Category: Buddhism & Philosophy

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. ☯️

It’s All A Battle…

Look, I’m a kata guy. I love doing a karate workout where I focus primarily on form. I can still work up a sweat, work on my foundations and manage to sharpen my skills and strength. People tend to frown on kata, claiming it holds little to no value in actual combat. Fair enough, but is it an integral part of getting there. And this’ll make more sense shortly. Most people, in general, enjoy kumite a lot more. No, I don’t mean the fake tournament that was depicted in the movie Bloodsport. I mean actual kumite, which is done in karate. Perhaps as a safe starting point, I should explain the two.

Kata, or form, is a pre-arranged pattern of movements, techniques and stances that are repeated in sequence. The idea behind kata is that it is the foundation, focusing mainly on stance, precision and the delivery of strikes and blocks. The movements will sometimes be exaggerated or done beyond what one might do in practice. This is based on the “give ‘em an inch” concept, where doing it to a certain extent in form will guarantee one’s ability to perform it to the required level in actual combat. Kata are often viewed as something ceremonial and often used for demonstration purposes.

Kumite, or sparring, is usually where one brings the techniques and methods developed through kata into practice. The combat here is normally simulated, although some styles do engage in full contact sparring. In my style, we often did both, with focus on the control of techniques and the depth and power in which we used them. One can practice kumite with one or more opponents and it can be used to sharpen one’s skills in ways that can’t be achieved in kata. An easy comparison would be a boxer who only does shadow boxing and never strikes a bag. The form may be good but without the development of striking an actual target, proper skill will never be achieved.

No matter one’s preference, both are needed to train and develop properly. many see kata as useless. This stems from the belief that the choreographed and pre-arranged movements of kata do nothing to prepare a practitioner for actual combat. But if one tries to do kumite without first learning kata, the foundation won’t be there and the techniques will be sloppy, incorrect and many cases, dangerous. If one only does kata and never engages in kumite, proper strength, control and development will never occur and one may be ineffective if one ever needs to defend oneself.

All aspects of karate involve a balance of moving parts and different aspects. You can’t do only one and ignore the rest and still believe you are doing true karate. It’s hard to compete a puzzle if you do so with missing pieces. Of course, that’s the beautiful part of the puzzle that is karate; if done properly, you’ll never be quite done. And as Sensei always used to tell me, karate is a puzzle with a million pieces. The goal isn’t to finish but to go home with one more piece, every day. ☯️

Slow And Steady Wins My Race…

I may have written about this before. Who knows? At this point in my life, I can’t keep half my fuckin’ shit straight with planners and calendars, so I can’t say much. But I wanted to touch on a significant change in lifestyle that I’ve had over recent years that has played a pretty major role in my overall health and wellbeing. It’s something most people don’t recognize or acknowledge within themselves but I’ve been fortunate enough to grab onto it. I’m talking about slowing down…

To be clear, I don’t mean slow down while driving. I still exist in a perpetual state of heavy-footed goodness and I don’t envision that changing anytime soon. And light help you if you slow down in front of me WHILE I’m driving behind you. But I digress… No, I mean slowing down in the sense of approaching the daily grind on a much slower scale. For decades, I spent every morning where I would it the ground running and keep up the pressure and speed until my head hit the pillow at the end of the day.

Certainly as one begins to get older, one recognizes that there’s an inherent value in seeing the importance of slowing down. As a child, I used to become incensed whenever I would walk with my mother, because she would shuffle along at a slow gait that took twice and often three times the amount of time that normal walking should. She had no health issues or problems that caused this, she simply chose to go that slow. I would often try to coax her along, to which she would usually reply, “There’s no hurry and this is a fast as I’m going. So you can deal with or you can slow down with me.”

For decades, it drove me nuts because I always felt like I had to get the task done so I could move on to the next one as quickly as possible. I often lacked the vision that my mother had, where there was nowhere we NEEDED to be and we could take our time; something people very rarely see. By virtue of this, she would often be of the opinion that there was nowhere need to hurry, since the task would get done regardless. I never recognized the importance of this until the past few years.

As a law enforcement officer, I always had somewhere to be and someone’s wellbeing often depended on how quickly I would respond. Stands to reason. Even in the more administrative side of things, I was always rushing, in a harassed state, and striking the panic button when my tasks became many. No matter what job I held or what position it entailed, I would often be at work nearly an hour before my scheduled time, putting in extra work, rushing to get things done early and stressing myself beyond reason.

