Category: Feel Good Story

Not All Formats Are Created Equal

I started this blog a couple of years ago as a way of sharing knowledge and information about the small variety of topics that I cover. Considering I was home from work and the pandemic kicked into high gear, it was also an easy way to keep my sanity. I’ve had the opportunity to meet and speak with an interesting variety of people, from fellow bloggers to folks who have found my blog by accident and have chosen to follow it. It’s also been an important tool for developing and maintaining my writing skills.

Like many others skills and talents, writing is a kept skill; one that you begin to lose if you don’t use it frequently. In that light, my previous job involved the drafting of reports and required a certain level of writing skill that I wanted to maintain. This was also part of my motivation behind starting a blog. On some occasions, I’ve found myself drawing a blank on what to write about. That’s bound to happen, right? Even though I have a number of great topics to cover and decades of dealing with those topics, there are only so many original posts one can come up with. This is why I’ve occasionally found myself reaching out to friends and associates, asking their opinions on what I should write about.

And that’s an open invitation, to anyone reading this post. If you have questions, comments or ideas related to Buddhism, Martial Arts or Diabetes, throw me a comment. Hell, I’d love to HOST a couple of writers and post on their behalf. But sometimes, the ideas just don’t flow quite as easily as they should. At time of writing this, I’m quickly rounding the corner on almost 900 posts that I’ve published in two years. Not too shabby, from a thought-sharing standpoint. I’ve been having a running contest with myself as to how long I can maintain daily posts without missing a day. This post marks 484 consecutive days of publishing material without missing a day. I don’t NEED to do this, it’s mostly just a bit of fun to see how long I can maintain daily posts.

This has led to a question that has been asked of me on more than one occasion: “Why don’t you write a book?” Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind almost as often as the question has been asked. And don’t think for a second that I don’t have notes and materials compiled that could eventually lead to such a project. The problem is that there is a significant difference between authoring a daily blog and undertaking a such a large-scale project as publishing a book. And large-scale it would be.

Publishing a daily blog is reasonably simple. So long as you have topics that you have some in-depth knowledge of, you can usually manage to put out a post that can be read at people’s convenience. Maybe some will read it, maybe some won’t. A blog isn’t exactly a means of getting rich, although I’ve found some bloggers who try and make their monthly financial commitments through the advertisement revenue of their blogs. If they have the number of followers that allow it, good for them. But my point is that writing and posting a daily blurb about certain aspects of one’s life is a basically simple thing.

Writing an actual book takes years. I know some people who are convinced that if you can sit in front of a keyboard and type for 8 hours a day, they could knock out their life story within a couple of months. Although this holds SOME truth, there are a lot of aspects to publishing a book that most people don’t consider. First, you need to find a publishing company willing to take you on. This usually involves providing sample materials along with an overview synopsis of the book you’re trying to publish. If you’re lucky enough to get past all the rejections and find a publisher willing to help you get your book out, the real work begins.

As you write, you’ll likely be doing so without pay. Unless you’re freakin’ Stephen King, you won’t get a full year’s salary to sit at home and write. You may get a small commission to cover the start of your work, but payment is due upon completion of the work. Much like any other job. And since you’re not getting paid as you go, it can be a lean number of months until you see some green. Then you get to spend months debating, arguing and compromising with an individual who ISN’T writing your book but is put in place to ensure the book has a readable and sellable quality for its intended audience. This is called an editor.

Getting beyond all of those hurdles to get your book out is only the beginning. once your book is ready for release, you need to worry about advertising it, how well it sells and how well it’s received. That can make or break your ability to write as a career. Unless your ultimate goal is to write one book then call it quits. But my limited experience with most publishers is that they’re usually looking at the long-term and want writers to commit to released two or three books. That can be fine, but if your first book flops you may be looking at being cut out and never getting to those subsequent projects.

Last but not least, I guess it’s the overall format. I think we can all agree that my posts have potential to not only be informative but witty and comedic at the same time. I have the benefit of letting my sarcasm and attitude ooze out in certain respects, which can make for some pretty entertaining posts. this is something I may not necessarily be able to pull off, if I wrote an actual book. I’ve been through enough in my life to date that I’m sure there would be enough for me to compile it all in a book. But this begs the important question: Who would really want to read the story of some random Diabetic martial artist’s life? Better to receive it in small, daily doses. I’m easier to digest, this way. ☯

Rambunctious Youth…

We’ve likely all been there at some point in our lives…. Young, energetic and full of piss & vinegar. Most teenagers are filled with energy levels that adults are envious of, despite the fact that they have a tendency to somehow hide that energy while sleeping in a classroom. But I digress…. When I was in my teens, my biggest problem was my uncontrolled blood sugars. THAT aspect will perhaps be a topic for tomorrow’s post. But like most teenagers, I was filled with repressed energy, angst and a competitive drive. Typically, this energy is expended through various means, such as playing in team sports. Since I was never a team sports “guy,” I didn’t have this outlet. No, no… instead, I was the karate guy. And when two “karate guys” get together to expend some of that pent-up aggression, no good can come of it. Today’s post is a few short stories of just such occasions.

The 1990’s were a strange time for me. I was growing as a martial artist and as a person. I was a bit of a black sheep among my peers, since I wasn’t into cars or sports. I spoke to the majority of my time in the dojo or on my bike. When I wasn’t doing that, I was indulging in a guilty pleasure that I still enjoy today: action movies. You all know my opinion on the so-called action heroes who use martial arts on the big screen. It looks good, it evokes those happy-happy-joy-joy “I like seeing shit blow up” feelings, but they rarely represent a realistic portrayal of martial arts. But they’re no less fun to watch, despite that fact.

In 1997, I was bouncing between living at home and in an apartment in the neighbouring town for college classes. During a particular weekend at home, my friend (I’ll call him “Guy”) and I went to see Mortal Kombat: Annihilation, which had just recently come to theatres. This was the follow-up sequel to Mortal Kombat, which had come out in theatres a couple of years prior to that. As a fan of the video game (who wasn’t?) I was excited to see the original. The sequel fell short. In case my sarcasm isn’t clear enough, it sucked. It definitely wasn’t up to par with the original, but it still involved a number of fight scenes that left Guy and I loaded with adrenaline on the way home.

