Grade Eight Graduation

My son completed his grade eight graduation tonight and I could not be more proud of him. He won the General Proficiency Award and we could not have been more thrilled. He has been a trouble-free student up until now, he has already surpassed my math ability and I look forward to many years of debate as to why How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn was the best novel ever written.

Here are some of the pictures we were able to take of him, some family and some friends. You'lll have to get the dance pictures from him as parents were not allowed to attend the dance part. Due to this snub, Maria and I sat home together and watched "Invasion", an awful remake of to other very poor movies, "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" Needless to say we didn't watch the whole thing. Nicole Kidman is not a good actress!!!

Now to the pictures!!

Once again Balthazar, we could not be more proud!!!

Laurels to Michaelle Jean

I have never been a great fan of Michaelle Jean. Once she became Governor General the whole country was very entertained with the facts that she was an immigrant from a poor country, she was black and she was a woman. She rested on these facts for too long and I realized that it might be the whole story and we would have to put up with her and her extraordinary rise to success even with the hindrance of being a minority woman. I personally never expected anything more from her but I have to stand up and take notice of her now.

Her recent trip to Nunavut to expound the virtues of the idea of creating a University of the North sat well with me. If you build it, they will come. I was shocked and very excited when I saw her sit down to a meal of raw seal. She finally came out and made a raw point to me, she wasn't paying lip-service to the aboriginals, she believes in them and in their way of life. She posed for a picture which she knew would draw some criticism and perhaps endanger her career as a politician, (is she really a politician?), she opened up and swallowed something a lot of other women wouldn't and struck a blow for an ancient industry that is failing and a group of people that is sadly watching their way of life disappear.

I was an anti-hunt activist when I was a child, when all my bills were taken care of and not having to work for a living gave me a lot of spare time to be high-minded. When people's livelihood is added to the equation those large brown eyes still pierce the skin but do not make it to the soul.

Michaelle Jean, your support is greatly needed by these people, you have also dealt a huge blow whether you know it or not, to ingrained misogyny, racism and general "redneckishness". Although whether it matters to you is irrelevant, you have earned my respect and admiration, maybe you should make a phone call across the border and let Barack know that his being the first black president will not hold up in the annals of history if he doesn't move past that and do something important and not worry about getting something on his lips.

  

   

End of the Week

This seemed to be a terrible week and all the rot seemed to emanate from work. I looked for this poem that I had recently read by Charles Bukowski and he seemed to capture the injustice of it all. Hopefully this will get me through the long weekend!!!

Something For The Touts, The Nuns, The Grocery Clerks, And You . . . by Charles Bukowski

we have everything and we have nothing

and some men do it in churches
and some men do it by tearing butterflies
in half
and some men do it in Palm Springs
laying it into butterblondes
with Cadillac souls
Cadillacs and butterflies
nothing and everything,
the face melting down to the last puff
in a cellar in Corpus Christi.
there's something for the touts, the nuns,
the grocery clerks and you . . .
something at 8 a.m., something in the library
something in the river,
everything and nothing.
in the slaughterhouse it comes running along
the ceiling on a hook, and you swing it --
one
two
three
and then you've got it, $200 worth of dead
meat, its bones against your bones
something and nothing.
it's always early enough to die and
it's always too late,
and the drill of blood in the basin white
it tells you nothing at all
and the gravediggers playing poker over
5 a.m. coffee, waiting for the grass
to dismiss the frost . . .
they tell you nothing at all.

we have everything and we have nothing --
days with glass edges and the impossible stink
of river moss -- worse than shit;
checkerboard days of moves and countermoves,
fagged interest, with as much sense in defeat as
in victory; slow days like mules
humping it slagged and sullen and sun-glazed
up a road where a madman sits waiting among
bluejays and wrens netted in and sucked a flakey
grey.
good days too of wine and shouting, fights
in alleys, fat legs of women striving around
your bowels buried in moans,
the signs in bullrings like diamonds hollering
Mother Capri, violets coming out of the ground
telling you to forget the dead armies and the loves
that robbed you.
days when children say funny and brilliant things
like savages trying to send you a message through
their bodies while their bodies are still
alive enough to transmit and feel and run up
and down without locks and paychecks and
ideals and possessions and beetle-like
opinions.
days when you can cry all day long in
a green room with the door locked, days
when you can laugh at the breadman
because his legs are too long, days
of looking at hedges . . .

