computer problems

Gentle Reader, I will write here again when my laptop is up and running again.

Waking The Dead 12

A lot of us have difficulty with quiet and solitude. Too much of it can be lethal. This is why there is a concerted campaign for banning isolation and solitary confinement in prisons. It destroys people. We are designed as social creatures, and to deprive anyone of human contact is considered, and rightly so, as a particularly brutal form of torture. The right amount of solitude is or can be therapeutic. it forces us to become introspective, and to get a sense of ourselves, no matter how unattractive the experience. I think it`s hard for most people to have to look within, to face their own void, to kiss their own personal abyss. I think a lot of us hate Christmas for two reasons: we have to spend it with a lot of people just because we are family, and not all families like each other; or we have to spend too much time alone, because we are not connected anywhere, as is the case with me. Though I can`t really complain too much, because I was made welcome at church, anyway, for services and a couple of meals together, Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, and later a chat on the phone with a friend whom I couldn`t visit for Christmas dinner because I knew I`d be tired from all the church stuff. Still, a lot of other people have chosen to ignore me, as always, and I am probably going to let go of a few of these friendships, since those people are for the most part emotional parasites who only want to see me when they need something. So, goodbye to all of you. Sad, and perhaps a bit of a Pyrrhic victory, but sometimes we have to prune our lives like trees or we don`t bear a lot of fruit. The hardest thing about the season is the obligatory joy and celebration, whether you feel it or not. I think this must put an awful lot of strain on people. Having a good Christmas is even more important to a lot of us than having a nice vacation. There is something about the season that brings everything about the year, ourselves, our families and loved ones, to a kind of frenzied apogee or climax. It also reveals the many cracks and fault lines in our community, because a lot of people are not connected, without family, without close or real friends to help them get through the crushing loneliness of Christmas, for those who don't have anyone. I have been told in the past, by persons whose friendship for me now is on the chopping block, that I have to get over it, stop being so needy, learn to be happy alone. Easy for them to say, because I have heard those cruel words from people who have never been without loving family or close and supportive friends at any time in their lives. So, I will probably be saying goodbye to them, or at least distancing myself for a while. I think that Christmas would be more tolerable for those of us who are isolated and unconnected if more people would take time to include us more, which also means inviting us into their homes Christmas Day, or visiting us, phoning or even just emailing or texting us. But they get so caught up in their own little family world that they forget completely that there are others weeping in the outer darkness, and they just don't seem to have time for us. I think I've done better this year than others, but it's still difficult. Very few of the people I thought were my friends seem to know or care that I exist. And I have really decided not to contact any of them, because they will simply think that I'm needy and will likely resent the intrusion. People are really selfish, you know. And a lot of you, my friends, are swine. Merry Christmas.

Waking The Dead 11

I can only imagine what the experience of childbirth must be like, since, as a biological male, that is something I will never experience. Neither can I imagine what it would be like to be a girl, just perhaps puberty, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, to find herself pregnant. Not simply pregnant, but pregnant out of wedlock, without the support of the father. Nor can I imagine what it would be like for her to be engaged to a man almost old enough to be her father, who himself is not the father of the child. And then to think of the culture and era she lived in, not much different from the harsh tribal laws of many traditional Islamic communities of the Middle east. Had it been learned about her condition, she at the very best would have been thrown out of the home, exiled from the community, and perhaps have to survive as a prostitute. at worst, she would have been stoned to death. No wonder Mary would at times have felt frightened, or rather, terrified. This was also a time and culture, when not all spiritual or numinous experience was sneered at as symptoms of schizotypal or other mental health abnormalities, but it still would have strained people's sense of credulity that she had been visited by an angel or a heavenly messenger to be told that she would become pregnant, apparently by divine fiat, and would bear the Son of God who would be the saviour of the world. Likely her dad would have got together a posse, hunted down this messenger, and killed him with his bare hands. Then to imagine her fiancé's reaction, who naturally did not exactly welcome the news that someone had beat him to his girl. He was a decent chap, however, and was prepared to break off with the girl without controversy and without inflicting any punishment or shame on her. A very kind gesture, given that most men in his position would have been legally justified in having her put to death. Then comes the magic realism. an angel, likely the same messenger who spoke to Mary, speaks to him in a dream that the child is the offspring of God, and that it's all good. he accepts her as his wife, quietly marries her, and otherwise leaves her alone till after the birth. Both expectant young mother (girl, actually), and her new husband, are no doubt dumbfounded by what has occurred. Then they have to go and perform their civic duty in a small town, while she is perilously near the end of her pregnancy. They are put up in less than ideal accommodations, surrounded by livestock in a stable. Her time has come. It is not recorded whether or not there was a midwife available to help her with the birth. Joseph, a Jewish man of a certain vintage, would likely have been completely useless at assisting her in childbirth. But they were still very much alone, and what a terrifying experience this must have been. But I also imagine that they had accepted what was happening as the divine will, and that despite their fear, they were not cowed or panicked, but calm, resolute, perhaps even quietly joyful with anticipation. The risk was still quite huge. Childbirth in such unsanitary conditions. How easily she could have caught a septic infection, and died, both her and her child, not to mention the pain and risk of childbirth on a girl's body who is neither physically nor psychologically ready to have children. That's the way it was then. I hope there was an acting midwife there to help her, and to give her something for the pain. I cannot imagine the pain of childbirth. What an awful ordeal for women to have to go through just to give birth to the next generation. I imagine the whole story sounds preposterous to some, but for me, regardless of how it really happened, and what really was going on in their minds, this touches the very heart of the beauty of the Christian faith: that God has come to us in the most humble circumstances of our broken and wounded humanity, and here he dwells with us, walks with us, suffers with us, and dies with us only to raise us to life eternal with him. We have this assurance that we do not walk alone, no matter how dark the night, no matter how horrendous the sorrow and pain. There is always light concealed in the darkness and that light has a name: Jesus Christ of Nazareth, God coming to us in our humanity, and bringing us through our humanity into the beauty and joy of his presence.

Waking The Dead 10

Hello, Gentle reader, this is my famous Christmas Eve Interview with Kris, as in Kris Kringle. You know, Saint Nicholas. Okay you unimaginative traditionalists: SANTA CLAUS!!!!! I was Skyping with him today, and boy did he have a few things to tell me! You are not going to believe any of this. I hardly believe what I heard. First of all, I couldn't find him at the North Pole. I at first assumed that he had to get an early start on his famous sleigh, since the world population is triple what it was when Coca-Cola made him famous back when my mother was a kid. You don't want to know how long ago that was. Well, it turned out, after doing several advanced and exhaustive searches, that Santa no longer lives at the North Pole. In fact, Santa Claus has never lived in the North Pole, nor anywhere near the Arctic Circle. It turns out, that right now, he is in Costa Rica, where I reached him. Here is the condensed version of our conversation, and everything will be explained: "Thank you, Aaron, for actually tracking me down. Others have tried in the past, but no one thought of searching anywhere south of Baffin Island. I try to cover my tracks, you might say. Yes, about my permanent residence. I don't have one. I tend to visit my private homes in Grand Cayman and here in Costa Rica. The North Pole is where I used to work but I never lived there. Too cold. Actually, I shut everything down back in the forties. The war was making everything unstable and scary, and then there were problems with the elves. Yes, Aaron, my elves. You will all know about them, my dear green suited little helpers. Ah...they were cute, weren't they? But then that Tolkien guy wrote all his books about hobbits and high elves, turned famous and then there was no rest for the wicked! The little buggers thought they were every bit as special and beautiful as the high elves of Lothlorien, got quite an attitude and tried to unionize! That's right, kiddo, they weren't only expecting me to pay them. The little blighters wanted a living wage! How's that for the Spirit of Christmas! I gave them all they wanted, free room and board and plenty of board games, since the nights get pretty long up there, and this is their way of repaying me! They had the colossal gall to accuse me of slavery, they went on a series of devastating strikes, profits were soon down (yeah, I was getting paid, but that's a long story and we don't have a lot of time right now, plus the connection's a bit wobbly, and the world doesn't need to know about my investment portfolio.) Well, I fired all of them, and they all moved to Middle Earth. Last I heard some of them were getting bit parts and were working as extras on Peter Jackson's sets in New Zealand, and I think some of them even appeared in Harry Potter, but that's pure conjecture. Then there was the problem with the reindeer. They cost a lot to feed you know, so I sold them off as meat and invested the money in my new cabana at Playa Jaco, or that's Jaco Beach, in Costa Rica, where I am right now. It hasn't been an easy transition, but it's been profitable and I like to think that I can retire in style. I've opened a wellness and fitness spa here and all the Gringos come here now from the States, we even get a few from Canada. It's amazing what people will pay for, and even though I charge them top dollar, they get bang for their buck. I've collaborated with Gwyneth Paltrow and you wouldn't believe some of the gross concoctions I've got them drinking for their weekly cleanse. We're in it fifty-fifty. I just make sure that no one is around to teach them about the natural functions of the human liver. Of course it's all hokum and Buddha-babble, but it makes them all feel better and centred but they're not experiencing any divine revelation, thank God, and oh no, did I actually say it like that? Oh, the irony. Well, what I meant to say, is it isn't turning them into religious fanatics who want to change the world and save everyone from themselves and keep this world from going to hell. It just makes them nice and happy and complacent and they feel so good about themselves. No threat to the established order. And they are even more what I want them to be: self-centred little consumers, only now they spend bankrolls on yoga pants. I have a partnership with Lululemon. No worries. Some of my folks here look pretty darn good in yoga pants. Even some of the guys. So, when I shut the works down up north I had to outsource so I sold my brand to all the mega-stores and corporations and it's been all cheesecake and strawberries ever since. They pay me beautifully for my brand and now I even have all of you wearing my dear little hats starting just after Halloween. It's lovely being recognized, even lovelier if it's brand recognition. Of course, we still can't totally get rid of that kid in the stable. You know who I'm talking about: shepherds, angels, cows and sheep and three kings of the Orient and all. And no, I'm not going to mention him by name, you already know who I am talking about. It seems that no matter how hard we try, we still can never get him out of the picture. I was just at a meeting at Bilderberg, then another one at Davos and no matter how we strategize, the kid in the stable sticks like overcooked pasta. There's no getting rid of him, and no matter how much we tell people to buy and eat and consume and drink themselves stupid, there's still all those obnoxious Christmas songs. I don't mean the good ones like, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause or Santa Baby, or Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer. I mean actual hymns like Joy to the World or Come All Ye Faithful. Yikes! Even mentioning them makes my skin crawl! Next time we're in Bilderberg we'll come up with that one sure-fire marketing strategy to get the kid in the stable out of the holiday. He is one tenacious little bugger and then there's his mom and dad, but hey, I'm down here to enjoy myself so let's change the subject, eh? Santa was just about to sign off when I commented about his longevity and asked him about his secret. here is his reply: "My secret for living for thousands of years? Very simple." Then his smile widened till he showed two enormous fangs, almost like tusks and out slithered a long reptilian tongue. There was a sudden odour of sulphur. "It's all in the genes, kiddo", he said, It's all in the genes." Then he let loose an evil menacing laugh that echoed everywhere. He disappeared from the screen and my laptop crashed. I don`t think I can get it fixed. It`s still smoking and reeking of sulphur. Merry Christmas, Gentle Reader!

