#ThingsOnMyMind: Toxic Memories Behind the Smile

It's been two years since I last posted on this blog.  Two long years.

But lately, I've felt compelled to do so.

But I'm hesitant.

Not because I have little to say... but because what I DO have to say isn't something very pretty.

It's something only two people close to me know anything about.

*deep breath*

I've been sexually assaulted three times in my Life.

The first time was when I was 16.  Mom had passed away from cervix cancer three years prior, and I was still dealing with the grief of it.  My brother and sister had moved out of the house by then.  Dad was trying to deal with the loss of Mom in his own way.  Mostly by working.

At the time, he worked in the Supply Section at Canadian Forces Station Kamloops- Mount Lolo to us locals.  There was a young Air Force Corporal that needed a place to crash for the night, so Dad had offered him the guest room.

Dad had gone to bed when it happened.  I mentioned to the Corporal that I wrote poetry, and did artwork, and was showing him some of my work.  That's when he started to slide a finger up and down the front of my jeans.  As he did so, he slide across the arm of the easy chair closer to me.

I felt trapped, and confused, and uncertain what to do.  I remember him looming over me as his finger moved up and down.  I did the only thing I could think of: I said I had to get to bed because of school the next day, and fled to my bedroom.  I locked my bedroom door, and just curled up under the covers wondering what I'd done to have him do that.

I just wanted to share my artwork...

The second time was when I was in my mid 20's, while doing a summer tasking at the Royal Canadian Horse Artillery School in Shilo, Manitoba.  This was while they still had the German Army Training Establishment Shilo.  On the Base is a golf course, and a bar called "The Country Club".  It was all ranks, and both Canadian and German soldiers could drink there.

I was standing in line waiting to get a beer, when someone grabbed my rear and squeezed.  I jerked around and saw one of the German soldiers eyeing me up.  My mind flashed back to when I was 16, and I wanted to just get out of there.  The guys in my group just teased me about it, and I felt I had to laugh it off along with them.

My fight or flight instinct was pushing me towards flight, but I couldn't let it show that I was bothered by the incident... it wouldn't be "manly" to express discomfort about it.  So, I faked a smile, tamped down on my anxiety, and stayed in an environment I no longer felt safe in.

I was already twitchy when I was again standing in line for a beer.  I felt my rear being grabbed again.  I spun around with a snarl on my lips to see a different German soldier smirking at me.  He must've seen that I was on edge, and ready to start something even if it meant my winding up in the Stockade for the night.  He threw his hands up, and apologized.  I remember huffing and puffing like I was the Big Bad Wolf ready to blow a house down.  I felt such an uncontrollable rage in that moment.  It scared me, so I left and returned to my quarters.  I lay there all night shaking.

I just wanted to have a beer...

The final time was in my late 20's.  I was doing a tasking at Western Area Training Centre Wainwright in Alberta.  I was on leave in Edmonton.  I was staying at a real dive of a hotel.  The sort where the water comes out of the tap looking like iced tea.  There was a night club called the Thunder Dome that I wanted to check out.

It was two levels.  The main bar on the main level, and the pool tables up on the upper one.  It was Ladies Night, so while the male dancers were doing their thing, us male customers had to go upstairs.  The noise coming from the women watching the dancers was insane- thunderous and almost Earth shattering.

After the male dancers had finished, the bouncer came up and told us guys that we could come down to the main level.  I'm wishing I'd stayed up there.

It was like stepping into a lake of hungry piranha... and I was the cow they were going to strip to the bone in 30 seconds.  I don't do well with close proximity to people to begin with, and I was thrust into a crowd that pressed against me from all sides.  I remember there were so many hands pulling at me from all directions.

Hands squeezed my rear, my crotch, my chest.  Fingers clenched and pulled at my shirt.  Some were tugging at my pants.  I was disoriented from the lights, the noise, the hands jostling me.  Women were screaming for me to "take it off!", or calling me "fresh meat".  I remember starting to hyperventilate, and my vision going black.

I found myself suddenly outside shaking and trembling.  I was afraid that I was going to have a seizure on the pavement outside the main doors.  I'd left my jacket inside, but I wasn't going back in there.  I grabbed the closest taxi, and just fled to my dark hovel of a hotel room.

Stripping for bed, I discovered that my shirt had been torn, my belt stolen, and that someone had actually bit me on the shoulder.  I felt dirty, and ashamed.  I showered and scrubbed until I was red and the water ran cold.

I just wanted to go out and relax...

To this day, I can't stand the thought of going to a night club... even parties with my friends are difficult.  I can't tolerate crowds at all.  I've avoided in person relationship in favor of online ones because I was afraid that a woman wouldn't want a man damaged in this way.

Fuck, I'm shaking just reading what I've written, and remembering it.