In recent years, I’ve changed gears. Now, when I wake up in the morning, I spend the first ten minutes sitting at my desk instead of rushing to shower, shave and dress. I start the morning with those first few sips of caffeine, take my meds (Diabetic bullshit) and check my news feeds. I usually touch on a few daily tasks in some of the games I play on my devices, since I can’t do this at work. Then, in the comfort of my jammies, I prepare my work bag and my lunch and start to move towards a hot shower and slowly get dressed, often while sharing “good mornings” with one and/or both of my sons, who usually don’t sleep in even if they’re perfectly positioned to do so.

Once ready, I make my way to my vehicle where I casually make my way towards the office. Music playing and sun shining, I focus on the songs and not on what work tasks may be waiting for me once I arrive. I think and look forward to the more pleasant aspects that I’ll experience towards the end of my day, including having dinner with my wife, playing with my children or just flat out relaxing at home. The difference is I walk into work with a sense of purpose but without being pent up with stress that hasn’t yet been justified or needed.

The results I’ve seen include less tress, more calm, less irritability towards my colleagues and staff and it contributes to lower overall blood pressure. Too many people spend their lives dealing with a state of hypertension due to job-related stress. While it’s important to have coping mechanism outside the job to deal with that stress, and I’m not talking drinking or smoking but things like meditation, relaxation exercises or even things like gardening or sitting out on a deck and watching nature, how you approach you day and address it go was a long way, as well. One should never have to “get through” or “face” their day. It’s far more important to experience the day, or live it. This will contribute to better overall health and much better outlook on life. Food for thought… ☯️

Unintended Dependences…

I remember my childhood with bittersweet fondness. The reason I say bittersweet certainly includes the Type-1 Diabetes diagnosis I got at the tender age of 4. I lived a simple life, even before that. Unlike many people who are diagnosed, I had no “bad habits” to speak of, no addictions to sugary products and no horrible diet. This, in part, was due to my older brother and his own ailments, which kept anything artificial, sugared or high in sodium out of the house. By virtue of this, the biggest pain in my ass (literally) were the insulin injections. Otherwise, I was an overall pretty content child.

One of the best aspects that I can remember from my childhood is a lack of dependence on technology. The concept of “binge-watching” television wouldn’t become a prominent aspect of home life for another thirty years. Computers in the home weren’t common. Cell phones weren’t a domesticated thing. When I woke up in the morning, I had breakfast, at. A dining table and conversed with family. this was followed by either school or playing with toys and/or going outside. My entertainment came from my own imagination as opposed to streaming clips of random people doing weird bullshit out in society for my enjoyment. It was simpler time.

As I got older, friendships developed and my time was spent playing away from the home. Once I learned to tell time., I had a simple wristwatch and was given a curfew. As long as I was back by that time, my parents rarely knew where I was, what I was doing or who I was with. There was a simple freedom to it all; knowing that if one needed a touch of peace, one could escape to the cliff-side ledge I used to sit on, that looked out over our open bay, or sit on the stone outcrop atop Dalhousie Mountain and stare out at kilometres of lush boreal forests spreading south of me. If someone wanted to get a hold of me, they’d call my home, where a message would be taken and not delivered until I decided to return.

While the respective peace of my childhood is greatly missed, this isn’t to mean that I don’t have a fond appreciation for the advancements in technology that we’ve made over the past several decades. After all, those advancements have brought me from manual insulin injections and poorly controlled blood sugars to a world of insulin pumps, constantly monitored and adjusted blood sugars and better health. I predict that in the next couple of decades, I may find my way into something akin to never having to address my Diabetes again, even if it means it’s controlled and monitored by technology instead of me.

The negative side to all of these advancements comes from how society uses the technology. Privacy, while deeply coveted by most, has become a thing of the past. People can reach you anywhere, anytime, at any hour via cell phones. Apps, devices and even our televisions listen to us and make “recommendations” or “suggestions” based on our habits, preferences and even what we say in a room. It’s no coincidence that if I mention to my wife that I’m craving pizza, an ad for a pizza chain will “coincidentally” pop up on my social media feed. Big brother is always watching.