Interesting side note about Guy: he’s my Sensei’s son. And he’s been training in Okinawan karate for longer than I have. Can anyone guess where THIS is going? We pulled into Guy’s driveway, where my vehicle was parked. We both stepped out of the vehicle and came around to the rear bumper, where we stood about ten feet apart and looked at each other with a grin. It was almost like one of those traditional Kung fu movies…. There was silence in the air, a light powdering of snow was falling and we squared off against each other with fists clenched and smiles on our faces. In an instant twitch of reflex, we closed the gap and the fight was on! We both threw attacks and blocks simultaneously and fought semi-contact, until we fell to the ground in a match of grappling that would have been suitable for inside the dojo, albeit not for the bare asphalt of the street.

Now, Guy used to live on a pretty secluded side street of our home town. Secluded enough that traffic was rare and one could sit there for hours without seeing another person or vehicle. But Murphy’s Law, right? As we’re rolling around on the ground, laughing and punching each other, we hear the telltale whine of brake pads, right next to our heads. We look up to see the head of a buffalo, staring right at us. A police officer, specifically RCMP, had rolled up next to us and came to a stop. We both jumped to our feet, dusted ourselves off and smiled at the officer. He looked at both of us and asked, “Is there a problem here, guys?” We calmly explained that Guy lived on the house behind us, the red car was mine and we had just come from watching Mortal Kombat. We were both karate students and just blowing off some steam. The officer smiled, shook his head and slowly pulled away while mumbling, “Teenage hormones…”

This would only be the first of many instances that Guy and I would “play” with our martial arts training. There was a time in the early 2000’s, when I traveled to Quebec City with the girl I was dating. She had never met Guy, but he lived in Montreal at the time. When he heard I was coming to Quebec, he convinced me to meet him in a diner off the highway, just prior to crossing the bridge into the city. We collected the girl’s sister, and the four of us had breakfast at this diner, where Guy was able to exude his usual charm as they got to know him. It went reasonably well, with guy and I telling stories about how we met, how we grew up and some of the shenanigans we’d gotten into. One would think that what was coming could be guessed…

As we all walked towards our respective vehicles, Guy was walking slightly ahead of us. As he walked, he let out a small sigh, started removing his watch and putting it into his coat pocket. I knew what was coming, so I took off my watch as well, and handed it as well as my insulin pen, to the girl I was dating and whispered, “Hold this!” Guy removed his coat and tossed it towards the rear fin of his car (he drove a Saturn coupe). All eyes besides mine were drawn to the coat and as soon as it touched the rear of the vehicle, Guy spun around with a roundhouse kick that would have removed my head, had I not known it was coming. The girls screeched and backed away, visibly confused by the sudden and unexpected combat situation that was playing out before them. It only took a moment for them to realize that Guy and I were both laughing as we sparred, despite some of our techniques actually connecting. The people passing on the highway didn’t have the benefit of hearing us laugh, and we drew quite a few stares from passing motorists. No cops, this time.

The next two incidents took place in the early 2000’s as well. Yes, the next two…. Keep reading, these are hilarious! I was renting a house in the City of Moncton and Guy was ironically living there as well while he pursued his college diploma. This meant that we had the opportunity to hang out a fair bit. One evening, we were all hanging out in my backyard, having a few drinks and chatting. Remember reading a previous post where I explained why I never drink to get intoxicated? And the story about how I could have injured someone? With Guy in the picture, times that by a factor of ten. We got called out by some of the people who were there, asking us to demonstrate our karate. Although neither of us were interested in doing so, we reluctantly got up and squared off on the back lawn. We both had a few drinks in us, and I thought I would have a clear advantage. I was wrong.

As soon as the match started, Guy threw a flurry of kicks at me that staggered me easily. After a few moments, I got tired of his damn legs reaching me so easily so, in my drunken haze, did the only thing I could think of: I dove for his knees. It seemed like a good idea, right up until the moment that his fist connected with the back of my skull. The next clear memory is being inside my house, sprawled on my bed. I remember thinking that I hadn’t drank enough to have passed out. Then, I remembered the punch. I got up and walked to the bathroom and was faced with an image I didn’t recognize as my face. My head was pounding, I was covered in dirt and mud and I had a welt on my left cheek accompanied by a dried trickle of blood at the corner of my mouth.

To provide some context, my back yard had a lawn, but it was also a bit muddy. A later recounting of the story by an observer provided that when I dove for Guy’s knees, he swung down towards my head, thinking I would block or dodge. I did NOT block or dodge. The strike basically face-planted me in the mud, which caused the welt and bloody mouth. Since everyone was having a “good” time, they brought me into the house and put me in my bed. Idiots. Lucky I didn’t have a concussion. Of course, it was my fault for agreeing to it in the first place, I guess.

The last instance took place only a short while later, while we both still lived in Moncton. Yes, I promise this is the last one. Guy and I were watching a movie at his apartment. And you guessed it: it was an action movie. When the movie was done, he walked towards the back door of the apartment I would be leaving from. I already anticipated what would be coming, but I had been suffering from a pretty bad cold at the time and was in no mood to fight. I explained this fact to Guy, who responded by removing his watch and bringing his fists up to a fighting position. I sighed and positioned myself accordingly.

Just to set the scene, this was a small apartment that had a walk-in kitchen with countertops lining both sides. At the far end was Guy’s dining table, which Guy was standing in front of. Still with me? Good. I m uttered all my speed and strength, hoping to make this quick. Oh, it was quick all right. Guy not only blocked my punch but spun around behind me and delivered the sole of his foot to the back of my head. The kick, combined with my own forward momentum, sent me rolling right under his kitchen table. He grabbed his watch, strapped it back on and said, “Great movie, thanks for coming over,” and went back to the couch as I groaned, unceremoniously collected myself off the floor and walked out. Brotherly love, am I right?

The interesting part is that we did grow up as brothers. Sensei essentially raised me, with all the time I spent in the dojo when I wasn’t in school. And it’s no secret that siblings will often wrestle or fight when given the chance. It just hits a whole other level when it involves two black belts. Although this post was merely intended as a feel good story to share some memories, something I’ve been doing in spades lately, I think it also illustrates a few important points. We always had fun with our karate. Our skills were sharp, we trained hard. But we also played hard. And we loved it. Some of you are probably thinking, “Your skills don’t SOUND all that sharp,” considering I always seemed to be on the receiving end of a beating when sparring with Guy. hey, what do you expect from the first-born son of a Sensei?

