Raising a Glass to My Mom

On the window ledge of my home office there's a framed black and white photograph of my mother, captured in her twenties. She looks so pretty, wistful, and hopeful for what her life may bring. Every day I kiss this picture, and/or say a few words to it; apart from a few others and a clutch of personal keepsakes, it's all I have left of her.

Mom died of breast cancer in 1993, and I continue to miss her terribly. I remain angry that she was snatched from me and the world, in such terrible pain after barely a year's retirement, having worked her fingers to the bone from the age of 14. It's an anger I keep capped, and must, but when I think of what she went through for so many years at the hands of my brutal father, it makes me seethe and twists me up that she never had any peace and rest once he was finally out of our lives. And the biggest unavoidable regret of my life is that mom and Susan never had the opportunity to meet and get to know each other. They'd have gotten along rather famously, I feel. Oh well, it is what it is, as is said.

This Friday, February 24th, 2012, would have been mom's 80th birthday. By some cosmic design my writing work has presented Susan and I with an enviable situation on the evening of 23rd, enabling me to raise a glass or ten to mom's memory on such a big anniversary. Having previewed the event for one local publication, I'll be reviewing Parksville Untapped - an evening in celebration of BC beer - for the website of another. It's a sweet gig, for sure. Yes, I'll have to do some work, but every glass I sink on Thursday night will be preceded by a private toast to Jean Jessie Florence, my incredible mother. Rest in peace, dear one.

Death of a Diva

I never was a fan of Whitney Houston's music. I just don't go for over-the-top vocal gymnastics in a singer, as also purveyed by such as Mariah Carey and Celine Dion. Only occasionally has this approach thrilled me, Lorraine Ellison's rendition of Stay With Me being one example. I much prefer the deep soul delivery of the ilk of Jean Wells or the raw funk grittiness of a singer like Lyn Collins.

This said, I most certainly recognize Houston's immense talent. She had a quite incredible voice, and regardless of taste that's an indisputable fact. Like most people, my first exposure to her music was the powerhouse version of Dolly Parton's I Will Always Love You that made her a global megastar. Ten times out of ten I would opt for the delicacy of the original, but when hearing Houston's version for the first time, such was the power of that voice that it was like a gale force wind blasting from the speakers. By any measure, it truly is a remarkable performance.

But even as a non-fan, I find myself saddened by Houston's passing. She was just 48-years old, for Christ's sake - three years younger than me. I find it so depressing that the last known footage of this once stunningly beautiful woman, a goddess to many, shows her staggering out of a nightclub, a bewildered, shambolic, bloated mess. And thinking of that massive voice, then seeing the snippet of film of her final, chaotic, mumbling performance at the same club that night just breaks my heart. What a tragic figure she became; it's so very sad.

And now, as predictable as eggs is eggs, the corpse-raping and sickening exploitation has begun before her drug-ravaged body is even in the ground. Today I encountered a sorry 'story' claiming that Osama bin Laden had a huge crush on Houston. Is that supposed to be interesting? Really? And then there's Sony UK "accidentally" increasing the prices of her CDs; I've worked in the music industry my whole life and witnessed this kind of behaviour from record labels again and again upon the death of a singer of musician, so that they actually expect us to swallow that is simply incredible.

But, hey, death sells, and always will. I'm just really tired of the fact that it does.
  

The Dutch

I'll get back to the above video in a bit, but first a Secret Santa(s) update, scant though it be. So, we were convinced that the lovely pranksters behind the laying of gifts at our door each of the 12 Days of Christmas were our professional artist friends Robert and Titia (TJ), who moved here from Holland three years ago this May. This couple and their three sons are head and shoulders the most creative people we know, so we feel it's exactly the sort of thing they would dream up. They're also extremely kind people and nuts enough to be sneaking about at all hours in the name of such a project, so again it all pointed to them. Also, there were a few small spelling and grammatical errors in certain of the notes left with the gifts, perhaps indicative of authors for whom English was not their first language. Pulling all the 'evidence' together, flimsy though it was, we concluded it could only be Robert and TJ, or, as we call them and the boys for convenience' sake, "The Dutch."

