2024 A Year of Challenge and Patience

December 18: Friends will know that Christmas is not my favourite time of year. I use that term deliberately since Christmas is no longer a day – if it ever was – but rather an orgy of spending and “celebrating” that extends from Halloween to mid-January. With the actual date now a week away, I believe that I have passed the low-point of my annual funk, and progressed to acceptance that it will soon pass.

It has been difficult to be optimistic this year for many reasons: Thousands continue to be killed in on-going wars in Ukraine and Gaza. The mindless brutality of those conflicts, and the human toll they take, is breathtaking and I am left to wonder how, or if, they will ever be resolved. To our south, the  Presidential election is underway with Trump apparently a front-runner for re-election. Americans, and to a certain extent Canadians, are increasingly divided between the extreme “left” and “right” ends of the political spectrum and those views are so strongly held that I wonder how the country will ever re-unite. That both Biden and Trump are front-runners points to the fact that the political establishment continues to be run by and for the old white guy network of the wealthy and privileged.

Closer to home, it feels to me like Canada is diminishing as a country with meaning and importance for the global community. We have lost the ability to defend ourselves, or even to be taken seriously as an ally. We are no longer even asked to participate.  As the world order copes with the ascendancy of China and India, our diplomatic position is still a work in progress. The political climate at the federal level seems to be ready to swing hard right, and I worry what that means as “common sense politics” comes to the fore. (Been there, done that, thanks.)

Meanwhile, our moronic Premier continues to promote boondoggle projects that favour and enrich his political friends while the rest of us deal with a collapsing health care system and growing rates of homelessness and addictions. His latest gambit is the famous “buck a beer” promise made during the last election which will come to fruition – surprise, surprise – just before the next Provincial election.

In the midst of all this, I received an email from the daughter of a fellow resident at Garden Court advising that her Mother Joan was in palliative care with fractured vertebrae “that are not expected to heal”.  Joan began the process of securing medical assistance in dying (MAID) and died December 4.

Joan was in her early nineties. She was from Wales and embodied the “stiff upper lip” determination that often characterizes that generation. She was intelligent, thoughtful, outspoken and wickedly funny. I would look forward to meeting her in the garden where we would spend a while chatting about current events or life in general. She was a unique and charming character.

In the days before her death, I sent her an e-mail and she responded that: “… living alone at Garden Court as I grew old and the years of Covid compounded my physical disability . Don’t want to spend the rest of time languishing in a hospital bed and relying on nurses to look after me hand and foot! I’m going on a different journey. Michael and Margaret are supporting me all the way, even though it’s tough on them. I hope you find a sense of freedom. Still lots of time to revel in life. Such wonder everywhere, even now. ”

And so as my seasonal funk begins to lift, I am left to consider the advice of a woman facing the end of her life.  Even in those most dire of circumstances she was able to see the possibilities for a happier and more enjoyable future for those around her. That alone spoke volumes about her character, and reminded me that, no matter how funky things get at this time (or any other time) of the year, I should not lose sight of the hope for a brighter future ahead.

November 26: It is just slightly more than a month since I closed the cottage for the last time this season. As it turned out, Roy and I were at the cottage to do the closing on the same day that 2 guys showed up to install the kitchen countertop. It’s a small place and things were a bit chaotic, so it felt somewhat unsatisfying to me to turn the key and leave at the end of the day.  Almost as soon as I arrived home, I discovered that I had left a bag of frozen food sitting on the (new) counter when we left. I had also neglected to gather up a couple of other things that I wanted to bring home for the winter.

So, roughly a week later, I returned and collected the (now empty and cleaned out) freezer bag from my good friend McCart, and spent a short time having lunch and “saying goodbye” to the cottage once again. It was harder to do so than last year for a bunch of reasons.

The weather was really wonderful right through the beginning of October. With virtually no rain and lots of warm days, it felt more like mid-September.  It was warm enough that I was swimming every day during the first week of October, and it felt like there was still a few weeks of cottage time left to enjoy; the closing date snuck up on me.