But the next important point is that no matter how hard you train and develop yourself, there’s always the potential for someone else to be more skilled than you. This can be important, especially in the mindset of defending yourself or someone else. It’s important to continue with one’s training and development. This isn’t something that ever stops. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have a bit fun along the way. Food for thought…. I hoped you enjoyed the stories as much as I enjoyed walking down a painful memory lane. ☯️

Music Is My Life, The Lyrics Are My Story…

Louis Armstrong once said, “Music is life itself.” I don’t know if I would go THAT far, especially since if I had to choose between music and karate, I’d still go with karate. That being said, music has always played a big role in my life. I’m one of those folks who can be influenced by a song simply by hearing it. An upbeat song will have me bopping along and singing at the top of my voice while passing drivers look on in awe at the crazy guy in the suit whose cheese appears to be sliding off his cracker. On the other hand, hearing certain ballads will remind me of sad memories, make me maudlin or even tear up, if the song is right.

I’ve owned at least one guitar since I was sixteen (at one point, I had four) but I’ve never put the amount of effort into it that I could have or should have. Once again, this came down to a choice between focusing on music or karate. Since karate was keeping me healthy and well… alive, I opted for karate. But believe it or not, there was a time when music was a pivotal part of my daily life, where I would listen to music, try to strum along and singing became common place for me. In high school, I tried doing the whole “band” thing, but the able participants weren’t willing ones and we never really got it off the ground.

When I went away to college, I actually had the opportunity to sing for a few guys that played at college events and a few venues. I actually performed in front of several hundred people, making the introvert inside scream in fear, but it definitely contributed to why I can speak in public with relative ease and comfort. I currently own two guitars; an acoustic that my late aunt left me, which she autographed for me before her passing and an electric Les Paul style guitar that my wife bought me as an engagement gift.

“Music And Rhythm Find Their Way Into The Secret Places Of The Soul…”

– Plato

I bring up the subject of music because, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I had the opportunity to have a Zoom meeting with the group of friends I hung out with during my formative years. It was an amazing feeling but I was reminded of some amazing music, as well. That’s why I’ve decided to share the playlist we came up with in this post. This will seem like a long post, but it relatively short in terms of reading. Whether or not you watch the YouTube videos is up to you. Let’s take a nostalgic journey…

“Too Much Love Will Kill You” – Queen

Who doesn’t recognize and appreciate the incredible vocals of Freddy Mercury? I only discovered Queen by virtue of having watched “Wayne’s World,” which came out in 1992. But this song holds a special place in my heart as, after purchasing the cassette tape (yes, you read that right, it was on tape) my friend Leon and I crooned along to that one song to the point that we basically burned out the tape. We even recorded ourselves singing it, using the lyrics sheet inside the cassette case. We didn’t have Google to supply us with such things, back then.

“In The Meantime” – Spacehog

I owe the discovery of this song to my friend Leon. This was a tape of his that he brought along and slapped into my shitty car’s tape deck. I always felt the opening riffs stirred something in the soul. My Sensei’s son and I actually tried learning this on the guitar, back when we were young and stupid. Moving on…

“Tonite Is A Wonderful Time” – April Wine

Where do I even start with this group? April Wine holds a special place in my heart, for a variety of reasons. Other than the fact that they’re from the Maritimes like I am, I was introduced to their music as a child by my father. I grew up listening to them in every iteration; on the radio, on 8-tracks, cassette tapes and later on CD’s. I’ve even seen them perform in concert on three separate occasions. Although none of their songs are bad, this one has been singled out as reminding some of my high school friends of me.

“The Sign” – Ace of Base

Ahh, Ace of Base… If this doesn’t scream 90’s teen years, I don’t know what does. They have a pretty pure and simple sound and although many of their songs start to sound the same after a few listens, you can’t help but nod your head and croon along. This song, along with “It’s A Beautiful Life,” definitely graced the inside of my Toyota Tercel on more occasions than I can recall.

“No Rain” – Blind Melon

This one is particular because I actually learned how to play this one on the guitar. I had a fellow blogger suggest that I film myself playing and upload it on The Blogging Buddhist’s YouTube page, but the amount of rust on my fingers could put a derelict ship to shame. But I may get there.

“Saturday Night” – Whigfield

I have no shame in admitting that this one was a guilty pleasure that was often indulged in, especially on the weekends when there was nothing to do but cruise up and down the main drag in my shitty car with the windows down, waving at all the girls that somehow knew from a distance that I simply wasn’t cool. Que sera… It’s catchy, it’s feel-good and it holds up. I regret nothing!

“Bohemian Rhapsody” – Queen

Anyone who doesn’t understand why this song is on here is lying to themselves. Fight me! Seriously though, I drove a 1987 Toyota Tercel hatchback that struck an eery resemblance to Garth’s hatchback in Wayne’s World (except in color). Ergo, we nicknamed my Tercel “The Mirth Mobile.” And what would a cruise in the Mirth mobile be, without a batch of people head banging the way they did in the movie.

“I’d Do Anything For Love” – Meatloaf

This album came out while I was in high school and I grew to have an appreciation for Meatloaf’s theatrical efforts for his videos. The song was quite popular, but I was already into Meatloaf, thanks to “Bat Out Of Hell.” I remember thinking how foolish everyone was to “suddenly” discover this artist, but as I look back, I don’t think there’s ever really a bad time to discover great music. Same on teenage me…

“Wonderwall” – Oasis

Oasis is a great band with a great sound to them, some of which are feel-good tracks and some kinda have you reflecting on life. I drove some of my friends crazy with this one, because the opening strum is what I originally tried learning the guitar with. And I. Was. Not. Good. I improved with time, and the song totally stands up. Which leads to the next one…

“Don’t Look Back In Anger” – Oasis

From the same album, this one is a direct reminder of my childhood and teen years and the tone makes me a little sad, despite being a fantastic song. The old gang didn’t include this one in our exchanges, I simply love it.