Waking The Dead 9

Waking up is hard to do. It isn't something that comes naturally. We are used to dealing only with matters of immediate need, urgency and consequence. Long-term, not so much. It appears that that is how we are wired after some two hundred thousand years of our species' existence. despite all the evidence already in, that we are heading for some really rough times, very few seem prepared to change their habits or lifestyles accordingly. This is depressing. For me, it is relatively easy, but I have always been more or less awake, which I imagine sets me apart from others. there are reasons for this. Many are circumstantial. My childhood and adolescence were full of disruptions, and perhaps, eruptions, as well. When you are consistently abused, in all conceivable ways, by every member of your family, and for a good number of years, it creates in you a sense of awareness that is sad, frightening and profound. When you live at the mercy of psychopathic idiots, as in the case of my father and brother, and a mother with major anger management problems and a taste for violence, then you live in a state of heightened awareness and heightened alertness. Jesus was my ticket out. There was also a work of preparation. Thanks to the Fabulous Sixties, by the time that auspicious decade was concluding and I was thirteen, I was already questioning a lot of the values and customs that my family expected me to absorb an carry on with. I became a fourteen year old hippy, smoked pot and wandered around Vancouver, meeting people and talking to them. I began hitchhiking, which brought me in further contact with all kinds of interesting strangers, something that wouldn`t be done today, but that was a different era and we cared less about risk and danger. I find it appalling what a brood of coddled, selfish, weak and spineless little cowards today`s young people are, thanks to their neurotic helicopter parents, over-protective and over nurturing Boomers, natch. I also became an avid and regular reader of Vancouver's most prominent weekly journal, the Georgia Straight, in those days still considered a subversive, radical and controversial little rag. This helped give me a crash course in gay rights, feminism, abortion rights, environmental degradation, alternatives to the death culture I was living in, radical and revolutionary politics, progressive values, vegetarian and organic food, art, all sorts of interesting and wonderful things. Despite what the pot might have been doing to my developing young brain, I was really becoming aware of an awful lot of interesting shit in very short order. I didn`t really have any friends at that time. When you are a child of family abuse, and if you are also a particularly sensitive, intelligent and gifted child, you are not going to make friends easily in school, nor elsewhere. You are going to be suspicious, needy and volatile and a real pain in the ass to be around. And I did mention that Jesus was my ticket out. Elsewhere, Gentle Reader, you will have already read my spiritual autobiography, so a lot of this doesn`t really bear repeating, but I will say this much: I was not brainwashed by a cult. Rather, I had a living encounter with the Living God himself, and the Jesus People just happened to be the most convenient vectors for this to happen. Even when I knelt with those young men on the floor of that attic bedroom in that creaking old house on Fairview Slopes to accept Jesus into my heart, I knew I was not becoming a member of a secret cult or society, but that I had just become part of the Body of Christ, his church, visible and invisible in heaven and earth, and this realization and experience has kept me free from having to rely on others for my spiritual wellbeing, rather than Christ present with and within me. Christ awoke in me a consuming love for others, and without this love I would never have been able to have constructively put into action the many things I had learned and that had woken me out of the slumber that consumes us all. Ever since that day, even when I backslid for a while, I have remained awake and alive in a way that often leaves me feeling like an outsider to others. Instead of getting caught up in the consumer death march, I remained living simply. God and circumstances made this easy, since for some reason, I have never bee able to find decently remunerative employment, but have always had to live in such a way that I am constantly and completely dependent upon the hand of God for my provision and even to this very day. But God has always provided and provides for me still. I do not have things or stuff, no car, I don`t own my home, I only have a few clothes, lots of books in Spanish and English and lots of my own art. I have no family. I do have some friends, but I do have a strange and strong sense of connection to others, even strangers. I work in a field that requires me to serve and support others in distress and that also keeps me on a permanent learning curve towards humility. All of these and other things have kept me awake and alert and aware at a depth and consistency that I think is quite rare for people. It can also make me a difficult pain in the ass to be around as I have to constantly steward and curb my frustration with the obtuse, comatose and stupid and selfish behaviour and attitudes of those around me. And really, who wants to listen to a low income Jeremiah or a white trash Cassandra, especially when we just can't seem to be able to shut up. And I won't shut up, because, Gentle Reader, we are living in very difficult and challenging times and so much depends on each one of us rising to the challenge, changing our way of life and moving in a constructive life of repentance and renewal into the new life that we can all be born into if we will simply be equal to the challenge and if we will all have the courage to change and become fully human and fully alive and effective and powerful vectors of change.

Waking The Dead 8

Sometimes on weekends I listen to a morning radio program on the CBC called North by Northwest. I have nicknamed this program "The Twee Hour" because the host and the content are very twee indeed. I imagine that this is going to be the perfect soporific of classical and folk music and commentaries about the arts and gardening and charity work, and gourmet food and lovely restaurants, and travel, and music and literature and it is just a little bit cultured and so sweet and nice and cheerful and well-mannered and oh so very twee! I sometimes get rather annoyed with the host because they often seem to pretend that poor and homeless and low-income people don't even exist, and that everyone in Vancouver earns more than a living wage and that all those who are retired own their own lovely little (and big) homes, and isn`t the world a lovely and rose and rainbow tinted place for all the privileged folk that abound. I also get particularly annoyed with their segments and interviews about beer, wine and spirits. The CBC has become notorious for pushing booze on Canadians, I think largely because they get a lot of advertising revenue from Big Liquor, and this is also so socially irresponsible, as I just wrote this morning in an email to the host of said program. She never responds, by the way, and that's probably because I'm always right and she doesn't want to admit it. Our culture of alcoholism is problematic on so many fronts and levels, but succinctly, Gentle Reader, it is such a socially acceptable, and encouraged and endorsed addiction, that almost no one wants to name this elephant in the room, no matter how high its piles of shit are festering over the hardwood and broadloom. people love their booze, it seems, every bit as much as they love their cars, and no matter the public health warnings, everyone wants the right to get stinking shitface drunk, or at least acceptably sozzled to their little hearts' content, hang the consequences and my oh my but who is going to flush this toilet we are all soaking in while pretending to be a big beautiful hot tub? So it goes, with what I believe to be our number one obstacle to most of us ever becoming fully human: nobody wants to face their pain. We are all born in painful and limited circumstances, even the most privileged and advantaged among us, because regardless of how much our parents try to shelter us from ugly reality and raise us to be perfect little liberals or capitalists or both, we are all little more than the damaged offspring of damaged parents who are themselves the progeny of damaged parents, and the beat goes on. And this is equally so, rich or poor, cultured or uneducated, and the only reason why the privileged produce way fewer jailbirds than their less fortunate brethren is for one simple reason: the protections of privilege, and they are many. We don't want to wake up. We don't want to face reality, and we certainly don't want to face ourselves as the damaged, wounded and half-formed little lumps of biomass that we are. Whether with alcohol, illegal drugs, medications, smartphones, Netflix, porn, or pick any one, we are constantly on the lam from ourselves and sooner or later, even if this doesn't come till we're arriving in front of the judgement seat of God, we are going to have to reckon with the small, weak, half-formed and wounded little beggars that we are, yet still with the power of doing great damage to one another and to this earth that nurtures and sustains us.

