And so it Began...

Twenty years ago tomorrow - February 24th, 1996 - having wanted to get here since childhood, I landed on Canadian soil for the very first time.  It was the first day of a year-long trip around the world, begun (as it ended) on my late mother's birthday.  I arrived to a bitterly cold Montreal, excited as to what the next twelve months might bring and, long story short - spanning Canada, the US, Fiji, Australia, Singapore, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia and, as you do, Finland - it was an astonishing year of adventure, amazing memories, and not a little stress to boot.  (Funny how I chose to begin and end the year in sub-zero temperatures, though...I wonder if that says something about me?!)

Yet who could have known back on that day two decades ago that my subsequent life's journey would today find me having lived in Canada, a country that had always fascinated me, for the last nine-odd years? 

Despite the considerable expense it added to my round-the-world air ticket, I chose to start my epic trip in Canada simply because I had to.  I had always been drawn to this vast land for reasons that to this day remain hidden deep in my subconscious, but now I am here it all kind of makes sense.  Perhaps I was Canadian in a former life, or else born in the wrong place?  I can never know, but the fact is I feel prouder as a Canadian than I ever did as a Brit, have never felt happier living anywhere than I do here, and everything about my situation in this exact location feels utterly natural and as it should be.  I have given up trying to work it all out, as in fact there is no need to:  I am here, I am happy, and that's that.

Tomorrow would have been my mother's 84th birthday, but she was snatched from this world by cancer aged just 61, not a year retired.  She left me her house, which I sold, and some other dough that I used to take that trip around the globe.  So, as perverse as it is, I would likely not be in Canada, as happy as I am, or have met my amazing wife, or experienced so much else that has occurred in my world, had my mom lived.  That's a bittersweet fact I have to live with, for sure, but I have a beautiful framed photograph of my beloved mom on my desk, so see and talk to her every single day.  She would be very happy to know how things turned out for me, especially considering everything Susan and I have been through to reach this place of true happiness.

By beautiful synchronicity, I will be celebrating this twist of fate tomorrow in a certain Canadian and typical me style, by going to see two great Canadian bands live.  Our old friends Elliott Brood are back in town, with local lovelies Blue Moon Marquee opening.  It promises to be a raucous and beautiful evening, with my wife by my side and many friends around the room.

I am a very, very lucky man.        

The Mortality of Patti Smith

                                                     (Image used without permission.)

Since I can remember, probably back as far as my late teens, I have worshipped at the altar of Patti Smith.  The perfect storm of intoxicating poetry, fiery punk rock spirit, passionate humanism and so much more, in my world Patti is a musical goddess who has spawned many imitators, but there is not one who can hold a candle to her genius.

As well as her (and, not forgetting, her incendiary band's) music, I also love her books.  As soon as it was published in 2010 I bought and gobbled up the beautiful "Just Kids," a memoir focusing mainly on her relationship with the photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, but also detailing her early days as a performer in New York City.  It truly is a terrific read, by a wonderful writer.

When I heard that the follow up, "M Train," was to be published last year I looked forward to getting my hands on it like no other book before or since.  I just completed reading it (and the earlier "Woolgathering"), and as Patti had indicated prior to publication, it is a very different affair to its predecessor.  "Just Kids" was apparently approached with definite aims in mind, to capture a time in Patti's life, whereas she wanted to be 'freer' to roam with "M Train."  It is therefore a denser, yet looser work, delightfully peppered with commentary on some of her obsessions: coffee, TV detective shows, the books of Haruki Murakami and Japanese culture.

As David Bowie did (albeit in the knowledge he was dying) in the lyrics of his epic "Blackstar" swansong, on the penultimate page Patti briefly turns her attention to mortality and aging, with a few lines that I find relatable and both calming and sobering at once:

I believe in life, which one day each of us shall lose.  When we are young we think we won't, that we are different.  As a child I thought I would never grow up, that I could will it so.  And then I realized, quite recently, that I had crossed some line, unconsciously cloaked in the truth of my chronology.  How did we get so damn old? I say to my joints, my iron-coloured hair.

I've been thinking about the single inevitability facing us all a great deal lately.  That the lives of many friends and heroes have ended so suddenly or tragically in the last few months is bound to have had a profound effect on someone with my health history.  Approaching each routine health check I get nervous, wondering what unseen horrors might be lurking within me.  Renal cancer presents no symptoms until it is too late, and having had it I take nothing for granted concerning what might ultimately claim me.  While I'm not in the least scared of death per se, the unknown manner of it really does.  We can all only hope for a peaceful end, or one about which we know nothing.  Here one moment, gone the next.           