“Hands In My Pocket” – Alanis Morissette

Alanis Morissette’s album “Jagged Little Pill” pretty much oozes 1990’s teen years. I always found that people always either really enjoyed her music or absolutely hated it. I had the album on CD and still have it now as part of my iTunes library/

“What’s Up?” – 4 Non Blondes

This is an absolutely wonderful song, and is only a few simple chords, making it fun and easy to strum along to. Although I can’t quite hit the high notes of the artist, I’ve played it on couple of occasions recently. Even my son Nathan croons along with it when it comes on in the car, proving that it totally stands up, even decades later.

“Tubthumping” – Chumbawumba

If someone can tell me what the hell the term “Tubthumping” is supposed to mean, I’d greatly appreciate it. My autocorrect is losing it’s shit, right now. On the flip side, the band calls itself Chumbawumba, so what am I expecting? this song is pure, unadulterated joy. That is all. Simple, repetitive lyrics, I’ve yet to meet a person who’s able to resist singing along at the top of their lungs to this tune, and I’m no exception.

“Crash” – The Primitives

I know that not everyone is a Jim Carey fan, but I loved “Dumb and Dumber” and can still get a laugh from watching it. this song was part of its soundtrack and still totally stands up. I know I’m saying that about a lot of these songs, but I’m pretty biased. It’s upbeat and fun, and usually results in my using the gas peddle a little more than I should.

“Summer of ’69” – Bryan Adams

Everyone in the world knows this song. Prove me wrong. And you can’t, because if you didn’t recognize it and played the video, now you know it! See what I did, there? Bryan Adams was a household name all throughout my childhood, teens and into my adulthood. This song always elicited happy feelings and had me purchase every Bryan Adams album I could get my hands on. I’ve learned some of his songs on the guitar. I had my first real slow dance to one of his songs. He’s timeless.

“Iris” – Goo Goo Dolls

Last but certainly not in any way least, is this song. Featured as part of the soundtrack for the movie “City of Angels,” (one of Nicholas Cage’s only good movies) Goo Goo Dolls have a very unique sound, especially with the fact that their songs always have some strange tunings that i can never seem to match. But most of their songs are equally as good. I currently own their greatest hits album, and listen to it often.

There you have it! The soundtrack of my youth. There’s plenty more, but I can only spend so much time linking YouTube videos in a single post. As I said in the beginning, this post seems long, but if you’ve just read the paragraphs because you already know the songs, it’s no longer than any of my usual posts. Hopefully, this will have helped remind some of you of a simpler time in your youth, as well. ☯

Summer Lovin’, Having A Blast… 🎶

July 1st starts out nicely; a quiet breakfast of hash and bacon at he table, kids are watching some froo-froo nonsensical bullshit on Netflix and my wife and I are getting some caffeine into our systems before making any attempt at dealing with the day. After a brief round of dishes and cleaning up, everyone dons their Canada Day t-shirts and steps outside to enjoy some of the sunshine before temperatures reach an unsafe and/or intolerable level.

That doesn’t take long… Temperatures are already on the high 20’s and climbing with a completely clear sky offering no respite from the direct light of the Sun. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not the type to complain about summer weather. Especially since I hate the freezing cold and especially the snow. Winter wonderland, my ass! But the summer, although enjoyable, brings it own set of difficulties as it relates to proper health and fitness. Especially if you’re part of a family primarily composed of people with the redheaded gene, fair skin and all.

My fam-jam, in all our UV-absorbing glory!

I could spout the usual rhetoric about needing to cover up, wear a proper amount of sunscreen and stay hydrated. You know, the stuff all of you have had shoved down your throats since childhood. This is a good reminder though, as the summer heat can catch up to you quickly. Even SPF30 will do, even if it means slathering some on more often. Keep a reusable water bottle around and sip from it consistently. And no, beer or other alcoholic beverages don’t count towards your hydration (as much as I occasionally like to think so.

If you have Type-1 Diabetes, you should be aware that the summer heat will cause unexpected increases in blood sugars. If “A” leads to “B” and “B” leads to “C,” then by the transitive property, “A” eventually leads to “C.” What this means is, the extreme heat will cause dehydration. Dehydration leads to higher blood sugars. Ergo, extreme summer heat leads to higher blood sugars. Did I just make that way more complicated than it needed to be? Meinh, who cares! I understand myself, which is what’s important. Not everyone can say as much…

The summer rays will cause all sorts of other issues, such as affecting blood pressure, flushing, dizziness and the potential for heat stroke. Anything and everything affects a Type-1 Diabetic’s blood sugar levels, so it’s important to be prepared for summer conditions. If you’re travelling, camping or performing outdoor sports or exercise, be sure to keep your testing equipment nearby, drink/have plenty of fluids available (including electrolytes) and keep in mind that your Diabetes equipment won’t like extreme temperatures, so you may deal with malfunctioning equipment.

If you’ve Diabetes for any length of time measured in years, you’ll have survived through some summers and will likely already be aware of all this stuff. The important thing to remember is that having Diabetes doesn’t prevent you from enjoying the summer. One need only be prepared and deal with the potential issues that will accompany your condition. Our Canada Day was pretty quiet. We had mushroom burgers, spend a short period of time outside and did some work. The boys lost their minds over the plethora of bubbles created by their bubble machine, followed by naps and watching Spiderman: Into The Spider-verse. Definitely worse ways to spend a day off…☯

And Then, A Bird Crapped On My Window…

I’m a firm believer in karma and its effect on the world in general. That being said, I don’t know if this was karma in action, but it’s sure worth a laugh. This story comes from last week, when I was having lunch at work. My office sits on the fifth floor of one of the taller buildings in Regina, and it overlooks the eastern side of the city. It’s a nice view, albeit hotter than Hades during the early hours of the morning when the Sun blasts its rays directly into my space.

Anyway, I was sitting in my office enjoying a quiet lunch and doing some light reading. I get an hour for lunch but I rarely sit for more than thirty minutes. I’m quirky like that. Actually, I just have a hard time sitting still so I usually don’t take the full hour. The point is that on this particular day, I was reading a chapter and munching away when a loud thump against my window snapped me out of it. I looked up to see a pigeon sitting on the window sill, shaking its head. I laughed a bit, realizing the poor bastard must have flown across from the parkade and dove into my window.

