Author: mckillop_vfr@yahoo.ca

August 9: I wish that I owned the geranium franchise for western Europe. Virtually everywhere I go there are planters and window boxes stuffed to overflowing with the things. There are millions of them. And these are not your emaciated, straggly specimens that occasionally adorn Toronto’s gardens. These are flourishing, healthy plants that bespeak careful maintenance and continuing care. I think those geraniums tell us that Europeans interact with public spaces in their towns and cities differently than we do in North America.

North Americans generally aspire to home ownership. Sociologists might tell you that this reflects the “pioneering” mentality that was established when our country was young: As immigrants, we all wanted a piece of land to call our own, after being denied that opportunity in Europe (or where ever we came from). A home is paramount to many people and it has become a focal point in their lives. It’s where we live, but it’s also usually where we entertain and gather with friends. Our rallying cry is: “Come over for dinner. We’ll have drinks and a barbecue”.

On the other hand, Europeans have a rich history of gathering with friends outside their home. The restaurants and cafes are where you go to meet your friends and neighbours, to see and be seen. Public spaces are heavily used and there’s a certain formality to gathering. Friends are acknowledged, hands are shaken or cheeks air-kissed before sitting down. Gossip ensues. When I came into this square in Bretten Germany, the chattering was so loud and consistent that it reminded me of a hen house.

Even young children seem to grasp that this is a different place where acting out is not acceptable. It seems to me that they are treated more like small adults when in public places, unlike many North American children who seem to be allowed to run amok, as if wait-staff are also part-time babysitters.

If my thesis is correct, the North American focus on socializing in private means that we attach little significance to our public realm (streets, parks and space around buildings) and generally have low expectations for what it should be. The result is that we are given low quality design, and poor maintenance which has allowed much of our public infrastructure to become shoddy and unkempt.  As tourists, we love to sit in the cafes and restaurants, but as citizens we are undemanding. As a result, there are few really excellent public spaces in Toronto: Berczy Park in the St. Lawrence neighbourhood is a notable exception.

Europeans live outside their homes and have higher expectations of public spaces and are more aware of good design and the things that make for really comfortable public spaces. They know that they make a contribution to life in the streets when they do even modest things – like plant a beautiful window box full of geraniums.

August 4: A theme that I didn’t include in the following post for the sake of brevity was the role strangers have played in helping me solve many of my problems. The woman at Lufthansa who gave me the name of a competing private operator; the woman selling the SIM card for my phone who spent a half hour trying to reassure me that the card would work in other countries; the guys who stopped when I crashed and, of course, friends and family at home who have been uniformly thoughtful and supportive as I stagger from one “adventure” to another, Many people pitched in with help or answers that got me on my way even though they could have chosen not to do so. This is something I’m going to try to remember next time I see someone in Toronto staring at a map and trying to figure out where the hell they are.

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The mirror mentioned below is now installed. It did indeed take more than two hours because I waited almost that long for the work to begin. Although I had an appointment for 2:00, work didn’t actually start until closer to 4:00. I left the dealership around 5:00 about 250 Euro lighter, and started looking for a room. When one did turn up I unpacked my toiletries only to discover that some moisture had gotten into my prescription bottle of Crestor and turned it into a soggy pink goop. Sigh.

August 1: Old goofs like me may remember a TV program called That Was The Week That Was. It was a British satirical news program, originated by folks like David Frost and ultimately cancelled because it was seen to go beyond the bounds of good taste. I liked it. Herewith, then, a brief review of my week that was:

Thursday: On arriving at Frankfurt Airport and doing the usual procedural thingies, I set out to find the Lufthansa shuttle to Heidelberg. Walking across the terminal I did find a Lufthansa bus, but only to Strasbourg. On inquiring at their counter, helpfully located on the other side of the terminal, I was told that there was no shuttle to Heidelberg. It had been cancelled. After discovering that I was 5 minutes late for a train to Heidelberg, I was directed to another shuttle bus which, with genuine Teutonic efficiency, departed the airport and sat in a 35 minute traffic jam. In the afternoon I collected my bike and discovered that the gear I had stowed in the saddlebags last autumn (Helmet, boots, bag liners) had been slightly damp and had grown a modest colony of mildew. Scrubbing ensued at the hotel to limited effect.

