Me and the Dog

Deeogee.  That's his name.  D-O-G..get it?  If you're under 8 years old, it's a natural, but as we overthink everything in our world, something so simple seems to evade us at times.

The dog was not welcome here.  Having recently lost my first dog Gus after 11 years, I was not in the market when proximity and chance conspired to land me my latest best friend.  It has been funny to see him grow up, like a second child, with a slightly jaundiced eye towards his independant streak.  It has been quite a challenge, but we are now a team and working on the traits of a couple of old buds. 

Sometime in June, he will be 6, or 42 years old in human years.  Close to my age, we are both living the same life in the same house.  Both of us ain't getting any - and are getting fatter by the day.  Getting out for a w-a-l-k in the p-a-r-k is a high point for both of us as well.  I feel for the guy.  Something was bred into him that prepared him for a life that just isn't there anymore.  You see, no matter how much dog whispering I do, he still wants to eat, screw, play, crap and fight.  In that order.  Buried inside that thick skull, he is a genius at getting those things.  Period.  The problem is, I can't let him run free, chase squirrels, hump a bitch or "get the stick" around here anymore.  Society has neutered him, turned him into a pooping machine.

Like I said, same life.

Misery loves Company

There is nothing like shared agony to bring people together. Be it a nation creaking under the weight of ever increasing social and financial strains, or the ability of a funeral audience to see clearly into their own future, pain allows people to share a common burden, and share the load. Soldiers who fight for their very lives in the most awful conditions forge relationships with their mates that last a lifetime. Support groups formed to assist individuals and families through disease and affliction find kindred souls to help them make sense of such very dark times. For as long as humanity has walked this earth, the misery created by adversity can rarely if ever be dealt with alone – the need to survive and recover strives to overcome adversity.




There are however, herds of elephants in the room, none more seemingly obvious than the scourge of mental illness and the profound effects it has on our society. While prejudice and ignorance has been routed from most dark corners in the past generation, the attitudes and resources fixed to make a difference are only now being slowly herded. An estimated 50 billion dollars in lost productivity, an epidemic in suicides and addiction, and a system that is unable to handle the fall out from years of neglect, are some of the indicators of just how pervasive the problem is. Children are medicated, adults are cracking under the ever-increasing stress, and society does….nothing.



A diabetic needs insulin. Most people would easily understand the clear medical solution, and few would deny them the treatment they need. Someone with a mental illness however, is still perceived as defective, dangerous, to be shunned. It makes us uncomfortable to be confronted by someone who could very well be us. It is much easier to simply turn away, either ignoring the obvious or putting the “blame” on the individual – lazy, crazy, wrong. Like all afflictions, not all are the same, either the severity or the prospects of recovery. Despite changes to the Mental Health Act, there remains a societal unwillingness to face the problem, while access to treatment, proper diagnosis and support all conspire to prevent changes that are so very necessary. Make no mistake, profound changes must be made for the sake of us all.



Step one –and the most important one, is to work very hard to change the negative attitudes that surround mental illness. Stop sugar coating our own sensibilities in order to make the reality go down easier. Realize that until the stigma and ignorance that exists is washed away, we will only allow this rot to continue to undermine the foundations of the house we all share. No matter what we do, mental illness will be with us – as it has been – forever. What we can do is make sure that those who are affected know that they are not alone.

Moonlight over Burlington Bay/Western end of Lake Ontario

Yours Forever

I wrote his poem in 13 minutes after watching a 1975 production summing up a 26 part documentary on the 2nd world war.  The letter was penned in 1943 by a young RAF pilot to his wife days before he was killed.  The letter was 2 pages long, still in it's original form - the reader's hands slightly shaking with emotion as he narrated the 3 miniute tome. 

Struck down by the sheer lack of guile and unbridled love for the sweetheart of his life, I was deeply touched this day by the feeling - sent with such intimacy - and the ability of those emotions to travel such time and distance to me -now.

Keep in mind this letter was the last thing said at the end of 15 hour production on the most brutal time in the history of humankind.

I give you

Yours Forever


Yours Forever


How it must feel - never to be loved
Nay a mothers touch or a lover for the ages - or a time

Sweet waves crashing, a late spring breeze
Beyond description
Yet we write
And sing
And cry...for love

The tides and the winds
Do as they have done 
Building - eroding
Pushing - pulling
Us ...from love

Yet we know it - we seek it
Nothing else has it

We should be
Could be
Are
Loved

The Century

The Century
 

THE CENTURY

A series of 100 word epics by Kevin Barber

I think people are a lot like leaves.  When the summer is high, and the sun and the rain are plentiful, all leaves are green.  It is only when the short days and cold nights of autumn have arrived that their true nature is revealed. In the last moments, the brilliant reds and yellows mingle with the mottled browns on the earth’s canvass.  Some leaves remain bright green, as if they never believed that they too would break from the only home they have ever known and experience a short, beautiful freedom as remarkable individuals.

I saw myself yesterday. Well, I actually saw a 14 year old kid with long, unkempt hair, jeans and sneakers - wearing a pretty cool RUSH T-shirt. It was a bit of an epiphany, as I was struck by the fact that a generation has passed on my watch – the 30 year period in modern humans where the torch is passed, and what was old is somehow new again. If only we could all benefit from the same rediscovery, the same rebirth – the affirmation that the more things change the more they stay the same.