Waking The Dead 7

There is nothing so effective a teacher as consequences. But what a pyrrhic victory. Where lesson becomes also jailer, torturer and executioner. One would hope that there would be gentler means, but, alas, Gentle Reader, the gentlest way of teaching us our lessons involves such hard kicks in the ass that they could wind up killing us, and often they do. I was having coffee with a friend yesterday, who afterward offered me a ride partway home. I almost declined, partly because I wanted to walk around in the rich neighbourhoods and enjoy the Christmas lights on the big houses, and also for the exercise, and simply because I don't like riding in cars as they really are for me part of our larger problem of pollution, climate change, middle class selfishness and egoism and social isolation. However, we didn't have a very long visit and I did want to chat some more. Plus, I realised, there was work waiting for me at home and it needed to get done, so it would be better to arrive earlier, thanks to the convenience of my friend's car. This also gave me a little more insight into the mind of a car driver. Now, this is nothing at all against my friend, who is actually a very fine and respected individual. We were navigating traffic chaos as the huge windstorm had knocked out power in a lot of areas. We were talking about how drivers have to carefully negotiate with one another during power failures, as there are no operating traffic lights to keep everyone in line. We agreed that the four way stop is actually the most effective because everyone is forced to cooperate and, by the same token, coexist. I mentioned to my friend that having never owned a car is a rite of passage I do not regret missing in life. He did mention that he couldn't imagine being able to meet all his appointments and commitments by using public transit, and I didn't care to argue, mostly from good manners and also because what he said was making sense. But I also wondered later about expectations and timing. Could we, I wanted to ask him later, possibly pare down on our expectations and commitments? Is it possible that we expect too much of ourselves and each other. There is something confining about being inside a car. There are other people surrounding us but each is encased in their own metal contraptions. I mentioned to my friend that on public transit, we are always being taught how to coexist with one another, for example, how not to get someone's backpack shoved in your face, and the importance of communicating and being assertive with one another, and of how one can also end up making a new friend. It does happen sometimes. Car culture is toxic. It is very toxic. We are destroying the environment and, by extension, the planet and ourselves. We stay isolated from one another, and none of us seems willing to give up even a little bit of our pride and independence to actually be with one another as you must be while wedged on a bus seat next to an overweight stranger. Not very comfortable, maybe. But how about starting a conversation, if that person, or you, aren't so transfixed by your little phone, or your private music hall isn't turned up so loud that you can't even hear yourself fart? I think, or hope, that if they actually invest enough in transit to make it attractive and efficient and safe and comfortable, then more people will get out of their cars. I do not believe this is just wishful thinking. It actually has been working in many European cities. But the consequences, if we do not give up our cars and our precious independence and importance and stop polluting and stop endangering the planet, are unimaginable, but terrifying. And if that is what it is going to take for us to learn, then it is going to be too little too late. Pyrrhic victory.

Waking The Dead 6

We're easily jaded, and I think that our natural preference is to remain comatose. There was a time when art was considered the perfect vehicle for slapping the bourgeoisie out of their smug complacency. Pablo Picasso, whose art did shock and scandalize for a while, is famous for saying that a good painting must be full of razorblades. Fair enough. Then came the Dadaists, then the Surrealists, all with the same motive in mind: knock us out of our slumber through increasingly outrageous and irrational works of art. It was tried in literature. Remember James Joyce? Virginia Woolf, anyone? Samuel Beckett? Now they are all bourgeois accoutrements of status and social position. What once shocked is now wallpaper, or screensavers. Artists still are compelled to disturb and shock through their art. What Warhol must have done Campbell Soup stocks (pun not intended) But it doesn't appear to be working. We also have the real life events: terrorism, President Dump in the White House, Fentanyl and overdoses causing three to four deaths a day in my city, homelessness, and everyone just gets used to it, it all loses its shock value and we go whistling (please don't, it's so irritating!) in the dark on our way to our own cold and inhospitable graves. Naturally, the more jaded we become, the harder it is to really slap us awake. We are, Gentle Reader, that self-absorbed and pathetic. I believe it is called coping. I remember how chronically upset and distressed I was fifteen years ago over our already burgeoning homelessness crisis, and that with survivor guilt. Now, I still don't like it, but I have grown used to it. We do have to get on with our lives, I suppose. I think a lot of us feel paralysed. There isn't a lot that can be done to eliminate homelessness without massive political will, and there are still a lot of ass-backward conservatives in this country and conservatism, worse than any political ideology simultaneously breeds ignorance, fear and complacency. Our politicians always keep their ear to the ground because they don't want to offend or alienate their support base, otherwise they are going to be out of work. Likewise with fighting climate change. Democracy, in some ways, is one of the worst things that has ever happened to us, even though it is also the best of all bad political ideologies and , believe me, Gentle Reader, none of them are good. We are basically reduced by the governments we elect and the culture we help nurture and enable, at least by default, to zombies, barely living beings that simply have to cope and survive for one more day, with whatever pleasures and bucket lists to make the great general owie a little more tolerable. Deplorable, yes, and I still say there are ways of subverting and undermining this nasty reality we are stranded with. Gratitude is huge, and gratitude also clears our vision so that we can see a little better those around us and what they are needing and what we can do to help. The whole thing is to get our heads out of our butts, and to keep our heads out of our asses. This is an act of will, and this has to be repeated over and over. We can begin the process of change by refusing to see ourselves, or live, as mere consumers, and to cultivate the ability of seeing others as persons, not as obstacles in our way, not as a means to our own ends. This can be very difficult, because we are so conditioned by this insidious culture of self-esteem and narcissism. We have to acquire tool kits to help us cope and overcome the darkness that surrounds us, and we have to look into the great religions, and other ethical and philosophical systems from which we can develop an ethos of kindness compassion and selflessness. Extreme conditions call for extreme measures and we have to start rising to the occasion before we all get flushed down that huge collective toilet.

Waking The Dead 5

If you're not angry then you haven't been paying attention. Yeah, I get it. But girls just wanna have fun. I just listened to most of a documentary on Ideas, CBC about alcohol, mostly negative, because alcohol is an addictive drug with, it turns out, zero health benefits. Then the documentary took an interesting turn at its conclusion, likely under orders of the CBC, since they have a very strong por-liquor lobby in their advertising and some of their programming. Basically, what was said, is that drinking is fun and good for you socially. Methinks the narrator had already had a few too many when he said that. Or his bosses at the CBC, which promotes a culture of alcoholism, had a gun to his head. Or maybe both. I know that drinking can be fun. I've done it myself, and I am glad to say that I have never had a problem with alcohol addiction. I did say a few things I had to live down, and the hangovers weren't much fun. And it isn't to say that there haven't been occasions where having one or two with enjoyable people hasn't been downright pleasant. I think it also reflects sadly on what a species of half-formed and half-baked beings we are, when it is commonly accepted that we have to have alcohol I order to make social interactions fun and enjoyable and that we can't really communicate well without putting one or two sheets to the wind. It's the same logic they use to justify codependent relationships with dogs, which is really to say that we are too damaged and challenged in our development as humans in order to form and maintain with other human beings healthy, enjoyable and constructive relationships. I used to stay in a beautiful boutique bed and breakfast in Mexico City, where they simply spoiled the guests and every evening we would all enjoy a glass or two or three of fine red wine on the house while chatting up a storm in the living room. Nothing wrong with that. And I think for some, the alcohol was a helpful lubricant, and for this, I feel kind of sorry for them. I have noticed that the most vocal proponents for alcohol, and public drinking, seem to be the kind of people who can't live without it themselves, and I think they are among the legions of undiagnosed alcoholics who live in this country. Whenever you hear the words responsible drinking, they are probably coming from people who, after they've had a few, themselves, are anything but. Remember that saying? Instant Asshole: just add alcohol and stir. I no longer drink. I've never cared much for the effects of alcohol, plus, it is expensive, and unhealthy, and I don't want to feel that I am contributing to a death industry. I don't always turn it down. If I'm at a dinner or a social gathering, and I'm offered a glass, likely I will accept, but chances are, I won't only stick to just one glass, but I probably won't even finish it. I think that what really helped cement my attitude about alcohol, besides having an alcoholic father, was a chance encounter I had one day, about eighteen years ago, or so, when I was myself living on social assistance. I did have a little extra money in my pocket and I was on my way to a favourite café downtown, Subeez (no longer there), for a glass of brown ale. It would be a treat. A young man on Granville asked if I could buy him a slice of pizza. I asked him how hungry he was. He said pretty hungry. I bought him two slices of pizza, which took care of most of my beer money. I went to Subeez anyway and enjoyed an Americano and nothing else. I have never bought alcohol for myself, nor for anyone, again. I understand that we are living in difficult and challenging times, and that we can't always live in a prolonged state of anguish and dread without exposing ourselves to serious harm. I recall during a book club discussion in a church I used to attend when the subject of global warming came up, and everyone was suddenly sad, anguished and morose about the state of the climate and the doom that awaits us all. I suddenly said, let's not forget whose earth this is, and maybe if we start to trust God more for our outcome we will find ourselves worrying less and actually working more effectively for the environment. I was roundly cursed for daring to ruin their enjoyment of their collective dread and it wasn't long before I had to leave that parish. As grim as our prospects might seem, I am still going to rejoice. I am still going to enjoy life, without the need for alcohol, and I am going to go on celebrating the presence of the living God in every moment of my life, because the joy of the Lord is my strength and it is that strength that will arm and empower us to meet the challenges ahead. Not by dreading the possible end, but by celebrating this divine gift of the present moment. The joy of the Lord is our strength.