But we’ve become inadvertently tethered to our technology. I’ll be the first to admit that I’d be in horrific health, if not for my continuous glucose monitoring system. But we all have our devices, our smart phones, our streaming services… And they effectively govern our lives, now. No one ever needs to try and find directions somewhere or ask for them; just look it up on your phone. No one ever needs to research a particular topic. Why would you, when you can just Google it? Ever sit in public transit or in a food court? No one is usually speaking; everyone has their eyes down at their phones. A major pain in my ass when I’m trying to walk from point A to point B and some wretched son of a bitch is walking into me because his eyes are on his fuckin’ phone… But I digress…

Technology is fast becoming a commonality in daily life, with many aspects of it considered more of a necessity than a luxury. In many ways, this is reminiscent of when cars were invented and became common. While only the wealthy may have initially taken advantage, eventually it became a necessity for most family households to have at least one vehicle. The same can be said now, with the internet. In the 1990’s, the internet was that annoying thing that took almost ten minutes to get connected, where a full page would take minutes t boot up and would usually have that shitty 8-bit feel to it, with no picture resolution and everything seemed to be written in Times New Roman.

These days, the internet, and more specifically wifi, controls almost everything. Our phones, tablets, computers and televisions are primarily wifi-driven. And even some smart homes are designed with their critical functions tethered to the home’s wifi. So this begs a very important question; what happens when your wifi fails? My family and I discovered this the hard way this past weekend. After a brief power outage, we realized our wifi connection was no longer maintaining itself. After attempting resets and reboots on my own, a short call to our service provider confirmed it; our modem was outdated and would no longer function. A situation brought only to light by the brief outage of power.

It was Friday night, a night famous in my household for gaming and movies with my oldest, who has never known a world without internet and devices. I made my peace a long time ago with the fact that my children would never have the childhood I did. But I never realized just dependent they were on internet until this weekend happened. The earliest we could attempt a fix would be Saturday afternoon. This was made possible only if I brought the old modem into my local provider’s store and got an upgraded replacement and installed it myself. Waiting for. A technician would require a further number of days.

Anxious to restore the status quo, I got up first thing on Saturday morning (my usual morning to try and sleep in) and made my way into the downtown area to hit up the shopping mall that held my nearest supply store. I hate crowds of people at the best of times. Hobnobbing with shoppers on their weekend excursions did NOT appeal to me. But i got the replacement modem and installed it on my own. Using the instructions the tech on the phone provided the previous evening, I was able to get it up and running and connect wifi to our television and devices around the house. A collective sigh of relief ensued.

It was barely twenty four hours but it was a significant wake up call for me to realize that my family was utterly dependent on the internet. Despite books, toys, puzzles and games, the outdoors, the almighty Skynet still reigns. Ultimately, there’s no putting pandora back in the box. Technology, barring some major global catastrophe, will continue to evolve and improve our lives in some ways. But it will also strengthen our dependence on it in other ways. is it a bad thing? Time will tell. But it’s important to remember that we’re still human. And as humans, we should occasionally take the time to sit on a stone outcrop and stare at the sea. Food for thought…☯️

Don’t Stress About It…

Ahh, stress… Like a constant, unwanted passenger on an otherwise uncomfortable ride. Everybody experiences stress in some given way, shape or form over the course of their lives. In many ways, without even realizing it, but there are no exceptions. While not inherently a good thing, most folks don’t realize that stress is a normal function of the body and is usually the response to a significant change or challenge that pops up on you.

According to WebMD, which I love to peruse. “When you feel stressed, your body releases certain hormones. […] The hormones your body releases when you’re stressed get you ready to meet the challenge or demand in your environment. During the stress response, your body gets ready to flee or fight by increasing your heart rate, breathing rate, and blood pressure.” Sounds pretty reasonable, right? Something that preps you for the challenge you’re about to face?

The point, and the article touches on this, is that stress, in controlled amounts, helps us to get things done and accomplish tasks. Without stress, we’d be left with a “fuck it” mentality where most of us would accomplish very little. The problems arise from being in a stressed state constantly or semi-permanently. The problems arise is that prolonged periods of stress can affect the entire body and mind. It’s taken a lot of decades for people to wake up and realize that emotion and mental health plays a huge part in physical health.

On the emotional side, prolonged periods of stress may cause unusual bouts of emotion, good or bad, sadness, depression, restlessness, short term memory issues and issues focusing long enough to meet your goals or get things done. A lot of this actually sounds like symptoms of poorly controlled Diabetes. Imagine that? And I know for a fact THAT shit is stressful! But an important thing to keep in mind is that every person deals with stress differently. While something may be a big deal to one person, it may come off as nothing at all to another.