It bugs me when parents ignore the obvious and trespass onto jungle gyms – or whatever the hell they call them these days – at the park. Adults sully the pure spirit that exists when all of earth’s citizens under the age of eight get together without the burdens of class, sex and race that the rest of us have to slug through every day. I also notice that the benches are well back where all of us “grownups” sit with the same stupid looks on our faces, like finding a picture from a long time ago.






In the 50’s and 60’s, the repressive restrictions placed on many authors saw an explosive rise in the popularity of science fiction books. While the suits and bureaucrats only saw spacemen and aliens, the storylines in fact reflected the very core socio-political issues consuming the world and its peoples. Censors, ignorant to this connection, took years and years to realize this phenomenon. Today, the acerbic, sarcastic blue comedy of the adult cartoon genre has replaced sci-fi as the torchbearer, using parody and crude drawings to outwit those who would rather you not be bothered with such filthy, immature clap trap.





Once upon a time, great leaders led. Today, nothing is done before it is studied with a phalanx of pricks, pokes and grabs that we call polling, surveying, gauging or probing by an army of folk dedicated to applying hard numbers to things like opinion, habit and belief. Now - the first rule of market research is market, or money. It is safe to say that nothing gets researched unless someone pays for it. So if your wife asks you if she looks like she’s getting fat, ask yourself if you want to get more work.

 

 


A good adage is like a homemade jam, boiled down to a sweet, palatable package, created over generations of experience. When you hear someone say “The more things change, the more they stay the same” or “A penny saved is a penny earned” what you are in fact hearing is an entire textbook, delivered in a clear, concise fashion by anyone who can connect the dots on a basic level. An adage is comforting in that it shows each generation that whatever situation arises in their lives, the same thing has happened to many, many people over many, many years.

They used to be called lifestyle ads.  Feel-good, pre-packaged illusions connect you the consumer with their products.  Bud men were joiners; Coors men were a group who saw themselves as non-joiners. Today, it is called branding, and there is no alternative- in today’s world of advertising you are what you buy.  Market researchers in their never-ending quest to justify their jobs continually endeavor to pigeonhole an entire population starting at birth. Likewise, political parties also want to help you to avoid having to make decisions yourself based on anything other than their word.  After all darling, they brand cattle – right?

There is little argument that we are in deep shit. The chickens have come home to roost so to speak, and the frivolous, conspicuous consumption that has been driving this society for the past quarter century is shifting like the landfill it was built on. Life’s simple pleasures have become scripted images in fabric softener commercials, and family time is the image used by fast foot restaurants in their advertising. Hair colour is the second most profitable sector at Shoppers Drug Mart after Pharmaceuticals. Take time to survey the magazines at the check out – to see what’s really important today.

Feelings

The manifestation of electro magnetical impulses into paralysing emotion has been the boon and bane of mankind since the beginning of time.  The process is still deeply mysterious, with modern mapping techniques charting the brains neuro transmissions like Cooke or Columbus. 

What is known, is that our feelings - our emotions - cause us to do pretty well everything in life, from cradle to grave.  A constant balance takes place as we fight our emotions, control ourselves and ignore our gut feelings.  As much as we treasure the swoon of new love, or the thrill of victory, we fear the loss of family and the cold hand of death.

Madness, the silent elephant in the room, sits quietly in the corner, allowing far too many of us to be suddenly enveloped in it's enormity, lost to the rest of the world.  We all can appreciate those in the arts who tread so close to the edge, giving us a glimpse of the fiery core, where we fear to tread.  Stray too far and even those who were recently in their midst turn away for good.

How then, do we live with the burden of emotion?  How does one turn off that artery, spilling blood all the way?  Surely the souls who work the child cancer wards and man the distress lines and the like, are made of something special.  It is one thing not to feel - another to feel and do it anyway.   All I need to think about when the hot breath of anxiety and despair touch my neck, is to think of so many who have touched my life in even the smallest way.  I think about the mad giggles of my girls, not how they're going to make it.  I appreciate the roof over my head, even though I will be 75 when I own it - and the mice think they own it now.  I'm glad that although my wife sleeps 18 km from  here - we are still friendly.  But most of all, I'm thankful that I am alive in this flash of time, and my story is yet to be fully written.

It's OK to feel.  Some of us feel more, some less - but we all feel.  Tomorrow perhaps I won't give a shit so much.  But I'm feeling it today.

Circle of Death

Beautiful day, the sun shining, and the blossoms exploding everywhere. A nest of birds, starlings actually - had taken up residence for the third or fourth year. Loud, pushy and obnoxious - they summarily destroyed the home of the original occupants, a nice sparrow couple who must now do as best they can in the rain gutter of neighbour dave's house. I have no idea if they have ever sucessfully pulled off a brood - but I never recall having seen a young one survive the rains. They come back every year, perhaps because they know no other place - or because they hope the starlings won't come back.

Things were the same this year, the sparrows, polite, industrious and benevolent - arriving early and setting up shop until the wasp of the aviators arrived yet again, eating their eggs and beginning their own yearly routine.
I have been unwilling to close off the opening in the porch, for the inconvienience was always outweighed by the life experience. Today I was reminded of the unfortunate side of it. Arriving in a fine mood, the dog - Deeogee, was quick to point out the young, motley chick that was baking in the sun. Looking not too bad for the huge fall, I tucked the lil fellow back behind the boards, and sure enough - and soon enough he was back out. Now I realized this was the runt - the weaker, late hatching chick that was expendable this year. Being brutalized by your siblings, or left to die of exposure - a easy meal for a cat - or a quick flush? Either way, I was in the mix because I chose to have yearly guests.
Kinda ruined my day.