and nothing, and nothing, the days of
the bosses, yellow men
with bad breath and big feet, men
who look like frogs, hyenas, men who walk
as if melody had never been invented, men
who think it is intelligent to hire and fire and
profit, men with expensive wives they possess
like 60 acres of ground to be drilled
or shown-off or to be walled away from
the incompetent, men who'd kill you
because they're crazy and justify it because
it's the law, men who stand in front of
windows 30 feet wide and see nothing,
men with luxury yachts who can sail around
the world and yet never get out of their vest
pockets, men like snails, men like eels, men
like slugs, and not as good . . .
and nothing, getting your last paycheck
at a harbor, at a factory, at a hospital, at an
aircraft plant, at a penny arcade, at a
barbershop, at a job you didn't want
anyway.
income tax, sickness, servility, broken
arms, broken heads -- all the stuffing
come out like an old pillow.

we have everything and we have nothing.
some do it well enough for a while and
then give way. fame gets them or disgust
or age or lack of proper diet or ink
across the eyes or children in college
or new cars or broken backs while skiing
in Switzerland or new politics or new wives
or just natural change and decay --
the man you knew yesterday hooking
for ten rounds or drinking for three days and
three nights by the Sawtooth mountains now
just something under a sheet or a cross
or a stone or under an easy delusion,
or packing a bible or a golf bag or a
briefcase: how they go, how they go! -- all
the ones you thought would never go.

days like this. like your day today.
maybe the rain on the window trying to
get through to you. what do you see today?
what is it? where are you? the best
days are sometimes the first, sometimes
the middle and even sometimes the last.
the vacant lots are not bad, churches in
Europe on postcards are not bad. people in
wax museums frozen into their best sterility
are not bad, horrible but not bad. the
cannon, think of the cannon, and toast for
breakfast the coffee hot enough you
know your tongue is still there, three
geraniums outside a window, trying to be
red and trying to be pink and trying to be
geraniums, no wonder sometimes the women
cry, no wonder the mules don't want
to go up the hill. are you in a hotel room
in Detroit looking for a cigarette? one more
good day. a little bit of it. and as
the nurses come out of the building after
their shift, having had enough, eight nurses
with different names and different places
to go -- walking across the lawn, some of them
want cocoa and a paper, some of them want a
hot bath, some of them want a man, some
of them are hardly thinking at all. enough
and not enough. arcs and pilgrims, oranges
gutters, ferns, antibodies, boxes of
tissue paper.

in the most decent sometimes sun
there is the softsmoke feeling from urns
and the canned sound of old battleplanes
and if you go inside and run your finger
along the window ledge you'll find
dirt, maybe even earth.
and if you look out the window
there will be the day, and as you
get older you'll keep looking
keep looking
sucking your tongue in a little
ah ah no no maybe

some do it naturally
some obscenely
everywhere.

Inhuman Resources

      I used to laugh at the people who I worked with when they were having problems with management. Why couldn't they just do what they were told and try not to make waves. Why would someone jeopardize a $50,000 a year job just because they had a personal conflict with someone who was paid to make sure they did the job right? Unfortunately, getting along with others has not been a strong point in human history, getting along is sometimes more of a chore than it needs to be. My habit has always been to ignore people who I think I might have problems with. I have also come to realize that this is not the most sane thing to do. There are those who welcome being snubbed as an invitation for conflict and sadly the only thing available to arrest this problem is usually an embarrassing blow-out that ends up hurting both parties more than a mutual snub could ever cause.

   Working with the same people every day doing mundane, stressful work is very hard on the central nervous system. Tensions build to incredible heights and the lack of a proper venting system endangers all that are involved. A lack of oversight and maintenance by those in charge certainly leads to some form of leakage, one example would be the amount of sick time taken by the ones who are unable to control their Tourette's and choose to stay home rather than face the inevitable battle of getting along with people they don't like.

   Last year was supposed to be the year for Mental Health in the work place but I saw very little interest evidenced. In fact it is still regarded as taboo and the people who really need the help are being ignored and the ones suffering their abuses are blamed for not co-existing within the Company parameters. The fact is, people are being bullied to cope with heavier volumes of mail, a fear of using sick time due to actual harassment and a generally hostile work environment that does little to protect the well-being of the souls sheltered within.

   I can only think about Bob Cratchitt, slaving away on Christmas day, employed by a miserable, tight-fisted uncaring employer. When you see a letter carrier sauntering down the road on a beautiful summer day, humming a tune and genuinely looking as though they have the best job in the world, try and remember all that snow and rain, sleet and hail are not the only barriers faced by a struggling workforce.

  

Caution ! Star Trek Spoiler

   We went and saw the new Star Trek movie yesterday. I was very impressed by the acting from such a young cast. The special effects were great and I did leave the theatre wanting more.

However......

   The story, while intriguing and even spell-binding left a little too much for the imagination. I am not a big fan of the whole "space-time continuum" thing. I understand the premise but I just feel bombarded by all the paradoxes and become so confused easily with all the "what ifs" and "did all that make sense" that I feel as though I was somehow overcharged to see the movie as I had to do a lot of the work!

