Smothering Instinct

I'm extremely forgetful. Perhaps because of my tendency to look below the surface of things and not to stay on top of things? Whatever the reasons, I depend on careful organizational skills and when I find myself under the thumb of the pandemic and not going anywhere there's a tendency to forget about my daily planner which contains (or is supposed to) all my project intentions, chores, appointments and recurring events: everything from teeth-brushing to garbage day to NFL Opening Day.

I sometimes forget to take my meds; both for blood-pressure and the miracle sleep-enabling drug.

Sometimes I forget a couple days in a row and things get sketchy. Recently I went three days in a row without the miracle pill due to a combination of sleep irregularity, lack of organization and terrible service hours/closures of the pharmacy from Friday through Sunday.

The result was the same as the last time I went on a three-day bender. My emotions went right into hyer-drive. While I am always missing a few very dear loved ones and have so since March, a kind of panic sets in in the above circumstance. I feel like something is going to go wrong and I'll never see them again; never hug them; or perhaps that my absence will lead them to forget about me or perhaps to not need me? I don't really understand it. There is no logical interpretation of what I feel; just an extraordinary yearning for certain people.

Certain best friends who I have had in life slipped away from me and lost interest in me despite my continued interest in them. That's probably part of it.

And also being a person who had to fight his way out of the closet in a much earlier day there remains a life-long liability which few straight people could fully comprehend. It lies, normally unwoken, in the pit of every such person who has suffered this adolescent trauma in a less-kind age; as the Eloquent Potter puts it: the fear of being de-grouped. If you know a gay person and you want to utterly kill them just make them feel unwelcome in their established peer group. For us there is nothing crueler.

Now that the internet has given us all a soapbox for preaching our advice any old time at all there's a great tendency to indulge (like yours truly, especially!). But sometimes there's a resentment if we feel that the advice to embrace sacrifice is coming from those who have less to sacrifice. We feel like the call to sacrifice is much stronger when it comes from those who must sacrifice more. This does not reflect on the accuracy or wisdom of the message though!

For instance I am full of parenting advice which I believe in confidently but I rarely ever breathe a word of it because I've never suffered the things which parents must suffer. So my voice is a weaker one. That doesn't mean I'm wrong. It means I'm less trust-worthy.

That's actually a poor example. Here's the point. When my excellent brother and other folks tell me here is the sacrifice we must make in order to ensure our parents health, there is a part of me that knows damn well they are right. But there is another part of me that says "Okay but by the way, go to hell because you have a wife and kids for you to love in your household! I have no one!"

I have a housemate who sleeps two floors above me and a there's her dog too, but these relationships are tricky ones and the love there is not of the sort that seems to keep me alive; not like my family and such dear souls as the Eloquent Potter or Aqualad or Neo for instance.

As much as I adore them, by the way, no one comes close to my Mom. She is number one; our relationship is sacred. But luckily I see her about every five weeks and we either call or skype at least three times a week.  

I found out with certainty after near-thirteen years with Long-Time Companion that the standard relationship model in our society is largely nonsensical to me and that I suck at it either way and since then I cherish close friendships with whom I can share anything (and even the odd one which has edged into sexual behavior though my interest in sex is well into its final hour) and multiple best-friendish companions have in essence replaced the idea of a spouse.

Phone calls and video chats with great friends are great!  But as a person who is starved for physical contact at the best of times these events are simultaneously a reminder of what I am missing.

In my drug-starved despair I hit the facebook status alarm bell, worried or perhaps offended some dear people and an hour later tried to trust my logic and issued a retraction. But the damage was done. Friends of a masculine-problem-solving nature be they men or women; those who rush to fix things as quickly as possible rather than pause to understand them, tried to give me advice; advice I already knew and knew could not satisfy my instinctive perception of my clobbered needs, but bless their kind souls for trying.

Telling a starving man that you have no food, that he'll have to be happy with cigarettes or chewing gum or a harmonica, solves no problems.

I'm a few days back on the pill regular now, and I still miss these people (and some others) quite terribly. But I feel again that this hell-born Covid disaster will surely pass at some point and I will just have to hang on, one way or another, and take my damn pill every day, and pray a vaccine comes to the rescue.

