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. ☯️
Over the decades, I’ve come to discover that many people, especially those who don’t study martial arts, lack appreciation for the importance of katas, or forms (whatever they may be named in one’s respective style). The problem is that to the naked eye, it will often seem as though there is no way that certain techniques learned through form would be applicable in an actual fight. As someone with almost four decades in a traditional art, I can tell you that nothing can be further from the truth.
One good example of this is Tai Chi. Most of us are familiar with Tai Chi; the Chinese martial art where you normally see the practitioner moving in slow, concentric movements that almost appear like more of a slow dance than a martial art. However, Tai Chi is a form of Kung Fu and was originally developed use as a combat style and self-defense. Over time, some styles of Tai Chi have evolved into more of a means of increasing circulation and flexibility, often focusing on more aged practitioners. But traditional Tai Chi techniques learned in this manner can be extremely effective and devastating when used in a combat scenario.
In Okinawan karate, kata is considered one’s foundation. And the entire structure of one’s ability to properly practice karate stems from that foundation. Kata focuses not only on stance and balance, but helps to develop muscle memory and techniques. Without kata, one would be essentially be flying blind and the learning process to effectively execute one’s techniques would take a significant amount of time more than simply working through form.
My experience has shown that most students aren’t fans of form. Mostly because it’s slow, formal, and doesn’t involve much of anything dynamic. Especially inn younger students who would prefer sparring or bag work, the value and concept of kata or forms can be lost on them. At least until such a time when the light clicks on and they finally get their “aha” moment. For some students, this moment never comes and what a terrible loss it is for a student ton never understand the value that form brings to their skills.
Recently, I did my first punching bag workout of the season. Since my punching bag is housed in my garage, getting out to use it depends on the weather. But I was recently able to get out there and clean out the garage and get the bag ready. It felt good to strike something with some impact. As big a fan of kata as I am, eventually, you need to develop your strength and knuckles by making an impact on an actual surface. My workout usually involves a thirty-minute timer with 1-minute intervals of striking paired with a thirty-second interval of rest in between.
As I was halfway through my circuit, I started toying with the concept of performing certain techniques on the bag in the same fashion as I would execute them in kata. This truly opened my eyes to the concept that form is not enough. As important as the foundation may be, eventually you need to build up your walls and put on a roof. Maybe it’s becoming a weak analogy but the true point here is that form is important to show you the way. Practice is what’s needed to show its effectiveness.
For the newer and younger practitioners who may be reading this, don’t sell kata short. The hour you spend doing kata may help your progress in ways you may never realize. But in the traditional martial arts, every form, every technique and every step is for a reason and serves an overall purpose in filling your self-defense toolbox. So be sure to pay attention, train hard and don’t ignore any aspect of what your style has to teach. Food for thought… ☯️
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. ☯️
My morning is starting with the fact that my chirps motel mini fridge appeared to freeze my two energy drinks last night and the cans burst inside the fridge, leaving me with a mess AND no caffeine to start my day. By virtue of this catastrophe, I’m going to try and keep this brief. Yesterday was the diffuser day, the one where I had to attend the hospital and see to my father.I hadn’t been back to that hospital since my grandfather was living in the veterans’ ward within it. Referred to as a “regional” hospital, it’s quite large for the town that it sits in a town of approximately on 7,000 people. As a comparison, Regina has two hospital of equal size and boasts a population of approximately 250,000 people. Kind makes you wonder what they were thinking. But I digress…
Never one to go any way but his own, I walked into the hospital and looked at the directory board and located the intensive care unit. First floor. Fuckin’ marvelous. I walked down the hall and followed the sign until I encountered two ominous doors with signs to report to the nurse’s station. You know, the kind of doors where they wheel someone in while holding back a family member saying “Sorry, sir. You can’t go in there?” Yeah. Those. I looked around absently but saw no nurses station anywhere. Therefore, I pushed my way through and found the doors opened quite easily. That’s because it turns out the nurses station is JUST inside the doors. Go figure. They pointed out my father’s room and told me they would have the doctor join me.
I walked in and saw a tableau that no child should ever have to see of their parent. Unconscious, hooked to tubes and tied to the bed, my father seemed smaller somehow. He was breathing slowly, with a machine beating in time with the breath ring. A strange, beige slurry was dripping from a bag into the tube running into his nose, feeding him artificially. His vitals and numbers were brightly displayed on multiple screens and low volume blips and beeps went off, every few seconds. It’s hard to picture the once strong, powerful man who raised me in such a state. Even more disturbing is finding someone who appeared to be sleeping that couldn’t be roused.
