Category: Buddhism & Philosophy

Proper Etiquette, Or False Entitlement?

It’s a clam, quiet Saturday morning. After waking up and getting dressed, you decide it might be nice to bring your child to a local coffee shop for a breakfast pastry of a muffin. You take the opportunity to avail yourself of your favorite breakfast sandwich and a dark roast coffee, intent on watching the world around you as your 6-year old enjoys a rare outing combined with a treat. You walk into the popular coffee chain and as one could expect, the place is what the kids would call “jumpin’.” Just about every table is occupied with at least one person. You begin to consider that maybe you’ll have to take your treats to go, when you spot one remaining table with no occupants. It happens to be a 5-seater with plush chairs and a round table. Your kid excitedly runs to the table and takes a seat. you take the one next to him. You settle in and begin to relax, letting the hot caffeine course through your system. Your kid does some people watching, and stares out the window at the sunny scenery of the world.

Just about then, a group of four loud, laughing individuals come walking in to the coffee shop. They appear to be happy in their entourage, smiling and seemingly enjoying their own company and environment. They order from the coffee shop staff with an almost intentional detachment., essentially ignoring the human beings serving them coffee outside of mumbling their drink order. As they receive their drinks, they scan the room for a place to sit. Their eyes fall on you and your child and they begin to walk over. You feel your sense of relaxation shatter and already know what’s coming. As they approach, the first one speaks, “Excuse me… Would mind freeing up the table? You and your kid are taking up the only space we can sit…” You casually remind this person that there are several 4-seater tables with only one occupant that they could ask, or wait until one of them departs but this is a rare weekend outing for you and your child and you won’t be moving until you’re both done. The group become indignant and begin raising their voices and making a scene, claiming you need to move for them and have no right to take up the space when they need it. You sigh heavily and look to your child, who watches you, wondering what your reaction will be…

It raises an important question, and one that you should ask yourself: What would you do in this situation? Would you cede your table to this loud, rude group? Or would you stand firm on the basis that as a paying customer, you have just as much right to the table, since you got there first? It’s a much more common occurrence than you might think. The world seems to have evolved to a place where people carry an undeserved sense of entitlement and expectations from others, instead of recognizing that the world does not revolve around them. They lack the understanding that respect, especially as it relates to strangers in the surrounding world, if very much earned from both sides. And the moment you step out of the door, the outside world owes you nothing. But people don’t seem to understand that. Modern society seems to think they can simply demand and expect, and the world will kowtow to their demands.

I’ve seen this in dozens of stories and posts where people expect others to give up certain seats on airline flights and pitch a fit when the occupants don’t comply. It’s right up there, with expressions like “the customer is always right” and “do you know who I am?” It can make it difficult to navigate the world unmolested or without being harassed, or even enjoy the word, as it sits. The scenario in the coffee shop is just one of many things that society throws at the reasonable people when all they’re trying to do is relax and enjoy their environment. Those entitled people don’t acknowledge the world around them and when they do, they only do so when they need something from them. It reminds me of a situation I ran into at the grocery store a short time ago. I was walking through the grocery store, picking up a couple of items before going home.

As I was making my way through the far back corner of the supermarket to start heading towards the front, a lady was walking along, idly thumbing on her cell phone. She appeared to have what I assumed were two sons with her; one about six or seven years old and one in his late teens. The teen son was pushing the cart. The first problem came as the lady casually cut in front of me to walk past, nearly colliding with me. I cleared my throat but she never noticed. Then, in a display of oblivious ignorance, the older son parked his cart diagonally across the aisle, effectively blocking anyone’s ability to walk through. Then, he sat there, waiting for his mother who had gone down the adjacent aisle. I coughed once. He didn’t move. Then, I said, “Excuse me?” The boy turned and saw me and said, “Oh, my bad, man…” and stepped away from the cart.

I felt my patience waning as I saw the scene play out and considered that I may be on film, perhaps for some reality show, that I wasn’t aware of. After all, how can rational people be that oblivious, right? I said, “Could you move your cart? You’re blocking the aisle, no one can get through.” The boy grabbed the cart and pulled it away. I barely got ten felt away when I was approached from behind by the mother, who had now hung up her phone and was acting as though I had just punched a puppy. Her puppy. “How dare you speak to my son that way…?” I almost laughed at her anger. I hadn’t raised my voice, I hadn’t been rude and all I did was ask him to move his cart so that people, myself included, could get through. Despite explaining this to her, she was acting like I had kicked her kid into the gutter and spat on him. She was indignant at the fact that I had the audacity to speak up or try to get by. This is also a common occurrence that I often see within the world.

Folks, life is short. Your time on this world is fleeting. And light knows that there’s enough suffering in the world. It’s important to remember not to intentionally cause more. The world owes you nothing. And the important thing is the energy you put out into the world is what will eventually come back to you. So, if all you do is live with an inflated sense of entitlement and you think the world owes you a living, you may be in for a rude awakening. No one owes you a damn thing. And respect is earned. So, if this is you, and you can relate to the scenarios outlined in this post, put your phone down, keep your eyes up and pay attention to the world around you. And focus on putting good out into the world. Important food for thought… ☯️

Let the Hate Flow Through You…

Okay, so it’s probably a bit odd that I’m quoting from the original Star Wars trilogy for a post that touches on something a bit more philosophical and important but in my defense, wisdom and knowledge can often arise from the most unlikely places. So, take for what it is. As someone who studies Buddhism (yes, I still do, despite the fewer posts on the topic) I recognize that the world has suffering. One of the most important precepts is to eliminate that suffering, in order to live a happier, more fruitful and satisfying life. This isn’t always an easy thing, especially in modern times. The type and frequency of the world’s stressors only seems to be increasing. It can make things difficult to navigate, especially when one succumbs to one of the most difficult to navigate emotions; anger.

Anger is insidious. And it tends to creep in at the most unexpected times for the most ridiculous reasons. red light not turning to green quickly enough? Anger. Boss adds another project on your plate during your days off? Anger. Your kids eat the last of your Skittles right before you need them to treat a low? Anger. Accidentally stub your toe on the corner of a wall that’s always been there and is absolutely on one’s fault but your own? Inappropriate levels of rage and anger… It seems to strike more than the average person cares to think about and the issue with that, is that anger eventually does cause physical and psychological damage, over time. On the physical side, constant anger will lead to health issues like increased blood pressure, cardiac issues, stomach ulcers. On the psychological side, poor thoughts, depression, lack of motivation, to name a few. And let’s not forget that nasty vices one may undertake in order to forget or forego one’s anger. Or realistically, we think we do it to “relax.” In reality, we try to stem our angry emotions.

