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May 8: Spring is a time of rebirth, of hopefulness and potential. I find it a very positive time, full of the possibility of better things to come. Recently though, I’ve been considering some of the things I already have. The first draft of this blog read like a Hollywood “thank-you-for-the-award” speech, for there are many specific people who have had a significant and positive impact on my well-being. Rather than list them all, and risk missing someone important, I’ve decided on a brief list of things for which I am grateful.

Health: Although I have been hobbled for the last month or so with a sprained ankle, my overall physical and mental health is quite good. I believe I am in a good place emotionally and spiritually, and I have a positive outlook. I’m active and engaged physically and mentally.

Friends: At retirement, many people lose most of their friends. I have consciously tried to retain as many friends from the City as I can. We spent many years together so we have common memories. There’s no need for that relationship to end simply because we are not at work any more.

I am in Alanon because of my Father’s drinking. I have many friends in the program, and a few closer friends I see outside meetings to share support and insight. They keep me focussed on what’s important and right for me.

I’ve also made good friends with a few people in the neighbourhoods where I have lived. Since I moved, this has taken a bit of extra effort, but I still appreciate staying in touch. And there are my really close friends – “the gang” as my Mother used to call them before gangs became a cultural problem. These are the guys I have known forever – some since public school – and who know where the skeletons are buried. We don’t connect often but when we do we share a real affection and concern for each others’ well-being that I value deeply.

Family: My Mother is in her 94th year, and although her memory has begun to slip, she’s still in pretty good shape physically. She’s the one that tried to shelter us from Dad’s drinking, and provide a consistent and loving foundation during our early years. We are lucky to still have her in our lives.

My sister Nancy is a rock. She’s an anchor for me and I am glad that we remain close. She has been there for me at times when others were not available, and her support and love is something I cherish. Her family is a source of inspiration and joy. It’s pretty nice to be the old, weird uncle that gets invited to dinner on special occasions.

My cousin James has been my “brother by a different Mother”. We’ve known each other literally since birth. We are not alike, yet we have shared so much positive energy and growth in our lives, it’s hard to imagine where I would be today without him in my life.

And Marisa, my lovely and wonderful daughter. I realize now that I was not the most attentive Father when she was younger. But we are close today, and it feels like our relationship grows closer each time we get together. I treasure the times we spend together as adults – not Father and Daughter –  sharing lunch and a laugh. Of course, two adorable grand-daughters are a good reason to get together…..

I realize that none of this is earth-shaking. We all have things in our lives that are positive, but sometimes it’s easy to lose sight of them. Maybe with Spring cleaning you can dust off a few of your own.

April 17: I have tried to stay away from commentary on politics or news events. Instead, other than a couple of personal observations about Rob Ford, I’ve tried to provide some diversion or “entertainment” and left the pondering of weighty matters to you. But with the revelations of the crisis in Attawapiskat earlier this week, I feel obliged to say a few things.

I’m aware that there is a long and chequered history of relationships between our peoples and there is some “blame” for the current situation on both sides. That said, our treatment of the First Nations is a travesty. We have tolerated Aboriginal communities with no running water, no sanitary services, no schools, poor housing, lack of access to health care and social services for many decades. It’s complete hypocrisy that we continue to abide third-world conditions in First Nations communities while criticising other countries for their human rights failures.

We stumble from crisis to crisis, apparently lacking a national strategy for making meaningful improvements to the lives of our first citizens. Prime Minister Trudeau has promised a more thorough and considered approach to the situation, and I hope he will deliver, yet I’m cynical enough to feel that we will again be caught in the morass of history and politics and that nothing much will be accomplished. Why does it have to be this way?

Through our elected government we (the taxpayers) are about to spend significant amounts of our money on infrastructure and other measures in an effort to get the economy moving, and I suspect that a majority of Canadians would support spending a large portion of that money to rectify the long-standing issues in aboriginal communities.

If we’re going to be spending billions on infrastructure, why not build sanitary sewers and water systems, roads and air/rail connections to native communities as a priority? Why not train First Nations to build them and housing and schools? They would learn portable skills, and become employed and employable. Why are we not using First Nations communities to model non-carbon energy generation? Surely there’s an opportunity to wean these communities off diesel-generated power in favour of small-scale hydro, geothermal, wind and solar power installations. It might be a showcase for Canadian technology and a good example of what we should all be trying to accomplish.

Why are we not looking for creative ways to support these communities with health care and social services professionals when they are obviously so critically needed? At the moment, many communities lack basic shelter for health care workers, and the pay is not great, so there’s no incentive to go north. The opportunity of meaningful service needs to be cast in a way that overcomes the potential isolation and makes it more appealing than other alternatives in the south. What about refocusing Katimavik or creating similar opportunities for young Canadians to go north and be of service for a year between high school and university? It would benefit them, the communities they attend, and build bridges for the next generation of leaders.