I spoke briefly with his doctor about his condition. In the interest of my father’s privacy and because it doesn’t matter, I’ll leave the details of that conversation out of the post but suffice it to say we discussed next steps, which unfortunately included the end of life-sustaining treatment if it became indefinite. I spent a few moments speaking to my father because I’m one of those people who can never be certain if an unconscious person can actually hear you or not and I wanted him to hear my voice. I left the hospital pretty despondent and wondering how I had gotten to this point in my life so quickly. Now I would get to go visit my mother and see what the state of union is there.
A positive spin on the day is the fact that I was now driving through the area in the daylight for the first time since landing. I got to see the spectacular open bay and the Appalachian mountains that are a signature of the North shore of New Brunswick. Growing up, I never appreciated this view the way it deserved. And that the way of life, isn’t it? We never quite appreciated the beauty around us while we’re in it. One needs to go without and come back to it to realize what they had. And that a little sad in and of itself. To know that I would be able to walk up to the salty water and dip my toes in whenever I wanted to seems like a pretty sweet deal. But I got to enjoy the view on the transit between Campbellton and Dalhousie.
My visit to the nursing home was almost worse than seeing my father on a ventilator. I scoped out the dining room and living room in anticipation of seeing my mother somewhere. No dice. I walked down the hall to her room and discovered she was nowhere to be found. I started walking back towards the nurse’s station when I met with an employee I had passed in the hallway. When asked who I was looking for, I named my mother and was told she had just been sat in the dining room. Let that sink in for a moment. I looked at every face in the dining room and didn’t recognize my mother in any of them. We found her sitting at a table with some other residents.
When the staff did the whole “Look who’s here?” thing, my mother had no idea who I was. When told I was her son, she stated she had no son. Despite this oversight, they convinced her to come sit in the living room with me. We sat on comfortable chairs and I asked how she was. She mentioned that she didn’t know where her husband was, so I explained that he was in the hospital getting his lungs checked. She asked why. I explained. Wash, rinse and repeat over the next hour. The nurse came over to try and have her take some meds. She fought her off and refused. It took a few minutes of back and forth before I switched to French and intervened, explaining to my mother that she spent all those years ensuring I took insulin so that I could stay healthy. So now, it was her turn to take these pills so that SHE could stay healthy.
Something in the change of language reached her and something in her eyes changed. She asked me how I had gotten there and I told her I took a plane. She asked why I would take a plane to watch her take pills. I then asked her where her glasses were. She claimed she’s never worn glasses. I explain that indeed she had. When she argued further, I held up three fingers and asked her how many she saw. She responded by flipping me the bird and asking ME how many I say. Now I know where I get my attitude. But there were some laughs. The fact she doesn’t remember me or even know my name is hurtful but it really isn’t the worst part. The worst part for me is knowing that losing her mind was the ONLY way she didn’t want to go out. For years, while watching my mother deteriorate, she always said she’d rather get hit by a bus than lose her mind. And now here she is. The woman I knew is no longer there.
Although the day was filled with emotion and difficulty, I found some comfort in seeing them both. And that’s what it comes down to, in the end. The only real emotional value is for the child, who still sees their mother and father instead of a man in a coma and a woman whose mind makes you a stranger. It’s not a way to remember them, nor should I, considering they’re not gone yet. But they both deserve better. They both deserved a better life. Even now, they teach the valuable life lesson that you don’t always get what you want. Food for thought… And now, before I accidentally commit a homicide, I need to go find some caffeine. ☯️
Well, here we are… Back in Northern New Brunswick and I made it in one piece, albeit not without the fates throwing a few monkey wrenches into the mix. My first flight left Regina without incident and saw me experience a mix of difficulty staying awake (I usually can’t fall asleep on planes) and watching some downloaded movies on my iPad. While the flight itself was uneventful and I even lucked out and had the seat between myself and the other passenger vacant, it was what came next that chose to challenge the very limits of my ability to maintain my calm.
Walking through the Toronto Pearson International Airport is a bit of a surreal experience. A major travel hub for people from across the world into Canada, it’s ALWAYS packed, ALWAYS busy and people seem to lose the very little semblance of common sense they may have had. It blows my mind how people can be in such a rush but have no concept of situational awareness or what’s in front of them. I literally had a lady walking next to me, who… you know when you have someone who’s going JUST slow enough that you can’t overtake them but they’re still going to slow to be behind? Yeah. That. I was right next to her, keeping pace and I was very obviously in plain view but yet she suddenly darted in front of me to cut across. I wasn’t able to stop my next step in time and my foot essentially swept both her legs and very nearly sent her hurdling to the floor. She was pretty indignant until I told her to either watch where she was going or to step BEHIND the person she would bypass.