On Christmas Eve morning we had breakfast with The Dutch and, when the time felt right, Susan brought up the matter. Then I joined in to intensify the interrogation, but we were both greeted by blank looks and firm denials. I looked Robert and TJ right in the eye, just inches from their faces, asking them to swear it was not them, which they did. Well, we were bewildered and felt utterly bamboozled! We had little choice but to believe Robert and TJ, as they were adamant they were not behind this joyous seasonal scheming. Yet still we remain unconvinced! It has to be them! So, the facts remain that either they were the Secret Santas and are the greatest actors of our generation, or indeed, as they claim, it had absolutely nothing to do with them. As things stand, it is still a mystery. Perhaps it's best that it stays that way?

As I mentioned, Robert and TJ have three sons. They're great kids and rather than being peas in a pod, they're as different from each other as it's possible to be. The youngest, Hugo (11), although fun-loving and kooky, is seemingly the most sensitive. He loves to be involved in serving food at meal times and is obsessed by space travel and knights and templars. He loves to explain books he's reading in detail, often walking us through those with plenty of maps and illustrations. He's obviously a details guy and, despite his sweetness, Hugo kicks ass in the realm of the martial arts, so go figure.

The middle son, Felix (13), is very affectionate, but completely crazy. A real livewire, he is determined to track down a Bigfoot on Vancouver Island, can hardly keep still for a minute, and has more energy than he knows what to do with. He has one of those Jim Carrey-esque rubber faces, so is constantly distorting it for humorous effect, and speaking far too loudly out of sheer excitement. Moreover, Felix is perhaps the son most visibly inherently blessed with the considerable artistic talents of his parents. He is always doodling, inventing characters and weird machines to dwell in inventive, otherworldly landscapes that take him an age to plan and draw. Most interestingly, he fills sketchbook after sketchbook with the incredible adventures of his two favourite invented characters, Peter and Rammstein, the latter named for his favourite band. If Felix doesn't end up a professional artist like his parents, I'll eat my desk.

As if Hugo and Felix aren't fascinating enough, then the oldest son, Dirk (15), is truly a Boy Out of Time. Like his parents he's already a giant, making Susan and I look like Hobbits standing next to him. He is obsessed by old things, especially machinery like 8-Track cartridge players and chunky bakelite telephones. He's also in thrall to classic 70s detective dramas, his all-time hero being Columbo, so Dirk was really upset when Peter Falk passed away last year. He writes extremely lengthy, highly detailed murder stories with recurring characters. As a professional writer I critiqued one for him and was genuinely blown away by Dirk's work, particularly his patience in scene-setting, character development and building dialogue. However, this young writer did not use a computer to create the story, or any others he's written. He uses a typewriter. Dirk is obsessed with vintage typewriters and has amassed a collection of thirty or so from thrift stores and garage sales in under three years. Often, when we visit The Dutch, weather permitting he'll be off in the garden somewhere, typing away at a desk he's set up, oblivious to the world as he bashes out another story or one of the dozens of letters he writes each week. Extraordinary. Dirk is so taken with his collection of manual typerwriters that he is compiling a series of short films presenting 'tours' of certain favourites on his YouTube channel, under the unsurprising moniker of Dr. Typewriter.

Anyway, the video above was created by Dirk and sent to me yesterday. Animation and filmmaking in general are other areas of creativity that Dirk is interested in, and I would put money on him pursuing this seriously in some capacity when he leaves high school. His first project in this arena was to edit and add a soundtrack and special effects to some footage of Felix on a Bigfoot hunt in the Sproat Lake area of Vancouver Island. The clip you see here is a bizarre, but really fun two minutes created for a school project, and I love it. It's rough and ready, but then this is the product of a 15-year old mind armed with very basic equipment. Just enjoy it for what it is, and please feel free to drop by Dr. Typewriter's YouTube channel from time to time to see what else he has dreamed up!

So, that's The Dutch for you. They're an amazing family whose friendship, inspirational talent, unbridled loveliness and truckload of eccentricities help to brighten our lives in this small Vancouver Island town. But we still want to know exactly what their movements were over Christmas...

Our Secret Santa(s)!