   I was never a "Trekkie" but I did enjoy the show as a child and continued into adulthood following all the movies and a mild interest in the Next Generation. The "new Spock" in the movie is very loyal to the original Nimoy character except they add a little masculinity and also perhaps a little more humanity. He has become a much more likable human and his more gritty perception makes him so much more interesting than a regular science officer.

   I expected a sexier Uhura but I did appreciate the green Star Fleet cadet Kirk was trying to "get with".
  

Sic Semper Evello Mortem Tyrannus (Bob Thurn May 2, 2009)

The Boss!!!

Bob Thurn died today, May 2, 2009.

I have been waiting since I was about thirteen years old to write this obit and I thought most of the bitterness would still be with me. I have mellowed but I'm still somewhat pleased this man finally met his maker.


Bob Thurn beat me on three different occasions, in front of other people and incidentally with the full blessing of my parents. On all three occasions I did merit some sort of punishment and I was never singled out or treated different from any other boy. My brother Peter and I attended St. Paul's School in Cordoba Argentina. It was run by Bob Thurn and while there are many happy memories of growing up, discovery and coming of age, I cannot erase the feelings of terror this man evoked in me. There are those that say he had to be tough to ensure that we also became tough and grew up with the ability to survive in a dangerous world,(1970's Argentina was a dangerous place) and to that extent I think he was successful. Cruel to be kind makes sense on paper but I still think it is wrong to beat the hell out of a child just to teach him a lesson.

The public humiliations were indeed deflating but the occurrence that really filled me with distaste for the man and destroyed my confidence in mankind took place one night after study hall. We had to tidy our desks and stand by them while a prefect came by and inspected them to make sure we had done the job right. I had spilled some ink on the top of my desk, (yes, we used fountain pens) and to cover the stain I had taped a timetable over the offending blot. Duncan Glass had come by to inspect the desks and when he saw my timetable he proceeded to tear it off. What happened next is engraved in my memory. He looked at me as though I had strangled a puppy and then he flattened me. I saw the fist coming but couldn't move in time. I hit the floor quite hard and remained there for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only seconds, until I finally got up. I looked straight ahead but out of the corner of my eye I could see Bob Thurn standing in the window, watching. He stared for a second and then walked away. Duncan Glass looked worried and asked if I was all right. I stared straight ahead and said nothing. That was the end of it.

His callousness left me a different person and while I can forgive him the canings I received I will never forgive him for his indifference to my suffering by the hands of someone who did not have the right or power to hand out such a brutal punishment.

My condolences to his family.

Lessons of Youth

 

I lived in Eilat Israel for about a year in the early 80's. I divided my time between the beach under the stars in a sleeping bag, an apartment I had to share with five chefs from Hong Kong and a memorable but short stay at Kibbutz Yotvata. My jobs included dishwasher in a Chinese restaurant attached to the Caeser Hotel, a roofer's assistant and a cow milker/ pail lugger. I attended Hebrew school and I got to know a lot of people from around the world. All told, the climate was wonderful, the food was great, scenery abundant and there was never a lack of things to do.

There was a bar there called the Peace Cafe which was a hangout for transients like myself, it was a dive but you could get a nesher beer for about 25 cents and double egg and chips for less than a buck. There was always somebody there to tell you some kind of story whether dealing with the dangers of trying to pick up female Israeli soldiers, who came armed with their own uzis, or coral diving in the reefs of the Red sea. Any story would invariably cost you a beer or two but they were usually worth it. The restaurant at the time was run by an English couple, they were very friendly and had lots of patience with us bums and were far more generous than any anti-semite could ever lead you to believe. I have fond memories of the mountains and the sea that have left a lasting impact on my current file of fine memories that keep me going during the winter!

One night a bunch of us procured some beer and tried to sneak into Jordan. We got as far as the third checkpoint when someone fired a shot into the air. When we finally got home and changed our underwear bravado took over and we somehow turned it into an adventure of a lifetime. I know now that we were just a bunch of scared kids, fooling around in a country where bad things happen and consequences of stupid actions can become much more dire. I don't know if it taught me a lesson in life but as I look back now I see the blindness of youth and the mirage of invincibility that comes with it.

 

The beach in Eilat Israel, the mountains in the background tower over the Jordanian City of Aqaba

Vale Jezebel

"Lucifer Sam" by Pink Floyd.

Lucifer Sam, siam cat.
Always sitting by your side
Always by your side.
That cat’s something I can’t explain.

Ginger, ginger you’re a witch.
You’re the left side
He’s the right side.
Oh, no!
That cat’s something I can’t explain.

Lucifer go to sea.
Be a hip cat, be a ship’s cat.
Somewhere, anywhere.
That cat’s something I can’t explain.