I Fucking Despair

So, it's a new year and I greet it numb with shock and a great deal of anger.  After losing our beautiful friend Heidi to a drunk driver on November 10th, we start 2016 minus another friend killed in an equally senseless, reckless manner yesterday.  

Our friend Linda was ON A CROSSWALK, when she was ploughed into by a car and killed instantly.  Even from her devastated partner of seventeen years, from whom we just returned home after spending two hours trying to comfort him, details are scant as I type.  But, as this occurred in broad daylight, at around 2:00pm, it would seem that the driver was either plain stupid, drunk, 'distracted' - perhaps by texting or updating his or her fucking Facebook status (which from today should permanently read 'Killer') - or, well, who knows?  It hardly matters, does it, as Linda is dead.  Shot in the head, natural causes, tragic accident or killed by some bastard who evidently should not be on the road, dead is fucking dead.

I fucking DESPAIR of many of the drivers in this town.  Every single day I walk to work, without fail, I witness irresponsible, moronic or dangerous driving that makes my blood boil.  It is usually no more than two minutes after I've left the house that I'll see my first non-signalling asshole, turning in either direction from 2nd onto Pine, or from Pine onto Wentworth, not a care in the world, like they're the only driver on the road.  I'll see tailgaters, speeding vehicles, cars ripping around blind corners as if they're in Fast & Furious, all totally oblivious as to the danger they are potentially putting themselves and others in.

When Susan and I are out in the car, anywhere at all, it is simply astonishing how many examples of idiotic driving we'll witness on even the briefest of journeys.  Susan is a technically excellent, careful, observant and law-abiding driver, while all around us there are imbeciles.  It worries me to bits when Susan goes out on her own; it doesn't matter how good a driver she is with this many maniacs out there.  As we see all this stupidity we try to analyze it, talking through the various potential reasons bad driving is so rife here.  The fact that there is comparatively speaking so little traffic on the roads of Vancouver Island has made a lot of drivers lazy, we feel, and that seems about as plausible an explanation as any.

Whatever it is, two friends of mine are dead because of it.    

Old Man, Take a Look at Your Life...

Today I hit 55 years old.  No big deal in the grand scheme, and I certainly feel far younger than that in my head, but it is apparently an age that comes with hitherto inaccessible privileges in recognition of my advancing years.  For a start off I can now get into Nanaimo Clippers games at a discounted price.  Considering that despite my best intentions for the last several years to attend 5-10 games per season I have managed only one or two - and, ridiculously, none at all so far this season - it is hardly a perk that will alter the course of my life.

Also, at least as far as I am told, the International House of Pancakes will now afford me discount on this or that, but not to my knowledge ever having been in an IHOP, and because there is not one anywhere near where I live, that is of absolutely no use whatsoever.  And there are various hotel chains that now offer me a 'senior's' discount, which is a lot more like it.  With the Best Western Group amongst them, it could come in useful on trips to Vancouver and as yet unknown destinations around the world in the future.

So, thanks to those kind souls that are happy to now give me money off stuff, but I'd rather the general situation in this regard was somewhat more giving.  You know, like 90% discount on all booze purchased at any booze-a-torium anywhere on earth, or a similar rate off food bought in any grocery store and/or restaurant.  And, dear bank, how about acknowledging my newfound status by increasing interest on savings to 50%.  That's not too much to ask, is it?  And what about you guys, Revenue Canada?  How about decreasing my income tax rate to 2%, and while we're at it, all you utilities companies can doff your cap in my newly acquired ancient standing direction by shaving a whole heap off my bills.

And then he woke up.  Oh well, I can but dream, but if the best it gets is two bucks off a Clippers ticket and 10% off a pancake, I'll take it.  Otherwise, frankly, 55 is a sucky age.

Drink the Wild Air

                           "Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air."

On my coffee table at home I have three glass coasters, purchased last year from an excellent glassworks on Gabriola Island.  One of them bears an illustration of a mermaid in pale blue on a white background, the above Ralph Waldo Emerson quote situated to its right, in typewriter font and the same delicate blue.  On and off between floods of tears today, I have been staring at this coaster, numb with the intense pain of grief.