Without a proper outlet, anger can lead to a number of negative results in one’s life, outside of the direct effects on oneself. Someone who is constantly angry may be perceived as difficult or unpleasant to be around. Anger in the workplace can lead to damaged working relationships, perceived poor performance and if you happen to be in a position of authority, extremely poor perception by your staff. At home and in your personal life, a near-constant state of anger can damage relationships, create a toxic home environment and alienate the very people around you who could potentially help stem some of those angry thoughts. I’m making it sound like everyone is walking around like the hulk and it likely isn’t this bad for everyone, but the key is recognizing that anger. One may find themselves a bit surprised at how often this emotion seeps in without notice or warning.

Miyamoto Musashi, one of my favorite writers and author of “The Book of Five Rings,” a famous book on strategy, touched on anger in his book. While I won’t be quoting the book directly (you can find ebook versions of it through Kobo starting at $0.99), his thoughts veered more on the concept that one should recognize and acknowledge anger as it builds, as opposed to waiting and recognizing that one IS angry. Musashi wrote that loss of control over one’s anger, especially towards others, means that the other person has a control over you. If you allow anger to creep its way in during a given situation, it can also allow one’s potential adversaries to note your vulnerabilities, your weaknesses and allow them to take advantage of you or make you a potential target for those who mean to do you harm.

The trick to anger is to control it before it controls you. Some of it is as simple as starting by recognizing that most situations, if not all, are not worth getting angry about. Do you think that person who cut you off at the intersection has spent the rest of the morning contemplating how they cut you off? Of course not. They likely forgot you as soon as the sound from your car horn died down. Despite this, if they live rent free in your head for hours after the incident, this is a clear sign that you’re allowing anger to control the most minimal events of your life. This makes it an obstacle to peace as opposed to an elimination of suffering. And as I’ve often said before and I don’t know about y’all, but I have a strong dislike of suffering. I’m all about trying to find that peace.

Instead, when one begins to feel that anger bubbling up to the surface, it becomes important to find ways to harness and channel that energy into something productive or useful. By channeling and harnessing one’s anger, it can become an important tool for discipline, training and achieving one’s goals. It can be aimed for a positive purpose as opposed to exploding or erupting out of you like an uncontrollable tempest that threatens to damage you and/or those in your environment. By using it as a positive tool, you can also acknowledge that anger is normal. A perfectly normal and expected human emotion that everyone experiences. It isn’t about having that emotion that’s bad. It’s what you do with it. How you allow it to affect you.

If you find yourself in a position where anger is slowly starting to rise to the surface and you have no means of channeling or using it, there are ways to control it. Deep breathing exercises or meditation can be valuable tools in ensuring that your anger doesn’t bubble over into something negative. And will ultimately help in eliminating the suffering within your life. And at the end of the day, finding peace will not only help maintain your health and promote a happier, fuller life but will also allow that energy to be shared or passed on to others. As the old saying goes, don’t sweat the small stuff. Food for thought…☯️

To Learn Is To Teach…

It’s safe to say that I’ve walked through the doors of more dojos than I can count throughout the course of my martial arts journey. Some before I joined Uechi Ryu and some after. But none were upset as memorable as when I walked into my Sensei’s dojo for the first time. For the most part, I was a rude, snot-nosed kid who used sarcasm and attitude t mask my own personal trauma, usually caused by my Diabetes and the issues I had faced as a child. Although I hadn’t yet started karate, I was good friends with Sensei’s son, whom I grew up to recognize as a brother. On a particular night where I was visiting and my blood sugars were skyrocketing (as they usually were), I may or may not have commented about a grown man cleaning up dog urine, when I saw Sensei tidying up after the poodle my friend owned. He decided to introduce himself then, and also introduced me to my first pressure point, which cause my arm to flare with electric pain. Needless to say, I made no further comment.

Recognizing that it’s decades later, some people hear that story and think that it was cruel to do that to a kid. Modern day adults would assume that it would have been better for Sensei to contact my parents, have them give me a talk and be sensitive to what my feelings may have been at the time. Yeah… fuck that. That’s a HUGE part of what’s wrong with the world today. Everyone’s too involved with their feelings and being offended. But that isn’t what today’s post is about, so I’m going to try and stay on track here. The point is, this was the first step towards learning humility that I had experienced up to that point. As a result, I found myself seeking out the martial arts to help heal my body and spirit, as opposed to cowering in a corner. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the dojo for the first time and saw Sensei standing there, in all his black-belted glory, as the instructor of the class. I could have excused myself and stepped out. I could have walked away and sought my teachings elsewhere. Instead, that one brief moment of humility echoed in my mind and told me that this teacher could teach; and learn was exactly what I was there to do.

Decades ago and while testing for my first belt, I noticed a panel in Sensei’s home dojo, which was attached to his house back in New Brunswick. I’ve seen it in plenty of other places since then but I remember being fascinated by the words. It read:

“For every 10,000 people that join a martial arts school, half will drop out within the first six months
Of those remaining students, about 1,000 will complete 1 year of training then quit. 500 will study for two years but only 100 will see their 3-year anniversary
On average, only 10 will study to achieve black belt.
One shall go on to teach others what he has learned, for the martial arts is now part of their life and they shall go on to share this life with others.

This person is a Sensei.”

Although the words didn’t sink in for me as deeply as they were intended, I was fascinated nonetheless. As I progressed in my studies, I began teaching others. Basics at first, then more complicated techniques, forms and even teaching the occasional class when Sensei was absent or otherwise unavailable, which was pretty rare. I enjoyed it greatly and felt that teaching was as much a part of my overall growth and learning as my mainstream studies were. There came a time when one of Sensei’s students opened a dojo of her own. With at least one class that landed on a different night than ours, I took advantage of the added tranning time. Given that I was the eldest belt in that group, I was often looked to as the assistant instructor, often opening and closing the dojo in preparation for class, and often taking on class when the instructor had to work or was absent. Teaching became an ingrained part of my journey. I met and retained many of my close friends through teaching, including but not limited to my friend Ricky, who interviewed for one of my posts back in 2021. You can read his story here.

There’s a rewarding feeling that comes from teaching others. Sensei has always said that karate is a puzzle with a million pieces. As long as you step out of the dojo every day with one new piece, you’ll have learned something. Watching someone go from their first day in the dojo, barely keeping balance when they walk, to performing kata, sparring, and keeping up with the rest of the class, emerging from their cocoon and training to become heir best selves, carries a level of satisfaction that one can only get from teaching. But teaching is not everyone’s cup of tea. I learned this the hard way, when I agreed to take on Sensei’s children’s class as the lead instructor. I went into that first night with an electric sense of excitement in my soul. I had made it. I was a Sensei. The future of these children’s martial arts journey would be molded by my hand. I would have the opportunity to pass on the things I had learned, share my insights, provide my perspective on the lessons learned, the pitfalls, the positive and negative… Until I wasn’t.