We also need to find a way to deal comprehensively with the fallout from the residential schools fiasco, including teaching it as part of Canadian history classes and providing appropriate and meaningful social services and addictions supports.

Easy to say. Hard to do. Much of what I say is naïve and devoid of any real understanding of the situation, but  I don’t feel that I am alone in wanting to see meaningful progress to address the horrendous state of affairs we see in First Nations communities. I can only hope that the crisis in Attawapiskat marks a new beginning, rather than another failed opportunity.

April 13:  I arrived home from the Dominican Republic at 3:30 AM Saturday, only to discover that the temperature was -3C and there was  still snow in the driveway. Admittedly, shorts were a bad fashion choice, but really – it’s supposed to be spring. Obviously, one hackneyed photograph of a robin doth not a Spring make, but here are some things that do…

Dirt: About a week ago, a flat-bed truck arrived at the Valu-Mart and proceeded to unload the year’s supply of dirt. Not just any dirt. Some of this stuff is top-of-the-line President’s Choice dirt.  I would have thought that a neighbourhood developed almost a hundred years ago would be pretty well supplied with dirt, but apparently it’s not. It will all be gone from the store in a month or so.

Amen Corner: Dad being a golfer meant that I was exposed to the Master’s Golf Tournament very early in life. At first, it didn’t mean much, especially on a black and white TV. But later I came to see it as a full-colour harbinger of Spring.  It’s held in Augusta, Georgia, so the plants and gardens are a few weeks “ahead of schedule” compared to Ontario. The place is gorgeous. I think it’s the prettiest course on the Tour, although Pebble Beach looks pretty good too. The Masters is the first golf “major” of the year and it always reminds me of Dad and gets me thinking about dragging out the clubs and getting ready for the golf season. That said, I played once last year.

Colour: I don’t think that Toronto is a particularly “colourful” city. Our restrained Anglo Saxon heritage defined us as solid and dignified as opposed to flamboyant and outgoing. Winter makes the situation even worse; everything fades to a flat grey or brown. With Spring comes a resurgence of natural colour that changes everything. And then there’s the annual ritual of buying trays of pansies and geraniums….

Rabbits: We are blessed here at Garden Court to have a family of rabbits in the main courtyard. Although they are usually quite timid, I looked out a few weeks back to see one chowing down on the new growth on the hedge. Yesterday I saw a pair cavorting on the front lawn. They were obviously not interested in feeding.

So in spite of the cooler weather, Spring can’t be that far off. With that in mind, I’m off to get my motorcycle out of storage. And buy some dirt.

March 28: A friend recently sent along a link to a post on Torontoist related to the passing of Rob Ford which essentially said that our late Mayor was a disaster for the City and the democratic process ( http://torontoist.com/2016/03/373870/ ). Although I agree for the most part with that view, I do have a great deal of respect for Rob Ford the man, who apparently brought his addictions and lifestyle under control for the year or so before his death. That he should die without having time to enjoy that achievement with his young family seems particularly cruel, yet none of us truly knows how long we have remaining.

I had the great privilege of working with many politicians, of all stripes, when I was with the City. They are a unique breed: committed, passionate, egotistical and determined, they can also be stubborn, obtuse and malevolent. Ford was raised in a political family and was clearly part of the “elites” he fought so hard to oppose. He apparently went door-to-door with his Father as a child to meet constituents. This became his trademark as Councillor:  He was well-known for answering his own phone, returning all his messages and arriving on the doorstep to solve problems. This may be wonderful for getting elected, but it’s ultimately useless for running the city efficiently.

Ford was never a deep thinker. He operated on assumptions, stereotypes and a truculent support for those he perceived to be aggrieved. I never had the impression from dealing with him that he had a clear understanding of how the City actually operated, or a vision of how he might make it better beyond the mantras of “stopping the gravy train” and building “subways, subways, subways.” In a city as complex as Toronto, we needed a Mayor who could provide a clear vision of the future and inspire action to get us there. Ford had none of that.

As Mayor, where Council procedures allowed him the opportunity to introduce important resolutions as priorities, he was tongue-tied and seemingly unable to use the opportunity to make a strong case and inspire Council to the cause. Instead, he was divisive and confrontational – a situation that only got worse when his addictions got out of hand. In a public meeting one night, Ford said to me: “politics is a blood-sport and God I love it.” He certainly behaved that way. It often seemed to me that spoiling for a fight was more important than doing the right thing for the city as a whole. He was frequently the only member of Council to vote against a measure, and while I understand that he may have felt that there was a principle involved, he could and should have been working to advance a more consistent and clear vision of the outcome he supported.

