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Ontario Votes 2018

5/22/2018

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​This TorStar article (clearly written by a Liberal Supporter), does indeed tout the Wynne Government’s successes throughout the post-McGuinty period, and I’ll admit, those successes should be applauded given the disasters of her predecessor, however I have to ask myself time and time again about the lack of leadership for Ontarians that are not mentioned in this piece.
 
I supported the Liberals in the last election because I honestly believed that there would be some real change in the way government works, but I feel duped, and so does my wallet. The people of Ontario should also be more than concerned about the future of this province as a result of what wasn’t addressed, what has happened in the past budget from this government, and to start asking some serious questions so that their vote is appropriately placed this time around.
 
For instance the Liberals have:
 
  • Produced a modest $600-million surplus in 2017-18, but it will be quickly replaced by a total of $31.9-billion in deficit spending over the next six years.
  • Promised action on having the most expensive automobile insurance rates in the country despite our excellent driving records, yet nothing was done – a promise that has been broken time and time again by the Liberals, and I suspect they knew better than to play that card again this time around (but there’s a few weeks left.
  • Sold our ownership of Hydro, and the rates continue to climb at record levels costing us more and more.
  • Mildly reduced electricity costs in the short term only to hurt future generations who are expected to recover that money plus the interest to the unnecessary tune of billions of dollars.
  • Introduced a timely election budget that pours billions of dollars into services for Ontarians that will reach them over the next 4-6 years that we’ve needed for the entire duration of this government. Specifically I think of support for Mental Health Services as an example. How many suicides could have been prevented if this was not placed on the back burner until an election year budget? Ask the families who have lost someone to mental illness.
  • Introduced paid drugs for those who were already covered with private plans. I’m all for paid medication for those that need it, but this poorly planned “blanket” approach must have the insurance companies ecstatic over their savings now that the taxpayer will cover those millions in expenses.
  • Once again propped up the failing horse racing industry with our money, and they’ve promised it from your pockets at a rate of $105 million per year for the next 19 years! You do the math on that nonsense.
  • Continued to spend our money promoting their involvement in infrastructure projects across this province with self-serving partisan advertising. I don’t need to see expensive road signs patting any government on the back for providing the funds. Wake up people, it’s YOUR money that’s funding those projects, and your government is taking credit for it, and YOU are paying for them to tell you about it.
  • Spent more time attacking their opponents rather than simply providing us with a logical, sensible and cost effective platform for another term in government. Kind of like Pepsi VS Coke. If the only way you can sell your product is to damage the reputation of your competitor, you don’t have a product worth a tinker’s damn in the first place.
 
Let’s be honest, I could be doing this all day my friends, and as for Doug Ford leading the PC Party? Well, he’s backtracked on opening up the Greenbelt, said he’d cut funding to the CBC when it’s federally funded, and continues on with his nonsense without a platform knowing that there are a good number of people out there heading to the polls that just don’t know how to place educated, informed support. He’s banking on it, and those who do support him will pay the price if they put him and his party into office.
 
I’m just asking the people of this province to get their facts straight, and stop with this “what’s in it for me right now” attitude. This, like every other election is about the successful future of this province, and we can’t afford any more of the types of government we’ve seen flipping back and forth as we have between the dumb and dumber of parties.
 
There. I’ve had my say.
 

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Sammy and Me!

4/13/2018

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Here he is. Sammy. "My" rescue, meaning I guess that I rescued him, but he sure rescued me!

We haven't been together yet a year, but it seems wonderfully longer than that. We fenced in the yard together this summer as you will see in the pictures, and he sure was my best bud when I sawed my left wrist during the process! lol

Sammy is missing his right hind leg, and his cruciate ligament was torn in an early springtime run, and without surgery he would have suffered a tremendous deal of arthritic issues putting him in such pain and a rather restricted and unpleasant future. Surgery was the obvious and ONLY answer. We've only just begun the rehabilitation process, but as I tell him "it's all downhill from here buddy".

Super team at Sherbrooke Heights Animal Hospital in Peterborough, Ontario Canada. Cannot express enough Kudos!

Our wee home now has the bed in the dining room. Sammy and Bobby are having a long-term campout!

I am blessed with the best of friends who have called and shown their support for Sammy during this pretty tough period for my little fella. I weill be forever grateful!

Bob and Sammy (aka: Sammy Sam Samurai Salmon Samerson)
​<3 xoxo
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The Potential Benefits of Successful Restorative Art for the Bereaved

2/3/2014

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The Potential Benefits of Successful Restorative Art for the Bereaved
By Robert Brook


    All I wanted was to have my Dad back. Of course I knew that he couldn't miraculously be brought back to life, nor would I ever wish for him to return to a body that for a good six months had deteriorated around his mind, challenging everything he was, everything he believed in or ever could be.

    Death does that. In the case of a terminal illness, death can slowly strip away the physical and the mental familiarities of those we love. When it does, it implants those damaging images into our very souls. When the death is sudden or tragic, again the images of that moment can scar us for a seemingly endless period of time. It is those images of death that are far too easily recalled, either by choice, or too often without warning, and they serve to bury the memories of the good times we shared with our loved ones. It is not fair, but it doesn't have to be that way. From the past to the present, Restorative Arts have played an integral part in the grieving and consequently the healing process for families and loved ones. As we look to the future, Restorative Arts should continue to evolve to benefit the changing thoughts and needs for families and their decedents.

