do something about it.

Seems the first thing they are doing is stopping the petro projects before they get off the ground.  In BC (where I live) popular anti-petro sentiment has grown to the extent that the Northern Gateway project is likely dead-in-the-water.  Kinder Morgan’s pipeline expansion into Vancouver is also facing overwhelming resistance.  After the disaster that was Mount Polle, a mine with open holding ponds will likely be severely resisted, too. The hoi poloi is protesting BIG industry all over the place.

The news is that this is coming from local people, disorganized except for the fact that they are the local and most directly affected by whatever it is they are protesting. Basically, Blockadia is NIMBY grown large. And NIMBY doesn’t do press releases or fund raise.

I write about it because Naomi did.  But the shock in her writing is that this kind of thing is a local phenomenon everywhere.  From rail-lines carrying toxic sludge through small communities to refinery expansions in big cities, people all over the world are organizing locally and saying NO.  Even Mongolians are protesting coal mining in China!

And there is no well-funded, well-known BIG GREEN MACHINE behind them.  These are local people resisting BIG INDUSTRY simply because they are against any more earth-poisoning at any level. It would appear that green consciousness is alive and kicking hard all over the world.

Ironically, fracking seemed to be the straw that broke the dam.  Even tho oil is the big bogey-man, it was fracking being done close to affluent neighbourhoods that turned mainstream system supporters into radical freaks.  Behind every cloud…..

‘Course, you won’t hear any of this from the media.  “Who cares if a group of neighbours blockades a pipeline extension in New Brunswick. Lead the news with the puppy stuck in the well and cut to the weather!”   But it turns out that particular local protest in NB did make the news after all due to the RCM Police over reaction at the time and their snipers aiming rifles at moms and tots.  But BIG media is generally NOT covering the BIGGER story of quiet, locally-based but international resistance to BIG OIL.  And it is happening all over the world.  Even the Nigerians are starting to fight back despite the Niger Delta being likely the most polluted-but-still-populated place on earth!

The real story is international resistance to BIG institutions.  You get puppies on your local news station instead.  But somehow the people are getting the message.

Does that mean they will win?  Who knows?  In lesser countries protesters go to jail for years simply for protesting.  Some are disappeared.  Hundreds if not thousands have already been killed by police and even we in the supposedly freer countries have had grannies carted off to jail and youth gassed and beaten.  BIG INDUSTRY pays for government and government pays the police.  Conflict is likely to escalate before it ebbs.

“Dave, why tell me this?”

Well, two reasons: people should know that their local protest, if not part of a larger organized movement is part of a larger consciousness movement.  If you are protesting the removal of mountain tops in Appalachia or fracking in Greece or pipelines through Wyoming, know that more and more people are doing what you are doing except they are doing it in their local area.  Resistance is universal and international and you should know that others are on your side at least in spirit and sentiment.  And all this on a scale that you are not likely aware of.

And secondly, I suggested in the last blog that conflict will escalate not only because police actions foster resistance but because people the world over are fed up with the BIGGIES and they are resisting.  That one of the BIGGIES is their government and the corrupted party politics system has yet to be openly resisted may just be a matter of time ….or it may never come to that if government ever gets a clue and starts doing the right thing.  Regardless, everything else BIG will feel the increasing resistance of the people.

Somebody had to point that out to us.  And Naomi Klien did (THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING). She makes a compelling argument that the revolution has begun in some small but growing corners of the world.  And, implicit in her message is an invitation: you might want to consider getting on board.

“100 years from now only little girls will ride horses, men will walk on the moon, and Henry Weinhard’s will be sold as far away as Denver!”

And 100 years from now there will be more Chinese in Canada than there are now people, everyone will vote Green and the ordinary person will live their entire lives in one building.

Henry Weinhard did their classic beer ad with the benefit of hindsight but the point was still valid: major shifts happen and they are, to some extent, predictable.  You just have to look.

China simply can’t continue to grow they way they have without having a spill-over or high-pressure release mechanism and BC has already proven to be willing and able to accommodate.  That trend will only continue.  It is no coincidence that Vancouver is the second most expensive city in the world to live (by house prices) after Hong Kong!  We are, in many ways, the same market. One thing is indisputable: the Vancouver market is Chinese driven.