Waking The Dead 4

It has taken a threat so dramatic and all-encompassing as climate disaster through human activity to start slapping some of us awake. Now that we are beginning to see and experience catastrophic climate phenomena, it is becoming very difficult to keep our heads up our hienies, especially now that our hienies are starting to get kicked so hard that it is giving us headaches. So far, so good. There is still a kind of faint hope clause that we might also be entering a mini ice age such as the one that hit the world between the thirteenth and nineteenth centuries and that could help ameliorate the impact of global warming, but not so fast, Emily! All the scientific models suggest that this is going to be it. The Big It. Will things really be as bad as they say? Could be. Could be even worse. Maybe not so bad. But this doesn't let us off the hook. We have already poisoned the earth. Species extinctions are accelerating and there is nothing we can do to turn back the clock. Now, it's damage control. I still don't see a lot of compelling evidence that enough of us are rising to the challenge and our governments are so lame and lily livered in their pallid attempts to sign international treaties and agree to phase out fossil fuels, and really because they still want to keep Big Oil happy and quiet and ready to go on polluting their way to the bank. Too little too late, methinks. Big oil is still calling the tune and our photogenic prime minister is one of their favourite blow-boys, or so it seems. Four and a half billion of our money he has shelled out to Kinder organ (whoops, I meant to say Kinder-Morgan, but, hey Gentle Reader, that is not at all a bad Freudian, dontchathink?) for their bloody pipeline, which would be up and running just in time for the new apocalypse which that fiendish project is simply going to hasten our way. If Trudeau's a rent boy, he's a pretty stupid one. Maybe He got us to pay him, but now he is paying them, his big fat American johns! With our money, natch. A lot of folks still don't want to give up their cars, they don't want to make sacrifices. They don't need their cars. Nobody needs a car. Hello? I have heard one excuse after another for these idiots clinging to their little planet destroyers and it all comes down to laziness, arrogance and a supreme lack of imagination. It's axiomatic that one of the last sacrifices for seniors to have to make is giving up their cars, and even then it's a matter of prying their keys from their cold dead fingers and that final loss of independence will kill them, but at least they will no longer have a chance to kill someone else with their driving. I have lived my entire life without a car. Perhaps it hasn't always been super-convenient, but I have survived, I'm no worse off, and likely in a lot of ways, I am in much better shape than a lot of you chronic drivers. It sometimes seems that for a lot of people, their own comfort, convenience and worst of all their egos are way more important than saving the planet and living in a way that is less selfish and more sustainable. So, how do we wake those zombies up, because it is their stubborn intransigence that is particularly keeping things from moving forward. I sometimes wonder if it might be time to curtail some of the freedom that we take for granted, for the laws to change and that car ownership and meat-eating be declared a felony. For that to happen there would have to be a huge push towards enshrining and protecting the rights of Mother Earth and the rights of all species to live in a safe and sustainable natural environment. But we live in a democracy, you know, and the pushback from the mouth-breathers would be so fierce that they would probably still be dickering about not wanting to give up their cars or their steak and prime rib while sea levels are rising and drowning island nations, while killer hurricanes, heat waves, fires and floods, are rendering large swathes of the planet unfit for human life or food production, and the beautiful earth we once knew, loved and took for granted and abused and destroyed is but a lovely memory while many of us stumble weeping to an early tomb.

Waking The Dead 3

We need to be deprogrammed. Yes. So, how is this going to happen, and who is going to do it for us? Simple answer to a simple question: it's our job. I think people are doing this more, and this is the good thing about the internet. People generally have a lot more ready access to a lot more information, and it is nice to know that some of us are actually trying to exploit this. I am noticing, in Vancouver, anyway, a greater push towards progressive values and ideas. We have more people reducing their meat consumption, or going vegetarian or completely plant-based. Ofcourse, this is also making fresh produce more expensive and so again we have the problem of food for profit capitalism. This is the model that our governments have chosen, assuming, I would imagine, that they are thus acting in the best interests of Canadians. Well, certain Canadians. Conservatives and conservative swing-voters, one would imagine. We are basically limited to working within these parameters, no matter how irksome and odious. Even though I would be inclined to disagree, given the number of cars I see on the roads every day, and how often I am nearly blinded by LED headlights (which really ought to be banned as both a public safety and health hazard), I am told that car sales are generally down, and more people are more often leaving their cars at home and opting for alternative and more sustainable modes of transportation. I'm still not quite convinced. I still believe that nothing speaks so powerfully or effectively as personal example. This is why I have never deviated from living simply, not just by making a virtue our of necessity (when you are chronically poor and low-incomed it is just amazing how righteous you become). And I have also taken care to not stay quiet about how I live, or why it should be desirable and even preferable to the carbon emitting nonsense that most of us take for normal. For most of us it is possible to live well without a car and without meat, but too few are still willing to make the transition. There are of course reasons for this, or, rather, lame excuses. So, how has living simply helped shape the person who I am? Well, I'm still poor, but I don't feel poor. So maybe we have here a clue. A lot of this has to do with self-perception and values? If we do not have a developed or concrete sense of ourselves as having value that is independent of the customs, mores and attitudes of our surrounding environment, then we are going to be easy marks for consumer advertising and consumerist propaganda. Like shooting fish in a barrel. As a non-car owner, I take public transit. This helps me to see and appreciate people who are different from me, to find mature strategies for dealing with annoying people, and it allows me the opportunity to actually have the occasional conversation with a pleasant stranger, perhaps even to make a new friend. This simply does not happen when you spend almost all your time away from home and work inside a car. I also walk a lot more, good exercise, helps me manage my weight, and I can see and appreciate all kinds of interesting features of my city and the various neighbourhoods and people. Plus, I get to look at some really cool houses, gardens, trees and birds. Eating vegetarian provides all sorts of health benefits making me incredibly healthy and robust at the age of sixty-two. Furthermore, this slowing down and being more in public with others enhances my experience of the Divine, without such experience I don't think that any of us can reach our full potential as humans. I don't have expensive toys or gadgets. I don't need them. I have a laptop computer that still works, a landline phone and at least five hundred books in my home library, half of which are in Spanish. I have my art and writing projects, which sometimes can also be profitable. I also have the good fortune of affordable housing, rare in Vancouver, and it was actually my life experience of indigence that helped open the way to this blessing. But all said, yes, it is very possible to pare down, scale down and live in away that doesn't pollute, that provides opportunities to connect better with humanity and to grow as a human being. This isn't to say that cars are never helpful or necessary. Of course they are. But if people who drive them would simply realize how they are still thinking like spoiled rich kids, and would only use their vehicles as needed, then I think we would all be a bit further ahead. My guess is that most of you who drive, only really need your precious set of wheels and mechanical independence perhaps at most, ten percent of the time that you use them. Laziness and satisfying the demands of your swollen little egos, methinks?

Waking The Dead 2

First, full disclosure: I do not believe in re-education camps. I do believe in the importance of re-education. I do not believe in the arbitrary curtailment of freedoms and liberty. I do believe that most of us still don't have a clue about how to responsibly use our freedom and liberty. This creates a bit of a dilemma. It is the constant and flagrant abuse of freedom that has brought us into the mess we are currently in. I think this all reached its nadir when under the guidance of the Chicago School of Economics with the mentorship of Milton Friedman and his ilk, and under the leadership of neoliberal conservative politicians such as Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher and Brian Mulroney, t was taken as an already given that markets should be completely deregulated and the generation and movement of capital given full rein, under the most misguided assumption that unrestrained and unregulated capitalism would save the day, there would be international peace and harmony because citizens had been turned into customers and human beings into consumers and what a lovely world of prosperity and economic freedom we would all be enjoying together. Except, they left out certain parts of the human equation. The breakneck capitalism that was unleashed has instead created a kind of creeping social Darwinism that is rapidly unravelling the social fabric and destroying civic and social infrastructures. The market has no conscience, and this makes the accruing of wealth the idea playing field or playground for psychopaths. It has already been explored and revealed that the wealthiest people in the world are also among the most psychopathic. How else could one person accumulate personal wealth that would equal or exceed the gross national product of a small nation, and I mean a small developed nation? So, who are those psychopaths? They head international banks and multinational corporations. Among them, are those who extract and refine fossil feels and weapons manufacturers, both industries of death. The blind greed of powerful competitors with a dead conscience is one of the most lethal weapons that have been unleashed against the planet and against humanity. We see now what the exploitation of fossil fuels and the machines of war have been doing to us, and how they threaten to put it all to a fairly abrupt and total conclusion. And most of us are either deaf and blind to this reality, or we are just indifferent. There re reasons for this, though I do not think that they could pass as legitimate excuses. The globalization of national economies has created a dynamic of uber-competitiveness and extreme anxiety and fear for most of us, as we have to train and retrain at our own expense in order to remain competitive in occupations where the social contract has been shredded and burned, and it is everyone out for themselves. With the huge growth of temporary, often poorly paid contract work that offers no protections, benefits or rights to workers, we have seen an explosion in household debt and a growing statistic of poverty and indigence in wealthy and prosperous nations such as our dear, progressive Canada, and this is not about to end. Even Prime Minister junior has been heard tut-tutting workers who think that we have a right to job and income security. And what adds insult to injury with such words of stop complaining and be glad that you have a job (my paraphrase), is that they come from the lips of someone who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who has never known anything but wealth, privilege and social status, and simply doesn't have a clue about what regular people have to cope with every day. Seeing how our governments capitulation and adoration of market deregulation has thrown the most vulnerable among us under the bus, which is to say, that now we have a crisis of homelessness and hunger not even matched by the Great Depression, everyone else, instead of coming to their aid and resisting these inhuman policies, has to work doubly hard not to find themselves also living on the sidewalk and lining up at food banks and soup kitchens,. Everyone is too scared trying to save their own sorry ass to be able to give much voice or concern to this manic death dance of greed that they are taking us on. We need to be re-educated. Big time. Deprogrammed and re-educated. We need to learn again the deep human and spiritual values that make us more than soulless consumers of goods and services. We need to learn again the value of caring, giving and sharing and of valuing others as the beautiful beings that they are and not simply as means to our own selfish ends. But we are going to have to work hard and make some riel and painful sacrifices for this to happen. And we are going to also have to start asking some very uncomfortable questions while challenging our governments and social and economic institutions. Let's just hope that it isn't too late yet.