And when this is over I'm coming for you with a giant hug so brace yourself, and just like the childless female penguin who competes so desperately for an available orphan, I'll try not to crush you to death.

The Promise

Tax the Canadian super-rich.

Building the Map Room

No one that we'll ever meet...

Neo’s likebook account was deactivated which froze our messenger conversation (which he has not been contributing to). This was done once before for a month or few, preceded by his instructing me to use email for communication. This occasion came without any instructions and my email inquiry has not been answered so far. I’m okay with all of this, though I certainly wonder what he’s going through.

Perhaps I am among those he wants space from. Perhaps it is mainly me. Or perhaps he’ll turn up again soon. I understand he’s going through a particularly tough time while he’s attempting to break an addiction and company is largely undesired.

I don’t need to know unless he chooses to tell me.

Academically I’m forced to interpret his behaviour as troubling but it’s not my job to interfere uninvited. Regardless what many conflicting perspectives he cycles through with regards to our friendship and all the problems he perceives (imagines in my opinion), my perspective has reached some stability. From my point of view I remain his friend and remain available regardless what he’s thinking at any given time and whether he’s currently reachable or not.

I accept his limitations. I know not to count on him when I feel the need to talk to a friend who understands me. Sometimes he might be available. Other times I will either find someone else who will have to do - or else go without. So be it.

Academically I recognize that there is a somewhat tragic waste of opportunity happening but oh well. Who knows what the future may bring.

I’m not really sure how much of my relaxed attitude is a result of wisdom and presence as opposed to simply reaching a point of emotional exhaustion and simply losing the stamina to keep on caring so ardently. Either way the peace feels very real. I will continue to care about him and to trust that he will keep himself alive long enough that I will hear from him again.

Coming home from a family nephew babysitting gig Friday night, I took a route home which happens to run - not on the same street - but within sight of - the most recent known home of my former best friend of sixteen years, once known here as Porn King (rather inappropriately). Several times a year I happen to pass this way and always tend to look and spot familiar vehicles in the driveway.

On this occasion there were no such vehicles - or any at all. There was a dumpster in the driveway and a sign on the lawn. Overcome by curiosity I took a brief detour and read the sign and can pretty confidently deduce that they have moved.

I think about the various reasons that people move.

Some of those explanations would make me wonder about certain change of life events and make me wonder if he might be in need of a friend these days. He has always kept friendships to a minimum. He was once extremely special to me. For my part, that fondness will never go away, though for him - he lost interest in me. I can imagine many reasons why, and the truth probably lies somewhere in between them all. I was a much different person then, and not with robust integrity at times.

I just pray he always knows he’s always welcome to look me up. There are no problems. No worries. It’s all cool. And it would always be wonderful to see him again. It’s been years.

Yesterday I went to the hospital with Sick Boy and The Healer to visit with The Liaison who has been battling cancer and who is fairly clearly not winning.

I was struck by the haunted look in his eyes as he frequently stared right into mine. Now and then he summoned the energy to receive what we were saying and to hoarsely, briefly, respond.

I wonder is he contemplating the end. Is he wondering about our own agenda. Is he wondering, do we know something he doesn’t?

I am now finally learning that he may not really have any local friends beyond us writers. And if our casual relationship is thus elevated in his experience?

Am I fucking up yet again with regards to the terminally ill - if that is what he is - and my capacity to be useful? I am such a drastic underachiever in this arena.

This was one of the first songs I ever wrote. It is partly an ode to dear Mr. Harrison. It is on youtube in a rudimentary form.

A Thousand Loves

So fragile, so weak

The heart's a miracle in every beat

In every house on every street

In every corner the cancers creep

If you go to George and ask

He'll tell you everything must pass

Our days are few and each one fleet

A thousand loves are ours to seek

Yet no one that we'll ever meet

May we claim our own somehow to keep

If you go to George and ask

He'll tell you everything must pass

If you go to George and ask

He'll say there's no damn way to last

“You haven’t changed at all”

I don’t know if it was an accusation; a complaint; a criticism… or just an observation. I know it was some part of an explanation as to why Neo, who feels that our relationship is stuck in the past, is not currently entirely comfortable with the current dynamics of our relationship. Or rather, his perception of our relationship. He uses the word relationship more often than friendship. This in no way implies intimacy. One might wonder if it is a way of questioning whether we truly are friends.