At night prowling sifting sand.
Hiding around on the ground.
He’ll be found when you’re around.
That cat’s something I can’t explain.

 

"Black Cat" by Gentle Giant

There's a cat prowling through the streets at night
And she's black and her eyes are burning yellow
fierce and bright
The lights are darkened;
Senses sharpened;
Wide awake

As she acts out her past of Jungle days
When the night was her friend in many other
different ways
It gave protection
Of detection
By her prey

With a sway and swing she walks away
And the look in her eye it never ever seems
to say
The way she's feeling
No revealing,
Black Cat Ways

Bye Jezebel

French Food at Home

Laura Calder

 

 

There are a lot of cooking shows on right now and a lot of them are very good. The one I seem to be enjoying the most is French Cooking at Home with Laura Calder. I've never been a great fan of French cooking, always too rich, but she makes it very easy to follow the recipes and she makes very simple things.

I think the thing that attracts me most to the program is the passion she shows for her cooking. She handles food very delicately and somehow manages to portray a love for the techniques she is demonstrating. I enjoy cooking but I don't have that same tenderness or joie de vivre that she possesses and while most of the things I make are good I think some love would add to my culinary expertise. Watch the show!

I am not infatuated or considering stalking Miss Calder, I really do appreciate her as a chef!

Cold Turkey Failure

For the time being the pharmaceutical companies (Ely Lilly) have won the battle to keep me on anti-depressants, which costs my drug plan about $500 a month. The withdrawal symptoms became too intense, nausea, dizziness, loss of speech and motor control, intense, vivid and destructive nightmares, heart palpitations and sweating. Unfortunately I tasted the sweetness of lucidness that came and I never felt so alive as my brain cleared as I was once again a living breathing human if only for a short time. Support has been great although I have felt that I am somewhat of a burden at times, when I am on the effexor I am not the same person, these drugs are not to cure, they are to control and during this seduction of feeling nothing you realize that you have traded in elation for ennui.
Why Ummagumma? I spent many an hour listening to this album with my brother Peter, enhancing the experience with Henley Dip, quietly searching for the meaning of God and Hemingway. Listening to this album again has inspired me to get better and to do what needs to be done in order to move forward. I doubt it is recognized by any psychiatric association as a companion on the road to recovery but I consider it a must-listen for anyone who needs to get their life back on track.

Ghomeshi Versus Thornton

Billy Bob Thornton
Ghian Ghomeshi






Could anyone ever imagine two less relevant people than Ghian Ghomeshi and Billy Bob? I get so sick and so upset just by the fact that the two are in the news and that either of their opinions matter to anybody. Ghomeshi's show, while listened to by "hundreds?" is boring and unless you're a woman or a recent immigrant to this country is completely mind-numbing and to put it mildly, so utterly Canadian that I question why the CBC is still in existence when such decisions to run a "pop" culture show by an obvious drunk board of Directors. Marijuana usage is up at CBC and I think they are using that medicinal crap they grew in Thomson, Manitoba a few years back that even the users refused the free weed and went and bought elsewhere.

I lost absolutely no sleep due to Billy Bob's feelings about Canada and the Canadian people. If you don't like the creme caramel that is being served then order the fruit salad and shut the fuck up. I've never bothered to listen to his musical accomplishments as I'm still way too busy trying to figure out how his mediocre protrayal of a retard landed him an Oscar, more frightening is the fact that Angelina Jolie slept with this guy ,which on a positive note, if she and Pitt ever break up she might just go after a guy like me! You never know!

A Book of Bluesy Saturdays

Finally a warm day, but the power went off for three hours leaving little to do but contemplate all the work that has to be done outside the house.
Very little dreaming today due to keeping busy and trying not to think about waht I'm missing.
Last night I dreamed of a wheel that had dancing trees in it, I tried to stop the trees from spinning
but Iwas oly able to stop the wheel, the trees remained spinnning. It was at this point that I woke
up, but I remained in a somewhat catatonic state for about an hour
until the sleeping pills wore off and I could concentrate on the sun,
I started to take some pictures just to concentrate on something and I came up with these ones,
daffofils from Easter that have been blooming for the last couple of days,
they are quite beautiful and the sun just seemed to hit them right
coming in from the deck window,
hopefully I can take some more tomorrow.