I'm 48 years old, and I've carried these toxic memories with me for over 20 years.

I hope that by putting this out there, I can start to exorcise some of the toxicity of these experiences, and move forward from them.  I hope that by putting this out there, other men who've had similar things happen to them can draw some Hope, and Comfort that they aren't alone in bearing weight like this.

#ThingsOnMyMind: Sleeptime Rock & Roll

I am what is called a lucid dreamer.  I'm able to recall most of my dreams from the night before- and even control what happens in them while dreaming.  I'm also usually aware of the environment around me while asleep.

Last night was no exception.

I move a fair bit in my sleep.  I don't toss and turn and flair about- unlike one of my nieces, who has given her husband a few headbutts while asleep.  I tend to roll in place more or less- from my left side to my back, to my right side, to my chest, then back to my left side.  I do this so I don't stiffen up too much while sleeping since I'm aging, and my joints, etc aren't quite what they used to be.

My funny little pumpkin called a brain decided to ponder on this last night.  I probably could've flipped the mental channel to a nice dream about what sort of action sequence to have while a particular song played, but I decided to see where this introspective path went.

Please allow me to say that I also like conducting the occasional experiment on myself in order to learn more about what sort of person I am, and why I do the things I do.

My brain realized that I had awoken to shuffle back onto the spot on the bed where I'd started my sleep.  Knowing that I rolled in my sleep, it started asking questions that I honestly found interesting:

1.  At what intervals do I roll onto the next portion of my body in the sequence?
2.  How long does it take to complete one full "roll"?
3.  How far do I roll during my sleep?
4.  How long does it take me to roll that distance?
5.  At what speed do I roll?

At this point, the lucid part of me stepped in and asked my sleeping scientific brain in a jar how we could find the answers to such questions.

And an experiment was devised.

Lay a stripped blanket on the floor for me to sleep on.  The stripes would act as a "ruler" that could be used to measure the distance of my rolling and give us the figures necessary to calculate the speeds, etc.  A video camera would be situated with a time stamp function to be used to visually record the rolling so that we can then do the measuring and calculating.

Once that was completed, my inquisitive squash called a brained asked, "Does weather influence the rolling?"

My response was to tell it to shut up since it was time to dream of what "Cujo" would've been like if a chihuahua had been used instead of a Saint Bernard.

Yes, that's how my brain works when I sleep...

Equality is Inevitable

It's been a while since I've posted here.  But I felt the need to discuss the recent news that the US President has tweeted that transgendered people can't serve in the Military.

Why?

Because soldiers might get "uncomfortable"?  More uncomfortable than being shot at?  Really?

Sound logic there.

There was a time, not too long ago, where it was actually illegal for gays and lesbians to be in the Military (the Canadian Forces included).  One of the excuses used was that it would make straight soldiers uncomfortable.

That proved to be false, as gays had been secretly serving for years- and doing a good job as soldiers.

Then the "uncomfortable" excuse was trotted out when women started to campaign for the right and chance to serve in combat roles.

Today, men are just as comfortable fighting alongside women as they are with gays.

And it's being trotted out AGAIN.  Give it up.  It's a weak excused used by weak people to deny people their rights in order to feel like they have strength and power over others.

It's fucking bullshit.

The only really logical reason I have heard to oppose transgenders serving is the fact that the Military will pay for the gender reassignment surgeries.  I understand that this was implemented to encourage transgendered people to serve their country- just as the Military paying for college was meant to get college students to join.  And I agree with this policy to a point.  I don't think the Military should pay for the entire surgical procedure.  It should/could pay for the hormone treatments, etc leading up the surgery, and accommodate them with medical leave for the recuperation period- but maybe not the surgery itself.

Too bad this logical argument is made less logical by idiots painting a picture of a "flood" of transgenders swarming to the Military for free surgery, bankrupting the country.

I doubt that'll happen.

If anything, what bothers me most is that this is the sort of fight Society has to fight so often.  It's like the bigots and close minded asshats trying to deny people their rights can't seem to learn that they can't win this "war".

Equality is inevitable.  Deal with it.

#LifeInTheCorner Vlog- And It Begins

Well, I've finally gone and done it.

A Vlog.

As part of this blog.

On YouTube.

Give it a boo down below- and don't worry, I'll still post "normal" types of blog entries as well here!

#Resolutions2017

It's been roughly a year since my last post (2015).

Wow.

I really need to write more often.

Sorry about that- got distracted by a temporal "squirrel".

I figured that it would be a good time to write down some resolutions for 2017.