We made really good progress this summer and the place felt more like a cottage and less like the “work camp” we had endured last year. With the kitchen now pretty much operational, and the main rooms becoming more comfortable, I was able to have folks up for a visit and that made it feel more “cottagey”. It also meant that I was personally happier at the cottage this year as my vision for the place started to appear more clearly. I became quite reluctant to leave.

But all good things come to an end, and this year in cottaging is no exception.  As I start the long, slow slide into the slumbers of winter, I have many months to imagine what we might be able to do to make the place better. There’s a ton of work still to do and it will all be waiting for me in May when we open for next year. At least with opening up, you only have to do it once….

 

 

August 30: I took this picture about a week ago and it shows two things of significance at this time of year: the flower and the butterfly.

The flower is a Purple Coneflower (Echinacea Purpurea) which I planted earlier this year in the hope that I could have a small perennial garden down on the point. Many of the older estates in Muskoka have extensive gardens (and usually a gardener to care for them) and I have hopes that these few plants will become the beginnings of a larger and more robust garden. The fact that there is in fact a few plants growing there, gives me optimism and hope for next year.

The butterfly is obviously a Monarch. It appeared as I had a sandwich on the point and it stayed for quite a while sipping nectar and apparently enjoying a quiet lunch before it fluttered off toward the south. This is the first – and so far only – Monarch I have seen this year, fully 10 days earlier than last year. It also seems that virtually all of the summer-resident Hummingbirds have departed, about a week ahead of last year, along with many of the Sparrows that hunted insects all summer on the island. The temperature of the lake has begun its inexorable decline and many of the ducks and waterfowl are also disappearing. Fortunately, the Loons don’t really head south until October so they will still be around for a while, offering the occasional call across the lake on a calm and quiet night.

That tranquility disguises the fact that we have reached that time of year when our hopes and aspirations for the summer are quickly reaching an end. This is a time to reflect on our accomplishments for this year – and there have been many here at Regatta – while preparing for the transition to autumn, and the end of the year for “cottaging”. Much has to be done to prepare the cottage for the winter, and it usually seems to get done at the last minute in a huge rush as the cold weather closes in. Perhaps the best I can hope for is a few moments of quiet tranquility with other seasonal residents as they pass through on their way to their winter home.

August 22:  I’ve decided to take up a new hobby: wake-surfing. I have to say that, at first, it didn’t appeal to me at all. I couldn’t understand the fascination of standing on a board 3 feet behind a boat going as slowly as possible while trying to pretend that I was on a huge wave in southern California. It seemed idiotic. But I am coming around to the attractions of the hobby.

Of course, I’ll have to buy a boat. New models of these boats range up to $350,000 presumably because of all the technology required to go slowly and make a huge wake. It must be amazing to see.  If I’m careful, I can likely find an older used boat for less than $150,000. And of course, there’s the board itself which might run as much as $700 without the boots and lifejacket and tow rope which are necessary. While that’s a lot of money, I see it as an investment in my future happiness and enjoyment of the sport.

One of the great things about wake-surfing is that, while you are standing behind the boat being dragged along by the wake, eight or ten of your friends can be mere feet away in the boat critiquing your style. If they get bored of watching you standing there, they can crank some tunes on the on-board stereo and  entertain themselves and any neighbours within earshot. I’m looking forward to surfing past my neighbours docks so they can enjoy the spectacle. There is the small matter of the wake washing ashore, but it’s a big lake here in Muskoka and I’m sure there are waves all the time, so what’s the problem ?

I’ve observed many wake-surfers at relatively close range and it appears to me that the only skill involved is the ability to stand still on a board while being washed along by the wake. “Falling” basically means that you have lost momentum, and you sink slowly into the water.  In my past, I was an avid slalom water-skier which  involved moderately more skill and balance than my new sport, and when you fell off the ski, you certainly did more than quietly sink into the lake. I’m pretty sure my new sport is better suited to a guy “of my age” where injury is a concern.