Waking The Dead 1

How do we wake ourselves, and each other, up? I have already explored this them in the previous series, The Walking Dead. Some of us are becoming more aware and alert to the issues at hand but, as always, it looks like it's going to be too few, too little and too late. But isn't that the way it's always been, Gentle Reader? Most of us don't want to wake up and you can see this by how many of us still obstinately drive our cars across the city, creating gridlock while remaining criminally obtuse about the role we are playing in pushing up the global temperature and thus shortening the number of days we all have left. You can see it in how many are still glued to their phones every waking minute of their lives, staying in touch with their family and social networks, updating their Facebook, sending nasty and abusive tweets about people they do not like, looking at porn, looking at GPS to locate the beer and wine store just across the street, checking Hey Cupid or whatever to find that perfect god or goddess who will save them from their devastating sense of loneliness and isolation. And last I noticed, those of us who eat vegetarian and plant-based diets are still a minority. Red meat is still getting bought, cooked and eaten before the poor newborn calf or pig has a chance to even drop to the ground. We're not all like that, but too many of us still are. I wonder what would happen if someone were to kick those drivers out of their cars and tell them that from now on it's public transit, bicycles or walking; and what if all those little sidewalk zombies were suddenly deprived of their precious dear little phones? There would be chaos, pandemonium, panic and mass angst on such a grand scale that the city would shut down in minutes. I have sometimes toyed with the idea of massive re-education camps. Sure that is very totalitarian and oppressive and simply reeks of the excesses of Stalin, Chairman Mao, the Kim dynasty, and the Khmer Rouge, but really, what else is going to do it, but by the same token, who is going to reeducate all those pathetic imbeciles? There do seem to be at least a few more sounding the alarm and trying to reduce the waste in their lifestyles, which has really turned minimalism into quite the ironic fashion statement for the privileged. The UN and the secretary-general are sounding the alarm, as they ought, but some of the most delinquent nations for polluting and raising the greenhouse gas level are also among the most powerful and the most populous: the USA, China, Russia and India. And the rest of us? Well, there will always be that odd scattering of low income Jeremiahs and trailer park Cassandras such as myself, and really, who is going to listen to us? I have always, basically been awake. I have never had the creature comforts or enjoyed the kind of social status that makes people selfish and comatose. I have never owned a car, been vegetarian for two and a half decades, and have always left a small carbon footprint. In my early twenties, following some very inspiring broadcasts I heard on the Ideas program on the CBC, I dedicated myself to living simply, sustainably and with integrity. I have never veered from this path. Others, when they see my lifestyle, often think, oh, how poor, tragic and austere. Some, as they get to know me, think that I am a person full of joy, gratitude and integrity, if otherwise a righteous pain in the ass to be around. But who really wants to be like that. We have been so brainwashed by global capitalism, advertising and the American Way, that I really fear that for many of us it's just too late. I hope I'm wrong. I still hope and have faith that more of us will hear the call, even if we go to the grave refusing to believe, and will respond to this call of God to learn the joy of repentance and the blessing of simplicity. If we really want to save this earth, we are all going to have to become a lot less selfish and more loving of one another and of the other species we share this planet with. It is about trashing altogether this garbage of consumerism and learning how to give and love from our deepest hearts. Hello? Anyone awake?

The Walking Dead 19

It is small wonder that we are the Walking Dead. Being awake and fully alive is really too frightening. It is costly. We prefer comfort, safety, even if it is but an illusion of safety, a sense of certainty, simple answers, explanations and solutions. We don't want to have to think too much. But if we are going to surmount, or even begin to meet, the challenges that are currently facing us, then we are going to have to get ready for this discomfort. Otherwise, we will simply slip over the falls and plunge into the abyss and it'll be lights out before anyone can even wave bye-bye. We are probably in for one of the bumpiest rides in our human history since the last ice age. Global warming is presenting us with unimaginable challenges. It also means that nations with deeply conflicting political and social ideologies are going to have to cooperate and work together for the good of the planet, and this does not seem to be happening. It was naively believed by political and corporate elites blinded by greed that free and open markets would be the solution to our many global divisions and problems, so everything was deregulated and privatized and now, unless you are one of the privileged members of the One Percent, you are not exactly singing Kumbaya. Democracy has not spread like a massive global comfort blanket over the struggling and developing nations of the world. Indeed, we see now the troubling rise of demagogues and dictators, and this is happening even in the US, and we have to thank the many checks and balances in the US political system that the Dump festering in the West Wing has not succeeded in jack booting his hubris all over the Americas. Given that we have less than twelve years to get it right and prevent global temperatures from rising above 1.5 degrees, and that even here in progressive dear little Canada our Prime Minister Junior is still scandalously asleep at the wheel, that he is determined to get that pipeline built that he just paid for with almost five billion dollars of our money, and just to placate the conservative swing voters in this country for the next election, I think it is only natural that we're just going to want to go back to sleep, stay asleep and maybe wake up when it's all over. Except, for one little caveat: it ain't gonna be over, or at least not until it is really over. But we still have to get on with our important sleepy little lives. Christmas is creeping up upon us like a thief in the night, and those of us with intact families (not anywhere near as many of us as the news, advertising and other propaganda media would have us believe), are still scrambling to find that right present for auntie or mother-in-law, to bake that perfect shortbread or fruitcake that no one is going to want to eat, to get their remortgaged houses and artificial trees decorated just so, and to be sure that everyone is taken care of for this oh more perfect than ever Christmas that is just spiraling everyone into anxious neurosis, then following the holiday blitz and the New Years hangover we will be agonizing over the bills and the debts we have wracked up or fussing about the five extra pounds we piled on and getting back to the gym where we will keep going for the next three weeks, then give it all up and sink like a leaking dory into those troubled waters of our dissatisfaction as depressed and frustrated we continue at thankless day jobs while angsting about how we simply are not ready for beach and swimsuit season that will show us up for the lazy, self-indulgent gluttons and slobs that only one massive global kick in the ass is going to cure us of, if it doesn't kill us first. And of course everyone is still going to be driving their global warming machines, also known as cars, to get to where they need to as they continue to remain asleep and comatose. The sacrifices that we can still make, not just for reducing the likelihood of climate Armageddon, but for making our lives simpler, saner and healthier, are still relatively small, and even rather painless. But it requires such a massive waking and such an unpleasant reckoning with ourselves that I really wonder if it would be a greater mercy for most of us to simply learn the hard way from our mistakes, even if it's too late, even if massive species extinction is not reversed or slowed, even if horrible demagogues are still going to contaminate and infest the United Nations, and even if the real victims of our selfish negligence are going to be the most vulnerable among us. I still hope, I still want to hope, but, we have to start kicking our ass before it gets kicked for us, and if it gets kicked for us, then we just might never be able to get up again.

The Walking Dead 18

Gentle Reader, let me expand a bit on what I mean about forgiving the person but not the act. First, I will explain a little bit about the people who were the principal abusers in my life: my immediate family. My father, despite my lingering desire to raise him from the dead just so I could kill him myself, was a particularly pathetic individual, like many working class men of his generation. He narrowly missed military service overseas, since he was just seventeen when the Second World War ended, but he certainly did grew up in a period of intense insecurity and stress, his childhood being marked by the Great Depression and the War, which traumatized an entire generation, whether they fought in Europe or the Pacific, or not. My father was born in Winnipeg and his family moved here to Vancouver when he was just twelve years old, or just after the outbreak of war. They were poor working class, and like many families, very few finished their high school education, and many didn`t even make it through primary school because of the need to work in order to help support their struggling families. I don't know much about my father's family dynamics, he told me little, I think partly because he just didn't like me, and also because of shame. I do know that his father had mental health issues as well as epilepsy and a heart condition, and was likely an alcoholic and abusive. Their mother worked hard in a meat processing plant and other crap jobs in order to put food on the table, but she was also often absent insofar as being a nurturing presence to her family. I think that only my father's two sisters finished high school The four brothers all left school to work, and actually worked together and generally had each other's backs. They were all alcoholics and together they ran and worked in a successful autobody business. My father later also did double duty as a commercial fisherman. My father did not value education, only hard work. He was also a walking case study of toxic masculinity, a misogynist, and a racist and extremely homophobic. This, unfortunately, was nothing unusual for working class white males of his generation. My mother didn't have it much better. She was a farmer's daughter in rural Saskatchewan who left high school early and moved to Vancouver just shy of turning eighteen, where she stayed with siblings and cousins who had come out before her. She didn't tell me much about that time in her life, and given that when she was dying she said that there were secrets she would be taking with her to the grave, who only knows what she had to do in order to get by. It isn't at all nice to insinuate that your mother might have been a prostitute at one time in her life, but who only knows what people have to do at times in order to get by. She was still twenty-one when she married my father (then twenty-four), and my brother was born four months later, and no, Gentle reader, he was not premature. When I consider how unprepared my parents were for children, in many ways, for the world, I have to forgive them. They had major problems, substance abuse and undiagnosed depression with my father and huge anger issues and undiagnosed anxiety for my mother. My brother and I of course absorbed all this, and my brother, being three years older and stronger, would of course be venting his anger on me. I forgive each one of them, because they were so unprepared for life, and so driven by raw necessity to survive and succeed in life, even if they had to sacrifice nearly everything else that makes us human. What I do not forgive is the abuse I received from them. They never once apologized or accepted responsibility for the harm. Except my father, briefly, when as part of his Twelve Step program when he joined Alcoholics Anonymous, sought me out for forgiveness when I was twenty-six. I accepted the apology, but he didn't specify what he was apologizing for, nor what he was prepared to offer as reparation. Neither did I hold his feet over the fire about this, since I just felt at the time that it would have been bad manners. But it was enough to bring some healing into our relationship, and for about fifteen years or so, we did rather well with each other, and for a while, until his mother died and he resumed drinking again, we were friends. nothing was really openly discussed, neither was such discussion welcomed by any of them. I seemed to be the only family member who wanted to openly confront and talk about things. Then my mother died, and we were friends when she went. This didn't reconcile the beatings that she inflicted on me when I was a kid, and I still feel ripped off that she never once came clean with me. Likewise with the other two. I forgive them, and in a way, I love them, but I also understand that there has been too much damage, to much harm for things to be restored. Both my parents are long dead and my brother and I haven't seen each other in twenty years. Of course there is a sense of perpetual loss that I have to live with, but I am safe, secure and well away from their harm, and even if that will mean solitary Christmases for the rest of my life at least they can no longer hurt me.