Friday: After 4 attempts, I found the Honda guy who serviced the bike last autumn. He was in the next village and it took 70 km of gas going back and forth to finally find the shop. I needed to buy a rain jacket, but his shop had none, and he wasn’t there. I could have just called…

Then I attempted to find a Lycamobile shop to buy a new SIM for my phone. First guy says I need a new SIM in every country. Second guy says no, I need to log in to the company and have them re-set the phone every time. Third person, a kind and open woman from Laos, made 3 phone calls and confirmed that it would work in every country. She even directed me to Vodafone to see if they had a better card and when they didn’t, I bought the SIM from her.

Saturday: I started my first “real” day on the road with a trip to Mannheim to buy a rain jacket. That accomplished I headed south and crashed about a half hour later. I was attempting to cross from an off ramp back onto the highway and assumed that the grass verge was level with the road. It was not. Physics took over and down I went, breaking a mirror in the process. Thankfully there was no traffic on the highway, and a couple of guys stopped to make sure I was okay. So back to the Honda shop where they removed the mirror (after 4 hours of dicking around) and I discovered that my debit card did not work.

Sunday: With a new mirror ordered and time to kill, I took a “day off” and did a short run, some sketching and reading.

Monday: Headed further south in the morning, through the wine areas of Alsace and the Vosges mountains. At the end of the day I logged in to this computer and got a message that Windows could not be opened without re-installing the operating program which, not surprisingly, I wasn’t carrying around with me, or by resetting the programs and losing all of my personal data. I picked door number 2 and after an hour or so of cursing and watching data be cleansed, I have a computer which is mostly operational. For now …

Then I called my Credit Union to sort out the debit card and was told that they could find nothing wrong. The fact that it still didn’t work when I tried again and called back, was a mystery that remains to this day.

Tuesday: Started heading north through the Black Forest in anticipation of the mirror arriving in Mannheim. Stopped for gas a short time later and on arriving at the hotel that night, discovered I had left my passport at the gas station. After calling the Consulate and finding it closed (it’s open Monday 8 to 1 and Wednesday 1 to 6) I managed to find a number for the gas bar and called only to be told that yes, indeed, they did have the passport.

Wednesday: What looked to be about 125 km on the AutoRoute back to the gas bar was in fact longer because the kind woman at the hotel sent me to the interchange by way of Stalingrad.  Four hours and 3 traffic jams later, I was home with passport in hand. And the thunderstorm I went through wasn’t really that bad.

So that was the first week that was, and it already feels like a month. I’m hoping to actually get the mirror done tomorrow but the verdict is still out. The service guy wants to disassemble the fairing and that “might take 2 or more hours”. We are negotiating.

July 20: With only a few days left before my departure for Europe, “end stage panic” has set in. Admittedly, all of the big pieces – the flights, the trains, the apartment-sitting and so forth – are all in place. But there’s always the nagging fear that something will fall through the cracks. Discovering what that will be is one of the unknowns we face when travelling and – I’m told – solving those problems is all part of “the adventure”.

When I say that I am leaving for two months to ride my motorcycle in Europe I can see the thought bubble form over peoples’ heads: “I wish I could afford that !” And indeed I’m in the fortunate position of having the money to be able to travel, due mostly to my parents’ financial acumen and part of a City pension more than my own monetary ability.

After the cost issue is covered, the next question is usually “Where are you going ?” While I do have a very general route in mind, I don’t have a specific timetable or itinerary to follow ( other than meeting friends on specific dates ). I’ve learned that my enjoyment is really all about seeing what’s around the next corner. I follow my nose and although some days it’s not rewarding, others provide pleasant surprises like here in Brantes, with Mont Ventoux in the background. And a loose schedule provides the opportunity to “take a day off” when it’s raining or my butt just can’t stand another 300 km day. In my view, the greatest benefit to travelling for an extended time is the ability to just take a day and relax, rather than rushing from place to place to fit it all into a 2 or 3 week “vacation”.