Ironically, voter participation in the last 2 elections has been at new record levels. During the first election he rallied Ford Nation to get elected; the second election I believe people rallied themselves to make sure he was booted out. Whatever the case, I can only hope that the sideshow he created helped people to realize the importance of good municipal governance – arguably the government with the most direct impact on day-to-day life in the city – and that this will be his lasting legacy.

 

Photo by Christopher Drost / Torontoist

 

March 15: I frequently hear myself say “I’m not really a bird guy, but…” right before I launch into some story about a siting or the behaviour of birds. What I really mean is that I don’t track birds for a “lifetime list”, and I don’t really know about migration patterns or nesting habits and such. But I do try to be aware of the birds around me because I think we can learn things from them (and the rest of nature, for that matter).

When I lived in the Lakeshore, I had a feeding station in the yard during the Winter. It attracted the usual list of suspects: Sparrows, Chickadees, Finches, Goldfinches, Nuthatches, Cardinals and sometimes a Blue Jay or two. If you were alert, you might also see Cedar Waxwings and Grosbeaks that seemed to appear for a day or two and then were gone – presumably migrating through. Their behaviours were all a bit different and it was fun to watch the different birds feeding and then moving along.

One day I looked out to see a hawk sitting on the deck, clearly looking at the feeders as the bird-equivalent of a buffet. While I know that predation happens all the time in nature, I must say that I was not unhappy to see that he left without lunch that day. The incident reminded me that my feathered friends really only have one purpose in their lives: to procreate. They absolutely don’t care if it’s Monday, rainy or sunny or -34 C. They don’t have a new car, or a nice apartment or a great wardrobe. They just have to eat, avoid being killed for another day, and ultimately, make babies. They are not concerned about much else.

I think most of us have far too many possessions. We develop emotional attachments to “things” that tie us to places and behaviours that might not be appropriate to our lifestyle. Many of my friends are “downsizing” and facing the sorting and boxing and recycling that goes with it.  I went through that process last year when I moved and I found it cathartic even though I still have far too much “stuff” hanging around.

Over the weekend there was an eloquent article in the Globe written by Danielle Meder, a 33-year-old woman who had recently lost her Mother; resigned her job in favour of self-employment; ended a relationship that was holding her back; ended the lease on her apartment in favour of moving overseas; and sold off most of her possessions so that she could leave for Europe. She ends her article writing:

“To pack a single suitcase for a journey with no return was more difficult. I have a small but heavy bag with all the equipment I need to work. To wear, I have a tightly edited selection of my best clothes. Everything feels great – silk and cashmere and angora, a little black dress and good hosiery and real lingerie – and everything goes together. For the first time in my life, it is impossible to put together a bad outfit. Every time I get dressed, I am ready to meet my professional or romantic destiny. Or I’ll just get lost in the city, alone and free.”

While cleaning up I’m sure many of us have dreamed about doing exactly what she did, though I know of nobody who has actually done so. And such a radical step is probably unrealistic for most of us in any event. So maybe we need to focus a little more on the living of a good life day-to-day, and less on the trappings that tie us down. Perhaps then we too might be, dare I say, free as a bird ?

March 10: There was an obituary in the paper today for George Martin who died March 8 at the ripe old age of 90. Martin signed the Beatles to the Parlophone label after virtually every other record producer in the England  had turned them down. He was apparently not impressed at first, calling them a good regional dance band. But he is credited with taking them from humble beginnings to being what was arguably the best (rock and roll) band of all time.

As a trained musician he could actually write musical scores – something none of the Beatles could do. He introduced them to orchestral instruments, and then to the mysteries of the recording studio and the wizardry of mixing tapes. He had a very direct influence on their style and was often called the “fifth Beatle”. According to the obit, he listened to the first recording of Please Please Me and felt it was too slow. The Beatles had written it as a tribute to Roy Orbison, but he felt it would be more effective at a faster pace. As he then recorded it, the song was their first break-out hit in March 1963 and the first number 1 album in the UK. Over the next 3 years, they released an astounding 17 albums. While some were obviously compilations and others were available only in specific markets (ie. Germany), measured by today’s standards, the output is incredible.

That productivity might have been made a bit easier by the fact that much of the music was pretty straightforward rock and roll with typical chord structures and harmonies. The accepted knowledge of the day was that songs should be no more than 3 minutes long. But even with those limitations, one could sense the music changing with each new release. By 1966, they were beginning to imagine whole new musical directions and technical innovations. I remember it as a very hopeful and imaginative time.