    We often speak of restorative art in the modern sense of the word, which claimed its title in the 1930’s[i], but clearly we can understand that funeralization, in and of itself, has always been about our restorative efforts. All world cultures have throughout time engaged in restorative efforts, whether it is to return the soul to the creator or gods, or to ensure the body is preserved for purposes of resurrection. For example, the ancient Egyptians were practicing a range of restorative techniques on the emaciated features of the dead. These restorative practices ranged from filling the inside of the mouths with sawdust to improve hollowed cheeks to stuffing linen under the eyelids or replacing eyes with stones. The practice of returning the body to its life state included, tending to any disability, injury or disfigurement until the face and the body were returned to as close to the original features and shape of the person they were preparing for their death ceremony.[ii] Funeral professionals help restore people’s faith in their beliefs, and we help them restore their memories and love for the departed, their families and their friends. By embalming, we have, since the American Civil War, restored the dead so that not only could the families mourn the death but the funerary ritual could involve the larger community beyond the family.[iii]  Thus, friends could now not only acknowledge and accept the death, but benefit from a more pleasant image of the deceased without the grieving imagination creating inaccurate and haunting images for them. Through this, our profession has recognized the importance of that image, and from that we began to extend our efforts into reconstructive restoration efforts for the benefit of the families we serve.

    I truly didn’t know what to expect when I approached my father’s casket that September afternoon. I was nervous. I was numb with grief. I was angry at the cancer that consumed him at just 67 years of age. I felt robbed of the future that should have been, and I was haunted by the image of him created by the disease with each and every passing day following his diagnosis. To me it wasn’t about the “temporary preservation and sanitation of the deceased body”. [iv]  To me it was simply about my needing to say goodbye to my dad as I remembered him from those many years before the cancer, and how much I needed to remember him that way as I went forward with my life.

    When a death is tragic, those grieving the loss will be even further traumatized by the images they will naturally have conjured up about the visual effects of the tragedy to their loved one. Not knowing what happened to the deceased can be more destructive for them because an imagination can run uncontrollably wild during the grieving process, and the need to see the decedent unharmed and at rest is even further enhanced. When funeral directors persuade families to forgo a viewing, or when we allow a family to make this decision in haste, we are effectively acknowledging that the picture is bad, and we are leading them down an emotional path of which there is little recovery. By doing this, we would be failing our families by not placing ourselves on their side of the arrangement table, and realizing that the information we have in regards to the benefits of a period of visitation with an open casket needs to be communicated to them. If there is ever a need for restorative efforts to be utilized, it’s when a death has been tragic, and we must answer that call for restoration to the best of our abilities.

    As funeral professionals we must recognize that with the increasing popularity of cremation, the opportunities to help our families cope with the emotional effects of death are being lost. Fewer traditional services with periods of visitation and open casket viewing mean fewer opportunities to both utilize and showcase our skills in restorative art, the result of which will ultimately benefit the emotional well-being of those who are grieving a loss. We cannot lose sight of the fact that our restorative skills also stand to remind people of our importance in helping people with far more than the basic formalities that arise when a death occurs. The formalities of which many aren’t even aware take place.

    There is an ever increasing mindset that all things are quick and efficient – microwave foods, text messaging. However this should not carry over to death.[v] With the advancement of technology, and the increasing rapid rate that everything seems to pass us by, it appears only inevitable that our decision processes will also be affected. Too often we see people accommodating others at the time of a death rather than their own needs. Or they capitulate to the ‘last requests’ of their loved one. “Let’s have the funeral on a weekend so no one will have to take time off work”, or “I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible” are just a couple of statements we have all likely heard which signify that people are dismissing their own needs during their time of loss. This mindset often results in fewer visitations with open caskets, so the benefit of restorative art is lost, and the grieving process can be lengthened and more difficult for family and friends of the deceased.

    "In order for us to get through the grieving process, we need to see the body, we need to know for a fact this person is gone… As soon as you see the body, you can now move forward."[vi]

    Since the beginning of modern day embalming, it was only inevitable that restorative techniques would be developed to mask evidence of trauma, or many of the natural indignities that could occur to a body pre or post mortem. When we think of the evolution of funeralization over many centuries, we can understand and appreciate that every aspect of the process plays a vital role in providing both a mental and visually dignified tribute to the deceased. To not make the effort to ensure the appearance of the body was familiar, restful and at peace would only serve to cause unnecessary discomfort to the bereaved. By eliminating this discomfort through our restorative efforts, we are granting them a direction to move forward in their healing. This is why, as funeral directors and embalmers, we should never underestimate the value of restorative art. We simply cannot allow an evolution towards cremation to deny us from offering our expertise in this important piece of the profession, and we must never allow ourselves to become so self-critical that we fear an imperfect result with any restorative effort. “The need and desire for viewing pushes the need for increasing our skill levels and accepting challenges that we know may not turn out perfect”. [vii]

    Improvements in restorative art and funeral director skills are multi-facetted. First, as chemical and product development occurs, advancements in restorative art are sure to follow. Second, networking with other funeral professionals is a vital piece to the restorative art practice because each professional brings their own unique experiences with restorative situations.  Further, this is a chance to share skills and techniques for the vast array of restorative requirements. These, of course, benefit all in the industry. By connecting with each other and sharing those stories we are forever improving our knowledge base and our families and the profession itself will benefit greatly. Third, professional journals, trade magazine articles and conferences are wonderful resources for restorative stories and practical applications from which we can all learn. With knowledge, comes a greater degree of assuredness as we are confronted with needs requiring these skills in the future.