On the physical side, there’s a lovely grocery list of potential symptoms that may arise from prolonged stress. These symptoms apply to so many things that one may be experiencing stress while simultaneously thinking they’re just unwell. I’m talking about headaches, inability to sleep or sleeping too much, muscle and joint pain, increased heart rate and blood pressure, fitfully breathing, upset stomach and/or diarrhea and loss of sexual desire. Sounds fun, eh? Pair that with the fact that prolonged stress affects your overall immune system, making it easier to get sick. Also sounds like Type-1 Diabetes.

Ultimately, there a varying forms of stress, not just the emotional or physical, and there can be long-term, permanent effects to prolonged or “chronic” stress. The challenge is in recognizing it and taking steps to address it and manage it in a healthy way. Personally, I’m likely the worst in taking steps to address stress. I’m more of a “jump towards the threat head-on” kind of guy. The result is that I’ll often fight my way through stress instead of recognizing and addressing it. The problem with this is that stress releases a bunch of hormones into the body that can significantly increase blood sugars; cortisol being among them. As I’ve often mentioned before, EVERYTHING affects a Type-1 Diabetic’s blood sugars.

At the end of the day and as I mentioned in the opening paragraph, stress is normal. There’s no getting away from it. But staying healthy depends on how you address it and deal with it. When speaking with others, I’ve often compared getting through a period of increased stress to falling into a river with strong current. If you try to swim against the current or get directly out of the water, you’ll likely exhaust yourself and drown. But if you swim with the flow and slowly make your way to the outer edge, you’ll likely exhaust can manage your way to safety. Stress is very much the same. Food for thought… ☯️

The Uncertainties of Life, The F$%kin’ Aftermath…

I wasn’t certain that I would bother posting this, but given that there is a quasi-happy outcome to it, I figured, why not? Plus, it’s my fuckin’ blog so if you don’t want to read, just scroll right on by. Okay, rant over. So, as some of you who have read my posts in the past week are aware, I found myself caught in an unfortunate emergency trip back to New Brunswick to see to my father, who was admitted to the ICU with pneumonia and a fungal infection in his lungs, rendering him incapable of breathing on his own.

The first thing that came as a surprise to me is that he allowed himself to be intubated. My father has been waiting to die for well over a decade now, living his life in chronic pain and relegated to a wheelchair. He hasn’t had any measurable quality of life for years and as a result, every time he gets sick, he usually gets angry when he recovers. He’s also in his mid-70’s, which adds a layer of ornery to the mix. I get all my anger instincts from him. The second surprise was that the hospital had no knowledge of my existence and without proof of my identity, would tell me nothing over the phone. Apparently, living on the other side of the country didn’t sway them at all.

Hence, my impromptu trip back to the Maritimes. I’ve already walked you through what went down through the days that I was home, so I won’t rehash all of that. The morning of my departure, I visited my father one last time before starting the 3-hour trip down to Moncton to catch my flight. Still sedated and intubated, I consulted the doctor who updated me on his condition and that he would likely be that way for days to come. By virtue of this, I made the decision to carry out my travel plans and return home. There was nothing else for me to do there and I was of no help. So, I travelled home.

Setting aside flight delays, fighting through crowds in Toronto Pearson Airport and exhaustion. I got home in the early hours of last Thursday morning. On Friday morning, I received a phone call from the hospital advising that my father was taken off sedation and they removed the intubation. He was now breathing on his own and was now starting the rehab necessary to allow him to swallow on his own and complete his antibiotic regimen to fight off the infection. I missed him by just shy over twenty four hours.

I asked the staff if he knew I had been there. They offered to let him know so I passed on that he should be told I was with him for three days, had checked in on mom repeatedly and that all he needed to worry about was recovering. If anything changed or help was needed, I was to be called immediately. They agreed they’d pass on the message and let him know. It’s a difficult thing, recognizing when one has reached the point in life where one must care for one’s parents in much the same manner as they care for you. But we all get there.

I’m not surprised that my father recovered. He’s the only man I know who’s even more stubborn than I am. I’m also not surprised when he advised medical staff that regardless of his condition, he would not be consenting to intubation ever again, come what may. True to form, he was pissed to wake up and find himself well and alive, which is consistent with how he’s been for the past few years. I would have liked to have been there when he woke. Maybe if I still lived in New Brunswick, that might have happened. But you know what they say, we most often find our destiny on the road we least thought to travel.