I wonder what his idea of friendship is; what that word means to him. I have long felt that it might not mean much to him. He seems most of the time not to feel much sense of a bond; of a duty or responsibility to be a friend; to cherish the privilege; to honour that bond as a habit and not just when it suits him, or when he feels bad and needs someone to talk to who might possibly have a solution to his quandary.

But I also know that these impressions can not be solidly assumed. There is also the perception that he may at times be paralyzed from communicating at the times when any good friend normally would, because of rare mental pressures which he may be prey to.

I am not shocked to hear the accusation above. He has aged from 12 to 20; myself from 41 to 49. The adolescent period is naturally rampant with change. He has grown more clever and talented and exposed himself to many new experiences and grown from them. He has changed ever so much but not in many of the healthy ways I have always much wanted for him, and vainly assumed he would learn from me despite how little effort I actually put in to demonstrating.

Meanwhile, what have I done in terms of change? I met him right at the climax of my own period of rapid change. My thirties were a decade of extremely profound change in terms of mental evolution; spiritual perhaps, though that invites a very challenging question:

Was my evolution solid in terms of re-educating my instincts? In terms of uniting the mind to some large degree? Or was it all strictly an academic process which excited me so much upon my release from the darkness of it, that I coasted on some euphoria which was bound not to last?

Whatever it is, in some ways it has lasted but in other ways it has slipped backwards.

When I met Neo I felt almost at once he had the makings of a tremendous apprentice, not that I made any plans around that; not that I dreamed it possible at that time. I only planned to be available should he turn up again in adulthood. What a surprise when he arranged it himself so promptly.

But I ignored warning signs I suppose. His secrecy about us. The eventual pattern he insisted upon where our meetings became infrequent and intervening communication almost impossible. He embarked on life-changing experiments without my advice (as youth, biologically, must do). All while I went into a holding pattern; thinking everything would change when he became an adult and there was thus no potential interference with his choice of friends; and when he finally finished his schooling and could then embark on a freer system of learning and exploring; with the benefit of my input. I expected this to be the time of our teaming up as equals, both with privileged perspectives on the defeat of ego but from different schools of experience.

I wonder now if he was ever open to any of that.

I know what I did. Perhaps it was utterly foolish. I don’t know how conscious I was of it at the time. I released myself from the task of evolving. I saw a youth of extraordinary potential; in a mental state far superior than my own had been at that same age; a pre-internet age; a pre-information age. I knew at once I wanted to teach him what I knew and let him run with it; let him achieve what I had yet to, either ahead of me or with me. And let him be the one to become a teacher of many.

I’ve always been aware of these dynamics; always aware at some level or other that this is what I was doing; just not sure how conscious a choice it was. And what does it amount to? A cop-out? An excuse to be lazy? An excuse to avoid my own trials? My own test? My own risk?   

What I accomplished by 40 was not genius, was not even terribly difficult given the great luck which surrounded me; which cleared paths for me, making insights so available. But it was very very rare I know. And it was courageous. It terrified me to confront the illusions within myself and see the devil in myself and humanity and the tremendous ubiquity of illusion in our society. It was the only truly courageous thing I’ve ever done in my life.

But what since then? Neo is correct in this context. I’ve done sweet bugger all to improve myself since then. And at some point it had to do with love. I did not want to proceed ahead of him. More rewarding to witness him do it than I.

Foolish. Very foolish I now think.

I feel now that I need to let go. I need to follow my own advice. I always tell people: “The only thing you can do is give your best advice! You cannot save this loved one! You must share this good advice and then let it be! The loved one will accept it or will not! He will save himself or not! You have no say in that! The universe is not yours to command!”

How many people have I said this to? And yet do I live by this? I think I have not. I have worried about Neo as I’ve watched his behaviour become troublesome by my view. I have worried about his suffering and held myself responsible for keeping him from suffering. God, but this is foolish, isn’t it?

Have I held on too tight? Must I let go… and just let him know that I am here… let him (the universe) decide for himself how much use to make of me, if any? Must I not offer my advice and then recede? Let him do what he will without a sense of jeopardy in my mind?

Must I not be more concerned with my own evolution? My parental instincts are such a huge part of my own internal mind and my own identity. I know that very clearly now. But I also know that instincts and identity are the constructor and the construct of illusions. I have seen straight through them though perhaps not quite so clearly as I once did.