    From the early records of death and restoration, we know there is value and health that goes along with seeing a loved one free of the ravages of illness, disease of mutation. It is paramount that we, as the funeral professional, create that semblance of normality and provide the opportunity for closure. For various reasons, the number of cremations and less traditional ways of disposition have increased – cheaper, quicker, unpleasant past viewing experience. This is having a detrimental impact on the future of the traditional services. However having this information and knowledge, we will be better able to balance the needs and risks of restorative efforts. Coupled with our ability to continue to educate ourselves, we can ensure that restorative art does not become a lost piece of our profession. We cannot allow people to believe that a viewing is not beneficial.  There continues to be value to seeing a body in a casket at a funeral home. It allows friends and family to properly say goodbye. We know of the emotional risks a family takes when they choose to forego a visitation for the wrong reasons, and we know they won’t be aware of the outcome of that decision until it is too late. By passing our knowledge along to our families, we are allowing them to make informed decisions and truly being honourable to our role.

    As I walked toward the casket, I was greeted by that very man and more. Before me, was the father with whom I joked, hugged, kissed, and shared special moments in conversation. This was the man who gave me the last five dollar bill from his wallet as he saw me board the bus to return to the city for another week at college. Before me was the man with the chubby face and crew cut who taught me to paddle a canoe, ride a bicycle, catch fish and so much more. The shades of his illness were replaced by the hearty colours of the man I loved. Gone was the cancer. Gone was the look of pain and stress, and gone was the control that the disease had over me and it was replaced with my being able to grieve losing my very best friend.


              Notes:

[i]           History of Embalming and Restorative Art (http://corp.elitecme.com/dynamic/pdf/FIL03ERI11.pdf), 9.
[ii]          M-Gillies, A Brief History of Restorative Art
[iii]          Jacqueline S. Thursby , Funeral Festivals in America: Rituals for the Living. (Kentucky: University Press of Kentucky,                        2006) 23.
[iv]          Robert G. Mayer (2012). The Theory and Practice of Embalming, Fifth Edition. New York: McGraw Hill.
[v]           CJ Carnacchio, “Oxford Man Restores Dead to Bring Peace to the Living” (http://www.clarkstonnews.com/Articles-                           News-i-2011-11-09-244438.113121-sub-Oxford-man-restores-dead-to-bring-peace-to-living.html)  November 9, 2011.
[vi]          CJ Carnacchio, “Oxford Man Restores Dead to Bring Peace to the Living”
[vii]         Jack Adams, CFSP 2012. “Surreal Restoration”. (Dodge Magazine. Winter 2012), 4-6.

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Pizza Hut FAILURE

6/26/2013

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Picture
  This is the sign. This is the sign I have been looking at since last weekend, anticipating the day that I could enjoy Pizza Hut chicken wings at Half Price. Today was that day. I announced it at work saying “today is half price wing night at Pizza Hut and I can’t wait”.

  I’ve been a chicken wing lover for years. Decades really. I just love chicken wings. I’m not big on them already being soaked in the hot sauce. I’m a self-dipper. Some wings I want dry and deep fried, and then the next one I may want covered wth that burn and tang of the ever famous “burn your mouth” (and butt the next morning), hot sauce. I just like to be in charge of the impact of each and every bite that I take.

  So, off I go on my wing trek… not far really, just a scant 1.25 minute walk from the house. I wait my turn in line, smiling at the people occupying two of the tables in the seating area. The girl behind the counter looks at me when I’m next in line as if to say “can I take your order”, but apparently I’m supposed to comprehend her untrained blank facial expression as that of being one which translates to “Welcome to Pizza Hut, can I help you?” I reply to her non-verbal introduction with “I’d like the 20 chicken wings to go. “Would you like breaded, traditional or boneless bites?” she reads from the cash register screen. “What are the traditional wings?” I ask. Apparently this question is a difficult one, and she turns her head and looks at the sign above her head and replies “they’re the ones in the middle”. I resist the urge to role my eyes (persons of this girl's generation have caused me to roll my eyes so far back in my head I’ve almost required surgery to put them back in place).

  “Twenty traditional wings to go please” I request. She hits a few keys on the register (do they call them a register anymore?), and says that will be $13.33, and you know what? I almost just simply sighed and let the matter go without question, but then I came to my senses and said “I thought it was half price wing night”, to which she replied “it IS half price wing night”. I point to the sign above her head (the same sign she relies on to explain what they sell at Pizza Hut), and said “but twenty wings are normally priced at $18.00 (I was giving her the benefit of the mathematical doubt – the price was actually $17.99), and the expression on her face was priceless as she tried to see just where it was that I saw $18.00 with something clearly priced at $17.99. Now, normally this is where I would just go home and open up a can of Campbell’s soup (because ever since I was knee high to a grasshopper it is always Campbell’s soup that makes every problem a little bit better, and a tummy damned happy), but no … I had to press the matter further, and by this time this exchange of words had grabbed the attention of her older male co-worker who was quick to the scene at the counter.