Those words could be one of many ways of summing up the wild and free spirit of one of my dearest friends in this world.  The thing is, she was killed in a car crash last night.  It would appear from the first information available via news sources that her vehicle was hit by a drunk driver.  He fled the scene and was picked up by the RCMP later, subsequently refusing to take a breathalyzer test.  I take that as a clear admission of guilt.  Details are scant as I type, but I guess the scores of people who adored her, those like us in states of emotional turmoil right now, will discover the full awful story soon enough.

We just LOVED this woman and are completely, utterly, totally devastated by her sudden passing.  She was an inspiration with her incredible energy, unswerving optimism, perma-smile and remarkable generosity of spirit.  We are proud that she considered us friends and, despite everything today, we are happy that we were amongst those who had the opportunity to bask in the intense bright light of her irrepressible life force.

Life without her in it is at this moment an inconceivable concept, but it will of course go on.  For now, on this shocking day, all we can think about beyond the voids created in our personal worlds by the departure of this dear soul, is how on earth her partner of over twenty years must be struggling to come to terms with this.  I feel helpless, stranded, unable to reach out to him to give him whatever the hell I can that he might need of me.

This has been one of the toughest days we've experienced since moving to Vancouver Island, and ever.  I have cried more today than when I found out my father had died.  This beautiful woman, so brutally snatched away from us at just 51, was a living embodiment of everything we hold dear here, and as a result of her death a bit of us dies along with her.

  

And Next Week, it's the 48th Anniversary of the First Time I Ate a Cheese and Branston Pickle Sandwich...

 

It's all about anniversaries at the moment.  Following our wedding and remarriage celebrations, my 20,000th day alive and, on Tuesday September 29th (when we were meant to see The Who in Vancouver, but it was cancelled), the 4th Anniversary of becoming a Canadian citizen, another milestone falls tomorrow, Monday October 5th.  Aside from having previously watched a schoolboy Wishbone Ash covers band in a friend's living room, this date marks forty years since I attended my very first proper rock concert!

 

Yes, on October 5th, 1975, resplendent in the hideous fashions of the day, this highly impressionable adolescent music nerd trundled along to the faux-Roman eyesore that is Birmingham Town Hall, quivering with excitement at what might lay in store.  (I went to the show with my schoolmate Richard, who I recently discovered is doing great work as an Executive Director in a company providing integrated housing and care and support services in the UK.  But I digress...)

 

All we could afford with our pocket money were tickets in the nosebleeds, but as the show was in a relatively small venue we still had a great view.  As the lights went down for the opening band I nearly lost my tiny mind.  ROCK MUSIC!  YEAH!  LET'S ROCK!  YEAH!  Etc.  Although having heard the band again recently, and concluded that their bog standard blues-rock was utter junk, at the time I naturally though Dirty Tricks were the dog's bollocks. 

 

As exciting as I found Dirty Tricks back in the day, the main act was what I had come for.  I've always loved prog-rock and music with progressive leanings, so to open my gig account with what was then a very successful band featuring a guy with banks of synths and whatnot was an otherworldly, transcendent experience for me.  At that age I was gobbling up music at a furious rate, noting every single detail about it as I did so, and well on the way to forming the foundation I built for a lifetime working in the music industry.  These were heady days. 

 

The band that blew my mind that night was Argent.  There they are up there, playing one of their two gargantuan global hits (the other being "God Gave Rock 'n' Roll to You"), and to this day I love the song.  During the show there were (obviously, neo-classical) keyboard solos; guitar, drums and probably also bass solos, but even though these days lengthy indulgent solos bore me senseless, back then it was all awesome and wow and brill and cool and everything and stuff!  I was in heaven.  It felt at the time like I had become a man, like I had been through a rite of passage, but losing my virginity to a nymphomaniac down the line certainly later put thought that into perspective.

 

Hundreds and hundreds of shows and thousands of bands later, by an extraordinary twist of fate I will be celebrating the 40th Anniversary of my first gig tomorrow by, you guessed it, going to a gig.  The beautiful twist in the tale, however, is that the band we will see features our friend Chris, from Boston, rolling into town with another band he plays in aside from the mighty Bent Knee.  We first saw Chris Baum play in a mindblowing performance by Bent Knee on Mayne Island in the summer of 2014.  Long story short, I was largely responsible for bringing them back to this area for a Nanaimo show on July 4th this year.  The band stayed with us for three days and in that time we all became unfathomably close.  We just love those kids, so it's fantastic that Chris is headed back here so soon, this time with the bewitching Guy Mendilow Ensemble, to perform on such a significant date in my cultural life.  Neither Susan or I have ever seen a band quite like this before, so it promises to be something special.  What's more, the band will arrive here in just a few hours after this is posted, whereupon we will be taking them on a road trip to a few local beauty spots.  In so many ways, our life is charmed. 