Actual photo of the pigeon in question

I was busy laughing and decided to snap the photo you see above. Apparently, my little avian friend took offence to my laughter and photographing his misfortune. He slowly turned his backside against my window and proceeded to eject a thin stream of pigeon crap onto my window. All the while, maintaining eye contact with me… I kid you not. My laughter stopped abruptly as I saw it happen, which was followed by the pigeon turning himself fully towards my window and affording me a final glance before drifting off into the skies.

My office windows aren’t clean on the best of days (summer has just kicked in and window cleaning on the office buildings is only just beginning) but this liquid hell just added to the rustic “unclean” look of my windows. So the important questions is this: was it coincidence? Or did this bird dispense some smelly, karmic justice against me for laughing at its misfortune? You be the judge. I just thought it was funny how it all went down. What can I say? It can’t all be deep and metaphysical! Sometimes, you just gotta take the laugh when you can get it. ☯

Happy Canada Day

July 1st, 1867 marks the date that my country was founded as Canada. Less than a decade after that, Sir John A. McDonald, Prime Minister of Canada would create the North-West Mounted Police. Our country would grow and progress in the century that followed, including some positive and some negative. As with all things in life. There’s been a lot of negative press about our country in recent weeks and I won’t get into any of that, since I think the press, mainstream media and certain groups have done an adequate job of providing the negative side of our country’s history.

No matter what side of the equation you fall on or what aspect of the propaganda you believe, there’s no denying that Canada is the best fucking country in the world. And yes, I’m totally biased because this is MY home and native land. Although there have been dark stains on our history, show me a country where that hasn’t been the case. I could list what each and every modern country did to establish itself. But I’m not here to start I fight. I just felt that today would be a good day to express what my country means to me. Maybe you’ll agree with some of it.

I first learned our country’s national anthem when I was 4 years old. I didn’t need Shazam to tell me what it was and I didn’t have to Google the lyrics. I learned the fucking lyrics myself and was proud of them. I grew up understanding and appreciating the fact that I had liberties and freedoms that brave men like my grandfather left their families to ensure. We have health care and and resources that most countries don’t. We’re viewed as progressive and peaceful.

Our landscape is unlike any other in the world. We have the Arctic Ocean to the North, which touches the top of the world. We have the Pacific Ocean to the West and the Atlantic Ocean to the East. We have the longest existing border with our neighbouring country, in the world. We also have the longest natural sandbar in the world, which is ironically located outside my hometown of Dalhousie, New Brunswick. We have Appalachians, Rockies and the Great Lakes. We have some of the most beautiful landscapes and scenic attractions in the world.

Canada gave birth to the man who created insulin, Sir Frederick Banting. If not for that very fact, I wouldn’t be alive today. Nor would the 463 million people, worldwide. Canada is responsible for the invention of basketball, hockey and Tim Hortons. This country has made more contributions to the world that can be measured. This is what should be recognized today. The rest of the year can be for everything else. But let today be about pride in our country and how far we’ve come. I thought I’d close out this post by sharing a YouTube clip of the CBC end-of-day clip that used to play when I’d fall asleep in front of the television as a child. ☯

Set Adrift On Memory Bliss…

Growing up, I felt truly miserable. Even based on current memory, I felt like my life was off the rails. I had Type-1 Diabetes, which resulted in many days spent in a hospital bed, all throughout my childhood. I had a sick brother who I lost his illnesses when I was only a child and didn’t understand why such a thing could happen to someone so young. I was also bullied beyond reason. And I don’t mean the kind of modern, snowflake version of bullying where you can do something about it; I frequently found myself in situations where I had several guys beating the living shit out of me, purely for the indignity of being available to them.

It’s not like I didn’t have a life. In fact, between karate, work and personal interests and hobbies, I was lucky enough to have something that not all people get the benefit of enjoying: friends. In fact, I had the best fuckin’ group of friends that a guy could ask for. So good were the friends I had, we could spend countless nights doing very little but still absolutely LOVE the time we spent together. We used to do random things, like sitting on a beach with a fire burning or hanging out in one of our group’s basements, listening to music and laughing at each other.

It was a simpler time; a time when we did next to nothing, it cost us nothing but we still loved every minute of it. So much so, that we spent all our free time together and had the sort of closeness that compares to the boys from the 1986 movie, Stand By Me. If you’ve never seen the movie, it’s based on the tale of four boys who take off for a weekend to find a missing kid. The kind of closeness and bonding that takes place during that trek is heartwarming and can be easily identified with. THAT’s the kind of gang we had. And I took it all for granted…

You see, I was like most teenagers. I was angst-filled and angry. My Diabetes was uncontrolled and I was often prone to mood swings and violent tendencies. This caused a lot of issues for me, especially in my personal relationships. Looking back, I know for a fact that there were no doubt times when the gang thought I was just being an asshole. And to an extent, they were right. But the most important aspect is that I took my friendships for granted. When I look back at the friends I have, I know that I should have recognized and appreciated what I had, when i had it. As that old 80’s Cinderella song says, “Don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone.”

Although I was always passively aware of this fact, I was definitely reminded of it a week ago, when I had a video meeting with members from my high school gang. Although most of them were still located in New Brunswick, one member was in the United Kingdom and of course, I found myself here, in Regina, Saskatchewan. For some of us, it was our first contact with each other in over twenty years. It was heart-warming and emotional. What was beautiful about it, is we laughed, joked and bantered with the same enthusiasm and sarcasm as we did in the 1990’s. It was a thing of beauty.

Somehow, we chatted easily for over two hours and could have continued on ad nauseam if not for the fact that it was midnight in the UK and supper time for me. We bid each other farewell, with the promise of getting together again in the near future. When we discussed where life had taken us, we all agreed that we hadn’t managed to repeat the friendships we experienced on our teens since we parted ways. I made the comparison that once you’ve had steak, it’s pretty hard to eat baloney and have it compare. My high school friends were my steak.

Seeing the old gang again awoke something special in me. I pulled out my acoustic guitar and started playing again. In the days that followed, we continued to communicate on a group chat and started gathering music from our formative years. We accumulated 14 songs in total, all of which I put together into a playlist and haven’t been able to stop listening to since. The sense of nostalgia I experienced was amazing. And I owe it all to them. We promised we’d make an effort to get together in Northern New Brunswick, once the world returned to normal.