  I asked “how can half of $18.00 with tax come to $13.33? That means there’s over four dollars in tax”. The co-worker looks at the screen and says “the price is $11.80 plus tax.” To which I reply “if that’s your idea of half-price wings then you need to change your sign out front”, and then it hits me! It’s time for a restaurant poll because everyone in the joint is listening in on the conversation. I turn around and ask “is it my math that’s out of whack here?” After the laughter, the diners offered opinions of “yah, I was beginning to think the same thing”, and “no your math is just fine”.

  Grudgingly I paid the rip-off, Pizza Hut, falsely advertised price and the “clerk” (whose name by the way came up on the receipt as ‘Steph’) asks if I want my receipt. “Yes I want my receipt so I can talk with your manager about this tomorrow”. The lady ahead of me in line who was waiting for her order said “the manager here is my niece. I’m going to call her when I get home about this, because this isn’t right.” Well, I can do simple math. I can even tackle some complicated mathematical equations without screwing them up completely, but this is a Pizza Hut offering a “half price” item which clearly means that you take the original price and divide it by two.

  Perhaps Pizza Hut in Lakefield needs to hire people who understand simple math, people who truly know about the products they sell, and maybe, just maybe, have acquired some interpersonal skills prior to dealing with the public. I mean, when the same idiots serving me at the counter are the same people preparing something I’m putting into my body, I have to wonder. I just have to!

  So the receipt I get is one of those thermal printouts that's stained with a red ink blot in the middle indicating that the paper roll is near its end, and needs to be changed. How much do you want to bet that Steph and her math genius male counterpart are completely baffled with this simple task?

  I remember when an interview for a job meant you had to prove your worth. I remember when the sign said “half price” it meant a 50% discount. I remember when clerks in shops understood their products and services. I remember when clerks would speak to you using their “voice” and made you feel welcome and special for spending your hard earned money in their establishment. I remember when the customer was always right (especially when he/she actually was right). I remember when people appreciated your business and would reply to a situation like this with “you are right, $11.80 is not half of $17.99. I’ll adjust the price and speak with my manager about this error”.

  Maybe I should just stop remembering ... OR, maybe I should just post this on my blog, and stop going to Pizza Hut. I like that latter. Spread the word, and spend my money at some of Lakefield's more worthy Restaurants like The Lakefield Restaurant (whose Pizza is TO DIE FOR and the service is top notch), or Jack's (who make the BEST fish and chips around), or another favourite is Nuttshell Next Door Cafe which serves the most delectable of the delightfuls each and every day for your tastebuds to simply flip over backwards for.



Lesson learned? Oh yah... Big Chain - Big Pain!
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So-Long My Friend (Goodbye is forever)...

2/28/2013

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Picture
James Hockings
This morning I saw a post from a friend on Facebook that caught both my attention, and my heart. In London, Ontario several years ago (1994 to be exact), following the death of my life partner Jim Ziegler, I found myself dealing not so well with processing not only his death and the years leading up to it, but also the death of my father, grandmother, the complete gutting of our home due to a fire, and the loss of my job as a result of my needing time to care for Jim at home. I must say, that it was a difficult time period for me, and the struggle for maintaining some degree of self sanity and certainly self-appreciation and respect was not going at all well.

A friend suggested that I needed a good dose of a photographic session with James Hockings who (with his ex wife Judy) owned and operated Off Broadway Photography on Richmond Street in London. I was told to go for the big shoot consisting of about 3 hours duration requiring several changes of clothing, and be prepared to have a ton of fun. Surprisingly, coming from a family of photographers, I was always more comfortable on the back-side of the lens, but I thought “hey, what the hell have I to lose?” and booked the appointment for the following week.

It would be a photo shoot that in many ways changed my life and how I perceived the world. It would provide me with friends whose time I shared is something that I remember well to this day. The shoot began in the studio with lights and backdrops and flashes popping off and music playing, and for the first time ever it seemed, I felt important, or at least important in a "different" way, and the exchange between this photographer and I was as if we had been friends since birth. It took no time for him to read my face and the manners of expression that came from within, and he knew just the words to say that gave me permission somehow to trust him with my story, and as I spoke, the shutter clicked, the lights continued to flash, and I felt more and more at home with this man whom I had just met.

Several wardrobe changes later, the shoot continued on the streets of London – in the back alleys, down side streets, the nearby park, and on Richmond Street itself. Passersby would gather to watch the photographic episode, and I honestly felt beyond important, and knew that people would be returning to their offices or homes thinking that perhaps they just encountered the shooting of someone important. You see, while I may not have been important to myself at the time, I sure was to Jim the photographer, and at the end of the session, I not only felt like a million dollars, but I knew that a new friendship has just been created, and my grin went from ear to ear.

I retuned to the studio a week later to review the literally hundreds of photographs that were taken that day, and once again met with Jim and his small staff; Judy, Karen (the front office girl), and crazy Stephen (who spent most of his time in the darkroom being one of the most incredible lab dudes I will probably ever come across… ever)! I placed my order for prints - not actually believing what I was looking. I never saw myself in that light, nor provided myself the opportunity to actually look beyond the face in the mirror which only reflected what was on the outside, and generally with hair that needed drying or styling, teeth that needed brushing, or a zit that either needed to be squeezed or touched up somehow.

Another week later, I was back to pick up my print order, and visit with my new friends, and once again left feeling better that each prior visit had rewarded me. I found myself popping in to say hi, or being called in by one of them if I dared walk past without opening the door to at least say “Boo”. I’d take smoking breaks with them out front, or sit in the front with a cup of coffee and just shoot the breeze, and it wasn’t long before I was offered a job to join their staff and work alongside Karen, processing and re-touching photographs, acting as Jim’s assistant, setting up for studio shoots, and learning more about the art of photographic sales.