Withdrawn Dream # 1

I see the word "XUES" and I think it means tuesday, in fact I know it means tuesday.
I am in Jamaica, I know it is Jamaica as I have been there before although the scenery is
very "daliesque" and I think I feel cold.
I recognize the area around Montego Bay airport although the mountains are larger than I had imagined.
I am with a friend but i can't tell who it is, but I am sure I know the person.
I arrive at a hotel that I don't recognize but I am sure I am still in Jamaica,
it is a luxury hotel and there is a big-screen tv in the room.
I watch tv for a while, there is a newscast about a war,
I think its Afghanistan but I can't be sure.
I am outside on the beach, it is dark but I'm sure its still daytime,
there are lots of people but I don't recognize anyone,
It starts to snow but I'm not cold.
There are three roads leading up the mountain,
I choose the one on the right,
I get back to the hotel and enter.
There is a pool and spa with lots of plants
but everything is black and white.
There are stairs everywhere and I take the ones on my right which lead to a hallway.
The doors are like what you would find on a lower deck of a ship,
they are airtight and they open with a wheel.
I enter the room that has the word "Crane" written in crayon.
I enter the room and I am sitting with my parents when they were young.
They want to know why I am here
and I tell them that I met one of my girlfriends there on a previous trip,
they do not believe me and I leave the room once more.
I go downstairs and sit for a while by the pool,
there are no swimmers, but people are everywhere.
I recognize none of them.
I believe I have to go to work,
to pay for my room but I convince myself that it was just a trick and I don't
have to work.
I go back outside and walk around the snowy beach, I am not cold,
I see lots of people and they are hostile but they don't speak to me.
I want to go back to the hotel but for some reason I take the middle road,
I end up in a "Dickensian" London scene, I get scared and run back to the main road.
I take the right way this time and walk into the hotel,
this time I can't find my room,
there are people hanging around in the hallways,
they notice me but they do not speak.
I look out the window and see more snow falling on the beach,
I think this is where I wake up.

Letting Go of the Reigns

I have considered the idea of becoming pharmaceutical free on many occasions. The majority of people have tried to talk me into it and of these the majority have no experience in kicking a drug addiction. The fact that the drug addiction is medically sanctioned hinders those who say you should listen to your doctor no matter how many Fifth Estate reruns make an attempt to discourage medications that have too many side-effects even though mind numbing dementia is not always a great alternative.
The medical profession is geared to drug us all up and to use as much of their product that is permissible within most drug plans. They rarely check to see if you are getting better and seem more interested in adjusting all the medicine they are giving you than weaning you off the ones that are causing you the real harm.

Specifically speaking about anti-depressants I have come to a number of conclusions. First of all they take away the depression you are feeling, but they replace it with a numbness and emptiness that might get you through the day but does not address the fact that you are still sick. They raise up the dosage until you reach a level that you can function with, make you go back to work and assume you will gradually bore yourself back into a misconception that you were once happy. After a while the tedium becomes too much to take and you actually reach another level of depression that can't be treated because you are depressed about being depressed!

The imediate effects of going cold-turkey on a SSRI is a jolt of electricity rushing through your brain, reminding you of what it was to feel something. It is followed by violent mood-swings, outrageous and bizarre nightmares and a gigantic hatred of anything that might bother you, like traffic, waiting in line at a grocery store, or even a thoughtless neighbor letting their dog take a shit on your lawn and then not picking it up.

I usually start taking the pills again when the nightmares become too vivid or I find I am acting strangely and then not remembering about it. Sleep becomes almost impossible, due to the nightmares and sweats and its at this point that I realize what an awful effect these chemicals have had on my brain and I worry the longer I take them, the harder it will be to finally one day let them go.

As you can see, a conundrum, damned if you do and damned if you don't, the paradox rages on and it keeps getting heavier and heavier until you just wish Flanders was dead........

On Reflection

The funeral is over and everyone has gone home. The casket has been incinerated and now everyone will try and return to a normal existence without my mother, who, as incapacitated as she was, still played an important role in my life. Over the past week I have been forced to reflect on the positive role she played in my upbringing while political correctness kept me from bringing up less endearing images. 

   The part of me that wants to reveal the entire scope of errors, bad judgement and surreal misadventures has chosen to remain dormant for the time being, destined for poetry that can be read at a later date. I believe my mother is either in heaven or on the way there and she will let me know how to proceed.

Michael

My Mother's Funeral

This is the poem I read at my mother's funeral today.

Before the Birth of One of Her Children

Anne Bradstreet (1678)

All things within this fading world hath end, Adversity doth still our joys attend; No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet, But with death's parting blow are sure to meet. The sentence past is most irrevocable, A common thing, yet oh, inevitable. How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend, How soon't may be thy lot to lose thy friend, We both are ignorant, yet love bids me These farewell lines to recommend to thee, That when the knot's untied that made us one, I may seem thine, who in effect am none. And if I see not half my days that's due, What nature would, God grant to yours and you; The many faults that well you know I have Let be interred in my oblivious grave; If any worth or virtue were in me, Let that live freshly in thy memory And when thou feel'st no grief, as I no harmes, Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms, And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains Look to my little babes, my dear remains. And if thou love thyself, or loved'st me, These O protect from stepdame's injury. And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse, With some sad sighs honor my absent hearse; And kiss this paper for thy dear love's sake,  Who with salt tears this last farewell did take

Epitaph

The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams.
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams.
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams,
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
When silence drowns the screams.