The risk of travelling (mostly alone) by motorcycle is another issue which frequently arises. Each of us accepts a level of risk in everything we do. Sadly, as we found out earlier this year, we can be killed walking down Yonge Street. It seems pretty obvious that I am prepared to accept a higher level of risk than some people simply because I ride a motorcycle. That risk exists whether I ride it here or in the French Alps. Admittedly, Yonge Street is not bordered by a low wall and a 500 meter drop into a canyon, so that is why I ride well within my safety envelope when those conditions exist.

Toward the end of the trip, my friend Kate and I will be joining a bigger group at a  rental house near Avignon, and then spending a few short days in Paris. It’s been some time since she was last in Europe, so I’m looking forwards to sharing some time and adventures with her as she reacquaints herself with the “European experience”. For now though, I just need to finish my “to-do” list.

June 30: Age has a way of sneaking up on us. Time passes without us noticing and suddenly, we are decades older than we believe. I remember my own Father saying that he didn’t feel 60, and I now understand what he meant. While there are markers along the road, like birthdays and retirement, we change in imperceptible ways and incrementally over time so it’s not a sudden and jarring event: Now I am old.

These thoughts went through my mind as my friend Kate and I went to Massey Hall last week to see Mavis Staples. Massey Hall is a lesson in aging in itself: What was once state of the art is now a relic of bygone days. It’s about to undergo a major renovation, overseen by KPMB – the architects who did Koerner Hall – so I’m really hopeful that the end result will be really special. The artist’s renderings of the project seem to point in that direction.

Mavis Staples is now 79 years old. She began singing almost 60 years ago as part of a group – the Staple Singers – with her Father and sisters. During her show, she mentioned that they were on the march to Selma with Martin Luther King in 1965. Romantically linked to Bob Dylan at one point, she has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (1999) and the Blues Hall of Fame (2017), so this is a woman who has clearly had a “full and wonderful life”. But time marches on, and at one point in the show she left the stage, with a little help, for a short intermission.

That said, she still has a great set of pipes, and amazing stamina for someone in their eightieth decade. I was impressed and began wondering if I would be capable of something similar in my next decade. I remarked to Kate that it was pretty impressive for someone “just 10 years older than me” – practically a contemporary.

A couple of younger voices emerged from behind as we walked along Shuter Street. One kid said that it had been a great show but that Mavis “reminded him of his Great-grandmother”. Kate and I had a great laugh, and I thought about the old expression that you are as old as you think you are. Perhaps as age creeps up on me, I could do worse than follow the example that Mavis sets: live with principles, commit wholeheartedly to worthwhile things, and do something you love passionately.

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The following week, Kate and I took in a performance by jazz musician Herbie Hancock. He’s “only” 78 years old and, like Mavis, has been involved with music since he played with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra when he was 11. He too plays with passion and a commitment to exploring new areas of jazz. Perhaps there’s a fundamental truth here ….

June 4: Three days remain before Ontarians head to the polls to elect a new Provincial government. By all accounts, it will be a close race with the Conservatives and the New Democrats virtually tied in popular support; how this plays out in actual seats in the legislature remains unclear. It is clear that voters are faced with stark alternatives between the contenders, yet we have absolutely minimal information upon which to weight options and make an intelligent choice.

I am by nature and profession a bit of a “policy wonk”. I believe that words have meaning and that sound policy is what guides government activity. So it is shocking and alarming to me that Doug Ford can simply spout slogans and facile statements and claim that they are policy upon which he will govern. It’s very clear that he really doesn’t understand how government operates, and I doubt that he has any real interest in learning. His “fully-costed” platform turns out to be little more than dollar amounts against his campaign promises, with no information on the expenditure cuts or revenue changes that would be necessary to implement them.

The New Democratic Party is little better. Although they have greater policy depth and a leader who has experience in the legislature, their policy proposals amount to around $10 Billion in additional expenditure without an indication of how that additional expenditure will ultimately be paid off.

This brings me to an issue that gets almost no attention during the campaign yet has significant and dire implications for every person living in Ontario and Canada as a whole: government debt. In a research bulletin published in 2017, the Fraser Institute concluded that net Federal ($287.6 Billion) and Provincial ($317.9 Billion) debt totaled $605.5 Billion or roughly $43,300 per person in the province. Not only has there been no insightful discussion of different policy options and the cost of their implementation, there has been nothing said by any of the parties about the true cost of their platform, and how they will pay for it.