It was a wonderful job for guy with photography in his blood, and the smell of the developing chemicals would take me back to the smell of my father when he returned home each day from General Electric in Peterborough where he was an Industrial Photographer for close to three decades. I worked at Off Broadway Photography with Jim Hockings, Judy Cairns, Karen Nearing and Stephen Andrews for just over a year. The studio was well positioned in a section of London’s finest and most expensive real estate, and I remember trying to grasp the financial responsibilities of renting this space, affording the utilities to keep it heated and run the studio lights, not to mention paying four people our salaries so that we could eat and consume the substances of pleasure we all seemed to enjoy at the time.

I remember the day when Jim said, “Bob, let’s you and I go to lunch together”, and he took me to the café located right next door, and we ordered, and shot the shit as we had done every day for the past year. I knew what was coming. I saw the sales figures, and I was good with simple math enough to know that I was about to be let go, but poor Jim just couldn’t say the words, and he choked and he stumbled, and he simply broke down in tears. I remember reaching across the little table, putting my hand on his shoulder and telling him it was "OK", that I knew what was coming, and I said “Bob, you are fired”.  We hugged, shook hands, ate our lunch and returned next door to the studio where Jim announced that I had just fired myself, and we all sort of laughed and cried, and I finished my day, but certainly not sacrificing my relationship with any of these fine people.

When the studio got busier, I would be called in on a temporary basis to assist with whatever needed to be done, and we all spent a great deal of time together in our social hours which again is something I will never forget. As happens often in our lives, our directions change, and as such, the studio closed, Judy began to teach in China, Stephen found himself also across the world exploring his life and desires, and Karen bought a house and continued to raise her young boy. Jim continued privately with his photography becoming too busy to have a store-front studio to contend with, and as such, our contact dwindled, and while the amount of time we spent together faded, every so often an email would come through, or a facebook message would pop up on my screen and we all would connect with a few words reminding ourselves that we were all still, in some way, important to each other. I remember the number of times Jim telling me how he was “gay from the waist up” which still cracks me up. I get much use out of that line today with some of my gay positive friends. Jim and I shared a love for dogs, and he was the photographer who shot the pictures of my Punk’n and I when she was just a pup, and it was he who granted me a free shooting session of the two of us yet again, just prior to my move from London back home to Lakefield.

This morning, I saw a posting on my wall on facebook from a posting that Stephen Andrews made on his wall. It reads:


“You were the best teacher I ever had.
I am so sorry we lost touch but there was never a day or a moment
when I held my camera that I did not think of You.
Thank You Mr. Hockings.
You will be deeply missed.”

   
When we read a message like this we think “No, I didn’t just read that”. We go through a gamut of emotions to convince ourselves first that what is trying to make it’s way into our head can’t be true, or if we shut it out it won’t come true, and we therefore won’t have to face it, and that such a process will somehow fill and seal up a void that we know will inevitably be there and need some time and attention to heal. I immediately messaged Stephen back for more information, and Googled Jim Hockings name expecting perhaps a death notice link or something that could either confirm or deny what I was trying to convince myself I had not just read. I found a link to Jim’s blog, and slowly I came to terms with the fact that this friend, this person who for many reasons I cannot go into here made me look at this world in such a different way than I was, had died. In his final blog posting on February 18, 2013 he spoke of having Stage IV cancer, and that the tumor compressing his airway and aorta was, well… I will let his words tell you.

Here is my friend’s final blog posting:

New Natural Alternative to Water-boarding! Confessions Guaranteed!

I hate writing shit like this. I think I hate it because it gives me a kind of guilty, if not downright perverse pleasure in doing something and saying something that should not be placed before the public. John Wayne… Gary Cooper… strong silent men—at least in the two dimensions in which I knew them up there on the big screen…. Throw my father into that mix, and all my role models are lined up to piss on me for writing this. Let ‘em piss.

Quite simply, Stage lV cancer has presented to me, unbidden, an all-natural alternative to water-boarding and I am eager to share it and speak of its benefits. Lets call it “water-boarding-for-squeamish-civilian-granola-eating-tree-huggers”… A group, on the periphery of which, I have been seen upon occasion.

Definition thanks to our friends at Wiki: “Water-boarding is a form of torture in which water is poured over cloth covering the face and breathing passages of an immobilized captive, causing the individual to experience the sensation of drowning. I might add that the experience of drowning is hardwired into the most primitive area of the brain, what I call the “alligator brain”. The alligator brain has to do with survival at its most basic and has no connection with thinking or logic or even stored experience. It just fights for life.

For weeks now, the tumor strangling my airway and aorta has been producing coughing fits. Recently the coughing fits have been of such a nature as to trigger the drowning reflex in my alligator brain, producing such panic and anxiety that I have confessed to murdering dozens of US civilian diplomatic personnel in embassies around the world, selling nuclear secrets to the North Koreans and snitching a Snickers bar from Johnny’s Corner Sore when I was 11.  