Without further ado, here they are:

1.  Cook at least one "real" meal per week;
2.  Read a book a month;
3.  Write a review on "The Corner of Terror" once a month (I miss doing them);
4.  Go out and take a picture in a different part of town each week;
5.  Give up 7-Eleven Hot Dogs completely;
6.  Spend time writing a novel;
7.  Prepare notes, etc for a "Helpful Hints for Hotel Guests" book;
8.  Take time to do some artwork;
9.  Create a monthly vlog to help practice video editing;
10.  Create a monthly podcast (from the vlog) to practice sound editing.

So, there you are.  I should be able to accomplish most of those to some extent this year.

We'll just have to see, eh?

#Society: Equality & Snow Shoveling

It snowed yesterday.

Really snowed.

ALOT, really.

Which meant that snow had to be shoveled.

I never thought I'd experience hypocrisy when it comes to shoveling snow, but I did last night when I came on Shift at work.

The woman that was on Shift before me looked a little miffed.  I asked her what was wrong, and she told me.

It seems that the woman on Shift before her told her to leave the snow shoveling to me.

Since I'm a man- and snow shoveling is "a man's job."

That thought by itself is simply sexist, since it's stereotyping and assigning a job based solely on gender.

That's bad enough to irritate me.

But what made it into full blown hypocrisy is the fact that this same woman eagerly jumps onto a man's case at the slightest whiff of potential sexism.  She has no problem with screaming about getting equal pay and benefits, while at the same time using "traditional gender roles" to escape equal responsibilities.

Don't get me wrong.  I believe in equality- though I don't consider myself a "feminist".  Now, before I get hate mail asking how I can believe in equality, but not be a "feminist", I'll explain what I mean.

It has to do with the fact that I don't separate equal rights into categories such as "Women's Rights", "Black Rights", "Gay Rights", "Asian Rights", "Hispanic Rights", "First Nations Rights", "Left Handed Rights", "Colour Blind Rights", etc.

I'm what I would call an "Equalist".

I'm fond of breaking things down into "simple equations"- and if I were to describe Equality in those terms, it would look something like this:

Equality = (Equal Pay + Equal Benefits + Equal Opportunities + Equal Duties + Equal Responsibilities) X Everyone

Saying you believe in equality while using traditional social roles so you have the advantage doesn't make you a supporter of equality.  It makes you a hypocrite.

And it pisses off the guy who's likely to bury your car while shoveling all the snow you were too damn lazy to do yourself...

#Life: New Year's Resolutions

I'm already awesome-
but it can't hurt to be MORE awesome, right?

I haven't posted here since 2013, but with 2015 having arrived, I figured it'd be a great time to start again.

So, without further ado, here are my 10 resolutions for 2015:

1. Update "The Corner of Terror" and "#LifeInTheCorner" on a more regular basis;
2. Take time during a day off each month to take some photos around town;
3. Get my office set up so I can efficiently being seeking a new job;
4. Take time to write in my journal each day;
5. Meditate at least once a week;
6. Enjoy Life;
7. Do more artwork and design stuff to post on "The Coffee Cup Studios";
8. Take time to read a bit each day;
9. Take time to write a bit each day;
10. Make lots of Star Trek cookies to fill up my Mr. Spock cookie jar.

Gonna fill him full of cookies- ALL THE COOKIES!

#Changes: Finding a New Corner

2013 is turning into a year of changes in my Life.  Reconnecting with an old friend, prepping to go back to school, and now a change in location.

Come June or July, I should be in a new place... I'll be moving.

Since my second niece is expecting, she'll need a room for the little one when it arrives.  As it turns out, that'll be the room I'm currently renting from my brother.

I'm not really in a situation where I can just move right now financially, since I'm still unemployed.  But I'm not stressed out about it, or worried.  It just means I'm going to have to push harder and work harder to get a job so that come summer, I'll be able to make a smooth transition from this room into a place of my own.

Whatever happens, I'll survive somehow... I always do.

I'd like to get a one bedroom apartment, with the bedroom being converted into the workspace where I can do my writing and design work without the bed calling me to snuggle with the warm blankets on it.  I'll then have space for ALL of my books (I have about 25 banker file boxes of books in storage right now), collectibles, etc.

If I have to get a bachelor suite, I'll survive as well.

The transition MAY put a small hiccup in my plans for college, but I'll just have to work around that as well.  Life is bumpy, and we just need to trust in our shock absorbers to handle them properly.  I'm just going to steer through the potholes ahead the best I can... while still enjoying the scenery around me.

#Changes: Back to School

I'm taking the first step to a huge change in my Life.  I'm gathering up some of my artwork and designs into a proper portfolio to submit to the Thompson Rivers University as part of my application for their Digitial Arts and Design Program. It scares me though.  I'm 40 years old, and I'm not altogether sure I'd be able to keep up with the younger students.  Not only that, but I'm worried about how they (at the age of 20) will perceive me as a 40 year old student.