I feel today that I will always be available to him at the times he wants or needs me. But that I must proceed with my own path and let him go; whether to follow my path or some other, nearby or far, but with the chance that they will cross; perhaps often or perhaps not. I feel today that I am capable of letting it be.

The struggle is my own damned ego. I have felt at times that we are best friends; and that he saw me as similarly as I see him: someone I can trust entirely and be fully myself in his presence. The value in that runs deeper than just ego. Though I toy with ideas of being fully myself in other special friends’ presence I must confess: I don’t see that happening very comfortably without first becoming less sensitive to others’ comfort. To be entirely myself I must allude to realities which many people are not wanting to see. I may have to reveal myself a misfit in their view. Well... maybe that is my most useful role and should be embraced? Haven't successful leaders of change all weirded people out initially! 

When I became a wiser man and largely ceased caring what people thought of me, I found myself thought much more highly of! Who knows: if I stop worrying about the health of my friendship with Neo, maybe the friendship will become healthier. And that’s just a thought by the way; not a scheme.

Peace.

Avitable Scramble Aroma edition

Thirteen thoughts in thirteen minutes:

1, I’m at the Aroma cafe at Euclid and College in Toronto because I’m way too special to be subjected to Q.E.W. rush hour traffic and so I make this apparently-now-regular trip from 2 to 3 PM and then hang out at the cafe-du-jour until the 6:30 dinner appointment at the Eloquent Potter’s tower.

2. I’m trying not to think about Neo these days. He’s back to mostly ignoring me. I wonder sometimes if he came back into my life specifically to torture me. I wonder if he knows how his behaviour is perceived when he continuously ignores me between offers of “Hey, let’s get together… when are you free?” followed by an immediate blackout period until the threat of getting together has passed. I keep trying to remind myself that this must be the product of some form of suffering and that I should not take it personally but it's very difficult.

3. I’m thinking of a very thoughtful and touching amateur documentary that was put together by a father and which mostly concerned his son, then teen-aged. At one point he narrates something  

like this: “I’m sure that teenage boys do not realize that their own fathers would literally murder them if not for the memory of the loving child they used to be.” I’m confident he was sane and sincere about that. I’ll get back to you with the title when it comes to me..

4. I paid twenty dollars for a fairly decent shredded steak and egg sandwich and a nice coffee in a bignormous wide cup which spills into the voluminous saucer every time this hysterically warped-legged table rocks back and forth as if it’s the Titanic’s final moments. I wedged enough napkins to supply the nation of Malta for a decade under one of the offending table feet to very little improvement.

5. Every time the saucer fills up with coffee I lift the cup and pour the saucered-coffee back into the cup. It’s a satisfactory system.    

6. Once you love a kid like your own son there is no going back, Ever. It’s just not possible. It’s a fucking life sentence. I mean - let’s face it: consciously I know that’s not really supposed to be true. Just like the spectre of rape, war or any traumatic event, it is fully possible to dismiss the past and experience no harm from it ever again. I know this with solid uncompromising clarity, The past does not exist. We subconsciously choose to hang on and we call this hanging on “scars.” But it takes oh god such a spectacular escape from the bullshit of our dedicated bullshit-only society to be so enlightened as to understand and conquer your own illusionary ego. No cell phone, no TV, no pal, parent, priest, politician or ubiquitous fucking corporation will ever let you get away with it if they can possibly help it. There is no sanity without firm and dedicated solitude. Except for - you know - hanging out with me!

7. I can’t imagine living in Toronto with a vehicle. Finding parking arrangements that are at all functional is like winning the lottery. Which is fine I guess. I used to park in my special little-known free parking place near the Islington station and take the subway in from there but I can’t do that any more because I am literally so decrepit I can’t carry my own briefcase more than a block and frankly I’m a little too attached to my laptop. It’s perhaps my own version of the dreaded cell phone at times.

8. This Aroma place must be a chain. It is exceptionally well-branded. Aroma notebooks $6.95. I don’t think you can get anything for less than $6.95. My sandwich is listed on the menu board for $6.95. but SURPRISE!! That’s actually the price for half the sandwich! If you want the whole sandwich you find out too late that it’s actually $13 and change. Hahahahahahahaha! Buyer beware! It’s utterly fucking amazing what a pathetic docile flock of dumbass sheep we are and what we let all our masters get away with. I’m sure we must be the most obedient morons on the Earth.