Teaching children was a significantly different bag of tricks from what I had become used to. Prior to this, I never had someone in the dojo who was younger than a teenager. While teenagers come with their own baggage, it’s usually and reasonably safe to say that they’re there of their own volition and want to learn. The same can’t necessarily be said of children. Having them line up properly, stay in line and pay attention became 75% of my time during the hour I had them. By the time the adult students started filing in to attend the adult class, I was often emotionally drained and in no position to train myself. My intention to teach others was sapping my ability to train and develop my own skills. The big issue I faced as a Sensei was that when you train children, you need to make it engaging. You need to make it fun. You can’t spend a straight hour repeating the same form over and over like I had been taught. You can’t pound on them and forge their steel muscles through fire the way we were. It was an entirely different ball of wax, one I was neither prepared nor capable of taking on.

Less than a year after I had taken it on, I had to stop and recognize the toll that teaching was taking on me and I had to relinquish the kid’s dojo back to Sensei. For what was probably the first time since that initial step into the dojo decades earlier, I had given up on something. It was no doubt as disappointing to Sensei as it was to me. But it was in the best interest of not only myself, but the children I was trying to teach. I was skilled, I was capable and I could definitely impart those skills to others. But I lacked the proper tools and knowledge to pass it on to children. Although I knew I was doing the right thing, it felt like a failure. It struck a significant blow to my psyche that took a long time to get over. As a result, I never opened another dojo on my own again after that. A few short years later, I joined the RCMP and moved out west. It was a reasonably easy excuse that transferring every few years would make it unfair to students for me to open a dojo, only to close it 3 to 5 years later. But the truth was right there in the back of my mind; the failure of my first dojo was enough to prevent me from taking the chance again.

In retrospect, part of me feels that it wasn’t so much a failure as it was an important lesson for me to recognize the different facets of teaching that I need to recognize. If I were to open a dojo today, teaching kids would likely be less of an issue for me. After all, I teach my youngest son some karate when he joins me. But that’s one child, with all my attention on him. I still believe that one can never truly learn the martial arts to its full potential without eventually teaching. It is a natural progression in one’s skills that is in effect, inevitable. But the big piece is in how you approach it. As I mentioned earlier, teaching is not everyone’s cup of tea. But the beauty of karate is that a studious practitioner will always manage to teach something to others, even when one is not planning or expecting it. Therefore, there are no regrets. Food for thought…☯️

Here We Go Again, The Aftermath…

I mean, is it really the aftermath if I haven’t gotten home yet? I’m gonna say it is, because I have a couple of hours to kill and nothing to do. My travel from Campbellton to Moncton yesterday was pretty uneventful. I hit the city around 1:30-ish and since check in time at most hotels is 3 pm, I decided to kill some time by walking around Champlain Place, one of the largest malls in New Brunswick. I wandered for all of about forty minutes before I started getting bored. I would have loved to have grabbed a slice of pizza at the food court but the lines were very not Shawn-esque. I figured I would simply check in at the hotel then reassess as to where I could grab a small meal before my pre-flight slumber. Check in was a okay, despite there being only one person working the counter with several people waiting. One plus is that I’m apparently an IHG member, which I wasn’t aware of. I’m sure I would have been aware at the time when I got it but apparently I had forgotten.

The nice part about being an IHG Rewards member is I got a free room upgrade and treated to some complimentary waters and snacks. My name was written on a board at the entrance, welcoming me to the hotel. I mean, it was written with about a dozen other people so it’s not like I was singled out or anything. But it was still cool. I enjoy getting things just as much as the next person, but being upgraded to a king bed suite is something that would be nicer if I had my wife with me. I’m all alone; what do I need with a king sized bed instead of a queen? Once I ditched all my stuff in the room, I made my way to a gas station, conveniently in the same parking lot, and ensured my rental car’s tank was full. Then, and because I’m cheap, I hit up McDonald’s (also in the same parking lot). By 4 o’clock, I was in the room, in pajamas and watching Big Bang Theory on the big screen.

My alarm obediently pissed me off this morning at 3 am, which prompted me to hit the ground running and grab a shower, shave, ditch the toiletries and disposable extras I had purchased for the trip and make my way to the airport. Now, I’m seated here in a quasi-empty terminal waiting a bit more than an hour and a half for my flight to board. According to all indications, my flight is scheduled to be on time. This is good news, considering I received a rather disturbing email last night that Air Canada’s cabin crew union was planning job action today and several flights have already been canceled. One would think that potentially being grounded in one’s home province would be a pleasant surprise. But that’s the big issue, isn’t it? And something I realized the hard way during my time here… New Brunswick isn’t my home anymore. Saskatchewan is. That’s where my home, my family and my life are. New Brunswick has simply become the place I go to in order to visit my parents. And even that prospect is quickly slipping away.

The first leg of my trip sees me fly to Montreal; an approximate 40-minute flight. Then, I’ll have about an hour and a half’s layover in the Montreal Terminal. I usually prefer Toronto, since there are actual food options and snacks available. Montreal’s departure terminal is usually pretty bare and doesn’t have many options for anything to eat. Considering I left the hotel before the ass crack of dawn and the longest stretch from Montreal to Regina is about 4 hours, that’s a hell of a long time to go without food. Even WITH Ozempic stemming my appetite. Granted, It’s Friday morning and my injection is patiently waiting for me at home in Regina. I’m rather surprised that my hunger hasn’t already started to make a selfish appearance. That’s the beauty of stress from traveling, I guess. One way or another, I”ll survive. So long as both my flights are on time, I should get home just before lunch.

Considering I titled this post as an aftermath, here is where I take the time to reflect on my week in New Brunswick and what I did and didn’t accomplish. I didn’t manage to communicate with my father. He slept each time I popped in and the one time I tried to rouse him from sleep, it didn’t work. Staff are supposed to let him know I’ve been visiting over recent days. I saw my mother three times. In one instance, I was able to have an open conversation with her about non-specific or memory related matters. She was clam enough but distant and not engaged. My uncle had warned me that this was the state she was at. Seeing her limited to a wheelchair is likely what struck me hardest. Once a proud woman who prided herself on caring for others now had nothing left in her life but having strangers take care of her. I confirmed both parents’ funeral arrangements, because THAT’s what one wants to be doing during a vacation, and obtained the pertinent paperwork for my parents that should allow me to put through my information request for my father. In the months to come, I hope to get at least SOME explanation behind his paralysis. I never thought it would be so fuckin’ difficult simply knowing what had happened to a member of my family.