All three parties propose deficit budgets with some effort made to return to a balanced budget only later in the term. The Liberals in particular have an atrocious record of managing government spending, having turned the Provincial electricity sector into a boondoggle of monumental proportions – one that we and our children will be paying to cover for decades. None of the parties offers any indication of what they might do should the economy suddenly tank, an event made increasingly likely given the current tariff tussle – apparently it’s not a war yet – going on in Washington.

How is a sensible and thoughtful citizen expected to make a reasonable choice with such limited information ? Without real debate on policy options, and a full understanding of what they will cost, it seems very much like guess work on election day. It should not be so. But perhaps, given most people’s complete lack of understanding or interest in politics, we get what we deserve.

https://www.fraserinstitute.org/sites/default/files/cost-of-government-debt-in-canada-2017.pdf

May 21:

“When you boldly go where you haven’t been before, that’s when life becomes truly fulfilling.”

I’ve recently attended a number of events at the Hot Docs Cinema on Bloor Street. Before each film they show a short promotional film with clips from some of the features of the past, which includes a brief glimpse of George Takei uttering the above quote. Although I have now seen the clip many times, it still invokes an emotional reaction every time I see it.

I was raised in an environment where the future was often uncertain. I was not by nature an overly confident person, and that uncertainty caused me to believe that I had to anticipate the things that might happen, and protect myself by being ready to deal with whatever outcomes arose. I expected the worst and made plans. While that is still my nature to a certain extent, I am gradually getting better at understanding that I can not foresee events or control outcomes even with the best of plans. So Takei’s quote is a great reminder to simply “boldly go” and let life take care of itself.

The Hot Docs Festival featured a film on Bill Murray and his propensity for turning up in unexpected places: photobombing wedding pictures; doing dishes at a frat-house party; tending bar in South Carolina. During the film, there are many talking heads discussing why he would do it so often. There’s clearly no ego involved. He seems to simply facilitate others’ enjoyment of the event and then quietly disappear without a lot of fanfare. Toward the end the hypothesis is made that his training in stand-up improvisational comedy has taught him to cultivate the ability to say “yes” to a proposition and then follow along to see where it takes him.

By being open and then accepting the danger of being unable to fully control the outcome, he makes himself available to a wide range of potential events and outcomes that can be beneficial to himself and those around him. While there is always the risk of looking foolish or worse – perhaps easier to accept if you are a comedian by profession – that attitude must open up a huge range of experience and opportunity that is not available to the more cautious among us.

I know from experience that I subconsciously say no to doing things which would be unusual for me and probably a lot of fun. So I am trying to acknowledge those opportunities when they cross my path and to take advantage of as many as possible. It’s not easy. My preference for safety, security and routine are often difficult to overcome, yet I’m aware that there may be few (perhaps very few) opportunities left for me to expand my horizons. Recently I have attempted to suppress my caution and boldly go into new experiences and opportunities and let the chips fall where they may. So far, as Takei said, it has been very fulfilling.

 

May 9: One of my work-mates at the former City of Etobicoke would often say that it was never officially Spring until the Saucer Magnolias had come into bloom. With that in mind, I offer this picture of the gigantic specimen at the end of my street, and proclaim that Spring has (finally) arrived. Time to start wearing shorts and drinking rosé.

By comparison, Spring was declared last year on April 28, with the note that the date was 10 days earlier than 2016. So, even with the seemingly endless colder weather and ice storms, we seem to be right in the ballpark of opening days (to belabor a metaphor…)

April 24:  Toronto lost a degree of innocence yesterday when a young man in a van plowed through crowds on Yonge Street killing 10 and injuring 15 more. I say a “degree of innocence” because I believe that many people felt that an attack of some sort was just a matter of time. Toronto, as the largest city in the country, is an obvious target and it seemed to be only a matter of time before something happened.