I had a 3-hour layover in Toronto that saw me enjoy an overpriced meal before finding someplace to hunker down to wait for my next flight. Considering good ol’ PSTD and my general propensity to dislike large crowds, I was NOT in my element. I got an email while I was waiting that said that there were expected high winds at my landing point in New Brunswick and that it may affect the availability of a landing site. IN a bit of a panic, I started brainstorming the possibilities. If I rented a car right then and there, it would take 12 hours to drive to New Brunswick from Toronto. Not very feasible, considering how exhausted I already was. But luckily, my flight boarded without incident. The fight itself was uneventful and I even found myself falling asleep for a bout half an hour, a testament to just bow very tired I in fact was.
When we were on final approach for Moncton, New Brunswick, the winds started to rock the plane to a concern degree. I swear, it was something that I had only seen in the movies. The wings kept flopping back and forth, to the point where a couple of times we almost touch the tree line. When we finally touched down, we did so at an angle that saw the plane buck and right itself in a violent jerking motion that had everyone in the cabin scream and question whether they would be walking off or being carted off. All’s well that ended well, I guess. But it was an experience I could have done without. I made my way down the airport corridor to the car rental kiosk and began the annoying process of checking out the rental IO would be using for the days that followed. While there, I noted a lady speaking with the other rep. She was obviously a bit panicked and was in a situation.
Turns out she had landed about 45 minutes before I had and had missed the passenger bus that would carry her north, She had to make her way home to her elderly parents because she would be placing her father into a care home tomorrow. Sound familiar? If my heart hadn’t already been going out to her, it beat extra strong when she mentioned she needed to get to the North shore; the very area that I was traveling to. When asked, she mentioned she needed to get to Charlo, which is literally along the way to Dalhousie/Campbellton. I offered to give her a ride, which she gratefully accepted. We piled into my rented Nissan Sentra and took to the open road.
Typically, I prefer to travel alone than with people, with the exception of my wife, of course, And traveling with strangers is almost a definite no-no. It’s awkward, people have different taste in music, difference in climate needs, etc. But this lady was a class act and became quite welcome in the vehicle. We had good conversation and discussed a variety of topics, including but not limited to education, child care, the state of the country and our preferred scenic spots along the North shore. After being awake since 2 am, it was a welcomed distraction that helped keep me awake and steady on the road, given my level of fatigue. I got her to her parents’ home in Charlottesville just shortly after 8 pm. She was grateful, especially after I refused to any offer of compensation and I drove away feeling good that I had helped someone from back home. A positive spin on an otherwise negative trip.
I got to my hotel shortly after 9 pm. Now folks, the internet being what it is, I never quite know how far reaching my posts can get, although I am aware there are folks in India and Orient who have read my posts but my main concern is naming a business where there’s the potential they may get pissed and sue me for my comments. So forgive me for keeping the name of the hotel to myself but it feels like something out of a B-horror film. I did try to book the most inexpensive room I could find in the interest of saving as much money as I could, but this is ridiculous. The last time I saw a sleeping space this sparse and without amenities was when I lived in the dormitories at Depot! But at least the floors and the bed are clean and the shower was hot with decent pressure. Although the skinny sliver of soap they provided wouldn’t wash an infant, much less a 200-pound man.
If I sound a little bit negative and on the cranky side, it’s likely because this morning I get to storm the local hospital and try to access my father. Considering the health region in this area is a little weird with accessing people, I don’t know what challenge I’m in for or even what I’ll find once I access him. I suppose I should look on the bright side. I made it here safely, I have a warm place to sleep and I’ll also get to see my mother this morning, which will be nice. I haven’t seen her since I brought her to the care home to be placed as a resident. I’ll also have the opportunity to see Sensei this afternoon. So while it may have been a rushed trip for a generally negative reason, at least there will some positive aspects. And isn’t that the important thing to life in order to eliminate one’s personal suffering? Finding the positive? ☯️
For those of you who have read my posts in the past, you likely recognize the fact that having “day 1” in the title signifies this will be a multi-day post and I am likely traveling. Well, right on both counts. They often say that nothing is certain life, I’m inclined to disagree with this concept. What binds us together as human beings is that the story of all our lives begins and ends in exactly the same way; a birth and a death. There’s no getting out of it or avoiding it. It is, much like the passage of time, inevitable. What makes each of us unique as human beings is how we fill the chapters of the story between those two certain events. But the mixture of certain and uncertain can lend what one could refer to as the spice of life. And it’s is the depth of my philosophical musings for 4 am in the morning.
My father has always been what I like to describe as an unlikely warrior. From the moment he met my mother, he stepped up and took responsibility in areas that others had abandoned or faltered. My best example of this is stepping up to be a father to my late brother, whose biological father was presumptuous enough to claim he couldn’t be positive the child was his. But my father never faltered in taking on responsibility for my brothers and treated him the same as if he’d conceived him. That’s just one example of how my father has always fought for and taken care of his family as a whole. Growing up, it became a routine thing that every few months, he would experience what he described as “back spasms,” which would include debilitating back pain.