On the positive side, I got to spend some time with some old and important friends; the ones who are still in the area and have always been supportive and welcoming when I’ve come home. I got to sit and converse with Sensei, whom I consider to be not only a mentor but a second father. Speaking with him made me feel a bit better about things, albeit for only a brief time. I got the chance to see Guillaume who, even if we saw each other in May, was a pleasure to chat with and catch up. Our conversations are like taking a trip back to 1996; we still have the same personalities, attitudes and tone to our stories. I got to spend some time with Ricky and Sam, shares some meals and shoot some pool; something I never do in Regina, even if we have pool halls. And of course, I got to have a couple of sit downs with my uncle, without whom none of the care for my parents would be possible. All in all, there was some positive.

Now, as I sit here alone and contemplating, the realization has set in that this will likely be the last time i return to New Brunswick with the exception of funerals. It feels like the chapter has completely closed. I’d like to say I have a heavy heart or am saddened by the prospect but in reality, I’m rather numb and uncertain how to feel about it. I’m sure it’ll hit me sometime later, at the worst and most inconvenient time. But for now and since I still have an hour to wait for my first flight, I need to go find some caffeine. TSA made me leave my can of energy drink behind. Dictators. I totally get it but that shit is expensive. And a cold, carbonated beverage isn’t exactly something you can shotgun on the fly. Such is life. So this marks the end of this little travel series of posts. For any of you who may have been thinking “Fuck this shit! All this guy writes about is traveling and sad family crap…” Don’t away yet. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled Buddhist karateka posts soon enough. Keep reading, friends… ☯️

Here We Go Again, Part 6…

Yesterday was actually a reasonably good day. As mentioned yesterday, I woke up, did some quick laundry, grabbed a brief lunch and then traveled to Bathurst to visit Sensei’s son, Guillaume. Instead of simply jumping on Highway 11 and taking the 1-hour rip to his place, I opted instead to use secondary Highway 134, or what we used to call the “Old Highway.” It added about half an hour to the transit time but the view was spectacular. The entire route is coastal, with open views of the Restigouche Bay opening up into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Some beautiful houses and old churches, schools and properties, it was almost a meditative drive of sorts, lending some peace to the stress I’ve felt all week. I reached Bathurst shortly after the lunch hour and made a couple of stops, used the restroom and grabbed a drink, then made my way to Middle River.

I have to admit, Guillaume has a pretty sweet setup. He built his own compound, including a main house, a smaller dormitory for his daughter, which is separate from the house, a large, industrial garage that houses tractors and industrial equipment used to maintain the property, and apartment for his two sons above the garage. He has a private road, bee hives, vegetable crops and absolutely no cell phone signal. He has his own maintained WiFi, but cell phones don’t work on his property. The entirety of the property is beautiful and impressive. In hindsight, I kind of wish I had photographed it, or even taken a video to post on my YouTube channel. I spent a couple of hours in good conversation and pleasant company. Just me, Guillaume and his three large but friendly dogs.

Once I left Bathurst, I drove back to Campbellton by way of the main highway. I made it back in under an hour. Now, I faced a choice… With nothing to do with my evening, I could either go catch a 7 pm movie at the local theatre or, given that I had only gotten about five or six hours’ sleep the night before, I could go grab a quick burger to eat in the room and crash early. I opted for the latter. I sat and munched away on my custom McChicken with cheese (don’t judge) and binge watched some Flash on Netflix until my eyes grew heavy. Then, I unceremoniously dumped myself into the bed and fell into a deep, air conditioned oblivion. Although not in any hurry and with an alarm set for 9 am, I awoke on my own around 6 am. Even when I’m on vacation, I can’t seem to sleep in. Such is life.

Since I was up, I started the caffeination process, including but not limited to grabbing a hot shower and throwing on some clothes. I packed up the room, where I had been laying my head since my late arrival Saturday evening, and made my way down to the front desk. I dropped off my key cards and jumped into my rental vehicle. Now, I”m enjoying a sausage & egg McMuffin and a water, the only meal I’ll likely consume until late tonight (thanks, Ozempic) before getting on the road for the long, 4-hour trek to Moncton, where I will spend the night before hopping the first of two flights that will bring me home tomorrow. I expect my evening will be pretty peaceful. Some gaming to work through my daily puzzles and crosswords and maybe a bit of streaming. I can’t wait to get home. It will be good to be back with my wife and sons. ☯️

Here We Go Again, Part 5…

Okay, so if I’m being real for a moment, these posts all week have been pretty negative and depressing. I get, no need to say it… It’s a bit hard not to be depressing when one is talking about the decline of one’s parents and all the unfortunate realities that come with it. So, considering I accomplished all the parent-related matters I came out here to do (to an extent), I thought it might be nice if I focused on some of the positive aspects. For one thing, I got to SEE my parents. If there’s one thing that been hard over the years, it’s been living clear on the other side of the country, away from them. I also got to spend time with Sensei, reconnect with my Uncle Danny, who has been amazing with helping with mom and dad, and even got the opportunity to grab dinner and shoot some pool with some old friends. I was rusty as hell, but hey! I never go out anymore so this was particular. And today, I actually get to travel down to Bathurst and visit Sensei’s son, whom I basically grew up with as a brother.

Among a few of the smaller, less important hiccups I’ve dealt with, is the lack of certain items. One of the reasons I was able to travel so quickly and efficiently (said tongue in cheek, considering all the delays outside my control) is because when I’m alone, I have the benefit of traveling extremely light and without excess baggage. This is not so easy to accomplish when you know you’ll be at your destination for several days. So, how do I do it? Well, to start with, I have a black, military rucksack with good compartment division that allows me to pack efficiently in such a way where I can fund anything on the fly without issue. Next, I make a point of packing ONLY what’s absolutely necessary without a bunch of extra shit that takes up space. I have a pair of sneakers on my feet. Boom! No need to drag additional footwear. I wasn’t planning on going dancing, after all. Three pairs of socks, three pairs of underwear and four shirts. I wore a zip-up hoodie when I left Regina and brought a super light, Under Armor windbreaker for rain or lighter weather.

The important thing and I always found it a bit dumb, but rolling up your clothing instead of folding it actually saves a huge amount of space and makes it possible to fit more into something smaller. Pair this with a small bathroom “pouch” and you’re off to the races. I call it a “pouch” as opposed to a toiletry bag because it’s about half the size and thickness, to better accommodate the limited space I have. The only thing included in there are infusion sets and reservoirs for my insulin pump and my toothbrush. Some of my smaller compartments had a pack of gum and some Skittles, in the event my blood drops. There’s nothing worse than being at 35,000 feet on a flight that serves no snacks while having a low. Entertainment-wise, I permitted myself to bring my iPad, which houses not only my streaming services and my blogging platform, it also contains my Kobo e-reader and some games that I can play to pass the down time. That’s the beauty of modern technology; everything is jammed into one thing, Star Trek-esk pad.