But I'm mostly afraid of being told that I'm, "not good enough."  Failing.  Though, to be honest, if I don't apply, I'd already have failed, right?  The risk of failure (and success) is better than the certainty of failure.

And I'm tired of living with the regret of not completing my college education when I was younger.  Doing this, I can stand tall and say, "I did it!  I finally did it!"  Maybe then, I can shake some of this feeling that's been hanging over me for years of being a disappointment and a failure in the eyes of the one person who I've always wanted to be proud of me- my Dad.

 

He's never come out and said it, but I've always felt that he was disappointed in me when I stopped going to college... especially since I was the one of us three kids expected to get a degree of some sort.

 

Maybe doing this will finally lift some of that shroud, and put to rest some of the regretful ghosts that hover about me in my mind... and maybe break some of the self-destructive habits that have kept me from being completely me, and happy all these years.

 

I'm scared... but determined.  Get my portfolio ready, apply for a student loan, and apply for the program...

 

And step onto a path that I have been wanting to travel for close to 22 years... 

Related articles

• Is College Worth It?
• How to Find Money When Going Back to School
• BMO Donates $600,000 to Thompson Rivers University to Renovate Old Main Building
• Half of Canada's International Students Want to Stay

#Holidays: Single on Valentine's Day

I'm not really a fan of Valentine's Day.  I don't hate it- I just don't really see the point of it... and that's not because I'm single on Valentine's Day.

Even back in my High School days (twenty plus years ago), I found it more exasperating than anything.  Every year on Valentine's Day, our school would hand out pink paper hearts to all the girls to wear.  If a boy got them to talk, they had to give the boy their heart.

I found it annoying, because I had to repeatedly tell girls that I didn't care about "winning" their hearts, because their not talking was getting in the way of accomplishing stuff in class when I was partnered with them.  Not only that, but listening to the guys talking about how many hearts they won often made me wonder how women were to win respect when such events encouraged men to see Love as a competition- with the man who has the most hearts the winner.  I found it a little distasteful, to be honest.

Though I'm sure my attitude probably frustrated- and possibly bothered the girls due to the fact that I displayed no interest in pursuing them on that day... after all, many of them were bragging about how many guys were trying to get their hearts.  As if that was a gauge to measure their popularity.  That was something else that bothered me about Valentine's Day back then, since (as my best friend can attest) I really didn't give much thought to being popular, and didn't really seek it out.

This annual High School event probably helped to contribute to my dislike of "relationship games" that people play... but that's another discussion.

But that's not the only reason I'm not a huge fan of the day.  I've been dumped on Valentine's Day (via answering machine), wound up having arguments with girlfriends, and even been cheated on during Valentine's Day.

All good reasons, I think- though the main reason is something much more fundamental: I don't need a "special day" to remind me to tell someone I love that I love them, or to do something special for them.  It's something I try to do every day, because I don't love them on just one day- but every day... so, I don't see the point of it.

And to be honest, I can also see why single people don't like the day.  For some reason, Society seems to think being single is a "bad" thing- a lonely thing- and that single people on Valentine's Day should be pitied because they don't have someone to share the day with.  Being single is NOT a bad thing.  I've been single for several years now (at least six years), and have been quite content.

Would I like to have someone in my Life to share today with?  Sure.  Do I need someone in my Life?  No, I don't.  I'm single on Valentine's Day, and happy.

#Blogging- Getting Started

How do you get started writing a blog?

Contrary to what some people may think, it's actually quite easy to start one.  It starts with the decision to write one.  That simple.

After that, it can be a slightly more complicated matter- but mostly where it concerns what the blog is going to be about.  There are an unlimited number of options you can choose from- anything from writing about animals to zeppelins.

Of course, you can simplify the process a bit.  Ask the following questions to help figure out where you want to go with your blog:

1. Do I want to write about something I know?
2. Do I want to write about learning about something I don't know?
3. Do I want to write about places I've been?
4. Do I want to write about my Life?

Those four questions can serve as a jumping point for whatever topic you wind up deciding to blog about.

Now, just be aware that you're probably not going to get thousands of readers right off the bat.  It takes time , dedication, and consistent posting to gain readers.  My blog, "The Corner of Terror"  has been going for close to two years now, and averages about 5000 views a month.  So don't get discouraged.

Also, you might find that the direction of your blog changes along the way.  Mine did.  It originally started out as "Stew's Corner"- a blog where I discussed geekdom.  I wasn't totally satisfied, and changed it to a horror review blog instead.  Blogs will evolve over time as the blogger changes.  It's a "living" piece of work- and is always a work in progress.

Do I recommend blogging?  Yes, I do.  It can prove to be a great release for thoughts (especially a journal style blog), and a wonderful way to share your passion with others (like my love of horror).

So get blogging, and share yourself with the world!