The Walking Dead 17

Gentle Reader, I am going to repeat some things today that you might have read elsewhere on these pages, but bear with me, please, as there seems to be a fresh insight or two about how all those things come together. I have written much already about what a difficult time Christmas has been for me, especially the intense depression that sometimes brings with it suicidal ideation. This past Sunday, the depression hit again, for the first time this year, I weathered it through, and tried to make myself available to people at church, which helped me get past it. Monday morning, before I went to work, it hit with renewed fury. I refused to buckle under it, but also knew that I had not yet got to the real root of the depression. I didn't know how intense it was until I ran into a fellow parishioner who lives near the church I attend, and I happened to be walking down her street. She was on her way to the church on an errand so we walked together and chatted for a couple of blocks. It was when I was aware that I wasn't being fully present to her that I knew how intense and overwhelming was this process. it was still good chatting with her, and of course I didn't allude anything about what was happening with me, but talking with her about other things was a grounding experience and for this, I appreciate that she was sent at that moment by God. It was a longer than usual walk that morning before work, and I would end up at a meeting in one of the sites where I work. When I am walking this route, I inevitably go past the house of my maternal grandmother (dead these last twenty-four years), where I spent a lot of time as a child, and actually lived there when I was two. When I walk by there I usually say hi to my Grandma Greenlaw, assuming that maybe she can still hear me. Not this time. As I was approaching her house, I was also dealing with the insight of my worst Christmas ever, when my father, whom I was staying with off and on twenty years ago while I was homeless, pressganged me into helping him by a bunch of groceries for Christmas dinner, on the twenty-third, only to tell me after that I was not invited, because it would be too crowded in the house with my brother and his daughter being there. I was of course shocked, and worse than upset. That evening I was going to kill myself. I went for a walk by a deserted beach. My plan was to walk into the ocean and keep walking till I was drowned. I couldn't do it. It wasn't for a lack of will, but I was aware of a supernatural force forbidding it and I had to obey. I realized then, at that moment, that I had to live, that I had to somehow get through this misery and desolation. I returned to my father's house, a rented two bedroom cabin. He was in his bedroom and all was dark, As soon as I came in he started screaming at me in a high shrill voice that how dare I leave the porch light on when I went out and that he wanted me to leave and I think that he whished I was dead. He had done this frequently before, and whenever I confronted about it the next morning would always say that he must have just been having a bad dream and everything was okay. Everything was not okay. My father actually hated me and it was finally coming to the surface and I would have to accept and live with this. That evening, my brother, who also hated me, came over, and the three of us spent Christmas Eve together, and it actually was pleasant and my father seemed happy to have us all together. Rick was the son he loved and I was made to feel that I was privileged that they should invite me into their private little circle, if but for one Christmas Eve. That night, I became suddenly and gravely ill. Christmas morning I could barely walk. My father said that I still had to leave. Yes, I know, he was a real asshole. And he hated me. I did manage to get on the ferry to Vancouver Christmas Day. I was supposed to be helping out at a Christmas brunch with my elderly friend. When she heard I was sick, she just said Oh shit", not because I wasn't well, but because I would no longer be useful to her. I was going to be cat sitting for some people whose place I stayed at alternately in Vancouver. I would be there almost two weeks, nice respite from my horrible father. When I arrived, he didn't seem interested in giving me the time of day. I was just there to look after their cat. A friend of his came over and they both ignored me and I was not welcome to visit with them. And I was sick. Merry Christmas, indeed. The last time I saw my father, I was visiting him Thanksgiving Day, 2001. He admitted to me his preference for Rick, my brother, and also disclosed that the reason he refused to help me financially was because he had spent all his discretionary money on supporting my brother's cocaine addiction. I never saw my father again. I did call him in December, because I was hoping against hope that I could spend Christmas with them. Not a chance. I was spiralled into one of the most profound pits of depression I have ever gone through and it took me a couple of months to pull out of it. It was horrible. For this reason, Christmas for me has always been traumatic, ever since that horrible treatment from family and so-called friends. Every Christmas I have felt abandoned and unwanted by others and the depression has been almost insurmountable. I still always find something to do, somewhere to go and people to care for. For nine years I was spending Christmas Day at work, supporting clients at Venture, a respite facility where I used to work, and we would go for walks, coffee visits and I would stay for dinner. I also got payed for my time, but that part wasn't that important. Then, this really horrible bitch was hired as the new clinical supervisor and she said I could only be there for two hours on Christmas Day and I could not stay for dinner., Four months later I resigned. And the horrible bitch is gone, too. Just last Monday, as I was walking past my paternal grandmother's house, I did not greet her this time. Instead, I told her exactly what I really thought of her for bringing into the world and raising a toxic, mean-spirited monster like my father and that I also hold her responsible for the horrible impact he had on my life (he also sexually abused me when I was a child, if you need to know, Gentle Reader.) at that moment, I felt something shift. I think I have got past this hurdle now. Time will tell. Christmas will probably always be a bit challenging, but I think the monster has finally been locked in a cage he can't get out of. I am embracing this new opportunity to move forward, a bit stronger and a bit happier. I also feel a little bit closer to forgiving those people who harmed me, though that still might be quite a ways off. I think I can forgive them, for the poor, miserable and unhappy persons they were, for why else would they harm another person? I will likely never forgive what was done to me, and really, Gentle Reader, why should I?

The Walking Dead 16

I have known a lot of survival sex workers and drug dealers in my day, or, you could say the White Trash Exhibit, even if a lot of them weren't entirely Caucasian. But this is not about race or colour, but about what we often have to do in order to make a living and what a mess we're all really in. During my many years of Christian street ministry (1983-1995, more or less) I met and interacted with a lot of the kinds of folks my mother would not have wanted me to play with when I was a kid. It was a very interesting time. Usually, I would have to work long and patiently with these individuals in order to persuade them that I was not a customer, neither was I in business for myself; that I was not a narc; that I was not there to judge or reform them. It was a long hard and grueling process, but in many cases they came to see me as a friend, as a kind of resident brother there to keep a caring and watchful eye on them, to hear their stories, to feed them either in local restaurants or in my home if times were lean, to pray for them and with them. It was a very rewarding and very challenging time in my life, and I do believe that people's lives were meaningfully touched and in some cases transformed through these interactions. Never once did I seek to convert them or pressure them towards the Christian faith, nor even invite them to church. The idea was to be present, as Christ, among my brothers and sisters, who also, in their way became Christ to me. These, by the way, were persons of all genders, before they were really talking much about gender and identity. It wasn't all Kumbaya. There was conflict and there were misunderstandings. I sometimes was unclear about my boundaries and theirs, as they were also often equally uncertain about my own boundaries, and, no, Gentle Reader, I didn't go to bed with any of them, in case you are wondering! I particularly came to appreciate, for my sex worker friends, the very strong feelings of contempt and loathing they often harboured towards their johns, or their male clients whom they would service. It wasn't usually outright hostility they expressed, but there clearly wasn't a lot of fondness in most cases. I also really came to loathe the predatory male john, seeing them as venal exploiters who ought really to be castrated. Most of the sex workers were using or addicted to drugs. Some of them also sold drugs. I remember one conversation I had in a coffee shop once, and I may have written about this elsewhere on these pages, but it bears repeating. I became particularly good friends with a gay male couple who were also sex workers. One of them was a cocaine vendor. One day I confronted him about his product, after having read some rather horrible things about how the product is obtained in South America. In this case, during the early nineties el Sendero Luminoso, or the Shining Path, a violent Maoist movement of largely indigenous guerrillas wreaking havoc in Peru, were also involved in procuring product from the local coca farmers, were in charge of manufacturing cocaine and distributing the product for sale, much of which was going up the first world nostrils of North Americans. So, I told my friend about this, and that by selling this product he was also making himself complicit in the murder of many innocent people in Peru. He was quite upset with me for telling him that. A couple of weeks later, in said coffee shop, I was buying breakfast for one of the local street punks, and my friend came in. I introduced him to my teenage punk friends as a man who does bad things, and I was smiling of course. He did accept the ribbing but was clearly red-faced about it. I haven't seen any of these people in many years now. I think a lot of them would be dead by now, unfortunately, as longevity simply rarely happens in that industry. These were not sad, disempowered folk, by the way, regardless of the many socio-economic dynamics at work in their life situations. They were in many ways more alive than the losers who sought out their services and by extension, more alive than a lot of regular folk also prostituting themselves through legitimate day job drudgery. This isn't to say that I endorse prostitution or the drug trade. Of course I don't. My reason for distancing myself from the progressive human rights organization, Pivot Legal, here in Vancouver, was because of their push towards legitimizing the sex trade. By the same token, I often wonder if, here in Zombie Nation, most of us are also prostituting our souls for a pay cheque at occupations that might be legal but because their main purpose is for a regular paycheque and little else, could also be equally soul-destroying as selling your body or drugs or both.

