Another Cat That Destroyed Christmas

 

Just the other day Susan and I were chuckling over this photo blog thingy (clumsily) entitled '14+ Dogs and Cats That Destroyed Christmas.' It's far from unique, of course; there are lots of variations on this theme all over the Interwebs; cats do, after all, own it.

 

When viewing it we thanked our lucky stars that we seem to own a cat that (note: past tense) didn't seem to be interested in joining such a club, which we are aware has a great many members around the world. It's what they do. But then, as if on cue, he started taking ornaments off the Christmas tree in the middle of the night, and in the morning we'd find it or them somewhere it or they shouldn't be. This has continued for a few days, but the new trend is that he'll bring his new toys to the bed, so we'll wake up surrounded by all manner of sparkly junk.

 

This morning, we woke up to the spectacle you see above. Compared to the carnage unleashed by some of the little gits featured in those blogs, it's not a big deal, but that  Reggie's Christmas tree obsession seems to be escalating naturally causes concern. Sweeping up the plastic pine needles the tree shed when falling, I managed to cut my finger open on a shard of broken ornament. My finger turned red, the air turned blue, and Reggie's name is currently suspended in favour of "Little Grey Mofo" until I've calmed down a bit.

 

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE! (Except you, Reggie.)  

All Too Much

Every morning I follow a routine I enjoy. I crawl out of bed, switch on the coffee machine that my wife has lovingly pre-primed, and head to the office to turn on the computer to read the news, check and respond to emails, and read various blogs. It's how I like to start my day.

The first thing I do is check the news, usually starting with the BBC website. Increasingly in recent times, I click on the link with a degree of trepidation, such is the flow of horror and misery emanating from the human world these days. I wonder what awful shit will stare back at me first thing in the morning. Today, however, the headline that greeted me indicated a new low for humankind, truly a level of evil beyond the comprehension of any right-thinking individual.

In Pakistan, 132 children and nine adults have been massacred by the Taliban. This madness comes on the same day that fifteen schoolgirls were blown to pieces by car bombs in Yemen, and in the same week that news broke of four Christian children being beheaded by ISIS psychopaths in Iraq. When I hear these things, it is difficult to articulate my despair. I lose all hope for our species as by these acts we are dragged deeper and deeper into a seemingly irreversible downward spiral, with maniacs like the Taliban, ISIS, Boko Haram and their evil, twisted ideologies, using children as "political pawns" in their insane strides to make the world theirs.

I don't give a flying fuck about their grievances with the US, "the West," or anyone else - presumably EVERYONE who does not share their demented views of how the world should function - as there is not a single reason, however lucid it may seem to them, that these barbaric, brainwashed fuckers could offer to justify or rationalize their depraved atrocities. Without conscience, these monsters are executing CHILDREN, every young life destroyed nudging us closer and closer to a return to the Dark Ages. In the grand scheme, we're probably already there and nicely settled in.  

It is a couple of months over ten years since the horrifying Beslan school massacre in North Ossetia, in which almost 400 hundred people were killed, including a great many children. Like anyone I was stunned into numbness at that awful event, so much so that I felt compelled to include a reference to it in an email I sent to my promoting outfit's mailing list, only ever used to deliver information on our forthcoming shows. I remember clearly one response from a guy who upon receipt of it asked to be removed from the mailing list, as he had signed up to hear about concerts, not - I quote - my "fragile state of mind about the state of the world." I wonder how he is feeling today?

I vainly hoped against hope that the low humankind had descended to in the "modern era" with the Beslan siege might signal a turning point, whereby the perpetrators and those around the world who subscribe to such beliefs might begin to look inward, to question their methods, look at their ideologies, and find another way. But no, that is never going to happen.

My boss at the music store can hardly read the news these days. While he is a man deeply concerned about the planet, educating himself on environmental, economic and other important matters of life on earth, whenever such as today's events pop up in conversation, he tells me that his desperation at what is (increasingly) our dark world is "all too much," so - not in any ostrich-like way, but simply to keep sane - he tries to focus on the good and positive of the world, as thinking about the rest is unbearable. 

These are truly terrifying times. And it is all too much. With each successive dreadful event like today's, the world changes for the worse, and it is ominously feeling like there is no going back. I have tried so hard in recent years not to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders like I have done so much in the past, but it's getting difficult not to, as that weight is forcing itself upon everyone's shoulders, whether we like it or not.