So there you have it: my new sport of wake-surfing. Standing on a board behind a boat carrying 10 or 12 of my friends listening to high-volume music while I  entertain my neighbours.  I’m sure the entertainment value alone will offset the damage to their shoreline and the boats tied to the dock.

What’s not to love ?

* * * * * * *

Afterword:  We spent a huge part of our Summer vacations being dragged around behind various boats learning to water-ski. We were fortunate to have our dear Uncle Bill Norton who would spend literally hours, and hundreds of dollars, taking any kid that wanted, out for a ski. At some point in the mid-60’s we felt sufficiently skilled to try something different and this photo records the outcome. That’s me on the bottom right, cousin James (Norton) bottom left, and my Sister Nancy on top. It wasn’t easy for her as James is fully 6″ taller than I. Fortunately, she was a good climber. And a fly-weight.

August 10:    In May 2021, I wrote about “retiring from motorcycling” and selling my 2000 Honda VFR.  That was an emotional experience for me because of the change in my life, and the fact that I had owned and ridden that bike for so long; it was like losing an old friend. Given the then on-going pandemic lockdown, it was clear that I would also not be riding in Europe any time soon, so my second bike, a 2014 VFR parked in Heidelberg, became – almost literally –  a “stranded asset”.

I knew I had to get her sold in Europe, or brought home for sale here. In 2021 I became infatuated with Regatta Island and, although I knew I had to do something to deal with the bike, that problem was put aside in favour of more pressing issues – like rain pouring through the cottage roof. Having tried the fools errand of selling the bike in Europe, I resolved to get her home and, on June 3, she finally returned.

I will spare you the gory details of trying to sell her, and simply say that last week, a charming guy from Windsor arrived, looked the bike over, paid full asking price in cash, and took the bike home in his pickup truck. Unlike the emotional side of selling the 2000 VFR, this was a transaction, and I was pleasantly surprised and happy to finally see the bike sold and the cash in my bank account, ready for use at the cottage.

I have a tendency to become emotionally attached to objects, things and possessions. Many have a deeper meaning for me, and I often hang on to useless things that other people would throw away, simply because they represent something special to me. Given that the bike and I had shared many exciting adventures in Europe over 3 riding seasons, it was out of character for me to sell her without a lot of emotion, and treat her merely as an asset to be redeployed.

The cottage has imposed huge constraints on my financial situation. I am very aware of the costs involved, and the potential risks to me going forward. Yet the cottage resonates with me in a way that is difficult to describe. She’s an old girl struggling a bit with various maladies and I hope that I can help return her to her past, strong and healthy self. There is continuity with the past (110 years and counting) and an abiding hope that I will be around to enjoy her many years into the future.

That said, I am very aware that the financial implications of owning her may prove to be too much and that I may have to step back from my emotions and treat her as an asset that can be “redeployed”. I know that, should I have to make that decision, it will be incredibly difficult. Yet I now find myself thinking of her as an asset that may need to be considered  as part of a plan to secure my future well-being, or redeploy  to a different dream, rather than a sentimental project that gobbles time and money. Time is passing more quickly than I would like, but I hope that day is many, many years in the future.

May 2021 – 2023 A Year of Challenge and Patience (david-mckillop.com)

June 26: My trip to Regatta Island begins in the heart of the city. After some 30 minutes of backstreets and stop signs, I arrive at the bottom of Highway 400  where it feels like the journey actually begins.  More than a dozen lanes wide, and hemmed in by factories, truck terminals and the occasional incongruous townhouse development, “the 400” is usually jammed with traffic. I join the northbound stream and hope for steady progress. Steele’s Avenue is the boundary of the City proper, and further north,  I enter the Greenbelt where our corrupt Provincial government is turning valuable and productive farmland into housing estates and highways. The views across these rolling open fields always reminds me of how beautiful southern Ontario can be, particularly during the Summer months, when the crops are fresh and verdant.

