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Life as we know it

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Brian Wilson
1942 – 2025
RIP
Takahiro Kyono from Tokyo, Japan, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Whenever I post one of these messages lamenting the loss of one of the great figures of my (or the adjacent) generation(s) I do so with sadness but also with gratitude for their influence as ‘hero’ figures throughout my formative years. My aim is to compose something that captures their personal importance to me.

Sometimes, however, no words can be found truly capable of expressing the extent of the loss.

To those of us who reached the age of majority in the late sixties and early seventies and who harboured ambitions to become songwriters, Brian Wilson was – and will always remain – a seminal figure. Should the gentle reader be unaware of his greatness all that he or she need do is to listen to the music.

I need say no more…

Rest in peace

I may not always love you
But long as there are stars above you
You never need to doubt it
I’ll make you so sure about it
God only knows what I’d be without you

If you should ever leave me
Though life would still go on believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me
God only knows what I’d be without you

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A month or so back – as chilly March gave way to marginally less intemperate April and the end of what may well prove to be my last term of teaching fast approached – I received an email from one of the international students on my course… asking for an extension.

This is by no means unusual; the rapid approach of final exams increases the pressure on individual students, some of whom start to regret not having managed their time more effectively earlier in the term. Desperation starts to creep in.

In this instance, however, the student was definitely unwell – and a simple request for extra time rapidly turned into something rather more extreme as he was admitted to the Royal Jubilee Hospital here in Victoria. A forwarded letter from the doctor there soon revealed that the student had somehow contracted TB and was unable either to sit the final exam or to finish the outstanding coursework.

Now, I had thought that TB was a thing of the past – and that may well be so in many parts of the world. I gather that children in BC are no longer these days inoculated against TB. I certainly was as a youngster back in the late 1960s. There was a BCG program delivered through schools in the UK and I was duly vaccinated when I turned thirteen years of age.

I was a little taken aback, therefore, to receive – a few weeks after the student’s original request – a call from the Royal Jubilee TB clinic. I (and, presumably, others from the student cohort concerned) were requested to attend the TB clinic twice in a three day period – to be checked for infection and to have applied the necessary measures to stamp out any possible outbreak.

Now, I didn’t expect to have been infected – even though my vaccination was a very long time ago. The likelihood of my having been exposed to a dangerous contact was also extremely slim, but I still had to make the trek into the city – to find a place to park (always non-trivial in hospital car parks) – to twiddle my thumbs nervously whilst awaiting my turn for the brief but effective consult… and then to do it all again two days later.

Anyway – the thing that I am sure the gentle reader really cares about…

…I don’t have TB!

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…and retiring?

Those who frequent these pages – or indeed those who have not yet figured out how to unsubscribe from the email digest (just joking folks… I would much prefer that you didn’t do that!) – will know from this post from earlier this year that The Girl has finally (?) re-joined the ranks of the retired. Who can tell at this point if this will prove to be final outcome for her, or if she will find herself tempted back into some form of employment as time passes.

That leaves me; the one who originally expected to be fully retired upon arrival from the UK, but who has found a renewed sense of purpose in teaching part-time at a post-secondary college here in Victoria. Over the past seven or so years the Chair of my department has enquired of me on a number of occasions whether (or not) I was yet contemplating hanging up my boots. I have found myself, to this point, always just gazing just a little further into the future. The last time that she asked I told her that seventy five seemed like a good point at which to call it quits…

…and that might have remained my target – had not everything changed last year. Last year the federal government radically altered the regulations governing international students coming to Canada to study in Canadian colleges. This from the Government of Canada website:

“Ottawa, January 24, 2025—Over the last year, Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada (IRCC) has made important changes to better prepare international students for life in Canada, strengthen our programs and address the changing needs of our country.

In 2024, IRCC capped the number of study permit applications that could be accepted for processing to keep our program strong and help ease the strain on housing, health care and other services. This measure has reduced the number of international students coming to Canada by about 40% and also eased pressures in rental markets with high student populations.