Everyone who continues to vote (and that number will continue to drop because voting does not result in sufficient change) will be voting a GREEN political message even if that message is eventually co-opted by the main parties (as it is now being and like all popular messages have been).  The Liberals and the Conservatives will be green. Climate change and pollution are becoming the biggest threat to human existence and most people know that. Given enough time, even the dumb-as-merde Conservatives will get the point.

And putting living residences downtown where people work only makes more and more sense if you are going to be stuck in the matrix anyway.  You can already be born, raised, entertained, housed, work and socialize in some large complexes in Hong Kong, New York and Chicago.  And, I assume, some other large cities.  It is only zoning laws that restrict the modern vertical village impatiently waiting to happen.  The buildings will get bigger, car-sharing will grow and that life-in-a-box, all-in-one convenience-plex will multiply. Plug and play.

Already in Vancouver, one can live their entire existence in the square mile that is False Creek and Yaletown.

No, I am not going to try to predict more for 100 years from now.  That is not the point. The point is that life is somewhat predictable, trending is visible to everyone and the big forces affecting life are also somewhat predictable. Ergo, the future is somewhat predictable. If you can’t see far into the future nor very accurately, you can certainly see a few years ahead and you will likely be pretty close in your vision.

So, what do we see in the near future?  It appears that more, not less, conflict is coming. Many experts believe climate change will precipitate mass migration and already mass movements of people have proven disruptive.  There will be more underemployment – which is the new unemployment.  More obesity.  More mental illness.  More homelessness. The middle class will disappear.

More and more state/police/legal controls will be put in place – as they have been increasingly since the first world war and as they seem to be accelerating more and more lately. And those controls will create the friction and the very disturbances they are there to prevent.  Police states create criminal responses.

John F. Kennedy famously said, “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.”

But – and here’s the real news – many people will simply opt out of all that.  Many people will go off the grid, off the radar and off the social media.  They will not vote.  They will not work in the ‘system’ and they will become a real ‘underclass’, a relatively feral, passively revolutionary contingent that cooperates amongst themselves and like-minded groups away from the high-density ‘hives’.

The revolution so long predicted will be passive.  Non-violent.  It will be quiet.  And it will be by way of a subversive black market, disconnect, invisible rejection of the hive.  It will be almost an evolutionary departure.

And 100 years from now, the new alien will be them.

There is a great deal of misunderstanding about the publishing industry and this statement can be made by me even after having just published.  I don’t get it.

Well, Sal may get it, but I don’t.  It’s a mystery to me, it really is.  Financially, it makes no sense. None.  The printer takes the first ten dollars and the shipper (Canada Post) takes the next twelve.  The tax man takes 12% on top of that.  You are at almost $25.00 and counting. Put your book in a bookstore and they add 40% or almost another $10.00.  The book – with nothing yet shared with the author or the editor is now $35.00.  That is the way it is unless you go the AMAZON route and then printing and shipping are all included at $10.00.  A 12.99 cent book (ours) yields $3.00 a copy.

I can’t park my car for an hour in downtown Vancouver for $3.00.

So, you don’t write for the money.

You don’t write for the fame, either.  There may be some, someday, if you are really, really good but, if you are mediocre, fame proves more than elusive, it exists only in absentia.   And how could it be otherwise?  If you advertise, you lose your $3.00.  If you don’t, you don’t get your pathetic dollop of fame.  Hard choice.  The only other way is to self-promote by walking around and talking about yourself all day long.  But that is such a huge chore and fraught with logistics and, of course, costs, not to mention embarrassment, alienation and being shunned.  Doing book and pony shows at local libraries is a relatively easy way to make $30.00 if you are willing to spend $40.00 to do so.

So, fame and money are not valid reasons for doing this.  That just leaves invalid reasons and, being me, I have a few.  I wanted to share my rants with the world, vent my spleen, crack some whacked out jokes and outrage the targets of my literary barbs.  But Sal took all those out. Said something about being nice or saying nothing at all.  Another concept I have yet to grasp. So the book is ‘nicer’ than the author by a large margin.  And I am not so sure any of my benign, nice or even eccentric views on things actually made the cut.

Ravens, yes. Politics, not so much.

It does help to address the basic requirements of competency, however, and so that has to be the reason I offer up for this exercise.  The one I cling to.  The one I offer up as collateral for the loan I will need soon.

Competent Man: “A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, con a ship, design(and build) a building, write a sonnet (book), balance accounts (easy when you aspire to zero), build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly.