#Friends: Carport Night

I'm not ashamed to admit that I don't have a lot of friends- though the number of them are growing (which is a nice feeling, actually).  It's not that I'm not very friendly (I'm quite friendly), nor that I'm not very sociable (I can be quite sociable at times).  No, it's the fact that I'm picky about who I call a "friend".  Because of that, it takes a bit for me to open up to people.

Though there are those rare people to whom I have opened up to immediately upon meeting.

Jay (from "We Came From the Basement") is one of those rare individuals.

We first met in Grade 7 at Arthur Hatten Elementary (a place that'll become a mecca once Jay and I become totally famous).  That was... oh, 28 years ago.  During that time, the two of us have created some traditions: sitting around the fire pit at his cabin drinking beer and discussing the world and the Universe; recording a comedy tape while drunk once a year (for our own enjoyment); and Carport Night.

Carport Night is the most recent creation.  Last fall, Jay and I decided one night to sit in his carport while drinking.  It was a lot like sitting around the fire pit... minus the fire pit.  It was such a satisfying event, Jay and I decided to do it once a month.

It's quite relaxing and enjoyable.  It's just Jay and I having a few beers, enjoying the fresh air, and discussing things that are happening in our lives, or the world.  That's all it is.

Except for the most important element.  I'm doing it with my best friend.  Only my best friend would agree to sitting in a carport on a snowy, chilly night drinking cold beer and having a smoke.  Only my best friend would think it completely natural- and enjoyable to do.

Which is why Carport Night works- since it's the two of us, it's quite natural.  While many would shake their head at the idea- or say that it's a rather redneck thing to do, when those that know us hear about us doing it, they simply say, "Naturally."

Maybe that's part of why our friendship works so well, and why I opened up to Jay when I first met him all those years ago... It was just natural.

#Geekdom: The New Cool

The Universe (and Life within it) turns in cycles.  Galaxies spin around the Universal Center.  Solar systems spin around the Galactic Center.  Planets spin around the Sun.

And geeks become cool.

This is a trend that has become quite obvious over the past few years.  More and more geeks are standing up and shouting out their pride in being what they are.  It's actually quite heartwarming to see this once neglected and ridiculed section of Society finally getting the acknowledgement and recognition they deserve as human beings.

Brings a tear to this geek's eye.

But there's a problem- a problem that occurs with EVERY trend that catches the public attention.  That problem isn't haters- since geeks are used to their derision.  The problem is that some people are simply claiming to be geeks to seem cool.  You see them on the internet pretty much every day.  People who think that putting on a pair of glasses, holding an X-Box controller, and claiming that M. Night Shyamalan's "The Village" is a deep cinematic exploration about how people (and Society) create fictional realities in order to escape the hardships and pains of their lives, makes them geeks.  People who quote "Big Bang Theory" and ask, "Who would win an argument: Mr. Spock, Data, or Sheldon Cooper?".  People who post pictures of themselves on Facebook making ducklips and gang signs.

Oh, wait- no... that last one just means they're stupid, not geeks.  My bad.

You can tell real geeks from the poser geeks quite easily.  Real geeks don't really draw attention to the fact that they're geeks, and often look like normal, everyday people.  Poser geeks on the other hand, tend to act and look like the stereotypical image of what a geek should be... and they often get it wrong- looking more like nerds than geeks.

There is a difference, you know.

The biggest difference between real geeks and poser geeks is the fact that real geeks aren't being geeks to be cool.  They're doing it because they simply ARE geeks.  Geeks are really passionate people when it comes to their areas of geekness.  This passion is seen in the care taken in the cos plays they do for conventions (even the bad costumes), and the attention to detail they bring to their star ship designs.  Geeks actually read and enjoy, and discuss, and look deep into the comics and books they read, and the movies and anime they watch.  They are experts in their chosen fields of interest, and are able to distinguish between a "Star Trek: The Next Generation" season one uniform, and a season three uniform.  They can tell you who designed, and crafted the various fedoras used by Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones movies.

Real geeks are also very loyal to each other, and their hobbies- and will defend their honour with sharpened bath'leths and Klingon fury.  Even when they series their favorite TV series, movie franchise, or comic series going down the toilet, they will hang on in the hopes that things will get better again.  They are also very spiritual, and will prey to the Great Bird of the Galaxy, or commune with the Force when their faith weakens.

Poser geeks can only dream of achieving the level of passion and dedication that real geeks have.  After a short while, the poser geeks will find some other shiny bauble-like band wagon to jump on in their continuing quest to be cool and popular.

Learn this lesson from the geeks (being given by a geek no less) if you honestly want to be cool- don't try to be something you're not.  Just be you.

Now, if you'll excuse me... I need to build a Tardis...