9. I think thirteen minutes expired a long time ago. I don’t care. It’s my blog. I make and/or ignore the rules on a whim. If corporations can do it so can I. Yay!!.

10. Speaking of some of the most evil and demonic maggots in the world… Monsanto believes they have the right to subpoena my personal information and communications along wiith thousands of other half-decent citizens for the world as part of a lawsuit against the entire Avaaz community for fucking with them and ruining many of their sickeningly corrupt cancerous schemes in which people and other innocent creatures die or are monstrously extorted for their immense profit. Personally I think that every Avaaz member should relinquish to this move but only after each and every one of us communicating conflicting plans around operations in which all Monsanto executives are to be kidnapped and have their leathery parasitic throats slit. Let them try to figure out which plan is the real one.

11. People often think I’m joking when I’m serious; and serious when I’m joking. Sometimes I appreciate the amusement in this.

12. The eloquent potter is a very interesting dude. He’s a very compelling writer and poet; a regular visitor to India and perhaps a seeker of enlightenment to some degree. His home is filled with his pottery and other art, bookshelves galore and… ready for this? A swarm of inflatable monstrosities. A giant inflatable donut. An inflatable Dalek. I don’t even know where he gets this shit. On my last visit the centrepiece on his dinner table was a slightly larger-than-life inflatable cooked turkey.

13. Tonight it’s just the two of us for the first time. I am very much looking forward to learning more about him.

Meditation

Today I attempted to meditate and I intend to do so daily as an integral routine. This not the first time I’ve taken a shot at it but it’s the first time I made a serious go if it.

That it is lauded in excellent Hindu literature and by distinguished associates Neo and World Citizen (not to be confused with the dubious organization Global Citizen), reflects poorly on me. I have been intending to make this commitment for years and simply procrastinated, putting it off another day for some hundreds of consecutive days.

I definitely have improvements to make. I found my mind wandering frequently and reigned it in quickly each time. I found myself slowly slouching and picked myself up straight several times. I slightly adjusted position otherwise a couple times due to growing minor discomforts.

I found myself breathing very gently after awhile and I’m not sure if that is precisely the goal with regards to breathing. I also found myself making other observations regarding my own bodily functioning which provoked thought which I then tried to let go of.

It has become clear I need to go back and brush up on the objective and approach to meditation and clear up my perceptions as they have become weak on the subject. I have garnered much testimony on the subject from many sources over the years which may have broken down in my memory - or else may have come from different schools of discipline and thus may be self-conflicting.

I also found myself drifting into thoughtless states which invited waking (half-waking?) dreams - or dreamettes I tend to call them - which tells me I may have been in the process of falling asleep. It so happens I got the best night’s sleep of the year so far, this past night, so if I can’t achieve wakeful meditation after that performance then I don’t much like my chances at succeeding on a “normal” day where I’m somewhat sleep deprived.

Of course this is all a reminder that I must create a new normal where good sleep is the rule, thus I should be devoting all my useful productivity each day, first to my roster of sleep-helpful to-do’s ahead of everything else. As I pleaded to Aqualad just yesterday: No matter what you wish to achieve in this world, the effort begins with a proper night’s sleep.  

On a good note: When I quit the meditation session (or attempt thereof) I expected to find that I had been at it for about five minutes. In fact it had been sixteen minutes. So it must have gone a little better than I thought.

I must elicit advice from Neo on this. 

The man I should be

I don’t wish to carry on at length with regards to the bond between Neo and myself but there is a matter of housecleaning on the subject, which must be briefly addressed out of principle. In the pursuit of honesty I must look back at my comments about broken-heartedness and alienation and try to update those observations as the interpretations of my feelings have clarified.

One: I realized shortly after reporting that “the crux of my broken-heartedness” was in losing (or so it seemed at the time) the one companion who fully “allowed me to be myself,” that that is not generally accurate but rather reflected slanted feelings at that moment. I realized quickly that what was actually hurting the most was of a parental nature: it was the thought of Neo suffering in the future and me being handcuffed from trying to help him. It was those thoughts which actually hurt most.