The Walking Dead 15

One of the requirements of citizenship in Zombie Nation involves existing as a wage slave. This has nothing to do with finding one's dignity in work, and everything to do with losing one's dignity in meaningless, soul-destroying labour, such as does nothing to really contribute to the general wellbeing of the community, and certainly nothing for the worker, apart from providing barely enough income for keeping your sorry ass alive for yet another day. And of course, this is never really mentioned, but it is strongly implied that the whole purpose of keeping ourselves alive has nothing to do with anything in respect to our human dignity and everything to do with making us exploitable commodities for the capitalist machine. That's right, Gentle Reader. We do not work because it is meaningful. And we do not work for the general wellbeing of others. Neither do we work to keep ourselves alive long enough to actually do anything significant with our lives. We work only for the benefit of the machine that our governments have sold their souls to, and by fiat, our very own. When I began working for a living at age eighteen, living independently, we had in this country a very generous unemployment insurance program. It was called Unemployment Enjoyment, by many of us, and even after working two months at a crappy job, we could quit, and live six months on two thirds of our income, presumably while seeking other work, though many of us, myself included, often used some of that time to kick back and relax. Of course the conservative factions in society and government were outraged by this wanton exploitation of the public largess, and eventually laws were enacted, cutting back on everything, tightening up everything, and the end result now is that more than half of unemployed workers do not qualify for the euphemistically renamed Employment Insurance, and if you don't find another job lickety-split then you will have to see if you qualify for welfare, which doesn't even pay your rent, or more likely, end up sleeping on the sidewalk or inside a low barrier shelter. This is not an exaggeration. Our governments have so retooled the unemployment insurance and welfare systems as to virtually enslave the workers to their employers. This means, of course, that it is much harder now, harder than ever, to have a voice in one's employment, because we have bought into a gentler but still insidious form of slavery. We have to work to survive, even if our miserable low wages do very littrle to really keep us alive, and we have little option but to continue in these thankless occupations, working for bosses who are vindictive bastards and toiling at labour that does nothing to feed the soul and little more to put food on the table. Such are the conditions in working class Canada, where the unions have been disembowelled and the rest of us have to cope in precarious and shortterm contract positions, no rights, no benefits, completely at the behest of employers who care not a tinker's damn for our wellbeing and only about maximixing profit on our backs. I consider myself one of the luckier ones. Even though I am still stranded in a job that I do not like, I can retire in two years, and most of my rent is subsidized by the government, besides which, there is a lot of human meaning in my work with people struggling with mental illness. But not everyone is so lucky here in Zombie Nation. A lot of other workers are being perpetually shafted with little recourse but to accept hardship or perhaps to rise against the government as they are doing right now in France. The workers will only take so much of this abuse, and if our leaders want the pressing issues of climate change to be more substantial than a mere boutique cause for the upper classes, then they are going to have to start realistically addressing the problems that global capitalism and greed have created for our most vulnerable workers. Otherwise, there will be blood on the streets.

The Walking Dead 14

Ableism is an interesting concept. I haven't in the past given it a lot of thought, but after fourteen years working in mental health services, I am reviewing this idea. Lately I have heard various testimonials about success in the face of insurmountable odds. Recently a Syrian refugee was crowing about his success in getting established here in Canada, with a university education and a good paying job and a house and you name it. He might not be from Syria, but from one of those countries whose number one export is its own citizens. He concluded his testimonial with the words "If I can do it, so can anyone else." Likewise this morning, a woman was testifying about how the kindness and support from the Union Gospel Mission helped get her off the street, off of drugs, away from sex work and into a healthy and productive life. She finished with those immortal words: If I can do it, anyone can. That is a noble and kind sentiment. I used to believe it myself. Now I'm not so sure. I recall at a meeting a couple of months ago in one of my work sites, a bit of an argument came up between a couple of colleagues about whether one of our clients wasn't fulfilling a obligation because of lack of motivation or lack of capacity. Later, in a smaller meeting we kind of concluded that it was likely from a lack of capacity that this client didn't do what he was expected to do. I have also had this conversation with a friend who, in the material and professional sense, has been way more successful than I. It has been very difficult to persuade him that even in Canada the playing field is uneven, and not everyone is going to have the same opportunities nor is going to be able to rise to the same opportunities and for many good reasons. This is why I was not able to finish university, for example, nor find decent paying work: not for lack of trying but because of some difficult and bitter circumstances in my life that slammed a lot of doors in my face. This has had nothing to do, by the way, with not working hard enough, and everything to do with a lack of resources and necessary support. I am still not persuaded that my friend really gets it, and I don't expect him to, because, if you haven't really been there yourself, then you are going to be less than likely to understand, but I think he sort of gets that part. It's also kind of a walking dead response to the many nuanced and complex layers that make up our human lives. I think it's good to have hope for others, and for ourselves, but when that hope turns into an expectation, then we are chaining others and putting them in bondage. We all have different stuff to work with and I think we all try to do our best within our limits and obstacles, and this I think is the preferred model for recovery and growth. Anything that happens beyond that of course, is going to be also a blessing. As for the successful refugee and the woman who found success in recovery, I say kudos to you both, continue what you're doing, and go on inspiring others to do well, but please accept this little caveat. Lower the expectations for others and get over your judgment, how ever kindly, of those who are not going to do as well as you. It isn't because they aren't trying hard enough, and not because they don't want to, but because they cannot, but be prepared to be surprised when you see some of those same individuals excel and kick your but in other ways that you might never have dreamed or imagined!

The Walking Dead 13

This morning I heard an interesting piece on the radio put together by some journalism students from one of our community colleges. The segment itself wasn't that interesting, but some of the issues around it might be. These were all young twenty-somethings acting out a little skit about how awful it is that none of them can get a date, much less a significant other in their lives. While enduring their dreadful wooden acting and their heterocentric thinking), I caught myself musing that if they are as visually unattractive as their voices, then is it any wonder that none of them is getting laid. Yes, I know, they are young, horny, emotionally needy and, likely as is the case for almost everyone younger than eighty, they seem to have a sense of entitlement about hooking up. But we have to face one rather unsettling fact of life. Darwin was right about natural selection. It is the most attractive and strong among us that get the partners and they are the most highly favoured to pass on their genes. Love and romance is not a fair playing field, never was and never will be. Sad, I know, but radical acceptance, eh? This also gives the lie to the current mentality that having sex is every bit as fundamental a human right as protection under the law (and sometimes from the law), or housing (Canada is still woefully behind on this one!). This can also be blamed on the sexual revolution of the sixties and seventies, when we went from the mindset that good girls always say no, to, good girls always say yes. And then a whole flood of horrors came flowing in: rape, sexual assault, objectification, and you name it. Now, we have the Me Too movement that has understandably chilled the fire for a lot of would be swains and lovers. Add to this the grudging acceptance that a lot of young people (notably hetero males) have to live with, that because the sexual revolution favoured men a lot more than women (so, what else is new?) They are just going to have to get used to being romantically paired with their right or left hand for the rest of their lives. Tech and social media should also bear at least some of the blame. People have become so used to mediating socially through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and other apps, that they are rapidly losing the ability to interact positively with each other, face to face, as human beings. Add to this mix the long and incredibly grueling hours that a lot of people have to put in at school and work in order to keep body and soul together, and is it any wonder that the boys are left sitting at home looking at porn, and the girls are left to their Magic Wands? There are other forces at play, as well. We live in an environment thoroughly poisoned by consumer capitalism. This extends of course, to our courting and dating habits. Online dating is an especially sad symptom of this, where potential partners have to treat something that should be lovely, tender, and humorous and fun as something akin to the grueling and thankless labour of applying for a job, getting selected for an interview, then enduring the interview with a strong likelihood of rejection. Underlying this, of course, is this sad and chronic neediness. It isn't so much that they are looking for someone to love. They want to be loved, and I don't think that a lot of them really have much of a capacity for giving as good as they get. I hope I'm wrong. But when some of the most intimate human interactions are reduced to something so banal, so crass and consumerist, then I really wonder, and shudder, to think of where all this could be heading. Sad it is that with so many worthier causes to present on public radio, those young journalism students have decided to stick to bottom-feeding. I really do hope that they are not representative of the face of the future of journalism, Gentle Reader.

The Walking Dead 10

I am well aware that I am working for an unjust, low wage, considering the kind of work that I do. Fourteen dollars an hour is too low, actually, for any kind of work. Why? Because it is not a living wage. I suppose that we are doing our much better paid employers a favour by accepting from them such poor and scant remuneration for services rendered. Why, if they had to pay us enough to live on, they might themselves end up having to sacrifice some of their perks and benefits, and then, oh, the sacrifices they would have to make! Let's first of all calculate how much a just and decent raise would cost my dear bosses. If twenty dollars an hour would be the bottom margin for a living wage, and there are around 100 peer support workers working an average of around fifty hours a month (I work way more than that, but this is the calculated average), then we would be setting back the health care provider a whopping $360,000 a year. They say that they can't afford to pay us that without having to make cuts in other essential programs and services. But when you consider that this cipher is also the approximate annual income, before perks and bonuses, for our CEO's and administrators, then perhaps if each one would accept a cut of say, fifty thousand a year, or so, then of course we would all come out even, we would get our raise and they might have to make a few small sacrifices. But, it seems, that when you already have more than enough money, no sacrifice feels small, and you are going to get even more anxious and fearful over one misplaced dime in your holdings, than in the very thought that the excess that you are getting paid is creating hardship and want for some of your contracted workers, namely us. Perhaps the more reasonable sacrifice would be for us, the underpaid, to quit whining, suck it up, and feel honoured, or at leas flattered, that our poor pay and the hardships that it inflicts on us will be also helping our wealthy benefactors to sleep well at night. They will know that because we are underpaid, they can still enjoy investing in that holiday home in the Bahamas or wherever, or they can install not second best but the most top-notch security systems in their luxury homes. They can still afford that second Mercedes Benz, and maybe even a Lamborghini for their teenage son. They won't have to let go of their second Filipina nanny, and they will still enjoy dining out in the finest restaurants, going on luxury cruises and vacations, and clothing themselves in fashion threads from the best shops in town. See what our little sacrifice of a lousy wage does for our bosses? We are helping to keep them in the style and quality of life to which they feel entitled, and oh, what that does for their self-esteem. And if their self-esteem is good, then their mood will be improved, and if their mood is better, then they probably won't visit on us any further hardship. At least not this year!