Building on these changes, provincial and territorial allocations for 2025 have now been finalized. For 2025, IRCC plans to issue a total of 437,000 study permits, which represents a 10% decrease from the 2024 cap”.

These unexpected changes caused havoc in many of the educational establishments that had relied heavily on international students to balance their books. You will be unsurprised to hear that the college at which I have been teaching found itself in a perilous financial situation. I am not going to go into exact detail concerning the college’s contentious plan to re-organise and cost-cut its way out of trouble but – needless to say – those (such as I) who have been employed on term contracts found themselves first to be in line for cost-saving cuts.

The long and the short of all this is that – with the end of the term just finished – I may well have involuntarily been ‘retired’ again.

On the assumption that this will indeed be the case I now have to consider trying to find something else to do. At my age – and given my experience (or lack thereof) I suspect that may not be an easy thing to do.

At this point I know very little of how the future will unfold. This, however, I do know; as long as The Girl and I are together and able to support each other – everything will be well. I am adopting as my mantra this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt:

“Life was meant to be lived, and curiosity must be kept alive. One must never, for whatever reason, turn one’s back on life.”
Eleanor Roosevelt 

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https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/
I have long thought that…

– no matter how bad things might seem during this particularly dark period in time

– no matter how crazed this crowded little world may of late have become

-no matter how dangerously misguided so many of its self-proclaimed leaders are determined to prove themselves to be

…that – even so – the zeitgeist could hardly compare with the sense of dislocation, chaos and loss that my parents’ generation endured during and subsequent to the Second World War. Could one ever truly imagine living through those portentous days?

Until now!…

Now, I am no longer so sure. Now it really does feel sometimes as though we are living through the end of days.

Let us pause for breath. I feel sure that the gentle reader would thank me not at all for enumerating once again the long list of woes of the world with which we are currently inflicted. A great deal has been – and is  (thankfully) still being written, day upon day – that gives us at the very least a chance of understanding the substance of some of these grim matters. But let us look instead for whatever fresh green shoots may be discovered peeping through the fallen snows.

As the post WW2 order that has done a better than expected job of keeping us all safe (and I do mean ALL) is rapidly being demolished by vandals for whom history is based not upon fact but is rather up for negotiation, fabrication and grievance… there are perhaps a few small glimmers of light.

The massive and incomprehensible act of self-harm that was (and is) Brexit may just slowly begin to be revised. Were the UK to build a new relationship with a re-invigorated Europe that would be no bad thing. We really should try to remember just why the countries of Europe – following two devastating global wars – thought that closer ties were a good idea in the first place (and – no! it was just not to disadvantage our cousins to the south).

If the ties between some of the Commonwealth partners (the UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand for example) were to be strengthened – that would also be a win.

If more of us throughout the world were to follow the example of my adopted nation in standing up to the bullies – that would also raise the spirits. Feel free to take inspiration from our grassroots “Elbows Up, Canada” campaign, the which is fast spreading across the nation. For those readers outwith Canada here is the CBC’s explanation for the origin of the slogan:

When Canadian actor and comedian Mike Myers, clad in a “Canada is not for sale” T-shirt, twice mouthed the words “elbows up” and tapped his own left elbow on Saturday Night Live last weekend, he was sending a not-so-subtle signal to his compatriots north of the border: Get ready for a fight.

Facing punishing tariffs on Canadian exports and repeated jibes from U.S. President Donald Trump about their country becoming the 51st state, Canadians were understandably riled. “Elbows up” became the rallying cry they’d been looking for.

In hockey-loving Canada, the phrase automatically evokes memories of one of the game’s greatest players, Saskatchewan-born Gordie Howe, who before becoming Mr. Hockey had earned another nickname: Mr. Elbows.

Unfailingly humble, generous and gentlemanly off the ice, Howe would wield his elbows like weapons when battling for the puck.

“If a guy slashed me, I’d grab his stick, pull him up alongside me and elbow him in the head,” Howe once said, describing his favourite method of retribution.