Here's One for All, to Anyone Listening: R.I.P. Nick Talbot

 

In my former life as a promoter from 2000 to 2006, one of its great joys was meeting so many richly talented and interesting people. In the process of staging shows for them, some became friends. Most, however, were the proverbial ships in the night, lighting up my life briefly on one stop on a tour - artists I would continue to follow, but from whom I never heard a word again unless staging another show somewhere down the line. One such musician was Nick Talbot, recording for the mainly electronica-oriented label, Warp, under the name Gravenhurst.

 

Nick played a show for us on the same bill as a one-off appearance from the reclusive Creation/4AD artist, Heidi Berry, and a third act I cannot recall as I write. It was one of our more delicate, introspective bills, and Nick played a beautiful set of his gorgeous, dark music. After originally stating upon arriving in Brighton that he would prefer to stay in a hotel or B&B, Nick later changed his mind and, like so many musicians before him, lodged with Susan and I. We found him utterly charming, highly intelligent, nerdy and sweet in his beige 'Rupert Bear' duffle coat. He made an impression, and we took to him instantly. However briefly, it was a real pleasure to meet Nick and spend a little time in his company, as both a working musician and a human being.

 

Nick passed away last week, aged just 37. The cause of death has yet to be revealed, and may not be. However Nick's life came to an end, it has had an impact on us. It appears that his career was poised to ramp up just a notch with the reissue of two albums and recent shows in Italy. He was tweeting up until December 1st, seemingly with a degree of anticipation at what lay ahead.  But that his death was so sudden cannot help but sew the seeds of doubt in me that all was well with Nick. I do not wish to read between lines that may not even exist, but it just feels ominous, that perhaps Nick passed by his own hand. When I broke the news to Susan, without any prompting she immediately raised that possibility. There just seemed a fragility in Nick when we met him, a deep-rooted melancholy that coloured his dramatic music. This said, he was also very witty and sharp, with a lovely sense of humour.

 

 

I remain disturbed about Nick's death, just as I do to this day about the impossibly lovely, but deeply troubled Thomas Hansen, a beautiful and eccentric Norwegian songwriter I witnessed experience an onstage meltdown opening for Lambchop. He could barely string a sentence together, and had to have help from a roadie in forming a chord on his guitar, before stopping mid-song, saying, "I'm sorry...I can't do this," then walking off to a bewildered audience. It was heartbreaking to be party to, but what I believe was his first UK show after that was for us in Brighton, whereupon he apologized onstage and then delivered an incredible set of his wonderful music. We became pals very quickly, but then he was gone, aged just 31. I miss him, and I miss his music. 

 

In the truest sense of the word Thomas was not a friend: our worlds collided and overlapped for a brief period, during which there was mutual respect and genuine warmth. Even less could be said of my brief encounter with Nick Talbot, but everyone has people that enter and exit their lives when the course of the meetings are meant to end, and Nick would be one who fleetingly crossed my path, leaving happy memories in his wake.

 

Rest in peace, Nick. Your music meant a lot to a great many, as did you.   

Creatures of the Air and Sea

A mere seven-and-a-bit years ago when, as incredible as it seems today, MySpace was a viable (and avidly followed) blogging option, under the title Supernature I reported in an excitable manner on my early impressions of the wildlife and scenic wonders of my new environment.

 

From that day to this I remain utterly in awe of it all. Hardly a week goes by without my seeing something extraordinary - even if it might be a 'common' sight like hummingbirds, that I see often, or even daily. Yet, I must say, this last few days has been particularly mind-blowing.

 

On Halloween morning I was pottering about getting ready for work. I walked from the office into the kitchen and, without thinking, looked up and saw something that stopped me in my tracks. Sitting on our deck railing, as bold as you like, was a magnificent Red-Tailed Hawk!

 

 

My heart started to race as I reached for the drawer next to the kitchen sink, where Susan keeps her camera. I had never before been so close to a wild raptor, and there it was, sitting there, staring at me. I managed to get the camera out of the case and capture a couple of shots through the dirty screen door before it took off, its wingspan surely as wide as my arms outstretched. The hawk circled the backyard twice, then settled in our neighbour's tree, tantalisingly out of sight. Wow...just wow!