Now, you may be looking at all of this and thinking that there are a lot of things missing. And you would be right. What about toothpaste? What about deodorant? Some of the basics aren’t really there. Well, when I travel alone, I also try to save as much money as possible. Especially since this isn’t exactly a vacation or pleasure trip. Bear in mind that I left Regina freshly showered, teeth brushed and deodorant applied, like a good, clean little boy should. Like a brand new car just off the lot, I boarded my plane with a new car smell. Once I landed in New Brunswick and started driving north with my rental, I had been in airports, airplanes and sitting idle all day but getting warm, dealing with stress and running around and I was clammy. So, once I reached Miramichi, I stopped at the local Walmart and hit up their travel section. The travel section of any retail location is an overlooked gem, even for when you’re at home. It carries smaller, cheaper and more compact versions of every day hygiene items that one could need.

From this Walmart, I grabbed a reusable bag, since I always seem to be caught buying up some energy drinks with my bare hands. Since they always seem to be on special to buy several at a reduced price, I usually end up fumbling with my hotel room’s scan cards while juggling several cans. But with my reusable bag, I was able to grab deodorant, hair gel, a single bar of Dove soap, shampoo, shaving foam and a disposable razor. A few energy drinks and some sugar-free Gatorade for the room, and I was off to the races. Excluding the energy drinks which I would have bought at home anyway, I spent less than $20 on my toiletries for the trip. Considering a checked bag for Air Canada is $80, it represents a significant savings and allowed to travel much lighter than I otherwise would have. Given the extreme heat, I’ve pretty much had to surrender my clothing to the laundry basket every night. This means I had to grab some laundry soap. Luckily, my hotel has a coin operated laundromat. I had initially planned on doing only one load of laundry TODAY, as I will be traveling back to Moncton tomorrow. But given the high temperatures, I’ve been sweating through my few shirts in record time. As a result, I will be doing my SECOND load of laundry this morning.

So, in summation, I took the cheapest flight, which left me at a bit of a disadvantage as I couldn’t amend, cancel or alter my travel arrangements once paid, the cheapest hotel in the area, which although I had issues with it in May, they were extremely accommodating this time around, and traveled light with limited items to make transit and packing easier. All around, this is probably one of the cheapest trips I’ve ever had to New Brunswick in years, minus the time Air Canada made a mistake booked my round trip for a little over $500. My flight sorts are usually almost four times that amount. No such luck this time but it was roughly $1,000 for the tickets and I usually pay about twice that. Once I’ve hung out with Sensei’s son this afternoon, I’ll likely make it back in time to go watch the Naked Gun remake, starring Liam Neeson. It lend a bit of comedy and laughs to an otherwise depressing trip.

Tomorrow, I travel down to Moncton, where I will be spending my last night in New Brunswick. This is being done since my flights departs sometime around 6 am, which means I would have to leave Campbellton right around the time I’d be going to bed, considering the detours for the wild fires. ten years ago, I likely would have been able to manage that without issue. This time around, i believe I’m reaching an age where driving all night in the dark is no longer something i feel i’m capable of. So instead, I’m going to park myself at a hotel five minutes from the airport so I can simply wake up, jump into my pants and be out the door. Quick, easy and convenient. The best part is this early flight will see me land back home prior to lunchtime, since Saskatchewan’s time zone is three hours behind New Brunswick’s. It will be good to get home. I think I’ve done about as much damage here as can be done. It’s grime to go. ☯️

Here We Go Again Part 4…

Ah, bureaucracy… Apparently the world is incapable of living without it. One of the big reasons I came home this time around, was to see to certain things. First, I had to ensure that my parents’ funeral and burial arrangements were taken care of. Certainly a morbid reason for coming home, but the funeral home that they engage their prepaid contracts with had apparently closed and I had to ensure that their contracts had been carried over to someone else. Second, I needed to storm the local hospital and get some answers around how/why my father is paralyzed and what caused it. For fuck’s sakes, the man himself doesn’t know what happened! Can you imagine, a prisoner in your own body and no one around you is/can tell you what happened or why??? I called several times while my father was IN the hospital and never got answers or calls back, so I didn’t really anticipate getting any now. Hence, here we are.

My day yesterday started pretty normally, all things considered. Although not a vacation, I was able to sleep in a bit and woke to an alarm that was later than it would be back home. Well, later as seen through the lens of this time zone. 8 am here is actually only 5 am back in Saskatchewan so if we want to get technical, I’ve been waking up earlier while here. But whatevs… After a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and yogurt, I started planning out my day. I started by doing a quick load of laundry at the hotel. I had anticipated doing this only once during the week I was here, so that I wouldn’t be traveling with dirty clothes. Unfortunately, it’s been so damn hot here (it reached 41 degrees yesterday, or 105 for you Fahrenheit folks). Usually, by the time I get back to the room, I’ve sweated and dried off more than once and I’m burning through clean clothes like a teenager trying on outfits. This led me to start my morning by doing a load. That’s when I discovered something interesting. It is nearly impossible to find single-use laundry detergent. I usually see that shit all the time, back home. In convenience stores and such. But not here, Luckily, with the help of a friend, I found a package with three packets for single use. Satisfied, I headed back and planned to start my load. Lo and behold, the packets were for a “sink rinse” and not an actual washing machine. I didn’t know what effect this would have on in the machine but luckily, I was able to buy a small box from the front desk (at a ridiculously inflated price, of course.

Once my laundry was done and I was showered up and ready to go, I hit up the funeral home. So, here’s the scenario… My parents prepaid for all their funeral arrangements about fifteen years ago. Caskets, services and burial, everything was taken care of. Smart, right? More people should be that proactive. It SHOULD be saving me a bunch of problems in the eventuality that one of them departs. The problem? The funeral location in Dalhousie that holds their contracts has closed. This was a problem in May when I came by but I wasn’t able to get any answers or speak with anybody. This time, I found a branch of the funeral home in Campbellton. I spoke to a very nice man who indicated that all contracts were actually housed at his location, and always had been. This was interesting. He also indicated that since Dalhousie’s undertaker/embalmer had retired approximately ten years ago, the Dalhousie location was used only for services. Preparations were all done from the Campbellton location. He indicated my parents’ contracts were filed and in place and would be honored when the time came. Cue one sigh of relief, right about here…

My next stop was the hospital. Just for a bit of context, the Campbellton Regional Hospital is the only hospital within approximately one hour. There are clinics, walk-ins and private doctor’s offices sprinkled around but this is the only hospital. It’s also where, for approximately one month, my father was brought in for pneumonia, suffered lung failure and was intubated, suffered an undiagnosed stomach bleed that they never remedied and had what we thought at the time, may have been a stroke. He went in as a man whose legs didn’t work and returned to the nursing home as a man whose legs didn’t was paralyzed. The salt in the wound? NO one updated me. No one called me. No one explained to me what happened. They should have and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. I called the hospital three times over the course of the following two weeks. Nothing. No answers, no conversation with the doctor. Usually a generic “someone will call you back.” Then no one would. Silence. Wonderful, right? That’s why I decided that my only option was to come out here and deal with it in person. It’s much harder to ignore and dismiss someone standing in front of you than to ignore and email or fail to return a call.