Confusion will be my epitaph.
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back
and laugh.
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying,
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying.

Between the iron gates of fate,
The seeds of time were sown,
And watered by the deeds of those
Who know and who are known;
Knowledge is a deadly friend
If no one sets the rules.
The fate of all mankind I see
Is in the hands of fools.

Confusion will be my epitaph.
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back
and laugh.
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying,
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying.

King Crimson

Vale Mater

Mary Elizabeth Crane nee Imbleau December 22/1938-April 15/2009

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-Tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood,
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Edward Lear

The Grave

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on the snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifiting rush
of birds circling in flight
I am the stars that shine at night.
Do not stand on my grave and weep.
I am not there.
I do not sleep.

Author Unknown

You Learn
After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn...
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure...

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth...

And you learn and learn...

With every good-bye you learn.

Jorge Luis Borges

EFFEXOR Disturbing News

I came across this petition online and decided to share it. I have been taking effexor for over three years and I suffer many of the side-effects that come with it. One of these was weight-gain which subsequently may have caused my heart attack last october. I was prescribed the drug and quickly I was raised to the maximum dosage where I have remained since. I have tried to wean myself off it a number of times resulting in severe dementia, horrifying nightmares and general anti-social behaviour including spontaneous ejaculation. Quite a nasty drug to say the least and there is no perceivable options at the moment. I welcome any suggestions from effexor users and I will supply directions to the petition.

EFFEXOR PETITION

To: Effexor's manufacturer, Wyeth-Ayerst Laboratories
Effexor Petition

We the individuals listed below have electronically signed this petition for the purpose of making it known that consumers treated with the SSNRI antidepressant Effexor have or are experiencing "often ignored" serious side effects of this medication. And that thousands of patients in the US and worldwide are unable to discontinue Effexor or even reduce dosage due to the rapid onset of severe withdrawal-like symptoms which often initiates before a patient begins dose reduction due to the short half-life of Effexor. Documentation of which the manufacturer, Wyeth-Ayerst has gradually disclosed now some 8 years after this drug was first licensed, being aware of these problems all along but failing to communicate this knowledge to the public and the medical community.

Wyeth-Ayerst misleadingly advertises through its Effexor labeling that only drug abusers are at risk of physical and psychological dependence, and withdrawal problems when tapering back or abruptly discontinuing Effexor usage. Wyeth-Ayerst knows such representations are false, and that all patients, including patients not having a history of drug abuse, are susceptible to withdrawal problems after tapering back or abruptly discontinuing Effexor.

Effexor as prescribed to us by our doctors resulted in anxiety and agitation, sexual dysfunction, hypomania, weight gain, and many other debilitating adverse reactions such as insomnia and bizarre vivid nightmares, deterioration in eyesight, high blood pressure, dehydrating night sweats, memory problems, thyroid disorders which can cause the very depression this medication was first prescribed to treat, among other serious side effects. These iatrogenic (medication induced) effects were ignored or underplayed by its manufacturer, which resulted in our overall inability to function normally for lengthy periods of time during usage and attempted dose reduction. Nor had proper disclosure been made that benzodiazepines had been co-prescribed during clinical trial in order to minimize the agitation that the manufacturer had recognized this medication could cause. Effexor in many cases is not the "stand alone" remedy that it has been advertised to be. Patient in accepting treatment with Effexor are not being forewarned that by their use of Effexor -- sleeping medication, blood pressure medication, and anti-anxiety medication might become a concurrent necessity. Thus the mis-informed consumer totally unexpectedly finds themselves being prescribed many more drugs than they ever anticipated needing.

We all know that taking prescription medication involves some risks and that with each medication some percentage of patients are likely to experience adverse results. We strongly feel however, that the risks involved with the usage of Effexor is greater than the medical community and the public realize, certainly greater than we were ever told, and that Wyeth-Ayerst knew of these risks but failed to communicate those risks to the consumer and their physicians.

Our lives have been negatively, unexpectedly, and undeservingly impacted by the antidepressant Effexor. We were not given full disclosure of this medication's known adverse effects, and many of us suffered greatly because of this failure to warn. Therefore, our purpose with this petition is to share information that we have gathered so that others will have adequate knowledge and be able to fully discuss options and risks of the use of Effexor with qualified medical professionals before they make any final choice regarding initiating these types of medications. Thereby being able to be a knowledgeable consumer and make the appropriate decisions together with their physicians in regards to their own medical treatment and might be spared the suffering we have experienced first hand.