#Blogging- Inside This Blogger

Over the past few weeks, I've been contemplating WHY I wanted to do this blog.  Originally, I wanted to provide insight into blogging, being a blogger, and my life as a horror movie reviewer.

My posts were originally supposed to be fairly short, and for the most part humorous.  They were supposed to be entertaining and informative.

Now, however, the focus is changing- probably because I'm changing... or at least my needs and wants in regards to this blog are changing.  Now, I need (and want) this blog to be something more- something deeper... more real.  My last two posts have helped to solidify the desire to have this blog be a more personal, realistic expression of the blogger/person that I am.

Not only is this blog going to be a place of humor, and information, but it'll be a place where the entire range of my emotions can be found.  Sorrow, joy, anger, hopes, dreams, fears, and nightmares will be found within the entries as this blog grows and deepens in content.  This blog won't be just about me... it will be a part of me.

A part of me that I'll be sharing with all of you.

Over the course of the years, you will truly see what goes on inside the mind, heart and soul of this blogger.  Join me as I write my thoughts down... and discover the world through my eyes.

#Friends- Reconnecting

Yesterday, I wrote about the loss of a beloved pet, and the empty feeling that comes with it.  Today, I want to write about something that helps to fill me up with happiness, pleasure, and peace.

Reconnecting with an old friend.

One of the nice things about Facebook is the fact that you can find and reconnect with people you used to know.  Several of the people I went to High School with are on my Friends List.

One in particular makes me smile.  Out of the blue, she suggested that we start writing each other.  Via snail mail.  Yes- snail mail.  When I get the chance, I do enjoy the act of physically putting my thoughts on paper, so I agreed immediately.  That was the first step in discovering the pleasure of redisovering a friendship.

I look forward to each letter she sends, and I'm sure she looks forward to mine in return.

My friend (Loralee), recently called me on the phone, and we talked for about an hour and a half about things that have gone on in our Lives, some of the obstacles we've had to face (internal and external) in order to get to the places where we are.  We had a really good conversation, and I'm looking forward to more of them.

This reconnection is especially satisfying for me, because back in High School, I really didn't have friends (other than Jay and a couple of others).  I was dealing with the death of my mother, and went out of my way to keep people at an emotional distance.  I didn't want people to get close to me because I didn't want to risk losing them down the road.

Now, however, I'm willing to to share my Life with more people, and call them "friends."  And I'm glad that Loralee is one of the ones from High School who WANTS to reconnect and get to know the person that I am now.  She was a wonderful girl in High School- socially, ecologically, and politically aware; funny, and cute.  Now, she's grown into a wonderful woman who is still socially, ecologically, and politically aware; funny; and beautiful.  Despite the ups and downs that she's dealt with over the past several years, she's able to remain positive, and hopeful for the future.  The sort of person I've become, and the sort of person that I want in my Life as a close friend.

In a world where we can lose loved ones at a moment's notice, we can also find friendships that can grow and deepen and enrich our lives.  Life is all about Balance.  Loss is balanced by gain... and as sad as Charlie's passing has made me, I'm also filled with gladness for gaining Loralee as a close friend.

#Family: Charlie

When I first thought of this blog, I intended it to be a place where I could share my more positive, philosophical, or humorous thoughts and experiences.  Today, however, I feel the need to share something a little deeper and sadder.

The loss of a member of the family.  Yesterday, the family had to put Charlie to sleep.  He'd suffered a serious stroke which affected his legs, vision, breathing, etc.

Charlie was 13 years old (roughly 91 years in human terms).  13 years of love, affection, and memories given to the family.

I woke up this morning, and went upstairs.  It was weird.  Normally, my sister-in-law would turn the radio on low before she went to work, so that Charlie didn't feel left alone.  Well, this morning, it was absolutely silent.  Not a sound.

It felt... wrong.  The house felt empty to me.

I didn't like it.

Charlie was such a well behaved, and quiet dog.  About the only time he'd raise a ruckus was when someone would ring the door bell... then you couldn't get him to be quiet.  When he wanted out, he'd go towards the patio door, and wag his tail.  When he wanted back in, he'd lay down by the patio door until you let him in again.  His favorite spots to sleep were under the coffee table in the living room, and by my niece's bed.  When I was in the bathroom, he'd curl up by the door in the hallway, and sometimes, I'd find it laying by the front door waiting for the rest of the family to come home.

He didn't like broccholi, and would nudge it aside whenever he found it mixed in with his food.  He loved it when you'd scratch a spot on his right hindquarters... in fact his butt would move to the right when you did it. He didn't like the cat sticking its butt in his face.  He'd get this look that pretty much said, "How uncouth can you get?".  Charlie loved going for car rides and walks... and pooping on asphalt.