 

The week prior we had found some white and a little beige fur in the path running alongside the left of the house. It seemed, perhaps, to be the aftermath of a cat fight, but we'd not heard anything at night, so could only speculate. Now we cannot help but wonder if this hawk had taken a neighbourhood cat or maybe a rabbit, and was back in the hope of more. A keen birding friend described the Red-Tailed Hawk as an "opportunistic and lazy hunter," so perhaps so? We may never know, but the mystery cannot diminish the incredible thrill of seeing him or her.

 

Just a few weeks ago I was walking home from work when I ran into my friend Russ Morland (who created the tattoos in the previous post) near St. Andrew's Church, and he said, "Dave, look in that tree." I looked up and there, in broad daylight, was a Barn Owl! Russ said the owl had been there all day, watching the world go by. I stood under the tree, no more than 12 or so feet below the owl, and it looked down at me, blinking, then tilting and swivelling its head about to eye up a small dog that was passing by, oblivious. Then I see this hawk in my yard, and am beginning to wonder if there is a subtle, gradual invasion of predatory birdlife underway! Soon we will be under their command!

 

On Monday November 3rd we travelled by ferry to Vancouver to see a show. Around 25 minutes out of Departure Bay a woman sitting behind us suddenly piped up, "Wow, is that a dolphin?" And indeed it was, breaching a few hundred yards away, but clearly visible. Then another appeared, and more and more and MORE! An announcement was made by the ferry Captain that we were encountering a large (approximately 100) pod of Pacific White-sided Dolphins!

 

(Photographer: Holly Fearnbach. Image used without permission, but I'll take it down if she complains.)

It was just INCREDIBLE! Wave after wave of these amazing creatures breached individually and in pairs, zipping through the sea, under the ferry and away across the Georgia Strait. Apart from a great sighting in Australia in 1996, this was the closest I'd ever been to dolphins, so I watched completely transfixed until the pod has passed through. When the spectacle was over Susan and I just looked at each other, shaking our heads in disbelief. We'd seen Orcas at distance the last twice we visited Mayne Island, but this was in a different league altogether. Truly awe-inspiring; a sight that will live with me forever.

When we'd arrived home from Vancouver the following day, I received a text message from our friend James, as he in turn returned to Vancouver Island from the city. "Just sailed past a pod of humpbacks!" it said. That was his reward for missing the ferry we were all meant to catch together! Ah well, he didn't see the dolphins on the way over, so it all balances out.

It's hard to get my head around the natural wonders of this area sometimes. But it's all there, and available to me every day. I am so, so lucky, a fact that will never be lost on me.

"Supernature"? Good heavens, yes!  

 

  

Ink

 

So, I got my tattoos! On October 14 I headed excitedly down to Russ 'Lurk' Morland's Electric Umbrella and got myself inked up good 'n' proper! "Did it hurt?" people have asked, but in truth it was fine. A little sting now and again, but by and large it honestly was a breeze. In fact, I've come out of the experience feeling strangely empowered, and now cannot believe it took me so long to get this done. Perhaps it's simply a case of the time being right?

 

Having not once before considered getting a tattoo, I am still unsure where, at the age of 53,  the strong desire to get some tattoos came from. I think it might lie with the fact I feel pretty good about myself right now, and am being guided by an unseen hand to express myself in previously unconsidered ways. What I can identify, however, is exactly when this all started.

 

After spending Canada Day with friends at a community event in Vancouver's Crab Park, Susan and I were heading home on the Coastal Renaissance ferry. It was a gorgeous day, offering spectacular views of Mt. Baker and the Vancouver skyline as we slid out of Horseshoe Bay. As we gazed at the views we pontificated on how lucky we are to live where we do, to have such scenery and natural wonders available to us at every turn, and it just felt pretty wonderful to be alive, to be together, and to be living the life we live. As we headed out to sea and the breeze picked up, I moved to as near to the bow as I could get, while Susan moved inside to read. I stood looking around at the mountains, as happy as I can ever remember being. I was soon lost in thought, with all manner of ideas, memories and images tumbling around my brain.

 

Back in Crab Park, our friend Bobbi Sue had a few government issued maple leaf tattoos, so I pinched one and pasted it onto the side of my right leg. I'm not entirely certain why I put it there in particular, but it may be because I love lacrosse, a sport in which some of the participants traditionally get tattoos on their calves. On the ferry I noticed the tattoo again, and thought it was cool. I'm a proud Canadian citizen of three years standing now, inexplicably feeling a stronger emotional bond with Canada than I ever had with the UK. It's odd, but that's how I feel, and I cannot articulate why to either Canadians or Brits.