After an hour or so, traffic slows at Barrie where “the 400” veers off toward Georgian Bay and points further north. Highway 11 takes over and becomes narrower – only 2 lanes in each direction – and it enters a strip of small gas stations, boat repair shops, and antique stores with driveways onto the highway. These are relics from years past when Highway 11 was “the only way north”. They reflect a time when a lot of commercial use was out along the highway to take better advantage of the passing traffic.  There is now a median barrier separating north- and south-bound lanes, but I remember a time when here was no separation between the four lanes, and it seemed that every summer there would be an horrific crash as someone tried a left turn across on-coming traffic.

After passing through Orillia I reach Severn Bridge where  the Canadian Shield suddenly appears. Granite outcroppings and pine forests crowd the road like a gateway to cottage country.  Roadside businesses give way to thick forests and traffic thins out a bit more. Shortly after, we finally reach Bracebridge and the marina for a quick ride to the island. The transition from fully urban to resolutely rustic feels complete. But is it ?

When I bought the island, several well-meaning friends pointed out that I was “an old man” who would be completely alone for long periods of time, and, if I were to fall or have some other accident, it would be impossible for me to get help. They asked that I carry my cell phone at all times.  This seemed to be a reasonable thing to do, but I was reluctant.  I’m not a dedicated follower of technology, and the thought of being tied to the phone was unpleasant, so training myself to put the phone in my pocket was initially a bit hit and miss.  After a while it became  much more routine, and there’s the problem: I am never really “alone”.

Like so many people, I have become sensitive to the way the phone pings and vibrates with each new e-mail or text. I reflexively check to see what’s happening.  I check the Weather Network several times each day. News is available at the touch of a screen, and I can search building materials and hardware from the dock. Where this type of search might have involved my increasingly temperamental laptop in the City,  I now literally have the world in my pocket.

To be sure, there is a degree of convenience in this and there is security in knowing that help may be at hand should I need it. But the trade-off is that I now feel more tied to technology and the habitual screen time that it implies while I am on the island than I ever did while I was in the city. I can be totally alone and immersed in nature, yet I am repeatedly driven to technology each day. I know this has to change; I don’t wish to be pinged and buzzed while I enjoy Regatta. So in the next while my objective will be to limit screen time and resist the reflexive checking the phone for messages.  Instead, I’ll be listening to the Loons and Mergansers for a much more important message, one that’s worth the journey north.

As I look back on the last few pages, I see that I have been less than diligent about updating “the news”. There may be a few reasons for this.

Last Summer was a blur of things to do and things not done at the cottage. I was so preoccupied with those two extremes that there was precious little time for much else. These pages suffered.  After the Summer ended, I pretty much crashed for a while. I started with the idea that I should take few days to decompress from the work at the cottage and get back to life in the city and, after a while, sitting around became more of a habit than  it should. Nothing to report on here.

Our “Spring” season started this year with an unusual warm stretch in April that seemed to foretell an earlier than usual thaw. I was mistaken. The weather turned cool and wet, and it wasn’t until May that things really started to look promising again. Throughout the “false Spring” I was looking forward to getting back to the cottage, but that didn’t happen until May 6 – precisely one day earlier than I opened last year.

The welcoming party of  a pair of nesting geese was already there, and a pair of Merganser ducks showed up shortly afterward. During the night, Loons were calling across the lake and a pair of Barred Owls were chatting in the forest. A barrage of Humming birds appeared later in the week and immediately started a territorial war around the feeder. I find it reassuring that nature continues, almost on a predetermined schedule, year after year. This year was no exception.

A day prior to opening the cottage, I had a telephone consultation with an oncologist at Princess Margaret Hospital (PMH to us insiders). I had been referred earlier in the year because my Prostate Specific Antigen (PSA for club members) had been rising.  After an MRI and a biopsy, the Doctor was calling to confirm those test results. In short, it was good news: all of the samples had returned negative for cancer and I am being monitored to make sure that it stays that way.