Usually, this would involve three or four days of my father laid up in bed allowing his back to recover before returning to work. I used to actually cherish these times as I would not only help my father by tending to him and getting him whatever he needed but these were some of the times that we’d make our way through Star Trek movies, have deep conversations about life and I would share my perspectives on life while gaining the wisdom of his. Often in life, it can be difficult to recognize a silver lining, even when one is staring you in the face. 1980’s medicine being the wonderfully ineffective thing that it was, there was never a diagnosis for this back pain. He simply had to grin and bear it, as it were.
It wouldn’t be until the early 2010’s that his condition would worsen to a point where he and my mother made the decision to have him housed in a care home. My father is a rather large man, sitting at well over 300 pounds, meaning my mother would be unable to care for him on a daily basis to the extent he needed. It wasn’t ideal but my mother moved into a small, one-bedroom apartment conveniently next door to the care home so she could see him and be with him on a daily basis. Having modernized a touch, medicine improved and we came to discover that my father had defects in his vertebrae and his spine is slowly degenerating. Nothing pleasant about as, you know, you need your fuckin’ spine to control EVERYTHING in your body.
There have been some rough patches through the years but my father is a war horse who refuses to go down. Stubborn and almost constantly angry, he muddles through life while overcoming any obstacle that he encounters. Damn, I wonder why that sounds so familiar…? But I digress… A few days ago, I received word that my father had been brought to the hospital by ambulance because he was having difficulty breathing. While not entirely unusual, a couple of days later I would be updated that he’s been placed in the ICU and intubated. In true hospital style and one of the biggest frustrations with living on the other side of the country, is that I don’t have immediate access to people and it’s far easier for them to decline to provide information over the phone than in person. So this morning, I’m casually sitting in the Regina Airport awaiting a long day’s flight to make my way back to New Brunswick, once again NOT for vacation or pleasure but to take care of family matters.
It stands to reason that with a couple of hours to kill, I’m going to write a post. Why not, right? I always make a point of getting to the airport a couple of hours ahead of boarding. Over the years, I’ve come to accept the necessity of this, even it poses some inconvenience. Traveling as a Type-1 Diabetic can have its share of challenges. Considering I travel with various liquids, medications and needles, there always the potential for issues through checkpoints. Given that I wear an insulin pump, I avoid going through scanning devices, since depending on the type of device, it can damage the pump and/or render the insulin inert. Neither one is a good scenario.I forget what the reasoning is behind this, but I’ve been warned on multiple occasions to simply avoid it so that there would be no issues.
My alarm woke me at 2 am, which could be manageable if I hadn’t of fallen asleep at 9:30 and woken every hour on the hour to use the washroom and stress about the trip. When I finally struck REM sleep shortly past midnight, the 2 am wake up call was NOT welcome. My scheduled cab showed up on time and without delay. My driver was intuitive enough to read my tone and recognized that it was too early for banter and chit chat. While I usually don’t mind a bit of conversation to pass the time during a drive, my pre-caffeinated soul had little room for it this morning. I hit the airport, got my boarding passes and made my way up to security. I decided to go a bit different this time around. I managed to fit several days’ clothes, insulin and pump supplies and my iPad into a military-style backpack I had recently purchased. By virtue of this, I will be traveling for four days with only one carry on and no baggage. One last stress to contend with.
My security bypass search was efficient and the man with the rubber gloves was surprisingly gentle. All kidding aside, I used to feel bad about pilling one of the security staff off their post for a pat down but I’ve come to learn that this is simply one of the pieces of being Diabetic. As it always does, it adds a layer of complication to an otherwise common and simple thing. Now, as I sit in a lobby, slowly becoming surrounded by strangers, I can’t help but wonder what I’ll be walking into when I get home. Home. Strange term for me now. Is Dalhousie, New Brunswick truly still my home? This will be the first time I travel out where my mother no longer has hearth and home to receive me. I’ll be completely on my own. Visiting the area like some tourist. As my father is likely to be unconscious from the intubation, I likely won’t be able to communicate with him. The important part will be speaking with his doctor to determine what’s actually happening and exactly how long this trip will end up being.