 

OK, here is the extraordinary Guy Mendilow Ensemble for your interest.  Chris is the violinist.  Enjoy. 

 

 

Here's to another forty years of gig-going, then!  Wouldn't it be spectacular if, like this anniversary, I somehow make it that far and another show falls on the 80th Anniversary of my first show?!  That would be so cool, but it's pretty certain I will need some assistance in taking my seat that night.

 

Rock on, everyone... ROCK ON!

       

...or 480,000 Hours

Last year a film was released about my favourite musician, Nick Cave.  Entitled 20,000 Days on Earth, the brilliantly conceived movie was part documentary, part fantasy, looking at Cave's supposed 20,000th day on earth.  As part of the promotion for the film, Cave mailing list subscribers like myself were sent a link to a calculator with which, simply by entering one's birth date, anyone can see when their 20,000th day on earth is, or was.  Upon entering mine I was delighted to learn it had yet to occur, but would be on September 15th, 2015.

I got excited.  My health history dictates that I feel very mortal, so I like to approach life in a way that many see as with real gusto.  I want to pack in as much life as I can until my time comes, so Susan and I are always off on adventures, having as much fun as we can cram into any given day.  Even when simply fetching groceries, we might spontaneously burst into a dance in an aisle.  And why not, eh?  We're a very long time the other side of the soil.  So, when I noted such a milestone as my 20,000th day, my mind went into overdrive as to what to do with it.  Firstly, I thought about a big party, but that idea soon grew tired, especially as this year should belong to Susan's 50th birthday, for which we held a big bash at our home in May.  Then I thought the best way to go was to spend the day doing things and visiting places, that I had never experienced before.  It needn't be anything insane or bucket list-esque, like freefall skydiving or bungee jumping, just a day of fun things.

Inspired by friends showing us some amazing photos of the region, the initial idea was to spend the day exploring the Port Renfrew/Sooke area.  Susan and I love to travel locally; this is a big island with a lot to see and do, so we head out there whenever we can.  Looking again at the map, it seemed like too much to take on for a single day, so we have shelved that plan for a time when we can stay overnight somewhere and spend at least two days poking about. 

 

Instead, then, we turned our attention the Lake Cowichan area, especially the tiny communities gathered around the banks of the lake itself.  It seemed we could easily take in a few places in one day, and be home in time to hurl back a bottle of champers or two.  

The day itself, September 15, started with a hearty congratulations from Susan, then breakfast soundtracked, for no particular reason, by Wanda Jackson, then Gene Vincent.  We set out in no particular hurry, the car CD pouch full of sing-along pop CDs to keep the mood of the day jolly and spirited.  We love singing our heads off on road trips,  so selected our road music accordingly.

Turning off Highway 1 onto Highway 18, we headed down to our first destination: Paldi.  This is a truly odd little place with a remarkable history, which a little of can be found here.  Founded in 1917 by an Indian immigrant named Mayo Singh, Paldi was named for the Punjab village in which Singh grew up, and initially started life as a logging camp under Singh's command.  Once a thriving, bustling community, it now consists pretty much of just the Sikh temple that is attended as a place of worship by Sikhs in the region each Sunday.  Otherwise, where buildings once stood and people once lived and worked, there is just open scrub.  The population of Paldi itself appears to be just TWO, being the temple's caretaker and his wife.  When Susan and I approached the temple a tiny wizened Sikh appeared from tending his garden and, initially bewildered as to what I meant by my 20,000th day, offered us a tour.  We went straight to the back of the temple, the walls of which were festooned with haphazardly hung historical photographs, documents, Sikhism iconography, Gurmukhi writings and more.  It was fascinating, and in broken English the caretaker explained the significance of a few images to us.

 

 

Thanking our nonplussed host we made our exit and headed to our next destination, noting a nearby abandoned shack bearing the graffitied legend "Sikh fag" on its exterior wall as we departed.  It's nice to see how 'welcomed' these people were locally...