Before I knew the results, I was fairly sure the tests would reveal that I had cancer. I have always thought – and I am getting more certain with age – that there is something in my future that will take my life, ready or not. If it was to be prostate cancer, then so be it. There is treatment and it is curative so I was fairly sure that it would not be terminal, yet the thought of now facing something that could significantly alter the course of my life was sobering. It’s a relief that I am cancer-free (at least for now) and a slap-in-the-face reminder of how quickly my life – and those or my contemporaries – might change.

So with all of that in mind, I head off to the cottage for a few days of planning and starting Summer projects. We (helper-mate Roy and I) are focusing on getting the kitchen set up and operating, taking down a wall to open it up to the new dining room, and finishing the new front porch.  Of course, there are dozens of smaller tasks within each of those jobs, and if anything exciting happens as we toil away, you will read about it here first !  I promise.

April 14: Those who know me well will find the caption to this piece confusing, because I am not, by nature, “a shopper”. I do “go shopping” from time to time. This happens most often when I go to the grocery store to buy the same eight or nine things I bought on the last trip. If it’s not on the list, it doesn’t get bought. I generally wear the same clothes repeatedly until they are either threadbare or so far out of fashion that I look like a throwback to the 70’s.

So it was a minor shock to find myself standing in a Nordstrom Rack store a few days back fondling expensive fashion items. Many will know that Nordstrom has decided to leave the Canadian retail scene and is having “final sales” prior to shuttering their stores. With Summer approaching, and my warm-weather wardrobe seriously wanting, I thought I might find a few bargains. I was disappointed, or perhaps I was just unaware of what things actually cost these days because nothing really seemed to be offered at a great price. How about a $385 wool sweater for $270 ?

In spite of that, I picked out a couple of shirts and pairs of shorts which will find a good home at the cottage. But rather than that minor buzz of euphoria usually associated with purchasing something new, I was left with a deep feeling of sadness. I stood for several moments and contemplated putting everything back because it just seemed so futile to buy this stuff that will ultimately hang in my closet, seldom used, and then be recycled through one of the clothing pick-up operations.

My new purchase carried with it the realization that these things will ultimately become obligations; they are a burden to be carried until we tire of them and move them along to someone else. It felt futile to be buying something that I only marginally wanted.

We are quickly becoming a city where the wealthy live privileged and pampered  lives  while many others struggle to make ends meet. To be clear: there are many wealthy people who have committed themselves to making life better for others through various foundations or donations. They are to be commended. But there is another stratum that seems immensely preoccupied by spending vast amounts of money on the most garish expression of their status. Bigger, uglier houses, more outlandish vehicles. Luxury clothing. And there is an attitude that says “I got mine and I don’t give a crap about anyone else. If you are homeless or unemployed, it’s your own fault. Get out of my way.”

I’m an aging Hippie and I guess that I have always thought that we owe people in our city more than that sort of attitude. With inflation rampant and more people living hand to mouth, my shopping excursion allowed me to see more completely how fortunate my life has been.  I can, at least, consider whether to buy some new duds for the cottage; many are not so well-off. As my Dad used to say “There but for the grace of God go I.”

George Carlin Talks About “Stuff” – Bing video

January 30:  I have often found the Autumn and Winter to be the most difficult seasons of the year. Where Spring is sparkling, sunny and rejuvenating, Autumn and Winter are dark, dreary and diminishing. I have often retreated into a period of sitting and waiting for the warmer weather to return, and this year has been only slightly better. We have had a somewhat warmer Autumn, with temperatures in positive territory, for much of January. This encouraged me to keep running on alternate days, and to hobble off to the gym when I had time.  The return to more normal temperatures means that I have not run for more than a week, and the gym has been a non-starter.