During the summers, when the family would be gone for a weekend, it'd be just me and Charlie.  We'd have a movie marathon, and while I watched movies, Charlie would be curled up on the couch next to me.  If you laid down on the carpet, he would often come over and flop down with you.  Sometimes, I'd find Charlie digging at a couple of spots on the carpet upstairs, and I could never figure out why.

During the winter, Charlie would have long fur with a slight curl to it.  During the summer, he would get trimmed down, except for his tail- which would remain bushy.  He always reminded me of a cross between a dachsun and a doberman- short and pudgy in build, but with the markings of a doberman.

Charlie was the cutest, most lovable, and most loving dog ever.

When I heard the silence this morning, all of those memories washed over me in a wave.  My chest tightened, and my breath hitched.

It hurt... it really hurt.

There are people out there who say that pets are just animals.   I dare them to spend 13 years raising a pet, and sharing their Lives with them.  I don't think they'd be able to remain so detached afterwards.

When you raise a pet- especially from a baby, they become more than JUST a pet.  They become part of the family- their odd quirks, moods, and personalities meshing with those of the humans around them.  They don't see us as humans.  They see us as part of their pack or litter- and take care of us, just as we take care of them.  Cats will bring us birds and mice as gifts of love, and lessons on how to survive.  Dogs will curl up by your side when you're sick in bed to let you know you're not alone.

When you raise a pet, you invest so much of yourself into them- your emotions, love, and hope, that eventually, they become such an integral part of your Life.  When they're gone, part of you is gone as well- and it hurts.

But, so long as you remember them, and hold them in your heart, they will always be near... just a gentle thought away.

Sleep well, Charlie... and may there never be broccholi  in your food on the other side.

#Holidays: Remembering The Fallen

Today was Rememberance Day- a day where we gather and think about the soldiers that have died over the course of the years in order to defend our rights and freedoms.  For many, it's a meaningful day, while for those of us that are either part of a military family (my own Dad and Brother were in the service), or are in the military (I served 16 years, myself), it can be a very personal day of remembering.

I spent today with my Dad and my Brother.  We watched the ceremonies and the parade before retiring to the Legion to reconnect with friends and comrades.  Over hot rum toddies, we called forth memories of various training exercises, summer taskings, and random events that we've been through during the course of our military careers.

We also looked around us at the new generation of soldiers, just starting out in the service.  I found it hard to believe that I once was that young and baby faced.  I also saw many of the Sergeants present were people I knew as Privates.  In fact, I did most of their paperwork when I was in the service.

I also keenly felt the presence of those that were absent, and the memories came flooding back.  Standing on parade while they got their Regimental cap badge, or their promotions.  Sitting in the Junior Ranks Club after a weekend exercise sharing a beer and joking about some of the silly things that happened that weekend.  Going up to the Armoury for a beer and a game of "Axis & Allies", "Risk", or "Halo".

I watched many of them grow as soldiers into fine adults and leaders.  I watched as many of them went off on United Nations missions to Bosnia, or NATO missions to Afghanistan.  I stood as some of them didn't come home.

One young soldier comes to mind.  She was an Infanteer- this was just as women were starting to make a proper impact on the Combat Arms in the military.  She was tasked to help me set up the modular tentage for one of our Brigade exercises in Fort Lewis.  I was standing on a wooden six foot table screwing in lightbulbs as she handed them up to me.  We talked about some of the reasons why I was still a Corporal at the time, what we both hoped to accomplish, etc.  At this time, I discovered that she didn't know if she could honestly make an impact as an Infanteer, and was thinking of moving on to another trade.  She was taking Engineering at university at the time, so we started discussing the possibility of her remustering over to Engineer.  I described to her what Field Engineers, Construction Engineers, and Electrical Mechanical Engineers did, and that I felt that Field Engineering would probably suit her best.

Ultimately, she did decide to remuster, and taking the advice I'd given her, she went Regular Force as a Field Engineer.  The military helped pay for her to complete her university education, and she took her commission and became an Officer.

A couple of years later, during a training exercise, she was killed when the explosives her team and her were laying went off.  I remember the numbness I felt when I heard the news.  I simply had a hard time believing it.

I still have a hard time believing it- and it's been at least a decade or so since the accident occured.  So, when Rememberance Day comes around, and I look at the fresh faced soldiers around me, I remember her, because she thought that freedom and equality was worth the risks involved in her job.

Lest We Forget.

#Pleasures: Rainy Days

While I was walking home today from the Work Search centre, it started to rain.  Nothing heavy, just a light fall of rain.  It was enough to get me to stop, close my eyes as I spread my arms, and smile upwards to the skies as the drops landed on my face.

Of course, I had to start walking again, since I was blocking traffic on the sidewalk standing like that.