Appreciate what you have. The value of the friendships you maintain may not always be evident to you, in the moment. But as long as sincere efforts are made on both sides, the rewards will be carried inside of you for all your days. We don’t always understand how we come to cross paths with some of the folks we meet. But they all play an integral part in who we become. Not to mention the fact that sometimes it’s nice to be reminded of where you came from in order to acknowledge where you’re headed. Food for thought… ☯

Something Is Anything More Than Nothing…

A couple of weeks ago, a good friend of mine from back home posted a meme-style poster with Dwayne Johnson’s face shadowed behind the words, on his Facebook timeline. It read, “I want to see what happens if I don’t give up.” My friend shared the post with the caption “A legend will be born, if so.” An interesting but truthful perspective and one that more people should acknowledge. There’s a great deal to be said for pushing on when it feels like you should give up.

His post sent my mind back in time, all the way to 1995. I was a year away from graduating from high school, I had my own car and I spent my weekends playing Star Trek RPG in my buddy’s basement. But I was also training at karate, full time. By full time, I mean I would wake in the morning and do a half hour of forms before school. Then it would either be a karate night or not. We had three classes a week, and not just an hour or an hour and a half; I’m talking two hours of blood, sweat and tears wrung out of us by traditional Okinawa karate. Then we’d usually go 30 minutes over time, asking questions and trying techniques. If it wasn’t a karate night, I’d spend an hour training at home, followed by wandering around town on my bike or running on the beach.

It was a different time of my life and all I did was eat, sleep and breathe karate. I loved it, and it was all that was me. And yet, right around that period in 1995, I hit a slump. I just didn’t seem to have the energy and the get-up-and-go that I usually did. I started to find that I was struggling in class, was always tired and didn’t seem to have any motivation. It all came to a head one night, when we were doing drills involving crescent kicks and I just couldn’t get my damn legs to go fast enough to keep up.

I bowed out, left the class and headed to the locker room where I proceeded to sit on the bench and openly weep into my hands. I felt as though the entire reason for my health and well-being, both mental and physical, was coming to an end and I was powerless to stop it. Was I in a slump because of my Diabetes? I had conditioned myself NEVER to use that as an excuse for not accomplishing something. But the consideration was there. Had I simply peaked and had nothing left to give? My heart said no, but my body and mind didn’t seem inclined to agree.

Sensei was used to having me excuse myself during class, as I would occasionally need to wolf down some fast-acting carbs in order to keep going. But I had been gone for much longer than usual, which was enough to have him come check on me. I was still sobbing when he walked in, which in and of itself was embarrassing enough. But when I explained why I was upset and how I felt that maybe it was time to give up and call it a day, he sat next to me and fed me the words that were burned into my memory and that I’ve carried with me, ever since:

SENSEI: “Want to know what happens if you give up?”
ME: “What?”
SENSEI: “Nothing. Nothing happens. And nothing is always worse than anything. So keep going, even when it hurts, even when it’s hard and even when it feels like you aren’t moving forward.”

Even now, almost thirty years after he spoke those words to me, it gives me chills and makes my eyes well up. I turned a corner after that night. My energy and motivation came back and I found myself renewed. Maybe I just needed the encouragement. We all need a little pep talk sometimes.

That brings me to my point. I may not be your Sensei. And I don’t know who may need to hear this. But you matter. And no matter how slow you move, you’re still getting farther ahead than the person who’s standing still. Don’t give up. Don’t EVER give up. Even when things seem hard or impossible, you can always make some headway, as long as you’re willing to fight. And I believe you can.

Anytime I’m reminded of that night, I feel a pang of guilt at how close I came to walking away from such a huge part of my life. And I know others who have. Where would I be today, without my martial training? I would definitely not be the same person. But I can’t help but feel that I would also be potentially worse off, health-wise. Karate has done far more for me than simply teaching me to defend myself.

A huge shout-out to my friend Ricky for this post. Unintended consequences, brother. Even when you don’t mean to, one’s actions can have them and this post is a prime example. And despite the importance of this story, I should provide some levity and tell you how that night played out. It ended with Sensei clapping me on the shoulder (nearly hard enough to dislocate it) followed by the words, “Now get the fuck back upstairs and back to training or you’ll owe me a hundred knuckle push-ups!” And I did. Go back upstairs, not owe him the push-ups…. ☯️

In The Absinthe of Good Sense… (A Long Read)

In some respect, I was kind of what some would call a “late bloomer.” I never had a rebellious phase, never got brought home by the police and contrary to the majority of my age group back home, I didn’t spent my teen years partying and drinking alcohol. In fact, I only drank my first beer at the age of 23 when I was training in Okinawa. And during those first few tastes of golden, alcoholic bliss, I was hanging out in a climate that required my body to retain every single drop of fluid I was taking in, which meant I was pretty much drinking beer AND water with impunity. That first little while saw me drinking with little to no after effects (other than raised blood sugars from the occasional high carbohydrate beer) and never a hangover.

Because of that fact, I thought I was somewhat invulnerable to the effects of alcohol. At least where hangovers were concerned. I didn’t learn my lesson until about six months AFTER my return from Okinawa where, on my way to a friend’s party, I couldn’t decide between two brands of beer, and bought a 6-pack of both. And then consumed them all. In one evening. Within about three hours. Ironically, I remember my evening quite clearly and it was a lot of fun. No worries or concerns, really. But the physical pain I was in the following morning taught me the error of my ways and why I should never drink with such impunity again.

I woke up soaked in what I hoped to Light was sweat, and my body sending out warning signals of varying sorts. My blood sugars were through the roof and my bowels and stomach were having an extremely loud argument over who had the right to kick out their unwanted guests first. I decided that my parched and swollen tongue required some water before giving attention to anything else. The water aggravated my stomach further, causing me to rush to the washroom where I managed to sit on the toilet while simultaneously testing my ability to aim by unceremoniously throwing up into the sink next to me.

It was like there was a party in my mouth and everyone was throwing up. I walked away having learned an extremely valuable lesson about alcohol, after that night. Despite being in my early 20’s, it would prove to be only one of two or three times in my life (so far) that I would actually get drunk. Putting aside the story of the staff party where I don’t remember being dropped off at home, the recollection of the third and last instance where I got truly drunk is the topic of today’s post. It involves an unplanned road trip coupled with a legendary and often-feared drink: absinthe.