I have learned to water board myself almost at will. I am finding it cathartic to confess to any and every sin, real and imagined—a privilege I feel I have been denied my whole life by not being Catholic. I have learned to exercise a new neural pathway that sends coughing fit information directly to the survival center, bypassing all the medical logic that I am NOT dying and the past the patina of optimism that we doomed cancer victims are required to show to each and every visitor, or be accused (though not to our faces, of course) of contributing to our own demise by being “negative”.  Confess or die! Send in your requests, and I will confess.

Posted by Jim Hockings/ The Hawk at 2/18/2013 11:46:00 AM

   
You know, I never took the time to tell Jim how much I appreciated him being a part of my life, or how to this day I remember the laughs, the time spent at his cool apartment at the horse farm north of London, where we ate cheese and crackers, drank wine and listened to some pretty damned fine music. I won’t be able to tell him how much I thought “how cool is it that a guy pees outside because peeing in a toilet in the country is a waste of water, and that real men pee outside”. I can’t tell him how much I have thought of the fact that he is the one single person I have ever met who never owned a television set since I have returned to college and have almost completely eliminated that appliance from my life. He was right. The television is a horrible appliance that should never have been invented. It broadcasts the worst of mankind, and it prevents us all from experiencing the real world because its safer to live in a fantasy world, or be entertained without truly being able (or willing) to comprehend the stuff that lights our living rooms up night, after night, after night.

I won’t be able to tell Jim what that original photo shoot did for my self-esteem, nor how I remember it in such great detail when I look at that younger version of myself as I hold the photos taken that day. I won’t be able to remind him and laugh at the fun he, Stephen and I had at my apartment, photographing my Christmas village to make it look real, and how I learned that a very small aperture and a shutter opened for over 1 hour, would produce one of the most realistic visions of that ceramic village and bring it to life. I won’t be able to tell him how I appreciate his introducing me to some fine Jazz, nor how much I enjoyed comparing stories of why it was that we each thought we had the most craziest mother in the world. He met mine, and said “damn, you may have me beat on some counts”. He photographed my mother and I, and the resulting image was… well… beautiful to say the least. I think it was the last picture taken of her prior to her death. I will cherish it for the rest of my life.

During the past few years, Jim wrote several books of which I will now purchase and thoroughly enjoy reading. I remember his way with the written word, and his sense of humour that was like no other. I will read those books, and they will bring him to life for me once again.

Jim my dear friend, I come from a family of photographers, but I will always contest that you were the finest of all photographers I have ever known. I will also say that Stephen is in second place in that regard, not to mention a miracle man in the dark room.

Thank you Jim. Thank you for all of those times, and for the wonderful friendship we shared. I am so sorry that we lost touch like we did, but know that you have always shared a very special place in my head and my heart. You will live on in many ways through the many heads and hearts of those whose paths crossed yours throughout your life. I’m crying and smiling at the same time. Much like you were the day I had to fire myself.

To my friend Stephen, to Karen, and to Judy, let’s remind each other of our friendship and do something to avoid having to thank each other posthumously. That way just sucks. To you all, I raise a can of beer right now. I am blessed to have had each of you, and especially Jim in my life! Thank You! I love you!
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THE INVENTION OF POUTINE

6/15/2012

2 Comments

 
  I LOVE POUTINE!

  I really do. In fact, like so many Canadians, I became hooked on this glorious meal while travelling through Quebec on the day that Poutine entered this very world. Normally I’m not a fan of travelling through our French province, basically because I simply don’t speak the language, but hey, they have beer in their corner stores, so that was enough for me, and this is why I was in Montreal on the day that put Poutine and Canada on the world culinary map.

  It was a rather tragic day actually. It was hot, humid, and the bustle of mid-week traffic in the city was almost too much for anyone to bear. I remember that day as if it were yesterday, but as we all know, the day that led to the invention of Poutine happened almost 4 decades ago.

  It wasn’t the sound that caught my attention at first, but rather something out of the corner of my eye that didn’t seem right, and there I saw it, a white and orange cheese truck completely out of control, its driver slumped over the steering wheel as it barreled into the oncoming lanes directly into the path of a delivery van. The collision was inevitable, and the face on the driver as he watched that cheese truck coming towards him haunts me to this day. I would later learn that it was the van driver’s first day on the job delivering for the Canadian Hot Beef Gravy Company. The poor fellow never had a chance. If I remember correctly, he left behind a wife, two children and a dog.

  The head-on crash threw the contents of the cheese truck forward just as the gravy van was rolling itself onto the cab of the truck. Boiling Beef gravy headed east, and a large container of fresh cheese curds were westward bound. People were screaming and running in every direction to escape the mayhem, some became trapped, especially those who were at the point of impact in front of the Chip wagon awaiting orders of French fries that were bubbling in the deep fryers inside.

  There truly was no time for anyone that close to react, and as the sounds of the disaster quickly subsided to the sobs and whimpers of those injured, there arose an odd calmness in the crowd. It was the smell - a smell of something new. The smell of something that drifted for blocks, and quietly, and in an almost paranormal orderly fashion people gravitated towards the scene of the crash and began scooping with their hands into the mess of French fries, cheese curds and gravy. In the distance the sirens of the oncoming emergency vehicles could be heard, but the crowds were too thick to allow them through. As more and more people arrived, Pierre, the dazed owner of the Chip Wagon could not believe his eyes, It took a good hour for his stock of potatoes to run out, and his hands were blistered and almost raw from scraping the curds and gravy onto orders of fresh cut fries for his customers.