Two: On the subject of my feeling alien; of people not allowing me to be “myself”: I think what I have realized is that no one is stopping me from being myself more so than I am.

It is not really “myself” that is being inhibited. It is my potential that is being inhibited. What I have called "myself" is more the man I think I should be than the man I really am.

And the far majority of blame for that lack of evolution is in me and not in my associates. I can’t possibly "blame" anyone for holding me back when I myself am holding myself back.

It’s important for me to remember that. And also for me to take action in terms of that re-evolution, rather than waiting around for it to happen.

Snotty Movie Criticism

Here's the scoop, movie lovers!

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children ***

(2016) Eva Green, Asa Butterfield

Surprisingly amusing family fantasy-action flick of the sort I rarely bother with. I didn’t altogether regret it. As a prerequisite though, you must either have kids or really like fantasy.

The Birth of a Nation****

(2016) Nate Parker, Armie Hammer

Gripping and disturbing true story of one of the great struggles against blind ubiquitous evil, which, dear Americans, we have not nearly sufficiently learned from.

Truth ****

(2015) Cate Blanchett, Robert Redford

Another superb Blanchett performance and another of the endless looks into the American Empire’s ongoing destruction of life, liberty and happiness for anyone other than the ruling class. This time it’s nervy W5 producer Mary Mapes standing in the bulldozer’s path with mostly predictable results. Valuable viewing for anyone with courage.   

Eastern Promises ***

(2007) Naomi Watts, Viggo Mortensen

Plotty dramatic flick. Decent if you’re a big Mortensen fan I suppose.

Django Unchained **

(2012) Jamie Foxx

Yet another pot of Quentin Testosterino stew overflowing all over the goddam place. Bring a shovel.

Wiener-Dog ***

(2016)  Greta Gerwig, Keaton Nigel Cooke, Tracy Letts

Quirky and near-loveable look at a gaggle of Everyday Losers and the thin excuses for joy which we embrace. Some good sincere laughs. I recommend it, especially to Neo and The Healer. (Netflix)

The Last Samurai ***

(2003) Tom Cruise, Ken Watanabe

Fun but thin exploration of late nineteenth century Japanese political strife, too low in integrity and too high in masturbatory American mojo.

Mustang ****1/2

(2015) Gunes Sensoy, Doga Zeynep Doguslu, Tugba Sunguroglu, Elit Iscan, Ilayda Akdogan

Thank goodness I failed to pass on this bold and gutsy film when the previews looked dangerously chick-flickish (a cowardly accusation I know). Wonderful painful important stuff concerning one of the most morbid of human traditions and the brilliant determination of youth. Must see!

Morgan **

(2016) Kate Mara

Potentially Intriguing tableau immediately dissolves into pointless action flick with hilariously over-telegraphed plot twist. Too violent for your kids and too dumb for you. Possibly good for thirteen year old boys with a naughty penchant for girl fights?

The Light Between Oceans ****

(2016) Alicia Vikander, Michael Fassbender

Laudable tale of love and honour and if that sounds ho-hum, I don’t mean it to be.  

Regression ***

(2015) Emma Watson, Ethan Hawke

Catchy thriller on the subject of child abuse which fails to achieve the subtlety it aspires to. Quite compelling though and historically significant.

Anthropoid ****

(2016) Cillian Murphy, Jamie Dornan

Vivid and gutsy; often distressing truth-based Nazi-rebellion story ramps up as it progresses. It’s worth the punch line and just squeezes in to my holocaust movie A-List.

Life**

(2017) Jake Gyllenhaal, Rebecca Ferguson

Decent action flick according to one action flick subscriber who I happen to respect. But with such a grand title and the participation of Magnet-For-Gems Jake Gyllenhaal, I had some really high hopes as dashed to smithereens as a certain space station. Here are my suggestions for a more appropriate title:

Alien 5: The Regurgitation

My Dinner With Calvin

With Six You Get No Egg Roll

Calvin and the Ship-Munch

Sardine Wars

Jake Gyllenhaal Picks a Lemon

Okay, I’ll stop now.

Reflection and recovery

Due to the snow I was a good half hour late arriving at the group home.

Grandpa Munster collapsed into the front seat while Foxy D. folded and wedged himself into my puny back seat and we inched our way back westward. Twenty five minutes later we’d crawled into the down town area normally only about four minutes away.