Because of the first two instances of getting drunk, I had a strict “no getting drunk” policy, which involved never drinking anywhere but the comfort of my own home as well as never drinking enough to go beyond the enjoyment of simple libations and the flavour of whatever I may have been consuming at the moment. That isn’t to say that I don’t have the occasional beer when out at a restaurant or bar with friends. Far from it. But as a personal policy, I never allow myself to drink to excess. I think this is an important self-policy and should be followed by everyone. But my third and last time of getting drunk hammered it home for me. Here’s what happened…

Sometime between my return from Okinawa in 2001 and moving to Ottawa in 2007, I had a friend who lived in Fredericton, New Brunswick. The capital city of New Brunswick, it sits near the south-west corner of the Province and is about four hours away from where I was living at the time. My friend had moved there some years’ prior and had an apartment on the south side of the river. Although some locals may argue this point, the south side is where it’s at. It has the university, the shopping, the coffee shops and the bars. It also has the best comic shops.

Since I had a lull in my career, I found myself between jobs and had recently become single (unrelated) so I decided to pay my friend a visit. I haven’t spoken to him about retelling this, so for the purposes of this story I’ll simply call him “Treats.” If he reads this, he’ll be the only one who knows this involves him. I swear on my right hook that this is how the night went down, but his recollection may be different. I’ll let y’all know if he ends up reading this and reaching out to me. But I left early in the morning and arrived at Treats’ apartment around lunchtime. This worked out well, since we decided to go have brunch at one of my favourite breakfast restaurants called “Cora’s.” Although it’s nothing special beyond the fact they serve fresh fruit with every dish, one of our mutual friends also work there.

Treats had managed to gather a small group of mutual and new acquaintances to join us for breakfast, which included Treats’ brother and made for a pleasant, social outing. That’s right; I can be social. After an uneventful afternoon of coffee shops, comic book stores and good conversation, we discussed what we would be doing for dinner and with our evening. This is where things began to slowly roll downhill. Innocently enough, we decided on a local pub where we could indulge on a dose of unnecessary calories while having a few drinks. Once again, we had a few people with us but everyone kind of melted away as the evening progressed. A combination of university, work and the fact it was a week night made for a quiet party.

We got bored and didn’t want to spend a fortune on every beer we got, so we stopped by a local liquor store and got a case of beer for the apartment. We decided to binge watch some Family Guy. This was before Netflix was the big thing, and Treats actually had all the current seasons on DVD, so we watched and giggled like drunken school girls until we watched a scene involving Peter Griffin and the giant chicken. This prompted a heated discussion about fighting and martial arts, as I had been training in karate and he had apparently been doing kickboxing for quite some time. We already had quite a few drinks and despite being heated, it was nothing but conversational until Treats spoke the words that would change the tonality of the evening: “We should do a shot of absinthe…”

Folks, absinthe gets a reasonably bad rap. There was a this misconception that it had hallucinogenic properties and was mostly banned in North America, as a result. This concept has been mainly disproven in the past twenty years, and you can now buy the stuff at most liquor stores. Its no more dangerous than consuming any other spirit. Treats had brought over bottle from his travels in Europe over the previous couple of years and wanted me to experience the stuff, since I had never tried it. On the flip side, this shit is about 150 proof and is meant to be consumed by sprinkling sugar over ice and combining the absinthe with water. Treats took out two shot glasses and poured straight from the bottle. Asshole.

We were already drunk and bearing in mind that both of us had likely consumed close to a 12-pack each, albeit over the course of several hours, I wasn’t keen on the prospect of downing a shot. My previous experience with spirits hadn’t ended well. But I figured, what the hell was the worst that could happen? We were in the relative safety of Treats’ apartment and weren’t planning on going anywhere. Famous last words…

I take an experimental sniff of the greenish liquid and compared it to a bad combination of surgical-grade antiseptic mixed with antifreeze. I watch Treats throw his head back and down his shot. Suddenly, my self-confidence is shaken since Treats is about half my size and weight and he’s drank as much beer as I had. I do my best not to be a prideful person, but booze makes all the smart thoughts go, “Fuck it, I’m outta here!” So, like a true drunken idiot, I also throw back my shot and down it in one gulp.

It almost felt as though my entire body went into panic mode as every molecule in my esophagus was suddenly screaming at me and asking why I had brought this unwanted guest to the party. My stomach responded in kind, akin to a bouncer trying to tell someone they weren’t on the list and didn’t belong in the club and to get out of there. My stomach threatened to reverse impulse engines and expel right there in Treats’ kitchen. Sharp beads of sweat break out on my forehead and my knees buckle as I get dizzy, wondering what the hell I just did to myself.

Treats is laughing at me, mostly because he’s drunk and he sees me swaying in place but also because half the absinthe bottle was empty. This meant it wasn’t his first rodeo and he intentionally wanted to see what effect it would have on me. This makes me indignant and I consider this a slight against me the likes of which karma needed to correct. Once my momentary weakness passes, I decided it would be a good idea to test my blood sugars. This is a true testament to my muscle memory and control over Diabetes. Most people would have put that shit on the back burner.

When I come out of the guest room, Treats is back on the couch and has continued to watch Family Guy without me. This makes me morose as I sit in silence and begin to watch with him, having missed a portion of the episode. Somehow the conversation returns to our respective fighting styles and becomes more argumentative over the value of certain methods and techniques. I pride myself on being open to others’ interpretation. But as I mentioned earlier, drunk Shawn has a much different perspective. I berate and belittle his perspective. This makes him openly angry. Absinthe has joined the argument!

Treats finally decides he needs to demonstrate the effectiveness of his kickboxing prowess and invites me to spar in his entryway. We’re talking a less than ten-foot by ten-foot space inside an upper floor apartment. I start picturing Jean-Claude Van Damme’s drunken fight scene in Kickboxer and decide that this is a fantastic idea. We move his dining table slightly and square off. I can only imagine how ridiculous we must have looked; two grown-ass men, drunk beyond reason on beer and absinthe, planning to “spar.” I use the quotation marks because of what was to come next…

He starts with a couple of simple jabs. He’s using the typical boxer’s stance that I despise; his guard is firmly against the side of his head as he delivers his jabs. I block the first one. Then I block the second one. I begin to realize that my excessive martial arts training allows me to operate almost on instinct and I stop TRYING to block and simply let the blocks happen. I am in the zone. He delivers a couple more jabs and punches without any success. Although my guard is still up, I start laughing. And that’s when it happened.