For the last ten nights we've been visited by a secret Santa (or Santas) or, as Susan prefers, mysterious elves! Returning home from wherever we'd been, on the first night this all started we found a small ornamental bell and Christmas stocking hanging from our front door handle. Inside the stocking was a scroll of paper with a ribbon around it. Upon unrolling it, we found the heading Twelve Days of Christmas in a decorative font, followed by this verse:

Christmas is coming and it's the best time of the year!
It gives us all a chance to spread some wonderful "Christmas Cheer."
Now at this special time of year we want to have some fun
So we'll surprise you with a gift before each day is done.
With the twelve days of Christmas we hope we can show
That friends are quite special and we hope our closeness grows.
If it adds some happiness and a little bit of cheer
Then we will be so happy 'cause it's the best time of the year.
Our little gifts are simple but or (sic) love goes with it too.
Remember we are saying Merry Christmas to you!

Well, as you can imagine, we were delighted with this! And, as promised in the note, a gift has been left for us every night since. Though not in this order, we've received a Gingerbread Man decoration kit; an ornamental star; a wooden soldier nutcracker; a bag of chocolate coins; a Christmas songbook; two Christmas mugs with sachets of hot apple cider mix; a spring of holly; two Christmas crackers; a festive candle, and a tic-tac-toe game. There are just two nights left of this fantastically fun mystery, and we have been loving it!

We think we might know who's behind this, but we're not 100% sure. There have been clues unwittingly left in the rhyming notes that have accompanied each gift, and we have an inkling by process of elimination as to who amongst our friends might do something like this. When the twelve days are up, we will confront them to find out if it is who we think it is. If it is not them, then the mystery will continue!

What is particularly awesome about this is that we have absolutely no idea when this person or these people is/are paying visits to our door to leave the gifts. We haven't heard a thing, even though we know visits have been paid when we've been at home. Also, one evening we retired after midnight knowing he, she or they had not been, as we'd checked the door before going to bed, then we rose at 6:00am to discover the gift waiting for us! 

This really has been a hoot! How could something like this fail to brighten someone's day? We've been checking the front door before doing anything else these last nine mornings, therefore immediately kicking off the day with a smile. It's so great!

Anyway, this is likely my last post of the year, so thanks to the few of you that have been reading since Morrison's Nifty Drivelarium & Gubbins Repository was launched. A very Merry Christmas to you all! See you in 2012.

1826 Days

On December 20th, 2006, so five years ago today, Susan and I arrived on Vancouver Island to start a new life. The previous eight months in Brighton had been, to say the least, pretty stressful. We had both been laid off - Susan on her first day back at work after a visit here in May, me in August. Then on October 29th, we lost our home to a massive fire in our building, started by our upstairs neighbour's son (who didn't even live there), falling asleep drunk with a cigarette. There's a lesson therein. By some miracle, due to the configuration of the Edwardian edifice and the fact that we lived in the basement suite, we didn't lose any belongings. But we did lose our home in an instant, because while fire goes up, water to extinguish it goes down, therefore putting our ceilings at risk of collapse. They looked heavily pregnant in the days following the fire, that's for sure.

The fire was in many ways an incredible experience. We were watching The Royle Family on TV one minute, then we were outside in the street watching the building go up, engulfed by 50' flames, the next. Firemen and assorted emergency attendees scurried about, doing what they needed to do, as we simply stood there, motionless, helplessly observing the surreal scene.

When over here that May we'd made the decision to put the wheels in motion towards moving to Vancouver Island as soon as it was feasible to do so. By the time the fire occurred it really did seem that the universe was intervening to expedite that process. So, after being nursed through the situation with the extraordinary support and love of many friends, we landed in Vancouver just six weeks after the fire, ready to start anew in our forties. It was a scary proposition, but seemed like our only option, and we came here with the express permission and sympathy of the Canadian High Commission.

Upon arrival we had just over $1,000 to our name (though no debt), a couple of suitcases we lived out of for two months, and our dear old cat, Eddie - who by the time he was released at Susan's parents' home for a much needed meal and piss, had spent 19 hours in his carrier. We'd packed our belongings up in Brighton and spent most of our UK savings to send them across the world by ship. As we could not stretch to paying for our stuff to be insured, we thought, considering our recent run of luck, that for one reason or another we'd never see them again. But we did, as everything arrived intact, smelling of smoke, in February 2007. Phew.