The Walking Dead 9

During the summer I was enjoying a visit with a friend on the terrace garden of an elegant café downtown. While we were chatting, a young man working there was watering the flowers and plants near where we were sitting. I said hi to the young man, saluting him by his name. He smiled and said hi back. Then my friend, with an odd and perturbed expression and tone, asked me how I knew this person. Apparently, it was something unusual to him that he or one of his friends would be on a casual, friendly and first-name basis with the serving staff of an establishment they were patronizing. I felt surprise, and a certain disappointment, in my friend's reaction. I explained to him that I only know the young staff member through the establishment, and when I am in regular contact with people who work in places that I patronize, my tendency is to be friendly. I also mentioned that since I have worked for years with the public, often in similar low-paid positions, that I also have a natural empathy with what they have to put up with on an average workday, especially from customers who seem to forget or not want to know that they are also human beings. I further explained that they already have to work hard enough, why not let them know that they are appreciated as persons and not just for their function? I also said that I have generally done well making new friends with people working in cafes where I hang out, and this has often resulted in some very enjoyable friendships offsite as well as on. I'm not sure how clear my friend was on the concept, as we do come from very different backgrounds and things for this reason can be easily miscommunicated. My friend simply commented that this way, by befriending staff, I'm more likely to get good service from them. I decided to not continue on this thread, because he didn't seem to be getting it, which is nothing unusual, I suppose, given how different we are. But, no, that is not my reason for making friends with people. It's because I care about people, and I like to reach across lines and gulfs to help bring us closer together. Regardless of what they are being paid to do, they are persons and therefore my interest in them is always going to rise above their function or usefulness. I suppose it is easy for me to think this way, because, I have spent most of my life as a professing Christian, and this goes well beyond having a belief system or claiming to have an invisible friend named Jesus. It is about how I see and relate to others. It is about caring for, and honouring others. It is about acknowledging the kinship that we all share. It is about love and friendship, and living in a state of perpetual friendship with others, even if they happen to be strangers on the bus, or workers in the coffee shop. This has nothing to do with wanting to gain some kind of personal advantage or perk through friendship by the way. And neither does this imply that the workers' boundaries are going to be ignored or disrespected. The only way that friendship can occur is when there is a mutual desire and interest in friendship, and no, I do not go chasing after servers and baristas because they happen to be an easy target. By the same token, when you are motivated by love, fraternal love, this can do much to erase barriers. It all depends, I suppose. There are a couple of coffee shops where I am quite regular, and there is a tendency to be friendly with regular staff, because it is the right thing to do. Likewise in my local Shoppers Drugmart, where I have friendly conversations with two of the staff, both Filipina women there. but I'm not about to ask anyone out for coffee, or whatever, for the simple reason that I am busy with my life, they are busy with theirs, though should we end up in contact offsite, that's okay, too, but it's not the objective either. It is simply a matter of building community, one smile, one friendly word, one expression of interest in hearing the other's story, at a time, and this is how the Walking Dead can begin to morph into real and living persons.

The Walking Dead 8

They are sending folks back into space and the world is mourning the death of a president who is likely being shown to his own private furnace in hell right now and we are teetering on the abyss of climate collapse and we still have two billion or so on this planet who don't get enough to eat. But what do such small concerns matter to the Walking Dead, citizens of Zombie Nation? Ah, but this is the way the world ends, not with a bang, and not even with a whimper, but maybe an indifferent shrug from the powerful and a comatose shrug from the weak. I find it salutary and sad that the lowest paid professions on the income scale all involve care-giving and support to the most vulnerable: nursing, social work, teaching, etc., and the highest paid are all in the top echelons of industry and technology. The so-called feminine professions getting short shrift and the toxic masculine getting all the big bucks and Euros. this has always been a problem, and not simply in terms of gender discrimination, but the sad disdain and contempt that the most important work is held in. To this day, I still do not get people's obsession with space travel and exploration. To me, it is just one more distraction that prevents humanity from focussing on the things that should really matter, but what do I know? I am just an eccentric old Christian with eccentric old Christian values, such as the importance of honouring and caring for everyone and especially the poorest and most vulnerable among us. The Walking Dead would rather stay distracted, adoring the strong, rich and powerful, while not having to focus on the unattractive and unsexy issues of poverty, hunger, homelessness and galloping global warming. They don't like to be bored, either, about the ravages of unrestricted global capitalism, nor the dangers of giving full reign to hyper-competitiveness. By keeping us all permanently distracted with nonsense and spectacle, they really do have us by the short-hairs. I do have hope. More and more people are cluing in to the urgency of our times, and the call and clamour to our governments and to our lifestyle habits is moving towards crescendo, even if this may be too little too late. I still don't think that much is going to change until we change. Our history is dominated by an adulation of wealth, power and spectacle, and there is something evil, I would even say, satanic about what we have turned into because of this. Humility simply is not considered attractive, but without humility, we are doomed. Our elected leaders will only continue to move forward on their usual hubris while dragging us with them over the precipice and the rest of us will go on distracting and diverting ourselves because we simply don't want to face the facts about our world, our nation, our community, or ourselves. I am sometimes afraid that the few small voices crying in the wilderness simply aren't going to be enough, but right now this is all we have. We can only do our very best with the little we have to work with, and continue to try to influence others towards the good. There is good in us, even in the worst of us, but we have been made comatose by the collective psychopathy of mass toxic masculinity and unbridled corporate capitalism. Having abandoned our spiritual and religious heritage hasn't helped either, and now spirituality has been degraded into another consumer appetite. Do your mindful meditation and yoga, not to make you a better person and not to empower you to better serve humanity, but to help you sleep better at night and make you a better and more efficient wage slave. We are all threads in the same fabric, the same tapestry, and it is only by valuing each thread as essential for holding together the whole that we are going to move forward and actually begin to become better people and a better humanity. But it's going to take a lot of work, because we have become so gravely corrupted by greed, selfishness and indifference.

The Walking Dead 7

Well, Gentle Reader, the ultimate festival of Zombie Nation is coming like a thief in the night. That`s right, darlings, Consumer-Mass, or should we call it Kitsch-Mas? It's as inevitable as teenage acne. Might as well cope. Even enjoy it. I don't know, I find the criticisms around Christmas every bit as enervating and depressing as the event itself, and apart from the empty, hollow loneliness that one always feels around this time of year, there must surely be things to enjoy about it? Like all the incredibly grossly delicious, fattening and unhealthy food, providing in three weeks a whole winter's worth of calories. How about all the lovely brightly coloured lights in malls, stores and adorning houses and apartments and condos that's maxing out the power-grid? How about all the Santa hats that almost half the population will be sporting, like a mutant army of militant consumers? And there's the shopping, shopping and more shopping and rivers of booze drowning our year of accumulated sorrow, regret and angst and all the dinners, the parties, the family gatherings, the guilt, the fake happiness and real happiness, because I refuse for one moment to believe that it's all fake. I think that for some people anyway, that Christmas provides a much needed safety valve for repressed bonhomie, which dovetails rather interestingly with the equally stored up cynicism. Some people, even Canadians, actually are happy and joyous, and for most of the year they cannot express it, because no one is going to get it, or no one is going to let it pass without some cynical or ironic commentary. People find happiness embarrassing. No wonder we have so many alcoholics in this country. I often get all panicky and miserable around Christmas, and if you have read a lot of other stuff on this blog, you'll see why: no family, no engaged friends, and I have to be super-creative every year if I don't want to be left isolated and at risk of suicidal ideation, which is the only time of year that becomes for me a danger. Counting my blessings helps. I'm not on the street, and I have a decent and affordable roof over my head. and I have enough to live on, even though I'm on a low income. But Christmas is still something to get through. Even the celebrating. But it has to be done. It is simply unavoidable. I think that part of this is that even though most people have no religious affiliations, don't go to church, and either don't believe in God or simply don't care, there is something essentially Christian about Christmas that not even Santa Claus, nor all the politically correct thought police can really eradicate. You can't get rid of Jesus, no matter how hard you try. And if his religion has been a major force in forming the culture and history that have helped form and nurture us, then neither can we get rid of him, no matter how much we drink, how much we spend in the mall or on Amazon, no matter how much we rename and rebrand Christmas as `Winter Holiday or some equally useless, bland and inclusive moniker. It is still Christmas. Christ-Mass, and he is not going away quietly, and if fact, no matter what we do to ignore the saviour of this world, he is not going away at all. So, even after one thousand renditions of Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer, or I Saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus, no matter how many pop stars butcher the sacred beauty of such ancient hymns as O Come All Ye Faithful, we are still reminded, despite our denial, despite our stubborn and chronic refusal of the gift of life and hope that is Jesus, and Christmas remains inevitable, unavoidable and as certain as death and taxes. And I, for one, take a quiet sense of satisfaction that at least for six weeks of the year we can listen to music that proclaims that God came to us as Jesus, no matter how badly or ineptly sung. Because we are also counted among the inept singers of this vast and unwilling choir.