Because of my drunken stupor, my laugh involved my eyes squinting shut. This is not a good thing during a fight. His next straight jab catches me right in the face. My eyes were no longer closed, let me tell you! I look at him in shock and surprise and try to deliver a jab of my own. As I do, he suddenly remembers the “kick” aspect of his art and delivers a firm, roundhouse kick to my right ribs; right underneath the arm I was jabbing with. I fold over on the injured side, which opens up the left side of my face. BAM! He delivers a right hook to the left side of my face.

The hook jars something loose as a flood of all the times I had been bullied and beaten up in school came flooding to the surface (Yes, I was bullied in school! One story at a time, people!). I was drunk on more alcohol than I should have consumed and my inner filters and controls melted away by Mr. Absinthe, and I saw red. I threw a quick rounded punch into Treats’ gut. He grunts. I am displeased at his lack of folding over, so I deliver a front kick to his solar plexus. As he doubles over, he guards the left side of his face. Since his fist is firmly against his head, I strike and it’s as though the fist isn’t even there. I bring a knee up into his abdomen and back kick him into his living room, sending his sprawling over the coffee table.

Maybe I should have mentioned that his girlfriend was also there at the time. Did I mention his girlfriend was sleeping there, at the time? She got up and was not impressed. We were both battered and bruised, with fine rivulets of blood at our nose, mouth or both. Everything had happened over the course of about five minutes. She used a rather matronly voice to “suggest” that we quit our bullshitting or she’d get “involved.” This this day, I don’t know what she meant. I didn’t want to know then, and I don’t want to know now. We watched a couple more episodes and the mood lightened significantly. Probably because we had drained out all of our testosterone in those few moments. Who knows?

I awoke the next morning and staggered my way to the washroom. The left side of my face had some mild swelling and it hurt to move my rib cage. I stepped out into the kitchen and found Treats seated at the table. He offered me coffee, which I gladly accepted and then grinned devilishly while making some off-the-cuff comment about how I couldn’t handle my booze. I left it alone. I didn’t know how much he remembered from the previous night, but I have the significant advantage (or disadvantage) of always retaining full memory of what I’d done despite the alcohol.

We decided to have a second round of brunch at Cora’s before I got back on the road to home. I had a reasonably low after-effect and little to no hangover, considering the amount of alcohol AND the strikes to the head. We chatted, we laughed and I got back on the road having thoroughly enjoyed my time with Treats. Good times and good memories. It would prove to be the last time I would ever consume that much alcohol of any type, and one of the last time I ever went beyond “tipsy.” Even though I didn’t have a rambunctious youth, I recognized that my capacity for violence when inebriated was significant. And I didn’t want to ever chance inadvertently bringing harm to someone.

So there you have it! A little insight on lesser moments in my 20’s. I definitely wasn’t proud of how I was that night. Anymore than I was of the other two instances when I allowed myself to drink outside the home. But this is why I make a point never to consume to intoxication. And for the most part, I never drink outside my home. My personal and professional life have taught me that there’s too much room for error. To this day, I enjoy my wine. I also enjoy beer much the same way many folks do: cold and while barbecuing. But sometimes we need to learn about moderation the hard way. Maybe some of you will see my story as a way to learn that lesson. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll need a couple of hits to the head, like I did. ☯

Goodbye, Old Faithful…

When you get used to certain equipment, it can be pretty horrible when it fails, breaks or gives out on you. I had just such an instance last week, when my lancing device broke. I don’t know how these devices are put together inside. In my head I picture a simple mechanical construction of a rubber band going taut as you pull the trigger back, only to be released when you push the button. No matter how simple or complicated it may be inside, the lancing device I’ve used for the past half decade finally decided to give out. I’d pull the trigger back without the tell-tale click, and there would be no response when I’d push the button.

For the non-Diabetics who may not know what this is, a lancing device is a small, pen-like plastic device that holds a lancet, which is the small needle that’s used to pierce your fingertip in order to test your blood sugars. Despite being on an insulin pump with continuous glucose monitoring, I still need to test my blood glucose via finger poke at least three times a day in oder to calibrate the CGM. I also need to test occasionally because apparently my blood sugars are TOO normal and if you go 2.5 hours without needing any microbolusing, the pump gets all pissy at you and wonders if there’s something wrong. It’s SUPER annoying when you’re trying to get eight hours of sleep. But I digress…

Since this was the evening and everything was closed, I had no choice but to do something that I haven’t seen done since the 1980’s. I had to hold a lancet in my fingers and manually jab my finger. Now, you may be thinking that this sound like such a big deal. The problem, you see is that doing it that way is extremely painful and usually causes injury in the form of bruising and sensitivity to the finger. A lancet’s needle can be anywhere from 1/8″ to 1/4″, and the lancing device controls how hard and how deep the needles punctures your flesh, making for a controlled and more comfortable experience.

Doing it manually just means you’re decimating your fingertips, especially when you get a brute like me with no control over how hard he does stuff. After three tests of doing it the ol’ fashioned way, once before bed and twice when I woke up, I decided that was enough to look into a replacement. I have three other USB glucomètres as shown in the photo above, but none of the lancing devices were with them. I searched in all my supply boxes but I never found the extras anywhere. I’m quite positive I haven’t ripped through 4 lancing devices in the past ten years, but the question remained as to where I put them.

Anxious to find some comfort and fervently aware that my pump would be pestering me for a calibration within the next hour or two, I ventured out to my local pharmacy with the hopes of purchasing a new one. Upon my arrival at the pharmacy, I explained my situation to the pharmacist who explained that lancing devices are usually included in glucometer bundles and don’t come as a standalone item. because of this, the only way to get a new lancing device is usually by purchasing a new glucometer package.

Luckily, he had some samples left over from distributors, and one of them happened to be the Bayer MICROLET next, which is the next generation above the one I had been using. He offered it to me, free of charge. I held my hands out and accepted the lancing device akin to receiving a great gift. I was grateful to my pharmacist for taking this step. And after several days of using this lancing device, I can say it was definitely worth the trip. Small favours… Sometimes you get lucky. Jus’ saying’… ☯