But it started my mind thinking about how much I enjoy walking in the rain- almost as much as I enjoy walking in the fog, actually.  Being who I am, I have a tendency sometimes of analysing my feelings in order to understand them and myself better.  That's what I did while walking home with pieces of the clouds dripping around me into puddles.

There's something cleansing about rain, I find.  I can stand in the rain, and let it wash over me- all the while imagining my concerns and worries, and negative thoughts mixing with the water and flowing away into the gutters... leaving me emotionally fresh and clean again.  I feel so much lighter after a walk in the rain.

I also really like sitting on the porch listening to the rain pitter patter against the metal roof, as I sipped a mug of coffee, and taking a puff on my pipe.  I can watch the smoke from my pipe drift up and away to join the clouds and possibly become drops of rain as well.  The air around me feels scrubbed clean of impurities as I sit there letting my thoughts ripple outwards like the drops of rain landing on the surface of the pool and puddles.  With each breath, I can smell the grass and the flowers that catch the drops and sip from them the way I sip my coffee.

The only problem (other than getting strange looks when I stand in the middle of the sidewalk with my arms spread and grinning up into the clouds) is the cold.  I don't handle cold too well, unfortunately, and when you miss cold and damp, my joints ache.  But for this simple pleasure in Life, I'll simply bundle up a bit, make sure my coffee is steaming hot, and ignore the twinges in my knuckles and hip.  For me, the comfort, peace, and simplicity of rain falling is worth enjoying and being a part of... worth forgetting the aches and pains of Life.  Worth being alive.

#Changes: My Signature

I was helping my Dad today by pulling out all the plants from his flower bed.  When I was done, he needed my signature on some documents for accounting purposes with Veterans Affairs.  When he saw my signature, he told me to put my full signature- not my initals.  I told him that WAS my signature.

He just gave me an exasperated look and shook his head... something older people do to me a lot, actually.  Not sure why though, since it's quite understandable how my signature became what it is.

I spent sixteen years in the Canadian Forces Reserves as a Administration/Finance Clerk.  When I first joined at the age of eighteen, my signature resembled this:

It was a perfectly normal, legible signature at that time.  It was clean, precise, and would've caused serious damage to my fingers, wrist, and arm if I had continued to use it in my duties.

Why?  Forms.  Lots and lots of forms.  Course reports, assessments, charge reports, stationary requests, computer asset requests, signing out and signing in of equiptment, signing paysheets, signing audit documents, signing destruction certification forms, signing memorandums, signing medical documents, signing Military Police documents, signing this, signing that.

So, over the course of my career, my signature evolved... or devolved depending on your point of view.  After about two years of signing forms, my signature resembled:

But that wasn't enough to sign the multitude of forms quickly, AND keep my from injuring my vital digits.  It was good for my personal, non-military correspondance... but I needed to find something that would allow me to get through all the forms I had to sign in a flurry, while keeping myself out of the Medical Inspection Room with a possible career ending cramp.  Because of this need, my signature changed again to resemble:

But as you can imagine, this STILL wasn't good enough.  No, it wasn't.  My career was hanging in the balance!  The forms that needed signing just kept coming and the stacks kept growing.  I needed something succinct and quick.  I realized that it didn't NEED to be something obvious- just something that could be legally considered a signature.  By the end of my career- partly from having fine tuned my signature to it's essence... and because arthritis in my fingers was making it hard to write with a pen, my signature reached it's most pure, bare essential nature:

That's right, "M *scribble*" is my signature.  Oh, I can hear you laughing out there.  If you think my signature is funny, let me tell you about a former employer of mine.  His signature is a squiggle with two dots.  That's it.  Just that.  Oh... and he has a rubber stamp of it for signing forms...

#Holidays: Halloween Recovery

One of my favorite times of the year (if not THE favorite) is Halloween.  People dress up in costumes, kids knock on doors in the search of delicious treats, and I watch a few horror movies.

This year, "a few" movies was actually 13 of them, as I held a special event for my "The Corner of Terror" blog.  For this "Terrorpolooza 2012", I held a 24 hour horror movie tweet along.  From 1:00 am Halloween morning, to 1:00 am the next morning, I watched horror movies, and tweeted along to them.

It went quite well, in my opinion.  I had a decent variety of movies- some good... some not so much, and people joined in the fun by retweeting, favoriting, and commenting upon my tweets.

And I quite enjoyed it too.

The only problem with this Halloween was having to recover from the night before.  As soon as my tweet along was finished, I was worn out and ready for bed.  I don't remember dreaming- which is weird for me.  I closed my eyes, then opened them about 20 hours later.  And I still felt tired.

In fact, it took me almost two days to fully recover from all the stimulus that the 24 hours of horror movies gave my poor pumpkin filled head.

And to think... I plan on doing AGAIN next year...