  By morning, the wrecked vehicles and dead people were removed, and the streets were completely washed of their gooey mess. Promptly at 10:00, Pierre arrived with his chip wagon to begin another day to an unprecedented crowd of people, all hungry for orders of Pierre’s Poutine.

And that my friends, is the honest to goodness story of how Poutine came to be.

I kid you NOT!

I WAS there!

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HAPPY EASTER TO ALL, AND TO ALL A...

4/7/2012

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  When I was a child believing in the Easter Bunny (and given the amount of rabbits in my back yard I think I still do sometimes), I remember a completely different Easter than what we have now. While the holiday was second to Christmas in that we went to sleep with complete anticipation of the discoveries of the morning gifts, we were also very much aware of what the true meaning of the “holiday” was.
  Many of the occasions humans celebrate are based on biblical or personal spiritual beliefs, yet, aside from some very serious faiths we have become a society that insists on focusing on the celebratory aspects that have absolutely nothing to do with the occasion itself. In fact, we’ve even allowed – almost invited – a more grand invasion of these occasions through the commercialism of everything we know.
  So permit me to go back to being a child, were the recognition of the crucifiction of Christ and the Easter Bunny at least shared the same stage. My brother and I, thanks to our parents, understood the first and foremost meaning of Easter, but let’s be honest, recognizing the death of Jesus is a difficult concept to grasp for a child who believes in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and yes, the Friendly Giant.
  We weren’t the most religious of families, in fact, I remember my father once saying “we’re Protestants, all we have to do is drive by the church once a year and wave hello”. But as kiddies, we went to Sunday school, and we learned at least the basics, and we said grace at dinner time, bedtime prayers, and we were taught many of the morals that stem from the goodness that comes from the bible. That being said, we loved Easter for the goodies on Easter Sunday. We’d put out our coloured wicker baskets all lined with even more colourful shredded plastic cellophane stuff, and in the morning we’d wake up to a basket filled (by the Easter Bunny of course), with chocolate eggs, those coloured eggs with white sugar centres, and a hollow chocolate rabbit in a hard plastic wrap inside a box of which the ears were always the first bits to be consumed. Everything had to do with bunnies and eggs. There were no chocolate Jesus’ on a cross (that would be sacrilegious), is the point I’m trying to make.
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  We’d hunt for eggs which were hidden in two ways, well hidden (like in the electrical sockets), for my older brother to find, and ridiculously obvious places (like in the ashtray on the coffee table) for me to find. Some of the more well hidden eggs would be discovered by the dog in August, and as a family we’d joke and laugh at the fact that mom could hide the eggs so well, or that we just weren’t good enough at finding them back in the springtime.
  So tell me why it is then that this wonderful tradition of bunnies and eggs has evolved into what I call the “Third Easter Celebration”? You heard me! Just take a trip to your local grocer, a department store or auto mechanic and you’ll find that baskets are now "bags" - BIG bags, or boxes printed with "American Idol" or other TV show logos. There's hollow chocolate "everything" for Easter, but hardly a bunny anywhere! There’s Harry Potter's, Disney characters, Star Wars heroes Shrek and more. Give it a couple of years and we’ll see hollow chocolate AK-47’s, iPads, and flat fucking big screen TV’s for Christ’s sake! Doesn't anyone care about the damned rabbit anymore? Why is it we have to completely commercialize everything beyond recognition or so far removed from the tradition itself that it becomes a tribute to a favourite movie, electronic device or wartime pleasure?
  Sometimes I’m super glad that I don’t have kids because I can escape trying to instill a sense of tradition on them while being bombarded with all the interferences that come from societal corporate sponsorship. I mean, look what they’ve done to Christmas! Hell, the commercialization of that comes before Halloween each year, and continues well into January as people flock to get their “post Christmas” items. People can’t even be bothered to remove their Christmas lights because they’re too flipping lazy (or do they actually think the rest of us like their decorated homes so much that we’d be disappointed if they were removed?). I know people that put up their Christmas trees November 1st! I bet these people also bitch and complain when the hydro rates go up.
  Have any of you seen Easter and Halloween trees available at places like Winners? Yup… you can buy an Easter tree and hang eggs from it. You can purchase little skeletons and decorate your artificial black All Hallows Eve tree too. Pretty soon we’ll have the Easter bunny flying in on some shuttlecraft from a Star Wars movie pulled by eight zombies, blasting his way through your front door with an automatic rifle, and tossing “save our soldiers” eggs on the floor and putting pink ribbons on the walls, while giving you wrapped presents like electronic tablets and hollow chocolate pumpkins, and you’ll hear from his craft as he flies out of sight...
  “Happy Easter to all, and to all a coupon in your basket for a buy one Quarter Pounder get another for half price at MacDonald’s tonight!”
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HOME SAFE & SOUND