“Specialization is for insects.”— Robert Heinlein, Time Enough for Love

WARNING!!  RANT!!

Our government is changing.  And it is changing for the worse.  I know this is NOT news for many people (especially the five or six who read this blog), they already feel that to be true.  In fact, many Conservative party supporters are even feeling that way and, it seems, over two dozen sitting Conservative MPs are NOT running again – presumably BECAUSE of their feelings toward Harper.  That says something.

But politics is not why I am blogging this time.  At least not partisan politics.  Last night I watched on TV an ad for Canada’s military along the lines of the ‘Be all you can be’ ads the Americans run.  It glorified our military.  It heaped praise on soldiers for simply being soldiers.  It was blatant boosterism and sickening propaganda.

Yes, I know that these ads are not the first.  But they were the latest.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I think any person who signs up to keep our country safe is a good person.  Well intended, anyway.  I have no problem with that.  And if they actually have their mettle tested in battle or even in a peacekeeping mission, my respect for their commitment to our country increases even more.  I have no problem with soldiers and, in fact, I have intimate second hand knowledge of their sacrifices as my father was catastrophically wounded in WW2. He suffered incredibly and we, his family, suffered alongside him.

And that is the point, really.  War should NOT be glorified.  My father paid a huge price  for his dedication to Canada. His life was ruined (he had a 100% disability).  Being a soldier is nothing to be proud of until you HAVE TO BE a soldier. Then and only then is it something to be hailed as heroic.  And my father would likely disagree even then…“how the hell does a young man or woman know what they are getting themselves into when they sign up? War is hell and so is surviving it.  Don’t think otherwise, there is nothing good about it. And once you know how horrible it is, you just want out.  People should only do it when it is absolutely necessary and, even then, they should think twice!”

Harper’s government spent millions in television advertising waxing boastful about Canada’s War of 1812. Same for the Franklin Expedition.  Same for other stupid historical parodies like the Fathers of Confederation ads.  Harper spends even more millions now extolling military virtue at every turn and even going so far as to saber-rattle against Russia (Ukraine) and actually sending a rusty saber or two against ISIS/ISIL.  Canada is fast adopting a bombastic and pugilistic face where before we presented a neutral, peace-making presence.

If that was all there was to it, I’d just ignore the imbecile and hope that we eliminate his weirded-out personal agenda and influence from our country in the next election.  The problem is that he is leaving a legacy, a smear of stupid and evil that will stink and linger even after he has left the building.  Harper is a disease and we have not been inoculated.

“Why would you say that, Dave?  Won’t getting rid of Harper be sufficient?”

No.  Propaganda is an insidious thing.  People tend to believe what is brainwashed into them.  The inundating Harper-messages are sinking (and stinking) in.  Another stupid ad on ‘being a hardworking Canadian and getting a $4000 loan so that you can work in the trades’ runs even more often.  And there is a hidden message in favour of the oil industry in that, too.  Not to mention indebting youth for their education.  We are already tainted.

And it just feels to me as if it is ramping up.  Last night’s ad raised the hair on the back of my neck.  I have smelled the rank odour of politics gone awry for some time.  Last night I am pretty sure I also smelled a rat.

I haven’t been writing as much lately.  Don’t have that much to say, I guess.  Think about it: the last post was about walking a dog!  How sad is that?

Things still happen, of course.  Life is still set to ‘run’ even tho it might be on ‘sleep’ or ‘hibernate’ a bit more.  It is just that it is not quite so interesting right now.  The mansion is nearing completion and so our ‘gig’ here will end soon.  But that is more than okay, we are looking forward to it.  The book is launched (as we have repeated ad nauseam) and that is especially good, even tho there is a lot of follow up still to be done.  Actually, the follow up is a smidge onerous for Sal and when she complained about it, my son said, “Hey! Suck it up.  Life is not all fun and games, ya know?”  

Haunting words, those.  He heard them from someone else decades before.

My daughter called, “The lizard is dead!  I think I may have killed it!  Ohmygawd!”  And so we consoled her on the death of her friend’s bearded dragon she was caring for.  “Life is tough and then you die and so suck it up…oh never mind…sorry for the cliche and equally as sorry for your loss.”  

Then the next day, “It’s aaaaaalllliiiiveee!”  Seems the dragon went into hibernation or sleep mode.  So, dull must be going around.   Even for lizards.  January is a slow month, I guess.