A strange thing, life. We go through our childhood never contemplating death and adulthood. It’s one of the things that makes childhood the best part of one’s life. Unless you spent most of it being sick like my brother and I did. But as an adult, I’ve come to make my peace with the fact that I’m in a nexus of sorts. I’m at the point in my existence where life is beginning to take away at LEAST as much as it gives. There may still be plenty of good things coming in life. One must remain optimistic. But there are certainly some big losses coming. Such is life. That final chapter comes to us all. Food for thought… I’ll be writing and updating in the days to come so stay tunes. ☯️
You know, there was a time, not so many years ago, that I was like a wind up car with an infinitely long wind up spring. I swear that by my early twenties, I almost felt superhuman. I would wake up in the morning and hit the ground running. Besides work, which in my early twenties was as a McDonald’s manager, you know, when they actually worked fast, worked hard and got your order right the first time, I had karate classes three or four times a week, jogging workouts, cycling workouts and my body existed in it’s final years before a drop of alcohol touched it. I had energy, I had speed and much like the Flash, I felt as though I could run forever.
Bear in mind that this was during the years following the period of my life with rampant, uncontrolled blood sugars. I often wonder about how much faster and efficient I would be if I had been on pump therapy back then. Friends, colleagues and fellow karate practitioners had a hard time keeping up with me. It was amazing. It was majestic. And as I write this, I’m realizing how braggy it sounds. But it’s accurate. But as with all things in life, everything eventually changes. This includes one’s ability to keep running indefinitely. And that where today’s post comes in. Because eventually, time catches up. And this causes the sense of urgency to dry up.
Up until recent years and especially during my years as a police officer, speed and being on the ball was exceptionally important. If the phone rang before dawn, I had to be out of bed, geared up and out the door within minutes. Considering someone’s life may be in jeopardy, that much was obvious. Even during my new career, I always had the habit of getting up at the ass crack of dawn, getting to work an hour early and still attending multiple karate classes. Hell, in 2020, I logged over 1,000 kilometres in cycling and jogging.
Considering time, age and all other factors, I’ve changed my perspective significantly. My work allows me a flexibility of time. As a result, my days no longer start in a blur of rushing and urgency. I still wake up to an alarm but I get started slowly. I take my time, go through my shave and shower routine, slowly sip and enjoy the first caffeine of the day and proceed to prep my breakfast smoothie and lunch to bring to the office. More often than not, I’ll even hop on the ol’ iPad and get through some dailies for the games I have. Sometimes, I’ll pop in to the corner convenience store to check my lotto tickets (Yes, I get those! Don’t judge!) and grab a coffee.
The difference that this approach has made is noticeable. I start my day far more relaxed, which means I feel less harassed by the needs of the day. I’m in a significantly better mood, which means I can deal wth people far better. I run with the clock instead of trying to run ahead of it. Blood pressure is lower, attitude is calmer and my overall disposition has improved ten-fold. All of this has also had a positive impact on my blood sugars and Diabetes symptoms. Are there still times when I’ll need to rush? Of course! Life would never allow otherwise. But in the meantime, I can take satisfaction in knowing that between the rare, occasional deadline or emergency, I no longer have to walk to the beat of a different drum. Instead, I get to be the one who controls the beat. ☯️
They say that all living creatures only have a finite number of heartbeats. When one has used up all one’s beats, one’s life comes to an end. Some have the belief that this is one of the reasons why our beloved family dogs live far shorter lives than we do. Their hearts beats far harder and truer than ours. Dogs have no judgement, see no race and have absolutely no evil in their hearts. The only time we can expect to see something negative come out of a helped family dog is if you’re foolish enough to threaten one of their pack, or family members. That’s when you’ve effective fucked around and found out and likely deserve what you get. But I digress…
I never had pets growing up. My mother was mysteriously and conveniently allergic to every animal that you can pet. We had fish but frankly, if you can flush it, I never really felt that it counted. I’ve always held the belief that having a pet as a child has the potential to impart a number of important growing tools for a kid. Besides teaching routine, responsibility and discipline, a dog will also provide a child with a sense of bonding and attachment. Dogs truly are one of the very few creatures that can love unconditionally and without expectation. It took me a few days to get here and be able to write this. Last Friday, I had to say goodbye to the world’s best dog.
I first met Molly when I was posted in a small, southern Saskatchewan town. As the town had no bylaw enforcement, we were frequently called upon for bylaw matters, which included animal control. One of the locals had broken up with her husband and he left his dogs behind. She would normally put the dog in the backyard while she went off to work but after a short while, she figured out a way to shimmy out of the yard and would take little walkabouts throughout the town. Molly was always a gentle soul, wagging her tail and walking up to everyone who called out to her. I got used to a routine where I would pull up in my police vehicle, call her over and she would gleefully hop into my back seat without objection. I would then bring her home and put her in her back yard. Wash, rinse and repeat.