 

As I mulled over nothing in particular, the thought of getting a real tattoo amusingly drifted into my mind, but it was not the maple leaf I was intent on. When we were pulling into Nanaimo, the decision categorically made that I wanted tattoos, I told Susan, genuinely unsure how she would react, but nonetheless determined to follow this through. It was not a whim, but a decision I already viewed as made with serious intent. To my utter delight, Susan thought it was a great idea, immediately stating that the tattoos would be "something that meant a lot to (you), right...like that maple leaf on (your) leg?" God, yes, she was absolutely right! I had to get a maple leaf as well, and to boot exactly where the temporary one was located!

 

So, no, the leaf was not my initial thought; the word 'today' simply would not leave my mind. With three bouts of cancer and a whole other raft of health issues the last fifteen or so years, coupled with the fact that I met the love of my life late on, means that I am determined to wring every drop out of every day. However mundane a day may be, Susan and I are resolved to getting as much fun and joy out of it as we can. Having met so deep into our lives, and been through so much since, we recognize life as precious and very short, so we'll do all we can to make it count before our respective times are up. It's very much a "carpe diem" attitude and philosophy we try to live by.  Hence, 'today,' and that's the word I decided I wanted tattooed on my arm!

 

 

There it is above! I just LOVE it! With the exclamation mark it's an emphatic statement of intent, a single word dictum by which I intend to see out my days. You can do nothing about the past and little about tomorrow, but today you can run with.

 

I chose the font and Russ skilfully executed it after the creation of a stencil to lay across my right inner forearm. People that have seen it thus far totally understand what it's all about, without any need for an explanation from me. "Yes!" they say. "Right on!"

 

Since I was a teenager The Clash has always been a huge band in my life. For musical, cultural and political reasons, Joe Strummer - who was taken from us at the tragically young age of 50 - has been a massively influential presence in my thinking. In truth, the older I get the more he means to me. I've recently picked up his three brilliant albums with the Mescaleros on CD for the first time, immersing myself in everything they are. On the album "Rock Art and the X-Ray Style" (please listen to it; it's incredible) the song "X-Ray Style" bears (and closes with) the lyric, I wanna live, and I wanna dance awhile. After deciding I must get tattoos I found myself unable to stop thinking about that line, seeing how it so perfectly encapsulates how I wish to approach however long I may have left. 'Dance' is, of course, both a metaphor and literal, but along with 'Today!' I needed to bear this legend on my body. So, it was decided: my three tattoos would be the maple leaf, 'Today!' and that beautiful Strummer lyric.

 

 

Joe Strummer unfailingly typed out his lyrics, so it went without question that a typewriter font is exactly how his work should appear on my left arm. (Why the left? It's the same side as my heart.) As a massive Strummer fan himself (and of great music generally, such as The Mountain Goats and Bright Eyes), Russ took great care in creating this seemingly simple tattoo for me, redoing the stencil twice before applying it, so it looked exactly right. I am delighted with the result.

 

That's that, then. A new me, adorned with and resplendent in ink! There will be people out there who will scoff, thinking I've lost my marbles or am doing all I can to desperately cling onto my youth. Bollocks to them, I say, as at my age it's plain my youth is long, long gone! I kinda know that, right? This is simply a period of reinvention, a time in my life where I am bursting with unexpected energy and ideas. I have no idea what might be next for me (and us) on my (and our) life adventure but, for better or worse, whatever it is I'll follow it to its logical conclusion. More tattoos? Who knows. Bungee jumping or a freefall parachute jump? Yeah, maybe! Slippers and a pipe? No fucking way! It might be that there is nothing whatsoever of note awaiting me, but that's just fine too, but it's a certainty that even then I'll still be living and dancing awhile.

  

  

The Summer of '14

On September 22nd, fall 'officially' began. As if scripted, with it came a sudden drop in temperature, the disappearance of the sun, and a whole lot of rain. These changes felt so significant because, accompanied by amazing weather, Summer 2014 was truly epic for us, and for me personally, so we were sad to see it become history.

 

Just as Summer 2014 ended with the acknowledged calendrical commencement of all things autumnal, so it began in the same manner with the official start of summer, namely the summer solstice on the third weekend of June. Just as we have for the last two third-weekends-in-June, we made our way to pretty Mayne Island for the wonderful Campbell Bay Music Festival. For all kinds of reasons it was great in 2012 and 2013, but this year was truly exceptional, delivering not only, on the Saturday, the best single day's live music I've ever had the joy of witnessing but, in Boston's Bent Knee, one of the greatest live bands I've ever seen. It was a towering performance that will stay with us until our dying days, setting our life's paths on a slightly different direction. Check this band out at all costs.