In June 1967 they released Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band which was said to have taken an equally astounding (for that time) 400 hours over 129 days to record. My friend Tim brought a copy to my Grandfather’s cottage where we listened to it for the first time on a huge old hi-fi (monaural of course) in the living room. My Mother and her sister, my Aunt Marg were there and forced to listen as well. They tolerated the first side fairly well. Most of the songs were not too dissimilar to the “noise” they had been exposed to by us previously, and some (With A Little Help From My Friends, She’s Leaving Home) are downright tuneful. But the second side started with the full-on sitar and tabla attack of Within You Without You and that provoked the first cries of “what the heck is that??” I think that even Tim and I were a bit mystified, but of course, we would never let on…. Later there was the rooster crow and barnyard sounds that opened Good Morning – all put to good use one very early morning several years later at one of our famous Corduroy Enduro weekends.

I remember listening to Sgt. Pepper’s as a watershed moment, although I am perhaps exaggerating its significance. Whatever the case, it evokes strong and happy memories. Sad that it took the passing of George Martin to remind me of those days.

* * * * *

March 22: Addendum: The Globe and Mail today reported that on this date in 1963, the Beatles released Please Please Me, their first album. They were each paid “the princely sum” of 20 Pounds Sterling for the 10 hours it took to record. It held top spot on the chart for 30 weeks until being replaced by – what else ? – their second album, With the Beatles.

March 8: I started painting about 15 years ago. I remember arriving at Mimico Community Centre looking forward to learning the mysteries of putting acrylic on canvas. The instructor, Zaria Manook, was a small man topped with a shock of greying hair that made him look a bit like Einstein. In truth, there was not a lot of instruction; I think Zaria preferred that we learn from experience. But from time to time, he would take the brush away from me and demonstrate a bit of technique. I thought that I was finally becoming reasonably good at painting when I finished an entire painting without Zaria’s “little touches”.

When I moved, I changed classes and found a new instructor. John was Greek and the same height as Zaria, but younger and more solidly built. Where Zaria painted icons for the Orthodox church, John was a modernist and his paintings were tremendously complex. Some had the character of enormous tattoos. Again, his instructional technique was hands off, and there was a period where we were trying to understand the other’s capability. In time, he suggested a couple of new techniques that moved my style forward.

Most of my paintings have been landscapes or townscapes, and I could not escape the feeling that I had “been there and done that”. I had pretty well figured out how to get the effect I wanted, and I could punch out a painting an about 3 hours if I wanted. Melinda always hated the fact that they were “all green”, and perhaps she had a point. I have dozens of canvasses stored here and at the house, and most of them are not very good. Following the same path has led me to a place where I am feeling that there is no challenge to it, so I have decided to stop painting. Perhaps not “forever” but certainly “for now”.

For decades, I’ve randomly doodled with pencils. I had thought about taking a sketch pad with me to Europe last summer, but never really got around to it. So I have signed up for a sketching class and will start that in a few weeks. I’m looking forward to something new and different.

February 17: Seriously ?

PS: March 7: A murder avoided: apparently my standing in the window and sending evil thoughts toward my friend with the leaf-blower has worked. The house went up for sale and was sold over the weekend with an asking price of $1,500,000. I wonder if the leaf-blower is one of the chattels ?

February 14: Today I got word that my ex-Father-in-Law had passed away after a lengthy battle with cancer and dementia. This had been expected for some time and, as Marisa said: “Typical Jeffery. Stubborn to the end.”

Jeff emigrated from South Africa to Canada in the late 60’s. While the family seemed to have lived a comfortable life on a farm near Durban, selling it all and moving here meant starting over. He worked in construction, determined to provide a good life for his wife Margaret and three children: Melinda, Veronica and Rolland.

He was a hunter and a fisherman. After Melinda and I got married, I mentioned a passing interest in fly-fishing, more as a way of passing time in what seemed to be a tranquil and reflective place than actually catching anything. Within a few weeks, he had given me a couple of rods, some tackle, and some lessons on how to cast. He was obviously reaching out for some connection with his new son-in-law who saw no fun in shooting or catching and killing any of God’s creatures. (I’ve been known to catch spiders and take them outside rather than kill them…)

While he could be kind, helpful, supportive and thoughtful, he could be very stubborn. He never really shied away from telling you what was on his mind. His outspokenness about religion and race had alienated many of his friends and he was living what must have been a very lonely existence near Orillia. That was his choice; he was determined to do it his way whether or not other people agreed with him. Undoubtedly this made it extremely difficult for his family – particularly Veronica – to manage things as he aged and his physical and mental abilities declined.

In the end, it’s easy to see only the crusty old geezer living alone and cursing the world around him. I may get there myself some day. And while some of his views are no longer socially acceptable, with the great benefit of distance from his situation, I remember the determined, thoughtful man who brought his family to Canada and gave them the foundation for a good life here. They got a good start, and more, because of him. As he aged and got more out-of-step with those around him, he was doing what he thought was right for him, in the context of what he had learned in his life experience. I’d prefer to remember him that way.