I walked into the hospital yesterday with a grim determination to get answers. Someone had to know something and damn it, I was going to find out who. As I walked into the hospital, I contemplated stopping at the main reception desk and inquiring. Instead, I decided to start at the source; the ICU. I walked into with the confidence of a man who belonged there and had every reason to be there. I heard my wife’s cautious voice in my head, “Don’t do anything to get yourself arrested…” Not for the first time, her sage words helped calm me and I recognized that I would likely catch more flies with honey. I made my inquiries and asked about obtaining the information. I was told I would have to speak to the hospital archives. Okay, great. They had an orderly walk me there, which was nice. So far, so good. I’m being helped and nobody has stone-walled me. Maybe this would go smoother than I thought. I was about to be proven wrong.

I walked into the archive department and explained my inquiry. The clerk asked me if I had Power of Attorney for my father. Yes, I do. Provided it and she read it. She argued that my mother was listed as Power of Attorney. I explained that she had dementia and no longer holds decisional capacity, meaning the Power of Attorney reverts to me. She stepped out to the back and came back and asked if I had Power of Attorney for my mother. I said that I did but what did that mean? I was there for my father. She explained that her boss indicated that if I could provide mom’s Power of Attorney as well, it would suit their purposes. I’m usually hesitant with things like this but it’s a fucking hospital! They should actually have a copy of both their Powers of Attorney on file. They’ve both been in the hospital and have had their respective Attorneys acting on their behalf. But whatever got the job done, so I explained I would have to walk back to the car and retrieve it. No problem. Okay, back into the heat, get mom’s Power of Attorney and head back in. The air conditioning in the hospital was splendid.

The clerk’s boss was waiting when I came in and took the additional papers from me. She then argued that my uncle Danny was named as Power of Attorney for my mother, not me. I explained that my uncle Danny would not act in this instance, so the Power of Attorney reverted to me. I’m not sure why this was so complicated for everyone to understand. I’m not a lawyer and I can read that document and understand it clearly. Granted, i run a provincial regulator and read legislation on a daily basis, so there’s that. I then placed both my feet firmly in my mouth. I asked what the difference was for my mother, since the Power of Attorney doesn’t prove she had dementia, so it’s pointless to argue over it. They agreed and requested I get a copy of her physical assessment from the nursing home, showing she was deemed as having dementia. Okay, NOW my blood pressure is starting to rise. Excuse me? I understand filling out forms and doing things properly, but it was starting to border on the ridiculous.

I filled out all the appropriate forms and included my email address so that they could email me the materials I asked for once they were reviewed. New Brunswick’s legislation allows them 30 days to complete their review. I’m nothing if not aware of how legislation works. They indicated they couldn’t promise anything but it would be helpful if I could get my mom’s assessment paper work from the nursing home. Like most family members and speaking strictly in generalities, I’m not a big fan of the nursing home or their staff. I understand that everyone is overworked and understaffed but when it comes to a loved one’s wellbeing, there should be an exception to that rule. My parents don’t get the care and attention that they need or deserve. For this reason, I usually have little use for the staff, which is why I was able to breeze in and out of there to visit my folks without engaging anyone. Now, I would have to intentionally do so. Great. I left the hospital thinking I was at least making headway and would soon have some answers.

Once I got back to the car and allowed the A/C to properly cool my head, a thought occurred. My uncle took care of admitting my mother and having her assessment done in my absence. I asked if he had copies of the paperwork. He indicated he did and would dig it up this evening and I could meet him shortly after supper to retrieve it. Perfect! I wouldn’t have to deal with the nursing home. I took solace in this and went to a local coffee shop and relaxed with a coffee and a piece of sugar pie. Exhaustion from the heat and the emotional ups and downs were starting to take their toll. I relaxed for about an hour before returning to the hotel room and refreshing myself, then hit the road for Dalhousie. I toured the town, visited my old high school, wandered the front street and sat by the water front, watching the waves lap gently against the rocks, with the breeze blowing and seagulls screeching overhead. I was in the midst of a fully stereotyped Maritime scene when I remembered that there was a family member I hadn’t taken the time to visit yet; my brother.

The cemetery where my brother is located is on the top of a quiet, scenic hill. Overlooking the bay, there’s no better place in the area for quiet contemplation and remembering one’s departed family members. I don’t pray, talk to the headstone or any of the usual activities that many engage in when they visit a graveyard. For me, it’s more a sign of respect t for my brother that I attend his burial site and just BE there; a symbol of the place where his physical form was last ON the earth before being placed below it. While I stood there in silent reverence, I took a moment to glance up at the headstones for my grandparents and my parents. It always sends a small chill down my spine, as my name and date of birth are included on my parents’ headstone as well. I apparently have a plot available right next to my brother, placing me between him and my parents. But as I looked up at my grandparents’ headstone, something caught my eye; my grandfather’s brother, whom I had known all my life, apparently passed away last year. WTF??? I would have assumed my uncle Danny would have mentioned it to me, but never did. Another fun little notch on the checklist of bullshit for this trip. But I digress…

A brief visit to Danny’s house revealed that he had none of the paperwork he thought he had and certainly no copies of mom’s assessment. Great. Back to square one, except I lost the day relaxing when I should have just taken the initiative instead. I made my way back to Campbellton where I enjoyed a late dinner alone before returning to my room. So this morning, once I’ve showered and shaved, I’ll be heading back to Dalhousie once again to try and get some answers and paper work. I’ve never seen such a complicated process to simply get answers about a medical condition in my life. Hopefully, I’ll have better luck in getting this done today than I did yesterday. Although it’s been nice to see some people that I know, I miss home and my family. I have another three days here and I’m just hoping that the wildfires down south won’t prevent me from leaving. I’m honestly not sure what I’ll do, if this becomes the case. But for now, time to pull my socks up and get the day going. ☯️

Here We Go Again, Part 3…

Thomas Wolfe once wrote “You Can’t Go Home Again.” A title that seems pretty apt to my situation. In November of 2023, I faced the inevitability that most children face, where my mother lost decisional capacity for herself and had to be placed in a care home. It was a pinnacle turning point in my life as it meant that I would have to pack up her apartment and do away with the majority of the belongings that she had accumulated in the course of her life. While most children would simply bring most heirlooms and belonging to their own home, living clear across the country made this a bit of a difficult prospect for me. While I did pack and ship some choice items, the majority of things had to be sold, donated or given away. It felt like the surrendering of one’s life, and caused me to take pause and reflect on how the later years of my own life would come to pass. I chronicled this trip in a short series of posts titled “Becoming the Patriarch.” If you scroll through my posts, you find them. The point is, when I came home last May to tend to my father, who was intubated and comatose with no expectation of coming out of the hospital, it was my first time coming home without, well… a home! It was a the first time in my life that I didn’t have a “mom and dad’s” to stay at. No pillow to lay my head where I knew my mother was in the next room. The change in my reality that this caused weighed heavily on my soul during that trip. That reality is all the more palpable this time around.

