Tag: life

Snow

About 8 inches of wet snow fell last night. The roads turned slick. We were due in Calgary, but decided to reschedule.

I have included another couple of pictures of the eclipse. I was happy to be able to capture some of the stars around the moon, usually impossible during a full moon as its shine drowns them out. Regulus can be seen above the moon and several stars from the constellation Leo.

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I changed the oil and filters in my truck yesterday. I haven’t done that in a real long time. I usually take the truck down to Cranbrook an hour and a half down the road for service. People ask why I don’t get it serviced closer to home. The answer is: I’ve always done this. At one time I knew most of the mechanics in the valley and I didn’t want to dislike them. Mechanics are notorious for fucking up and it’s never their fault. Granted they have to keep up on ever changing technology and it can’t be easy. So I drive 150 km out of my way. That way if I’m pissed off at the quality of the work it is at a place out of sight and not at a mechanic I play hockey with on Sunday night, or see at the school picking up their kids.

Now, I have to admit, it probably cost me more to change it myself. First, I bought synthetic oil and a good quality filter.

Second, I had to make a trip to the hardware to buy a six point 15mm socket because the goddamn oil plug was in so tight. The wrenches I had were twelve point and I didn’t want to round off the plug, or I would have been going to the mechanic for a real big bill, and the mechanic would not have spared me from letting me know what a fool I was.

Third, I checked online to see where to take the old oil for recycling. The first place I took it wouldn’t take it, the second place said they stopped taking it. So I drove it over to the landfill who said they don’t take it, but gave me the name of a place that did, and surprise, an hour and a half later and a few litres of Trumps expensive gas, I finally got rid of it.

And fourth, my pants and jacket become thoroughly dirty from lying on the ground, requiring me to spend more time and detergent washing them. Actually, I’ve kept them hidden waiting for a good time to show them to Lisa.

So there you have it, done in by my own hard headedness. Which is a common occurrence.

Heartbreak

Yesterday was tough, hearing the news of the school shooting from Tumbler Ridge. In the coming days, there will be plenty of comments on why it happened. Most will not be helpful.

It is tough to comprehend the feelings the people of the small town must be experiencing. The whole of Canada is in mourning for the families touched by this tragedy.

When I was young, I feared many things. Somehow, though, I believed I had a measure of control over those fears. I could outrun them, outthink them, or at least convince myself they were manageable.

I wonder what children think now, growing up in a world where news travels instantly to the palm of their hand. A phone can feed fear twenty-four hours a day. At certain ages, it is easy to focus only on the darkness and not yet understand that life bends back toward light. I suspect many young people feel powerless—not just over the world, but sometimes over their own thoughts and emotions.

If my grandchildren ask about this tragedy, what will I say? How do you promise safety in a world that offers no guarantees?

Lisa and I have tried to make our house a safe place for our grandkids—a place where they know they are loved unconditionally. We try to show them beauty in small things. They help me in the woodpile and the garden. Lisa shows them how to bake and keeps a huge supply of art supplies for any project. We have supper together at least two times a week, where we talk about our day. We want them to feel safe and to feel they have some control, maybe not over the threats of the world, but over how they approach them. All we can do is love them.

Last night, I went looking for stars and peace. It was after midnight but before the moon was up. I could hear the creek flowing under the ice. The mountains were in outline, and the familiar constellations were holding their own.

My mind eased if only momentarily. I stopped before the creek to make sure I didn’t break through the ice in the dark. There may never be true safety. You can only take it all in and know that good will offer a path. It may never be safe all the time, but the more often you look for good, the more often you will find it. Unfortunately there is no consolation for the people of Tumbler Ridge and the families suffering with heart breaking loss.

On Thin Ice

Fresh ice under a waxing gibbous November moon.

A thin layer of ice formed on Lake Windermere in the last couple days of November. Very late compared to years past. Since I usually skate on the lake in November, and wasn’t able to due to the thin ice, I took the opportunity to get in a final swim. More of a dunk actually.

I creeped out on the ice until it cracked and I went through. I had an axe with me to chop my way to shore if needed. Willow wasn’t happy with my choices. Even she knows thin ice can’t be trusted. Lisa took the photo and told me explicitly beforehand not to expect her to save me.

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The good neighbour was having vehicle trouble and broke down a few miles from home. He asked if I’d give him a ride and help him get it going.

A little tinkering and we got it going. It sounded like shit. Which isn’t totally unusual as the good neighbour has always driven beaters. He usually got them through a trade of one sort or another. At one time he would drive them until they died and then leave them in his yard. I guess his thought was he may get them going again. Then he would start filling them up with other stuff that wasn’t working, but he might get going again. Kitchen appliances, screen printing equipment, even big stuff that made you wonder how he got it too fit. He had a 60 inch TV in one of them. He called them his treasures and reminded me he’s never had a car payment.

Once we had his car going and we let it idle for a while I followed him home to make sure it didn’t break down again.

He says he has some travelling to do over Christmas so he is going to have someone look over the vehicle.

A few days later he texted me and said Grant took a look at it and it still starts. Grant is one of his drinking buddies and is a retired grocer. I, as well, have drank with Grant and if there is something I know it’s that he is not mechanically inclined.

I texted back, ‘You had Grant the grocer diagnose your vehicle? Most people in the same situation employ a mechanic.’

He texted back, ‘That’s a little harsh. If I only had your looks.’

There you have it. The good neighbours vehicle has been given a clean bill of health by Grant the grocer and he is set to take it on his Christmas tour all over British Columbia in the dead of winter.

As long as it rolls out of his driveway he is good to go.

Dysfunction

No chance to see Comet Lemmon this morning through the cloud and snow.

Some big juicy flakes fell but didn’t amount to more than a skiff. Still nice to see.

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This year while working as a manager I had the misfortune of dealing with quite a few troubled workers. There is more and more people racked with anxiety every year. Mostly young Canadians who didn’t make it through the Covid lockdowns unscathed. It is a shame to see. It makes you wonder how they are going to make it.

But the worst was a 50-some-year-old alcoholic. Drinking on the job, late, cranky, emotional, miserable, complaining, missing days, injury prone, sloppy, hungover, driving drunk, fucking up and lying at every turn. He also has done a turn for beating his kid, wife and mother. All despite a three month stretch in rehab paid for by the government. An absolute pain-in-the-ass to be around. A complete dysfunctional boozer!

Now I come from a long line of functional alcoholics. Guys who wake up and make it to work on time. Keep putting one foot in front of the other regardless of headache or sickness, putting in an honest days work usually for themselves, raising their hands first for the tough jobs, keeping their mouth shut, they don’t drink until after the shift and laugh it off. Granted they are not easy to live with and they’re their own worst enemy, but they don’t fuck up at work. Guys like this are a dying breed as we all become a bunch of snivelling whiners.

I felt like grabbing this worker, smacking the shit out of him and teaching him how to be a goddamn man. Of course that would have been a trip to HR. It made me more angry that he couldn’t handle the booze than what a complete fuck-up he was at work. Hopefully the government will spring for another session in rehab as some people just shouldn’t drink.

Luckily I didn’t have to deal with him long.

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