We had no idea when dropping into Nanaimo what might await us. We had somewhere to live temporarily, in Susan's parents' basement - bless them for eternity - but Susan had absolutely no clue what she was going to do for a living; I had even less, especially as I had to attain Permanent Resident status - a process that would take several months - before being allowed to work. As someone who likes to keep busy, have projects on the go and targets to aim for, it was frustrating. Susan found a job that quickly proved to be a nightmare, and my heart broke in two when one night she returned home and just sat in the car in the driveway, crying.

Fast forward to today, we have come a hell of a long way, and life is truly wonderful. Since May 2007, when my legal status was assured, I have been writing for a living, published at least once a month, every month, and also working at Nanaimo's nationally famous independent music (and much more) store, Fascinating Rhythm.

Susan took a complete career shift and is now four years into working as a Service Advisor at an automotive repair garage. She loves it, and has a very good, extremely kind boss. We don't earn a great deal between us, but manage to keep our heads above water, staying out of debt and maintaining a good standard of living.

In August 2007 we bought and moved into our own lovely condo, so getting straight onto the property ladder here, with the help of a loan from Susan's parents that we' ve already paid back. We've created a lovely nest and enjoy sharing it when socializing with... 

... a diverse group of very cool friends who have welcomed us into life here with open arms and much kindness. Some of them have transplanted here themselves from various corners of the world since we arrived, so it has been a pleasure for us to extend the same kind of welcome as was afforded us. We feel blessed to have encountered those folks we have so far, and lovely new people are entering our lives all the time.

As the result of my work and also because we love to do it regardless, we've done a lot of local travelling around Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands, as well as frequently visiting Vancouver and Seattle, experiencing magnificent scenery, and wildlife, like the scene captured in the image above. That's the Comox Valley, about an hour from our front door. As this may hint, we truly do live in one of the most beautiful places in the world, so despite our difficult passage here, we really feel like we've landed on our feet.

It hasn't all been paradisiacal, as just like anyone we have had to endure the stuff of life that wipes away smiles for a time. I've had my share of health problems, as has our veteran cat - he's certainly in his twilight months now - and we had the tremendous stress of a flood in our condo a couple of years back. All in all, though, we have a quiet and simple, but fun and adventurous life here, and if anything untoward comes our way, we will battle through it as we always have, and always will.

So, wow, five years! Yay us! Tonight we celebrate with pizza and champagne and tomorrow, likely with a hangover, we will start our sixth year on Vancouver Island, and look only forward. 
      

Ticking all the Boxes

"A man without a vote is a man without protection."

~ Lyndon B. Johnson


This Saturday, November 19, 2011, is a big day for me. Having finally attained full Canadian citizenship on September 29, it marks my first opportunity to vote in any kind of election. This election is Civic, therefore to elect councillors and a new mayor, and I'm finding it all very exciting.

As the world is seeing with such as the we're-as-mad-as-hell-and-not-going-to-take-it-anymore Occupy movement; the continuing 'Arab Spring;' social unrest and political turmoil most anywhere you'd care to mention, people are calling for change. Loudly. They want it NOW, and in many places are taking the initiative to force that change by any means necessary. While I am not remotely an educated political commentator, capable only of articulating this massive global social revolution in the simplest language here, there can be no doubt even to the most casual of observers that these are historic times we are living through. This year in particular has been extraordinarily tumultuous, head-spinning in fact, as almost weekly another tyrant falls, another nation teeters on the brink of bankruptcy, or riots rip the heart out of another community. (And no, the Stanley Cup riot in Vancouver is not what I'm talking about. That was just sheer thuggery for the sake it.)

Just like anywhere in these times, Nanaimo is in need of change. There are many problems in this small city that are far from unique, and obviously some problems that are. But they all need dealing with, some with greater urgency than others, like a precarious unemployment rate that peaked at twice the provincial average earlier this year. That's very scary in an aging community of this size. And from what I'm gathering by talking with friends and associates and reading local press, it seems the general mood is that an entirely new council and leadership is what is needed in this city. I'm not sure I entirely agree, feeling that perhaps a couple of the incumbent councillors seeking re-election still have much to offer this city. But I do agree that there is a real need for fresh ideas, and so have spent time in identifying who I feel could bring them.