I have picked up some more ‘stuff’ to cart back home.  Really good stuff.  Most of it heavy. But it’s all good even if it is going to be heavy work and it isn’t all fun and games. And slow is okay for me. Really. Semi-hibernation is just fine.  We all need to take it a bit slower now and then. No complaints.

So sometimes the cliches have to be modified a bit.

I try NOT to live a cliche.  I try NOT to be trite.  I figure if it is trite or cliche, I can read about it. Or watch it on TV’s so-called news.  It is my duty to seek out that which is NOT so ordinary, not so predictable, not so ordinary.  If life is to be full, I have to make it so.

Well, once in awhile, anyway.

Mind you, what with all the time spent sleeping, eating, ablutions, working and time in traffic, there is precious little opportunity for the new and magical without a struggle. Dull seems to take up so much of your time if you let it. You really have to work at finding the fun and games.  System requirements are such that even search time is limited and time spent actually doing any magic disrupts the ever-full routine of eating and sleeping and such.

Finding the adventure starts with finding the time.  And finding the time may just start with recognizing the dull.

So Sal thinks we should get a really macho 4×4 and drive to Tierra del Fuego.  We are not going to do that! (El Salvador alone scared the hell out of us – what is she thinking?)  But at least she is looking out for the next chapter of fun and games. That’s good.  That’s really good.  That is the first step to finding it.  I am currently still in sleep/hibernation mode and, because I still have some fun and games planned for this coming season (greenhouse, etc.) I am NOT looking very much at all to the distant future but I am happy that she is.

There may be another adventure in the offing yet.

There is a portion of the river, the seawall and the beach in West Vancouver that is designated an off-leash dog-and-husband park.  We go there almost every day.  The walk is less than a kilometer long and, when slowed down to a mosey, takes about an hour. We sometimes run over.  I mosey slowly.  But it is not all my fault.  We also stop to talk dog with all the people we now know.  Sally joined the West Van Portie (an abbreviation for Portuguese Water dogs) Walk-and-talk Group and we encounter a member or two on each visit to the park.

I even chime in now and again but just to inject little rude-but-funny-to-me comments that usually brings the discussion to a quick halt and we can then return to moseying.  I like to think of myself as the necessary punctuation so often missing in dog conversations.   Without me, they would talk forever.

But the park is not just for Porties.  All manner, breed, creed, colour and type walk there and, of course, they bring their dogs, an equally motley bunch.  The East Ambleside dog-walk is an international, universal, all-species meeting ground and, on weekends, it gets pretty crowded.  The dog-park is popular during the week but triply so on weekends.  I would estimate an average of 60-75 dogs and owners are there at any given time on the weekdays and up to 200 on weekends.

But here’s the point: despite everyone and their dog being different in every way and, unnervingly at times, all are also off leash and free to move and behave as they like, I have never witnessed a dog-fight.  Yes, I have noticed a few humans having a minor set-to but the dogs get along like it’s a love-in. Fiddich doesn’t actually like dogs(or many humans, either) but even he can tolerate all and sundry for the hour or so it takes to sniff a few select butts.  He looks forward to the walk even if it is bereft of any close friends.

There are signs everywhere, of course, telling everyone what they and their dog can and cannot do but few dogs read and even fewer owners it seems read English.  Or care. This is Freedom Point for the dog crowd and they exercise their self-anointed rights to do what dogs and dog owners do.  With the exception of a perverse but disciplined obsession with their dog’s poop production, there seems little to restrict any living thing down there.  It is not wild and crazy, it is very civilized, but it is not policed, monitored, CCTV’d or overseen in any way.  Dogs and owners are left to their own devices and they seem to be able to do that without any acts of terror of the human or canine variety.  Imagine that?

The reason for all this peaceful anarchy is that the land belongs to the First Nations and they manage their people, dogs and property on a trust-based, who-really-cares basis and they live and let live.  Yes, you read  that right: the First Nations have pretty much conceded a stretch of beach, river and the land around it to dog walkers.  We are not charged for the privilege.  We are not watched.  We walk our dogs and we go home cleaning up after ourselves.  And no one feels compelled to make a buck or taser anyone.

You want a taste of living off the grid?  Go to the East Ambleside off-leash dog park; that is as close as you are going to get to freedom in Vancouver.  Maybe just for fun – take a lama or a pony on your walk instead of a dog – no one will care.