“I should have taken the bus,” said Foxy.

“You still would be stuck in this same traffic!” barked Munster.

“No I wouldn’t. Buses can go through red lights.”

“No they can’t.”

“Yes they can. I was on a bus the other day and it went through two red lights in a row and a cop pulled us over and said it’s okay, you’re allowed ‘cause you’re a bus.”

Gramps rolled his eyes. Foxy drives him more nuts than ever now that they’re neighbours.

After an eon or two we hit the west end Hortons where we’d planned to hang out for about two hours before proceeding to the Circles Christmas dinner celebration. Instead we spare only fifteen minutes.

In that time we drink decafs and Gramps gives me a Christmas card which I’d taken him to the Dollar Store to acquire a week ago. In it he’d sweetly written: “For a dear friend.”

Does he mean that sincerely or is it a means to garner material support? (Does your dog rest his chin on your knee to comfort your knee?) I don’t need to know the answer to that. It’s fine either way. But could I bring myself to write the same endearment in a card from me to him? I don’t think I could. I wouldn’t know if that was honest either, and in that case it would matter.

Foxy takes this opportunity to whip out an envelope addressed to himself and claws at it until it finally releases a battered holiday card which shows ample evidence of his attack. The card contains it’s stock greeting, a brief personal message and a photo of a man whom Foxy proudly states is his friend. As he shares the photo he crumples up the envelope and card (unread) together, into a tight ball and shoves it in his coat pocket.

At the church banquet room the priestly types and their spousely types are seated together; the best dressed. Core members and volunteers are scattered about. My riders gravitate to a table which is shaping up to be the designated slow table. It’s unusual for this community to arrange itself so cliquey. Perhaps it is more or less a random phenomena this time around?

I decide to be generous and take a seat between Gramps, who smells terrible - perhaps a seven on his Personal Reek Table, and a silent man whose name I still do not know, who never takes off his coat which smells like he has smoked a million of the world’s most evil-smelling cigarettes in it. The combo is slightly ghastly but I decide that the taste of dinner shall overcome it, and that’s that. Sometimes I have the power to make these kinds of decisions, where I just make peace with a circumstance and that’s that. Not recently so much but perhaps this is a good sign.  

I talk briefly across the table with skinny Mr. Chief, more stone-faced and dead-eyed than ever. He is still working at the bottle recycling plant and still does his jigsaw puzzles. He has twenty completed ones taped to his walls. I don’t ask if he’s still on the court-appointed drugs which have essentially substituted for shock treatments for decades.  

Later the Noble Punster, who is too great a guy for me to describe immediately (I will share his story some day), takes one for the team and sits with us also.

After a fabulous traditional Christmas dinner and some clean-up we migrate to the oddly-shaped vaulted sanctuary where I like to think I receive my only authorized Christmas present every year (Mom spoils me despite my occasional protests); which is the singing. The words are patently ridiculous to me; every song rejoicing in some one or two of the sum five-or-so brief concepts which defy logic and any but the most ungrounded flights of fancy the human mind ever convulsed…

But the voices!

How this unlikely crew of misfits manages to form such a choir blows my mind every year. I guess they really dig it. I guess they’re pretty inspired. And there are a few with rare talent who know how to belt it out and lead the way. And the acoustics of this seemingly awkward room structure is the real deal.

Still the magic has faded a notch this year, perhaps because the storm dealt us a smaller crowd.  

Driving home with Chilliwack’s Fly at Night a welcome gift from the radio, I am thinking about Neo and how, after a crisis and reunion, our friendship feels stronger than ever. There is more to figure out and I look forward to that. He spoke to me with a new kind of confidence it seemed. He has endeavored to be generous in accommodating the gap between our perspectives and I certainly intend to bend likewise. I suppose that that gap may have just about closed at a conscious level. Perhaps it’s more how we bring things together logistically that is the challenge. And there I can afford to be generous.

I reflected on much in his absence and gained needed clarity. I’m pretty sure he did the same. Interestingly I feel little relief or specific joy over this, but more of a calm strength from a valuable bond which no longer invites any peril or liability.

It’s quite wonderful but I’m taking it in stride. I’m not wondering where the lions are.