By this petition let it be made clear that we are not advocating the non-use of Effexor because this medication's possible benefits to the public at large is beyond our scope of knowledge to the extent that each individual now considering the use of Effexor has informational benefits we did not, now that more medical information regarding Effexor has been released to the public. Now that others will have the benefit of this information where we did not, and the benefit of important public websites such as Steve Whiting's -- www.effexorfx.freeuk.com, each person must take responsibility to make their own decision regarding the use of these types of medications, assisted by proper advise from a qualified medical professional, fully knowledgeable of Effexor's profile and side effects.

But as individuals, and their are a significant number of us, we have found that the disclosure regarding the side effects and efficacy of Effexor that we were given and which is still being propagated, is significantly misleading to the consumer and the medical community at large. This cannot continue and we hope you will support us with our pleas to Wyeth-Ayerst for full and accurate disclosure.

Manuela turned one!

A nice post for once with no complaints, yesterday was Manuela's birthday and I would like to celebrate joy for a change!!!
Feliz Cumpleanos Manuela!!

con nosotros
solita!
Con la abuela!

Feliz Cumpleanos Manuela!!!

Noli Me Tangere

Noli Me Tangere

I decided to let Easter Sunday take a rather loose and uneventful way so as to not instill the sense of drama and lamentation that usually manages to spoil it for some. My family and I attended mass this morning, the church was crowded with many faces we do not see the rest of the year. That's fine, I do not keep records and each individual has his or her reasons for not attending mass every week. The semon was boxed and extracted from the Catholic workbook of Easter sermons that I Lost interest very early and had to use the time to reflect for myself.

My thought turned to Mary Magdalene, the woman with the alabaster jar. She was easily the most upset at the disappearance of Jesus and had to be convinced by the Angel as well as Jesus that he had risen, not to heaven yet, but he was on his way. Her faith never held her down and neither did her absolute trust. She truly loved jesus and there is not doubt that Jesus loved her.

I visited my mother and father later and then to dinner at my father's house prepared by my cousins. No feel of Easter was evident in the house, lots of chocalate easter bunnies and eggs and just generally lots of white sugar to prime the parts of the young ones.
My mother has days to live and my father is still in denial as to how long she will win. I hate the whole spectacle and I hate to see my mother suffering too much. I wish I was the one who had to make the final decision. That is my opiinion, I don't make the decisions.

The house smells like death, not because of the lack of cleanliness, someone has already died in there...

On Aging

Peter Ryan Crane, Mark Lough Crane, Andrew Millican Crane, Lizzie Anne Crane, Michael Currie Crane

I found this the other day snooping around some old disks in my library. I think it is the last time all five Crane siblings were together in the same vicinity. None of us looks too happy but we don't look as though we want to kill each other either. If my memory serves me correctly it was three months after my mother had her stroke and she had just been released from the hospital. Andrew had come from Ireland and Peter had made the trek from Ottawa. I feel various twinges of guilt looking at this picture as things have not been the same since it was taken. A lot has changed in the last few years, we have all gone our own way and little effort has been made to recapture this exact moment when we were all together. Maybe this picture will tweak a few brain cells!

Neenie's Stubborn Will

The two sisters had lived alone,
now sharing the younger one's house
because of a broken ankle.
Neenie sat on the love seat in the
living room,
only leaving the spot to use the facilities,
or to enter the kitchen to make a sandwich
or a cup of tea.
Her sister was of very little help,
she put up with her,
but showed no love or compassion,
to the plight of the poor cripple,
perhaps left over from childhood sibling rivalry
or as I suspected,
just a hatred borne by time.

Neenie loved to read to us and to hear
about the books we had read. We told her of all the novels
we read in school,
omitting pornography and Henry Miller.
Her favorite was a poem by Robert Service,
The Cremation of Sam Mcgee
a poem she had memorized, hoping all the time
that she would be cremated in the same way,
and never be cold again!

While lying on the couch with her broken ankle,
her sister had served her and taken care of her needs
minimally,
one day she did not come down the stairs
in the morning.
Neenie wondered all morning what had become
of her.
She called up the stairs from her place on the couch,
but received no answer.
She waited the whole day until finally, after dark,
her sister called down that she was sick.
Neenie was worried but managed to take care of her own
needs,
laying awake all night, wondering what was to be
done about her sister.

The next day, with a strength hidden in those old
bones and wrinkly skin,
she managed to make a ham sandwich,
place it in a baggie,
and crawl up the stairs to feed her sister.
Her sister told her to leave it on the top of the stairs and
she would pick it up later.
Neenie crawled back to her couch
and lay there lamenting her age
and her disability.
She continued this for two more days,
becoming increasingly weak herself,
and never receiving a word of thanks
or encouragement.