Molly and I in 2014
After a few weeks, the lady who had Molly posted on Facebook that she was moving out of the house and would have to surrender the dog to a shelter and as she couldn’t bring her into her rental. I was very aware that the likelihood of finding a good home when going into a shelter was unlikely. Not willing to have Molly’s life ended prematurely, I spoke with my wife and she agreed that we could take Molly in. We have a fully fenced in back yard, and open empty lot on the northern side of our house and plenty of space inside, including a finished basement. Since I had never had a dog before, there were periods of learning and adjustment, including discovering her rampant fear of thunder, her strange affinity to my wife’s slippers and her frequent need to be petted and shown affection.
Soon after, my wife and I welcomed our first son, Nathan. Molly took to Nathan and became an ad hoc protector. She would sleep under his crib at night and curl up close whenever I’d have him in his slumber chair. Molly followed everywhere we went and we even had a futon she slept on, which included a nightly routine of tucking her in. She became an immediate member of the family and everyone who met her on our walks took to her immediately and loved her. Molly was always gentle, always quiet and I can count on one hand the number of times she ever barked for any reason. I used to love coming home from work where she would bolt out the door and chase each other around the empty lot until my chunky ass got tired.
A freshly shaved Molly giving good morning kisses to Nathan
Molly travelled with us when we transferred to Regina. Our new house unfortunately didn’t have a fenced in back yard and for the first time, we had to tether her when we put her out. She wasn’t pleased with this but still enjoy bolting and chasing birds and squirrels around the yard. After a few years in Regina, our life situation changed. We had our second son, Alexander, coming along. Molly was getting up in age and her tolerance for the daily grind of life was becoming difficult. Realistically, we were never really certain how old Molly actually was. The lady we got her from “thought” that she was at least 4 or 5 when she came to us, which would have put her at about 10 years old by the time our second son was born.
Given this and a number of different factors, we decided we needed alternate arrangements. Luckily, my wife’s family has a farm. ever hear that the dog was sent up to the farm? This is literally what we did. My in-laws had a fenced in back yard, a large farm yard with plenty of opportunity to run and chase gophers and squirrels. Plus, I would get to see Molly any time we visited family. Despite the fact that Molly would have her home life changed for at least third time in her life, it was a win/win.
Molly was always generous with her affection
Molly has spent the past five years in the care of my mother-in-law. She took to her like she’s taken to everyone. She lived a god life and I like to think we did the best we could for her. I often think about where Molly would have ended up, had we not taken her in when the previous home gave her up. I’m glad we were able to keep her in a comfortable home and surrounded by people who loved her. Unfortunately and as is the case with everyone in life, time caught up to her. in the past year, her golden fur turned white. Her legs began to fail and could no longer support her. Like any loving family, we began to have the difficult conversations regarding what next steps may eventually be required.
in recent months, Molly also became incontinent. For anyone who’s ever had a pet, while it’s totally normal for there to be an occasional “accident” in the house, it becomes an obvious sign of an age issue that could no longer be ignored. During a recent trip to our family’s home, I asked that inquiries be made for final arrangements for Molly. I’ve come to find that most people view pets through one of two lenses; either they assume it’s “just an animal” (in which case, go fuck yourself) or they understand that when a pet becomes a part of the family, losing that pet can be as traumatic as any other loved one dying.
Reading on a rainy day
I was travelling for work last week when Molly’s appointment with her vet was scheduled. I reached Kindersley around lunch time after days of travelling and staying in a hotel. As expected, Molly greeted me at the door and I was given plenty of head bumps and sniffs while I gave her pets and cuddles. It only took a few minutes for her body to grow exhausted and she had to lie back down on her doggy bed. I had a few hours to spend with her. While she spent most of that time snoring and sleeping at my feet, I got see her, tell stories about her and take her for a short walk. Granted, she could barely walk out the back gate of the yard and up to the truck before needing to be carried but I got to take her for a walk one last time.
We had to pick her up and carefully load her into the back seat of my mother-in-law’s truck. She went in willingly enough. I mean, what dog doesn’t LOVE a car ride, right? We drove in silence, with the exception of my mother-in-law asking if I’d wanted to drive and my commenting on how I was able to look around and see what’s changed in Kindersley in recent years. We arrived at the vet clinic and lifted her out of the truck. The side door opened and Molly willingly walked up to the vet tech, tail wagging with familiarity. Much as she had been her entire life, she was accepting and friendly of everyone she encountered, even in the advent of what would come next.
Our last walk together
The difficult part for a dog is that unlike a person, they can’t tell us what’s wrong, what hurts and what the problem may be. It leaves their loved ones with the unfortunate responsibility of deciding that they’ve reach the end of this life for them. I’ve never had to experience of having a pet put down. I have to confess that my experience was far different from how I’ve had it described by others. The staff were completely transparent, explaining every step and wouldn’t take any of said steps without telling us first. She was given a sedative/pain killer that would relax her and numb any joint or limb pain that she was experiencing. It only took a couple of minutes for her to once agin be snoring at my feet.