People have experienced a range of emotion. Some are angry, some sad. If I feel anger it is because this is such a senseless act – so selfish and unnecessary. But I am also angry because this appears to have been the act of a man with mental health issues and the system did not provide him enough support, and did not identify his intention to do harm before the fact. So ten people paid with their lives.

Many people are sad. Even though they may not be affected personally, I think we feel sadness because we know intuitively that we have all lost something we value deeply: the security and openness that we feel as Torontonians. Most of us felt that terror attacks and the random shooters common in the United States happened to others, not to us. Now we’ve lost that sense of distance and perhaps even smugness that gave us the unreasonable belief that we were somehow different and would therefore escape the emotion of an assault.

Several weeks ago, an horrific bus crash in Humboldt Saskatchewan killed 14 people. While it was shocking and saddening for the rest of Canada, it felt like an “accident” that happened at a distance that somehow removed it from having an immediate and direct impact on our lives. I was shocked and amazed to see that a crowd-funding effort had netted more than $10 million to support the victims’ families. At more or less the same time, a bus went off the road in India killing 23 students, yet I couldn’t find a gofundme page for them.

Dozens of people seem to die every day as a result of horrible accidents, suicide bombs or terrorist attacks. Their lives are no less valuable than ours, yet the distance and frequency of such attacks makes them somehow less significant: Just another bomb in Syria. Toronto has been lucky to avoid an attack, until now. And while it was not a “terrorist attack” in the literal sense, we did lose our innocence and have woken up to the potential damage that a “real” attack could do. Many other cities and countries live with this reality every day.

Toronto often seeks to be “world-class” and perhaps now more than ever before, that may be true. We have learned that we have the same potential to be a target as Paris or Brussels or Barcelona or London or Beirut or …

Further reading: https://www.theglobeandmail.com/canada/toronto/article-the-truths-canada-needs-to-remember/

April 15: Frequent reader(s) will know that I have been learning to play the electric bass, so it’s exciting to announce that I had a recording gig last night at Koerner Hall with the Hot Sardines. Based in New York, the Hot Sardines play funked up jazz written by everyone from Al Jolson and Sophie Tucker to Duke Ellington. The concert was recorded for a future CD and, along with 1,134 other souls, I will be on it, making a continuing contribution to musical history in Toronto. The band includes trombone, trumpet, reeds (clarinet and sax), drums, bass, piano and a singer.  And a tap-dancer.

At first, the tap-dancer seems a bit odd. He sits in the middle of the band with his arms hanging over the side of his chair, quietly tapping away to the rhythm of the song. At some times, with the shifting feet and flailing arms he looks a bit like a man having a seizure, but when the solo arrives ( does one “solo” on taps ? ) he leaps up and belts out a texture that adds a new dimension to the music. At this point he looks more like a demented marionette on black ice, but it all works.

My musical weekend started the night before when I played at Chamber Sweets, an event put together by the New Horizons Band. Chamber Sweets is a concert to promote small groups of musicians from within the NHBT organization. Students form a group, pick the music and rehearse a short number. Each band is limited to 2 minutes, and there’s a wide diversity of music given the range of experience and ability within the NHBT universe.

My band chose a version of Pachelbel Canon in D Major played on trumpet, French horn and bass. It was arranged with my bass doing a 4 bar solo introduction: 8 notes in total repeated throughout the piece. I managed 7 of the 8 notes, skipping one in the middle somewhere. Arriving at the beginning again, I recalled our instructor saying that if you make a mistake, the best thing to do is own it and continue playing like there’s nothing wrong. Which I did. Having managed all 8 notes the second time through, the rest of the group joined in and we had a more or less uneventful performance from then on.

As I listened to the other bands I realized that most people made some sort of mistake during their performance. Some were more noticeable than others, but none were fatal to the outcome. It reminded me that music is an art-form that must be performed. You can look at the notes on a page and have some idea of how it might sound but until it is actually played by musicians – mistakes and all – it is lifeless. It is in the playing and interpretation that it gains life.

Even my band-mates in the Hot Sardines have miscues: The tap dancer sat thrashing in his chair through a half-bar when he should have had the lead. So it gives me comfort to know that, as I practice for next years performance with them at Koerner Hall, my best is good enough. I will never be error free. That’s part of what makes performing music so exciting.