I can take comfort in the fact that at least for the moment, my father is alive and recovering and should soon be making his way back to the care home to be with my mother. Despite how much of her mind is gone, she definitely hasn’t forgotten him and is looking forward to seeing him back home. ☯️

The Uncertainties of Life, Day F$%kin’ Four…

Well, here we are. Zero hour. This morning, I start packing up my rucksack and starting the arduous journey south to Moncton where I will catch the two consecutive flights to get me back to Saskatchewan. It’s been a rough few days, with life delivering a significant one, two punch to my soul. Only just a few short years ago, I used to relish these trips back to the place I was born. I’d get to laugh with my father, connect with my mother and enjoy many of the connections that have been in place since I was a young child. Bit-by-bit and one-by-one, those connections have disappeared. Granted, I got to see Sensei and Guillaume, my friend Ricky and enjoy the beautiful splendor of the sea and mountains that nowhere else could provide. But most of my family have passed away or are gone in some fashion. Did raises the question; when everything and everyone you know and love have gone and only you remain, is it really still home?

I stopped in to see my father yesterday just prior to lunch. Obviously and necessarily, he was still unconscious. They identified a fungal infection in his lungs that will likely see him sedated for days to come. I leave the area without ever having spoken to him (at least while he’s awake). I updated the care home and sat with my mother for a time. I found her sitting in the dining area alone. When asked why she wasn’t sitting on comfier chairs in the living room area, she responded that she could see the open sea here and preferred it. We had some light conversation about everything but each other, mixed with some mild moments of lucidity where I saw hints of the woman she used to be. Mostly berating me for spending money to travel out and asking me if I needed any. Motherhood is a powerful thing, I guess.

It’s currently 5:30 am here and I can no longer sleep. Having woken up pretty much every hour over the past few hours hinted that I would get no further sleep. That puts me at 2:30 am Saskatchewan time, which is pretty much in keeping with how I departed a few short days ago. Since my flight is scheduled to land in Saskatchewan around 10:30 pm tonight, it promises to be a long fuckin’ day. I’ll start by grabbing a hot shower and tracking down a reasonable breakfast before potentially stopping in at the hospital one last time before getting on the highway. I anticipate I may have to come back in the weeks that follow, depending on my father’s outcome. But for now, I need to trust the hospital and the care home to do the best they can for him. For a man who has spent his career solving problems, the most helpless feeling is seeing a loved one in a situation you can’t prevent.

As with all things in life, there will always be some light to meet the darkness. Given the negative connotation of this trip, there has been some positive. I’ve had an awakening of sorts. Some of the specifics, I won’t get into with this post, but I have some changes within my own life that I need to make. Things that I would like to start working towards getting back and improving within my own life. It’s a hard thing when you see two once hard-working and capable people reduced to the mercy of everyone else with nothing left to show for it. Some would argue that they raised a child who’s gone out into the world and done well for himself. And to those people, I would say they are right. Within reason. There should still be some driving element to bring one’s own life to a conclusion that shows some element of accomplishment. I need to make sure I’m happy with myself BEFORE I reach the stage that my parents are in. I have some work to do.

This post will be significantly shorter than the previous ones because the story’s been told. There have been no miracle recoveries, no laughs and hugs with my mother, no smart-ass comments from my father (although my mother did flip me the bird on Monday) and no night out with the friends to have drinks and shoot pool. This was a trip home unlike any other I’ve ever had. If was a trip home to essentially take away the mantle of home. The next time I come here, instead of saying “I need to go home,” I’ll be telling my wife “I need to go to New Brunswick.” Sensei asked an open question that didn’t require an answer but that got my mind thinking. He stared off at one point and asked, “When your parents go, you won’t be coming back, will you?” I

t was obvious he didn’t expect an answer but rather was making a statement. And it got me to honestly ask myself the question. WILL I ever come back once my parents are gone? Since I’ll always be close to Sensei, I would like to think that I will. But I think we’ve reached the point of no return where I can be certain that he’ll never test me for my next dan grading. SO it would only ever be for a social visit. And with my parents gone and no tourist draw to the area besides camping, would there ever really be a reason to come back? I commented a day or two ago about how strange it felt as this was the first visit to New Brunswick I’ve ever had where I don’t have a “mon and dad’s” house to go to. My home is no longer here. A chapter in the story of my life has concluded. And I’m not sure how to feel about that. I may need to meditate on it. ☯️