 

We've seen some other great shows this summer. Most recently we saw the delightful Kelley McRae play a West Coast Session house concert for our friends, Paul and Catherine. Prior to that we were thrilled with an imaginative two-plus hour set by the seemingly ageless Elton John in Vancouver, and charmed by Victoria's gorgeous baroque-folk outfit West My Friend in our friends' Jason and Tonia's verdant front yard, on a balmy August evening.

 

We also all but melted in temperatures in the mid-to-high 30s at the Vancouver Island MusicFest, but witnessed incredible performances by Cam Penner, The Honeycutters, Quique Escamilla and Birds of Chicago, to name but four. On the downside, crappy seats was the story of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds at Vancouver's grand, yet obviously dreadfully designed Orpheum Theatre. Warning: if you book tickets in that venue's upper balcony, don't bother going as you'll waste your money in seeing precisely nothing. (As the mood has briefly darkened here, what the hell was it with the awful new albums from The Belle Brigade and Bishop Allen? What gives?!)

 

There were more musical highlights, but apart from Bent Knee the very best was being party to a 9-month-old baby girl's first ever experience of live music. At the Filberg Festival in Comox our friends' Steve and Lynn's little one, CeCe, greeted the arrival of Royal Wood onstage by leaning forward and staring, remaining transfixed, silent, for the entire set. It was a beautiful thing to witness, moving me to tears.  

 

We spent lots of time with friends, revelling in the season and celebrating various life milestones some of them reached. On the domestic front we spent a bunch of time at home, always a joy in our fantastic house. This summer's major project was getting the entire exterior repainted; it looks gorgeous. The shed roof was replaced, and barely a week went by without a tweak here; an improvement, upgrade or beautification there. Spending time in the yard this summer, I took the bull by the horns and worked like a demon to get the very best out of our fruit trees ,and began planting what we hope will be a very fruitful garden in the years ahead. 

 

Then there was the previously blogged about Relay for Life, a massive experience for me. And, as also blathered on about, this summer was a huge season of change and personal development for me. I've lost almost 30lb, decided to get some tattoos (October 14, here we come!), and simply - if that's the right word - felt a genuine positive shift occurring in my life, as if I'm being guided by some unseen force. It's really interesting and all good, so very good!

 

There's more, of course. Lots more but, on the eve of the third anniversary of my proudly becoming a Canadian citizen, I'll cap it here. This was a summer that will live long in the memory, one that has fed us a lot of energy and inspiration as we welcome and embrace the fall, the season of transition that this year I seem in lockstep with to get the very best out of it. That's exactly what I plan to do!

 

Like anyone, we have our challenges to face and obstacles to overcome, but as things stand life is good, really good, and we're very grateful for our situation. Summer 2014 had a big part to play in this.     

Without Whom

Thirteen years ago today I met my Susan. Although yesterday she inexplicably said the same of herself, somehow she has tolerated my quirks and irritating traits for all this time, and we remain as much in love now as when we crashed into each other's lives in 2001. So, what better topic for this 100th post than the celebration of that fact?

I have absolutely no idea what I would do without Susan; I would likely not be able to keep body and soul together, and it is genuinely unthinkable what might have become of me had we not met. Although cancer played a part in the overall picture, for various other reasons I was spiralling out of control back when we hooked up, and without even realizing it she gave me everything to live for. In this respect alone it is, and will always remain, impossible to measure Susan's great importance to my journey through this life.

And since we got together it has not been easy. All manner of tests and obstacles have been placed in our path, but we have battled through them all and today mark another anniversary in generally pretty good shape. We have so much to be thankful for, yet it is never lost on us; we just continue to live as active and satisfying a life as we can within our means, squeezing every drop of fun out of each day. It's a good life, for sure.

How will we mark this particular anniversary? First up is a trip to a bookstore we've been hearing good things about, then we'll have lunch out somewhere. Perhaps we might head off to explore somewhere new or return to a place we already enjoy. This afternoon, it looks like yard work, as there's much to do out there. However the day pans out, whatever we end up doing, it'll be wonderful simply because we'll have done it together. You know it.


(Image: Chesterman Beach, Tofino - September 2012)