Once the staff brought her into the procedure room, it was over within a couple of minutes. Given how peacefully and calmly she left this world, I felt we should all be so lucky. Even the vet staff all knew Molly, and commented on how they were one of their favourite visitors due to her friendliness, gentleness and demeanour. And that’s the mark she made on everyone she met. She was always the friendliest. She was the best doggy in the world. She wasn’t man’s best friend. She was EVERYONE’s best friend. It’s true what they say; we don’t deserve dogs.
I may never know everything that Molly had been through in her life. The first years of her life will forever be a mystery. While there is some possibility that her first years were difficult, she showed no signs of it throughout the years she was with us. And in one brief moment, it was over. Molly’s heart struck its last beat. But to the end, it beat strong and true with nothing but affection for those who cared for her. A finite number of heart beats. The story of everyone’s life always begins and ends in exactly the same way. It’s how we fill the chapters in between that make each of us unique. And Molly’s story was a solid one. Until we meet again, fur baby. ☯️
I don’t generally tend to comment on things, even when it relates to something specific that I have some knowledge about. There’s never been any real value in doing so, since it usually just results in an online argument with someone far less knowledgeable who’s always willing to actively pick a fight with another person from behind the relative safety of their laptop screen. Plus, when someone believes something, it’s usually very difficult to convince them otherwise.
I don’t often get negative comments on my blog posts but everything before now and again I’ll get someone on their soap box who seems intent on picking a fight. A notable example was a few years ago when I wrote a post about proteins and the consumption of meat, only to have some die-hard vegetarian basically denigrate the entire post, accuse me of following pseudo-science and claiming I was spreading false information. In case any one of you were wondering, this is one of the driving reasons why I always include a disclaimer that I’m not a doctor in any of my health or quasi-medical posts. Bu8t I digress…
The point behind bringing this up is because I follow a number of pages online dedicated to martial arts and more specifically, karate. And it absolutely kills me when I read the number of inaccuracy’s comments made by individuals who have likely never even studied martial arts. By virtue of this and through this lens, I’d like to provide my list of most common misconceptions surrounding karate that I’ve noted over the decades.
That’s a waste of time because you’d never do that in a real fight. I have a real problem with this kind of statement. While I can’t speak for every style, as I haven’t studied every style, nothing is wasted in karate. Every stance, every move, every strike and every technique is one piece of a significantly larger, overall puzzle that creates the muscle memory required to effectively defend yourself, should the need arise. When you see someone perform a kick straight up above their heads, the intention shouldn’t be to think “when would you ever kick someone like that?” Instead, you should consider that if the practitioner stretches and trains to kick perfectly at that height and level, it will be scores easier and more effective to perform the kick at a normal level. As I mentioned, nothing is wasted. Even if it only looks pretty and you may not use that specific technique in actual combat, it still serves a training and development purpose.
Fights can go on indefinitely. Hmm, that a big fuckin’ no… Look, I’m a big fan of martial arts movies (normally) and I enjoy watching them as much as the next guy but real talk, here. That big fight climax at the end of the movie where the two fighters go head to head for 30 minutes or more without stopping is categorically impossible. Anyone who has ever been in a real fight will tell you that the average run time for a real fight is about two or three minutes. And karate is no exception. The amount of energy and effort it takes not only to deliver effective strikes but to block incoming attacks will have your lungs seize and your muscles go lactic after a number of minutes. Setting aside for a moment that these fight portrayals include either of the fighters taking several strikes to the head and body and yet they seem to keep fighting without interruption.
Karate Doesn’t Work In Real Life/That Only Works in the Movies. I saved what is argumentatively not the best but the most important, for last. I’ve been fortunate to have never been severely injured during the course of my life but I have to admit that I’ve used karate A LOT! Either in the context of defending myself personally, defending others or in the course of my quasi-lengthy policing career, karate has saved my bacon (please hold all “pig” jokes) on more occasions than I can count. I’ve most often heard the argument that karate can’t stack up against other forms of “sport” combat like MMA. While I’ve never been a big fan of MMA, I’ve held a respect for it, as I would never see myself willingly sacrificing my body in that way. However, the concept of two willing participants rolling around and sweating on each other in biker shorts doesn’t quite appeal to me and doesn’t quite apply in the same self-defence context as karate would. But I digress… The bottom line is simply this: While form, karate and typically repetitive techniques may seem soft and ineffective and while one may not understand the dynamics of muscle memory and why it would help and certainly apply in a real-world context, I can confirm without any shadow of a doubt, that karate does in fact work as a martial art and a self-defence tool. I have my continued existence as proof.