I completely understand that the lack of physical exercise has contributed to a downturn in my outlook, and I have begun to retreat to the couch to watch TV and think about various problems. This has meant that I have spent too much time considering the various ways that out imbecilic Provincial Premier is ruining the province (perhaps more on that later….). And as Chair of the Garden Court Tenant Association I am still grappling with an above-guideline rent increase request that will require organizing for a hearing at the Landlord and Tenant Board. The difficulties I found last year trying to find contractors for the cottage apparently also apply to paralegals who work in this field.

The thing is: All of this is well known to me.  It’s a seasonal shift in mood that I deal with to varying degrees every year. This year is no different.  When I have a moment and actually consider my life – everything that it involves – I realize how truly fortunate I am. As we say: “First world problems…”  There are many, including some friends, who are not in such a comfortable place and face much worse problems than me. Many in Toronto fall through the cracks as the economy continues to gyrate and societal supports are stretched to the limit. Recent violence on the streets and the transit system are reminders of how we have failed to care for those less fortunate and in need of care.

The snow filters down past the windows and I am warm and dry inside. I have an affordable place to live, and many friends who support me. I have a wonderful daughter and son-in-law and their rambunctious kids to remind of the future. I am comfortable financially and I do remind myself frequently that I own a private island in Lake Muskoka.  Not many can say that, and it is a privilege for me to do so.

So the blahs have arrived – again – and “this too shall pass”. My mood will lighten as the days lengthen and the prospect of Spring returns. Eight weeks to the end of March…..

September 28:  My avid reader has recently chastised me for the lack of new posts over the last months. Herewith, a few reasons (excuses ?) why there have been no recent posts:

While some work was underway at the time of the previous post, much has been done over the Summer and into the early Autumn. The cottage was opened May 7 and, as I have previously mentioned, I had to spend a good deal of time sorting out the inside to make it (barely) livable. I assembled and set up some outdoor furniture and planter boxes before worker mate Roy arrived to start on the real construction. We lifted the corner of the cottage and levelled the porch floor before framing in two sides to accommodate new windows in what would become the new kitchen. The exterior was covered in Tyvek and then trimmed out after the windows went in.  We also levelled and replaced the bathroom floor so that the new fixtures would have half a chance of being level.

The bathroom floor was tiled and the living room and bedroom #3 floors were painted. The southeast corner of the front porch was disassembled when we found that the supporting column for the roof was more or less hanging by a thread.  We fixed up the underpinning and after the better part of an afternoon “engineering”, we had a new support in the corner. The deck boards were replaced, eliminating the rotten plywood that passed for a porch, and the railings were removed, repaired, and treated to a coat of fresh paint.

The first week of August saw the construction of the new septic tank and field. Even though it is an Aquarobic system, which relies on a smaller tile field, I am still shocked by the size and extent of the finished work. It’s huge, and a number of smaller trees came down as John Archer and his crew did their best to maneuver a full size excavator in the outdoor equivalent of a closet. Some work is still to be done to try and protect the roots of some of the trees that may have been impacted as the work progressed.

The plumbers and electricians were next. I now have a bathroom with a clawfoot bath and, after many months of using a composting toilet, a working toilet. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as the first real flush. The electricians repositioned the breaker panel and roughed in plugs and fixtures for the kitchen.

At this point, we are left with a few small jobs before the cottage is closed for the season. We need to create Winter protection for the new kitchen windows and the new French door to the front porch. We need to do a small bit of work on the porch itself, and then get everything in the cottage in place for the Winter.

Closing is an inevitable but melancholy time for me. This year feels a bit different because the cottage hasn’t been a cottage in the traditional sense. It’s been a construction site. With the help of my good friend Roy, I’ve accomplished a lot that has been very rewarding (and expensive). But this hasn’t been a typical swimming and sitting in the sun vacation. Rather than thinking of the fun times we might have had over the Summer, this Winter I’ll be trying to figure out the next steps: How to finish the kitchen and bathroom; how to create a new dining room in the old kitchen; how I want to build a back porch and new home for the barbeque; how to finish my bedroom. Who knows ? I might even find a few moments to update this page. Time will tell…