Yesterday, my day started simply, with a visit to the continental breakfast nook of the hotel. Swallowing my pride and ignoring my usual desire for meat, I enjoyed a small bowl of cereal and a yogurt, which provided what I needed for the morning. I grabbed a shower and slipped on some fresh, untraveled clothing and I was off to the races. A couple of errands later, I had stocked my room fridge with energy drinks and some meal replacement shakes that would make for my lunches throughout the week. For a simple 4-pack of shakes that would make four lunches, I paid as much as I would for one full meal. While meal replacement shakes can’t replace your food indefinitely, it’ll certainly save me some money for the week. My morning went by in a flash and I made my way down the coast to Dalhousie, my childhood home. I’ve traveled to many places in the world but they all pale in comparison to the pristine beauty of the Restigouche Bay set against the backdrop of the Appalachian mountains. The view and the scenery are exquisite; a fact I never recognized or appreciated during my childhood. It’s unfortunate that children always only see what’s immediate and can’t draw their focus outward. Perhaps if I had recognized the beauty in front of me, I would have never left. But I wistfully digress…

My father is a tired man. At the end of his rope, I feel that he has very little fight left in him. Essentially paralyzed from the neck down, he’s incapable of moving, save for his neck and head, and some mild movement of his fingers, mercifully allowing him to switch the channels on his television. Otherwise, he lays at the mercy of the nursing home staff. Nursing homes get a bad rap in general, and for good reason. Overworked and understaffed, they rarely have the ability to care for their residents to the level of quality that one truly deserves at the end of their lives. I walked into my father’s room with the thought that I would be facing an angry, redheaded juggernaut who was pissed off at being alive. Instead, I saw a frail, aging man with no strength left in him. He was sleeping soundly and snoring noisily. I sat with him for a few moments, but for once in my life, the words not said and the silence were too much for me. I stepped out. When I walked into to see my mother, she was awake and sitting in her chair with her arms crossed. She had a look on her face that didn’t express serenity but appeared to hold no immediate concern. As I reached her filed of vision, she frowned at me slightly. As I said “Hi, mom,” she responded in kind but didn’t acknowledge the “mom” part. When I indicated that I was her son, her only response was “Oh, okay.” No recognition or familiarity lit up her eyes. I commented that it had been a while and reached in for a hug. Then, I experienced another first that no child should ever have to; she flinched and recoiled from my reach.

She didn’t yell out, object or indicate any issue but the mild action was enough to send ripples of grief through me that echoed down to my very soul. My mother had no recognition of me. The shouldn’t have surprised me, since her siblings had all visited last week and she knew none of them. But it cemented the fact that in a way, my parents were very much gone. When one loses a parent, there’s a grieving process in place. The loved one is no longer with them. They’re just gone forever and one realized they’ll never see them again in this life. There’s a finality. A sense of closure amongst the grief, if you will. But for my parents, there is no such closure. Instead, they linger. Living fleetingly on the border between life and death. My father, trapped in a prison of his own flesh without any finality, despite apparently being lucid and of full mind (I can’t confirm because I haven’t spoken to him yet), and my mother, who’s there but not “there,” know what I mean? There is no finality or sense of grief0stricken closure. They aren’t;t gone; they simply aren’t fully there, either. The reality was more than my solitary soul could handle. I made my way back out to the car and wept silently by myself, recognizing that the chance of having any meaningful conversations with my parents was gone. There would be no making them proud for my accomplishments, no bragging about their grandchildren with them, no sharing of my life with theirs. Because they had reached the end. It was now just a matter of time.

Once my eyes cleared, I made my way out to my Uncle Danny, who has been helping with the overall care of my parents in my absence. On his last day of vacation, he was enjoying his backyard pool. Considering it was 35 degrees yesterday afternoon, I could hardly blame him. We had some good conversation and I discussed my plans for the week until another guest of his showed up; a colleague from his work who had come to enjoy the pool as well. I thanked him for all his help and excused myself. I made my way back to Dalhousie where I did some light banking and sat at the top of the hill, overlooking the bay. Enjoying some afternoon caffeine, I watched blissfully as the waters of the open bay ebb and flowed. Several boats, both sail and motorized, coast through its waters, enjoying the hot air and beautiful scenery. I must ave spent nearly an hour just sitting there. My hometown always brings wistful memories. Some good, some bad, but all imprinted in my mind as clear as if they happened yesterday. All imprinted as an integral part of my DNA and who I am. In seeing my mother and recognizing that my grandmother had faced the same difficulty, I asked myself if I was fated to eventually forget all these memories as well. That perhaps someday, the imprinted memories that made me who I am disappeared, much as they had for my mother. Once this happened, would I still be the same person? Who would I become? I’ve often asked myself who I am throughout my life. Never quite to this degree.‘

My evening capped off with a visit to Sensei’s home. Always a pleasure to speak with, we enjoyed some good conversation, that included some questions and corrections on my karate forms. It was good to see him. He asked about my family, both here and in Saskatchewan, and lended some sage advice on many aspects of life; something I’ve come to expect and admire about him. It gave the day a positive spin in an otherwise tumultuous cyclone of bullshit I faced while visiting my parents. Life is balance, right? For any negativity, there must be some positive. I made my way back to the hotel and ended my evening by seeing my wife and children over video chat. Short of being home with them, I couldn’t have ended the evening off on a better note. I drifted off to a dreamless sleep. My time here will see me accomplish a great deal, even if I don’t get the answers I came looking for. As with any other great book, eventually you need to finish out the chapter in order to turn the page and keep going. This may be the situation I find myself in now. While I was born and raised here, the chapter of my life that involves Northern New Brunswick may be coming to an end. While my thoughts will always return here, my purpose for being here may soon no longer be. That’s a chapter I”ll need to close in order for me to move on to the next. Such is life. ☯️

Here We Go Again, Part 2…

Considering this is the beginning of my second full day here in New Brunswick, I figured I should get the next post up before memory starts to fade. My flights on Sunday went just about as well as one could expect. The first leg, from Regina to Toronto, saw me relax with a movie and finish out a book I had been reading. However, once I arrived in Toronto and took my phone off of airplane mode, I was hit with a barrage of text messages and emails, outlining that my flight had been delayed by approximately an hour and a half. Fuck. For everyone’s clarity, I chose the early flight that I did because New Brunswick is actually in a time zone that’s three hours ahead of Saskatchewan. So the later I leave, the later in the day I arrive. Couple that with the fact the airport is about a four-hour drive away from my destination, and landing late into the evening becomes a tiring problem. So that hour and half was going to play on me at the other end. Luckily, whatever issue the airline was having got remedied and it was only a forty minute delay.