 

Following a brief stop to visit the fish ladder at Skutz Falls on the Cowichan River, we headed past the town of Lake Cowichan, along the banks of the lake towards the tiny community of Youbou.  A former mill town, it is now a quiet village where it would appear not too much goes on but the daily plod of rural life amongst its less than 1,500 residents.  There was hardly anyone around, which was a feature of the day in this area.  We stopped at the pretty lakeside Arbutus Park, which even though summer had hardly ended and it was a dry day, there was not a soul to be seen in.  We walked on the jetty and looked across the lake at the gorgeous surrounding scenery, spoiled only by the inevitable clearcut scarring of logging operations all around us.  Such is the way here on Vancouver Island, but having recently visited the Nanaimo Museum to view an exhibition of photography by the brilliant Edward Burtynsky, examining humankind's impact on nature when raiding its resources - which can be ugly, like clearcutting, or actually stunningly enhance landscapes, such as ancient rice paddies - it only served to make me feel melancholy.

 

 

Nevertheless, as you can see above, in an image taken from Arbutus Park, the scenery of my island will always inspire me, even if a chunk of forest happens to be missing here and there.

 

Getting peckish, we headed back down to Lake Cowichan, the town, for a spot of lunch.  Having investigated online in advance of our trip, as one would expect in such a small destination it seemed our range of dining options would be limited, but we liked the look of a place called the Cow Café & Cookhouse.  It was very good.  I opted for the Crab Club and a sleeve of the amber nectar, Susan for a burger in her ongoing quest for the perfect one!  This one ranked highly, it seems.

 

 

Setting off again we drove up the opposite bank of the lake with a very definite destination in mind.  Having only two days prior renewed our wedding vows we thought a stop at the beautifully named Honeymoon Bay was appropriate.  We only hoped that its romantic name would be reflected by the beauty of the place in actuality.  It seems, however, at least from our brief gander at the place, that it could be struggling.  Lots of real estate was up for sale, as was the small marketplace in its entirety, plus several commercial properties in what I must emphasize is a tiny community of only around 600 residents.  It was pretty and charming, undoubtedly an attraction for holidaymakers in the summer, but on the surface has perhaps struggled to keep its head above water in the wake of the ongoing economic downturn.  I hope I'm wrong, as it exuded friendliness and a rare backwater serenity.

 

Apart from an attractive mobile home park the focus of Honeymoon Bay was a small beach on the shore of the lake.  It was getting blustery and the sky was threatening rain when we  parked for a look at the scenery it afforded us from the beach, but was also peaceful and all ours.  We just stood and looked out at the icy waters, feeling blessed that such beauty is so accessible to us pretty much whenever we want it.

 

 

Leaving Honeymoon Bay we passed back through Mesachie Lake, most notable at least as far as we noticed for the amusing name of the small community sports field:

 

 

Back in Lake Cowichan we poked around a few stores, including a staggeringly disorganized, ramshackle odds and ends store, mainly because it had a pile of second hand CDs and DVDs.  We picked up a couple of movies but, as can be seen at the top of this post, I also found a copy of the animated 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, so used it for my own personal photographic ends in continuing celebration of the occasion!  We also stopped by a lovely art gallery, where I picked up a hand-carved and illustrated paddle, plus a pair of cute cat earrings for Susan.

 

On the way home along Highway 18, one final surprise lay in store for me on my 20,000th day alive, although because we were on the road, so could not stop, and due to it being totally unexpected, there was no way I could have grabbed the camera to capture the moment.

 

Having lived here almost nine years we have seen plenty of Vancouver Island's wonderful wildlife, but certain creatures have so far eluded us.  Until September 15, one of these was elk, but Susan's sharp eyesight caught movement up ahead at the side of the highway, and lo and behold we passed a group of four or five elk cows.  Massive, beautiful beasts, and although the sighting was momentary I shall never forget my first ever sighting of wild elk, which just about topped off the day.

 

As I say, yet have no need to, we are a long time dead.  A very, very long time.  Until my time comes I will do all in my power to have as much fun as possible with my beautiful wife at my side.  Susan thinks as I do - that life is ridiculously fleeting, so we should live as well as possible during our tenure here on earth - so, we will always make the most of such occasions as my 20,000th day alive.  People we've told about this appear to think we're cranky, which is bewildering to me.  It's nothing but great fun and celebrating life while I have it.  What is cranky about that?

 

Susan's 20,000th day comes in four years' time and she is already thinking about what to do with it!  My guess is that there will be books and knitting involved somehow, but that's just great.  It'll be her day, so she can do what the hell she wants and the hope is I'll be right alongside her to enjoy every minute, whatever she ultimately decides to do.

 

If your 20,000th day, or another such milestone lies ahead, what will YOU do with it?