That’s it for now, folks. A bit lengthy and a bit of a soap box post, but such is the way of it sometimes. The important thing to remember is not to believe everything you see in the movies but also don’t assume that martial arts doesn’t work. If anyone needs any further proof, I’m always looking for someone to train with. I’d be more than happy to share my knowledge. ☯️
It’s no secret that the pandemic changed the world in a very measurable and noticeable way. Between distancing rules, effects on peoples’ jobs and finances and the fact that everyone STILL hasn’t recovered rom everything just goes to show how much of an impact COVID-19 has had on the world. One of the most interesting results of the pandemic is remote work. All of sudden, people had to work from home for the first time. And for the most part, it was mostly positive. Peoples’ productivity increased (in most cases), absenteeism lowered and it was realized that a significant portion of the working world could still perform their jobs from the comfort of their homes with very little issue. Oh, there are plenty of employers who fought this and imposed conditions and restrictions, most with very little success. And to be clear, there are obviously some jobs that can’t be done remotely.
From my perspective, working from home is problematic at best. My bloody ADHD makes it extremely difficult to focus at the best of times but trying to do it from home is even worse. I’ll be working on something work related then think “I should start a load of laundry while I’m here…” or grab some lunch in my kitchen and think “Maybe I should get these dishes done while I’m at it…” And before you know it, I’m burning through the work day on stuff that should be done after hours. Another issue is my son. I’m blessed with a red-headed 5-year old son who, once he realizes that I’m actually home, clings to my hip, making it difficult to properly sit through meetings or get any measurable work done. I absolutely adore my son but the added stress of trying to get work done as opposed to playing with him and accepting his hugs makes going into the office important. Plus, working from a small laptop screen as opposed to two large, tandem screens isn’t ideal.
About two weeks ago, I developed a bit of problematic cough. Typically this wouldn’t be a concern. After all, I tend to get sick at the drop of a hat, given I have Type-1 Diabetes. It’s not unusual during the winter months for me to catch a cold and/or get sick at least three or four times. But after a number of days and realizing the cough wasn’t subsiding, I started to realize it may be something more. Last year around this time, I developed a lung infection that progressed to bronchitis. A round of steroids, antibiotics and using an inhaler for the first time in my life, coupled with about two months of lost time hacking and throwing up FROM my lungs (yes, you read that right). One can’t throw up directly from the lungs, of course, since they’re not set up to expel like the stomach. But coughing hard enough can trigger vomiting.
How does this relate to the remote work aspect? I promise I’m getting there… For almost two weeks now, I’ve been mostly working from home. It couldn’t be avoided, as most office staff don’t appreciate their boss hacking and coughing all over the bloody place. And whether I have something contagious or not, it still doesn’t alleviate the anxiety of having someone ill within one’s midsts. So, with the inclusion of a second large screen at home, I’ve been on meds and recovering while working remotely. And I’ve come to realize that the modern world basically allows for one to live entirely from the comfort of one’s home without ever having to step foot outside. I’m not saying I want that, am into that or enjoy that but it’s a realization nonetheless.
Need groceries? Order them online and have them delivered? Prescriptions? Same thing; most modern pharmacies have a delivery service. Anything you could possibly want to purchase can be bought online and delivered right to one’s door. Even one’s banking and finances can be accomplished online. Of course, this brings a significant amount of risk that is lessened by performing these tasks in person. Being delivered the wrong goods, being incorrectly charged, being defrauded by online scammers… The list goes on. But as long as your careful and do things right, one could potentially live out their days from the comfort of their home without ever having to leave. Provided your job allows you to work remotely on a permanent basis.
There is a certain allure to this concept and some of the positives could almost make it worth it. As long as there are no outlying factors at play, you could save significant cost by not owning a vehicle, which requires gas, insurance and registration overhead. Grocery shopping becomes about what you need instead of walking the aisles and grabbing impulse buys that you didn’t go in for. The same can be said for any retail location or business you may walk into. However, one could argue that home utility costs may be a bit higher, since you are running power and utilities throughout the work day instead of being in an office. I’m not sure which of those options would cost more on a month-to-month basis, but it’s a consideration.
Now, I’m not saying this is what I want to do. My specific job wouldn’t allow me to work remotely on an indefinite basis anyway. All I’m saying is that for one who is well-positioned to do so, one could enjoy their years from the comfort of their home without ever having to leave. With everything purchased online and delivered, one could find themselves in a position where they wouldn’t have to leave unless they wanted to. And from a very small, silent corner of my brain, the concept is appealing. And who knows? By the time I retire, that just might be how I spend my final years. Just chilling inside my home, binge-watching Star Trek movies and smoking cogars in my backyard. Time will certainly tell… ☯️
The Blogging Buddhist 