This forty minute delay was exacerbated by a missing cabin crew member, which meant they couldn’t board the aircraft until this member arrived. Fucking lovely. I landed in Moncton, New Brunswick at about 6:30 pm, local time. My vehicle booking was scheduled for 5:30 and my big fear was that the rental kiosk would be closed. There are no other means of transportation from Moncton to Campbellton short of paying a cab, which would run me up several hundred dollars. Then, I would still face the issue of being unable to get around for the next week AND returning to Moncton. Apparently, the rental kiosk are advised when there are flight delays and they stay open until all flights with potential vehicle renters have landed. I got the keys to my small-sized SUV and hit the highway. The initial leg of the trip north was pretty uneventful; music, singing, sucking back an energy drink and planning out my week in my head. Then, reality decided to slap me in the face…

I reached Miramichi, a small city that usually considered something of an unofficial halfway point between Moncton and the North Shore, without any issue. Besides some frustrating slow drivers, it was uneventful. I decided to play my cards right and stop at the local Walmart to grab some of the small, travel accessories and I would need for my week. I grabbed a quick snack as well and got back on the road. About four or five kilometers up the highway, I came to a blockade that read “Road Closed.” What in the actual fuck??? For reference, Highway 8 is a North/South highway that cuts through a rather large outcropping of the north-eastern part of the Province. Bypassing it and driving along the coast adds almost two hours to the transit. A police vehicle was parked at the boundary, so I parked on the side of the highway and asked him what’s up. He advised that central New Brunswick was currently dealing with a large wildfire that was burning uncontrolled. By virtue of this, the highway was closed due to the danger.

I started to get the definite impression that fate was trying o prevent me from reaching my destination. If you look at the map above, you can clearly see the area circled in yellow is marked off in red. That’s the portion of highway that was closed off because of the wildfire. The detour? A complicated, involved hodgepodge of secondary routes that included some that brought me back a ways south. If I’d had my GPS on when I left the airport, I might have seen this closed portion and could have planned accordingly. In this instance, since I was traveling the highways I had grown up on, I didn’t bother. I guarantee the damn GPS got activated after that. I drove for almost two hours along this detour before I finally got back on Highway, just outside of a small area named Lavilette. Think that little red dash looks small? Insignificant? Not that very far? Let’s put some of that into perspective for you…

The detour has drivers heading North-East on Highway 11, which during the daytime is actually a beautiful and scenic coastal drive. It also takes significantly longer, since it curves outwards along the coast instead of simply cutting straight through. Once you pass a small village called New Jersey (totally not kidding, we have such a place in New Brunswick), you turn onto a secondary back road at a village called Lagaceville. This brings you to Route 480, which eventually brings you back to Highway 8, where one can continue on their way. All in all it adds roughly an hour onto a four hour drive. To add insult to injury, it was dark, these secondary routes weren’t lit and drivers were going significantly below the speed limit. In the end, I walked into my hotel for check in at approximately 10:30 pm instead of roughly 8:30 pm as I had originally planned. Thank god my flight wasn’t any later in the day.

On the brighter side, my front desk clerk recognized me from my visit in May. He commented on how late I was checking in. Not in a sarcastic or rude way, mind you; just asking about how my travels had been. When I explained, he upgraded me to a room with a king sized bed. While generous, I didn’t need extra bed space as I’m sleeping alone. It would have been better to simply have one of my nights comped. But in any case, generous is generous and I thanked him for the consideration. The room’s A/C was blasting and the room was like a refrigerator. Perfect. I always run hot, so after a day’s travel, this was a welcome temperature. I unpacked my necessities for the night and I c rushed. Hard. It was a fitful sleep, as I never quite seem to sleep well when away from home. But I got some rest and made it through my first night. I had a pretty full day yesterday, But I’ll include that in a seperate post, since it might get too lengthy to jam into this one. Needless to say, these won’t be the last hiccups I deal with during my week…

☯️

A Little Sunshine To Your Day…

I notice that I often tend to post about some of the darker, more negative aspects of things, especially when it comes to Diabetes. Sometimes, it’s important to take a moment to reflect on some of the good, which plays a huge role in eliminating the suffering in one’s life. For myself, that the creation of life from nothing, specifically in the form of flowers. I love flowers. Live flowers, that is. Not the purchased ones. In fact, if memory serves me, my very post on this blog a number of years ago was a post about some of the floral life back in New Brunswick.

My flower bed

The irony is that I have very little in terms of a green thumb and in the past several years, I’ve made efforts to try and grow flowers in my backyard. I have small brick circle that used to house a tree. The tree had already been cut and removed when we bought the house but the circle remained. In years past, I’ve thrown some seed in there with very little success. In fact, I’ve usually had more weeds than flowers growing.

Bright colours…

But this year, I took a nuclear (not literally) approach. I started by thoroughly tilling the soil then sifting out weeds, root systems and debris from the dead tree from the ground. I probably worked my way down about three or four inches. Then, I added in some nutrient rich potting soil, mixed with some fertilizers. I sprinkled a variety of flower seed all around the circle and worked it into the soil. Added a bit more potting soil on top, watered consistently and waited.

It’s been well over a month and a half and while patience is a virtue, some greenery started to pop up without any indication of flowers. I began to wonder if I was perhaps stuck with another year of weeds and no flowers. But lo and behold, about a week ago, some flowers finally started to bloom. I think I may have overcrowded the circle a bit; an important lesson to bear in mind for next year. But the flowers are starting to bloom and provide a sanctuary for some of the pollinators in the area.

Some people see growing flowers as a wasted activity. After all, they all die come the end of the season, then you find yourself working just as hard to foster them up the following spring. While some of this is true, it’s not just about the bloom but the journey. There’s a bit of a meditative aspect to planting and growing. And there’s little more that’s quite as satisfying as growing beautiful flowers in your own backyard. We also included some light vegetables this year. It’s a wholesome and pleasant at-home activity for my whole family. ☯️