Living in the smallest community I 've ever been part of, it's been much easier to get really close to local politics, and the big issues affecting taxpayers, than I've ever known before. It's a compact community, feeling much smaller than the 86,000+ it actually is, so anything of concern to Nanaimo's citizens is generally easily noticed without trying. The scandals, the mismanagement, the waste of tax dollars... it's all very much in our faces here. The fact that Susan and I have become extremely fond of Nanaimo in the five years we've lived here has naturally led to our caring deeply for how things should or should not be done at the highest Civic level. This election, then, especially as it's my first, has seen us researching every candidate carefully, looking at what they can bring the city, regardless of political experience or local reputation. And now, because our political inclinations are pretty much aligned, we have agreed on a list of candidates we favour, and are ready to vote. In terms of everything going on around the world, even though this is just one small community in Western Canada it, nevertheless feels like a crucial election. For this and other reasons, I cannot recall ever having felt so politically-driven, so roll on Saturday!

Every day I read the local information and entertainment blog, nanaimo-info-blog.com, which has proved an invaluable source of information and opinions leading up to this election. This morning, outspoken blogger Jim Taylor, whose opinions I generally, but not always, agree with, under the headline Time For A Complete Change At City Hall? wrote:
"A sound argument could be made for needing the voice of experience on council for the next three years. However, that only makes sense if past performance warrants putting the same people back in for another three years. I think a valid argument could be made supporting the notion that this council has not earned the support of Nanaimo for another term."

So, what will happen? Whether up for councillors, school trustees or the mayor, I know who I'm voting for, but will Nanaimo, as Taylor asks, elect to "sweep away the cobwebs at City Hall?" In just a few days we will know, but whatever the results I'm glad I'll have finally had my say. 
         

11:11:11, 11/11/11

Where were you and what were you doing at eleven minutes and eleven seconds past eleven on the eleventh of November, twenty-eleven?

At that time in the morning Susan and I were with our dear friend Ariane, enjoying a delicious breakfast at the Cafe Zen in the Vancouver neighbourhood of Kitsilano. If anyone's remotely interested - which is unlikely, but I'm going to mention it anyway - I had a B.C. Benedict and coffee. Excellent, it was.

When exiting this fine eatery with bellies full, I glanced at my timepiece to see it was 11:14.  When announcing the time to Susan and Ariane, something immediately dawned on us, and we all looked at each other aghast. We were instantly ashamed that, despite our best intentions to do so - we'd even discussed it the previous evening - we had forgotten at 11:00 to observe two minutes of silence in honour of the fallen of the two World Wars, and all other wars for that matter. Then again, seemingly not a single other person in the cafe had remembered either. We were to a man and woman all too busy stuffing our faces to even just for a moment stop to appreciate why we are able to do so freely. But it's not like there was any deliberate collective snub; I am certain that had an announcement been made at 11:00 by either the cafe staff or a concerned diner that it was the traditional moment for remembrance, that everyone present would have happily and respectfully complied. It's not like anyone would refuse, surely? It just didn't happen, because nobody thought about it. But the fact that it didn't, and that there was no announcement forthcoming, or probably any thoughts of one, is in itself food for thought, don't you think? What a self-obsessed and insular society we have sadly become.

Speaking of insular...

At 11:11:11 in the PM, however, Susan and I were back home in Nanaimo, watching Vincent Moon's typically intimate portrait of the world of the brilliant Danish band, Efterklang, on the DVD I had ordered months prior. (If you don't know the names Efterklang or Vincent Moon, I implore you to investigate.) The image above was taken at the exact moment in question, but you'll just have to believe me that it is indeed the movie, An Island, on the television! Fascinating, inspiring, and full of some of the most beautiful music of this young 21st century, An Island is a euphoric experience that served to powerfully amplify the single-digit uniqueness of the moment in time that occurred as we watched it. 

But to backtrack, it's weird, you know, that wherever I may be and whatever I might be doing, such an important thing as the Armistice Day two minutes silence should ever slip my mind, because November 11 is a massive date in my life. On 11/11 in 1966 I nearly lost my life when being mown down by a speeding car outside my house in Solihull Lodge, England. I broke my pelvis, left arm and three ribs. My liver split into three parts, and I have a 36-stitch abdominal scar as proof of how it was pieced back together. I suffered head injuries, had a complete blood transfusion, and was in hospital for six weeks. All in all, November 11 is not a date I should ever have forgotten the significance of, but despite the best intentions it can, and evidently does, happen to us all.