I dropped in two days after her sister had finally
made it out of bed.
Neenie looked terrible,
her eyes were sunken
and she had no energy.
She told me the whole story while her sister had gone
to the mall to do some "shopping".
I asked her why she hadn't called me or Skip,
but she waved that off saying she
didn't want to disturb our studies.
She told me she had finally phoned the doctor
and everything was going fine now.
I hated her sister for treating her that way
secretly vowing to somehow get some
revenge.

A week later her sister died,
that is to say, she was found dead.
The doctor said she had a massive heart
attack,
but I think it was suicide, a bittier old
woman,
acting like a Queen until the final second.
I received the call at school,
and prepared for the funeral.
There were no tears evident,
Skip wasn't there,
Neenie couldn't be moved from the house.
She was lowered into the freezing ground,
an apt resting place,
matching the coldness of her life.

Neenie died three years later,
by herself.
She had recovered and moved back to her home
up north.
I had gone there to paint he house and I spent
a month with her,
drinking and talking.
We seldom spoke of her sister who is, at the moment,
still asleep in the cold ground,
but Neenie was cremated, a per her wish,
and I know she is warm.

Michael Crane

La Virgen de Lujan

On our recent visit to Argentina we were fortunate enough to have the use of a car and we decided to take a small day trip just to get out of town for the day. We decided to visit the Shrine in Lujan, in Buenos Aires Province, approximately 150 km from our home base in Ramallo. The cathedral in itself was as beautiful and grandiose as any that i've seen in North America or Europe. I was awestruck by the size and extremely elated to see that money was being spent to keep the buildings and grounds in pristine condition. Jesus probably would not have been happy about the souvenir stalls that were squeezed together throughout the grounds and side streets, an obvious money-grab selling some of the worst tourist crap that I've ever seen!

The inside of the cathedral was equally as humbling as the outer edifice. A sombre quiet filled the main room broken only by the tapping of the occasional high heel worn by a pilgrim. We walked about the church, pausing to look at the stained-glass windows, the stations of the cross and homages to different Saints. I was disappointed by the fact that there was very little about St. Paul who, besides being my favorite Saint, is being celebrated this whole year by Catholics worldwide. I also did not appreciate the number of Argentine flags adorning the inside, a firm believer that State and Church should remain separate. The basement contained homages to the Virgin from different countries, including Canada, and we spent an hour admiring the different dreams of all cultures and people, truly a faith affirming vision that spread light and energy to my heart.



The Virgen appeared to me in Argentina four years ago which has inspired me to search for true enlightenment through faith, belief and prayer. My vision came to me two days after my father in law passed away. I was roused out of bed at five in the morning and compelled to go outside. I was wearing only underwear and I did not stop to put on my shoes. There was a thick layer of dew on the ground and my legs quickly became drenched. I walked out the back door and kept going for two hundred metres at which time the Virgen came to me, from the sky. She was beautiful beyond description, dressed in blue and white, hair cascading from beneath her scarf. She reached out to me and said, "I will help you", nothing more. She seemed to be leaving and I reached out thinking she might take me with her. She disappeared and I was left standing there with a branch of a lemon tree that was standing where She had just been.

My story has been met with much skepticism, yet I am certain in my own heart that I saw what I saw. I have told family about it, the Argentine side believe in what transpired while my kin are certain that my vision was caused by sleeping pills and valium, there goes crazy Uncle Michael again! My brother Peter has been the sole supporter here in Canada, he is easily the most interested and optimistic of all my siblings.

I remain convinced that I saw her for a reason and I will continue my search for answers that will explain my appearance in a lemon grove, wet and half naked at six o'clock in the morning holding a lemon branch.

So there.....

Postal Views

The view from the post office today was bleak, dark and as disturbing as any other unknown source in the universe.

Our bonuses have come in but they are holding them back until they can give us a "coffee and doughnut" festival tomorrow morning when all the bosses can stand back and bask in our simple adulation and gracious awe.

If I didn't need the money I'm sure I could think of a place I'd like to stuff their filthy little pieces of paper, stale doughnuts and mediocre (coffee time) coffee.

I listened to the whole soundtrack, Quadrophenia, last night and I realized that I had missorted a lot of mail, I attempted to sort things out but I think I only made matters worse.

Due to my recent heart attack I have been forced to work midnights as a clerk. I feel a lot like Charles Bukowski, only wishing that I could share a little in his success.

I want to use this Blog to display my writing accomplishments and hopefully to tell a little of the story that has been my life up until now. Hopefully I will be able to decipher the code to smooth sailing and the real meaning of Finnegan's Wake.

Allons y!