3/24/2012

1 Comment

 
  Jeff and I went shopping in Peterborough today. Most days, a shopping excursion is rather uneventful... sure, there’s a crazy driver or two, maybe a poorly behaved child in a store, or a rude clerk to brighten our day, but today? Today was something different. Today was the day I wanted my air horn strapped to my waist – ready for emergency action!
  Costco it can be said, is a place to avoid on a Saturday if at all possible, but generally we are there in the morning and we NEVER grab a cart because we can zip in, around, and then back out again lickety split! If Costco were holding a special day, today would be called “Uncontrolled children, people who can’t say ‘no’ to anything edible, leave my oversized cart ‘here’ while I shop over ‘there’, mingle with friends in the middle of the fucking aisle day”!
  First off, if your kids don’t like to shop or are prone to long bouts of crying or throwing hissy fits, gas the little bastards and leave them at home! I don’t want to have to dodge them. I don’t want to listen to them scream! Mother's who truck their wailing offspring from aisle to aisle thinking that the rest of us aren't bothered by the shrill tantrums need a good head butt! If you can't control your children, please do the world a favour and invest in a baby sitter, some birth control pills, or a gun. Take the little hooligans outside? Put them in the trunk of your car and back into a hydro pole! Take away their iPhone! Make them do homework! Force them to smoke a pack of cigarettes (wait... that's what you do if you catch them smoking... oh... who cares... do it anyway!). Uncontrolled children with idiots for parents could learn a good lesson from Mr. Air Horn!
  Hey. I don’t think there’s a person out there who likes food better than me, but believe it or not, I am not one of those people who simply cannot pass by one of those food sampling stations without grabbing a tender morsel or two to pack away like I haven’t eaten in a week. I might taste a sample of something that interests me, but I have NEVER walked up with my cart, stepped to the side of it to command even more space, and stood there eating like a horse at a trough making a complete spectacle of myself because (and let’s be honest) I’ve stopped the entire flow of traffic, so I have just made myself the centre of attention while I add more food that is only going to quickly end up on hips supporting a body that should NOT be clad in spandex! EVER! You need food that bad? Have it delivered since exercise is obviously not a passion. People like that should visit the sampling table where Mr. Airhorn talks about the something else you can cram into your face!
  If you simply must use one of Costco’s “Big enough for a side of beef” carts, don’t leave it in other people’s way while you go searching for something to buy without the damned cart because the aisles are full of carts left by people running around looking for items to put in their carts”! FUCK PEOPLE! Do you park your cars in the middle of the street? People who leave shopping carts in the way of other shoppers need to have a wee chat with Mr. Airhorn!
  We all love it when we see friends while we’re out shopping, unless of course your shopping cart is full of porn magazines, maxi pads and medicine for diarrhea. Please, by all means, catch up on the news, hug and kiss each other if you have to, hell, if you really love them, I don't care if you engage in wild intercourse up against the bags of water softener salt, but GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE AISLE because I really don’t care to stand there trying to think of a polite way of telling you to “break it up” so I can continue with my shopping instead of listening to you go on about your surgery to have a cyst removed from your inner thigh, or how great little Becky did in grade 3 this year! I just don’t bloody well care. Imagine that! In fact, I don’t give a flying fuck about any detail of your life… and by the way, you should learn to style the hair on the back of your head too. A mirror is only good for styling the front, and people DO see you from behind you know. People who associate with friends while blocking others from shopping should have Mr. Airhorn introduce the next topic of conversation!
  Ah… the parking lot has arrived finally! We made it out without killing or being killed. “Where are those screaming children?” I ask as I put the car in drive and scanning the lot with my eyes hunting for a deserving target to check my tire pressure with. We visited Sobey’s for groceries, Canadian Tire, and (gulp) Walmart (which is always another story unto itself), and I can tell you that nothing is better than arriving home and being able to sit down and say “thanks mum and dad for teaching me how to behave in public and how to treat others. I only wish you taught me not to leave Mr. Airhorn at home.” Next time I will try not to forget to leave him in the garage. He’s getting lonely in there, and there’s a whole world that could learn from sharing in his wisdom!

1 Comment

I THINK I'M IN BIG TROUBLE!

3/20/2012

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Poor Jeff... poor me! I have suffered from a shopping addiction since I earned an income delivering newspapers in Bridgenorth, Ontario at the tender age of really young. In spite of years of costly therapy, and an income that never seems to compensate for the outgoing dollars, I've slipped on occasion and found myself in terrible debt as a result, and ending up with items that I don't need but want for some strange reason. I don't know what happened today. I spent like the Conservative Party of Canada, and now I've put myself in probably the worst situation I've ever been in. Please help me! Today I bought a TV even though we just bought a new flatscreen for our family room. I also bought a vintage Pontiac convertible, and I then went and entered into a contract to buy a cabin cruiser for Jeff and I to cruise the trent system and beyond. I have no idea what I was thinking, but I'm home and feeling sick to my stomach over this.
CLICK HERE for the pictures of today's spending spree. Af anyone can help me out of this mess by buying any of these from me, please call me right away!
0 Comments

OUCH!

3/7/2012

0 Comments

 
Have you ever done something, often repeatedly while knowing that it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but proceeding with the task thinking to yourself "If I'm just careful, all will be OK?" NOW... before you answer "NEVER", without really giving it much thought, think about racing a yellow light, or speeding. How about parking close to another car thinking "no one will ding my door", or putting a sharp knife in the dish water saying "I'll be careful when grabbing dishes out of the sink"


WELL DON'T DO THE SHARP KNIFE IN THE DISHWATER THING!

YOU WILL EVENTUALLY CUT YOUR FUCKING FINGER!

OUCH!
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    R.G. Brook (Look up... c'est moi), was born in 1959 in Peterborough, Ontario CANADA. I am a Class 1 Licensed Funeral Director, graphic and stained-glass artist & photographer (not to mention an all-around super duper fella), who loves far too many things to mention here. Oh... I'm very opinionated on some issues, but that doesn't mean I'm close-minded. Read the blog... you'll see.

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