To those who feel inclined to ridicule such an emotional response I would just add another quote – from the Dalai Lama XIV:

Don’t ever mistake my silence for ignorance, my calmness for acceptance or my kindness for weakness. Compassion and tolerance are not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength.

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“It’s tough to make predictions, especially about the future”

Yogi Berra

At around this time last year I was following my usual custom of looking ahead to the coming year and outlining – in a post to this journal – the plans and projections that we were making therefore.

When I first sat down to write that post my mind was still clouded by the chaos that we, personally, had endured during 2023. At one point – towards the end of that year – we thought that 2024 would inevitably be a quiet year, with little travel or other like extravagance – and that a period of retrenchment was probably called for.

As it turned out – and as can be determined from this recent post (What just happened?) – the year was full of activity both on the travel front (our splendid trip to Scotland) – on the work front (particularly for The Girl at her First Nation) and with regard to our creative efforts (a new Anam Danu album and an unexpected pantomiming!). Perhaps the only area in which we felt that the year had not lived up to expectation was that we did not get to do as much socializing as we would have liked. The poor summer weather contributed considerably to this less than ideal state of affairs.

Though our 2024 turned out to be better than anticipated, for the rest of the world it could well be argued that the year took a dramatically retrograde turn. We are, naturally, not immune to these external pressures and it may prove – as a result – that 2025 turns out to be the quiet – heads-down – dig-in – sort of year that we might have expected last time around.

These things, however, we are anticipating:

  • A week in Puerto Vallarta in Mexico, during the College’s reading week in February. Right now The Girl and I both need to feel some sun on our shoulders
  • Some overdue maintenance on our lovely home. We need a new hot water tank; the roof needs to be de-mossed; I am contemplating putting underfloor heating in my studio and we are long overdue in making a start on dealing with some of the clutter that seems to accumulate through modern living
  • We are hoping to host some visitors this year – which is always fun when it also turns into a holiday for us
  • The will be music-making – no doubt – and I may serve a turn on the executive of the Peninsula Players (who presented the pantomime with which I was lately involved
  • We will definitely aim to entertain in our garden just as much as the weather allows

 

On a side note – I observe that this blog has just passed 1200 posts – this being number 1201. At the same time the blog has also just reached its thirteenth anniversary. Happy Birthday!

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Are you one of those good people who find themselves mildly annoyed (or even a little nauseous!) when long-term couples regale all and sundry with overly eager descriptions of their togetherness – their single-mindedness – their soul-matedness – their inability not to finish each others…

…sandwiches! (joke courtesy of The Simpsons – May 1st 2005).

Should that be the case my advice would be to skip this post and go on to the next one (though you may need to wait a day or two for that one to appear).

This post is about one of those incidents. You have been warned…

A couple of weeks back I went into our local town – Sidney by the Sea – to purchase some comestibles. I suggested to The Girl before departing that – should anything that we had overlooked in our list-making occur to her whilst I was out – she should text or phone me to let me know. This is pretty much par for the course these days for us ‘old’ folks.

As I entered Sidney I recalled that I was in need of a particular dietary supplement. Since I would be passing close to a local health shop it would make sense to stop there and to purchase said item before continuing. This I duly did.

Whilst in the health food store I thought I had better have a scout around in case anything else occurred to me as being a missing essential. I came to a stop in front of the Golden Flax Seeds. Now, because I assist The Girl in the preparation of her daily smoothie I was aware that she was running short of this particular ingredient. Should I just get her some – or should I call her to check?

I chose the latter course (this is not my first rodeo!).

To my surprise The Girl did not pick up the phone. Hmmm! The best laid plans, etc. What to do?

I decided to send her a text. I opened the messaging app so to do only to discover that a new text message had just arrived… from her! It read, simply:

”Golden Flax Seed!”

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By ‘just‘, of course, I mean ‘over the last year‘ – this being my customary catch-up-at-year’s-end posting…

My post of last January 26th – entitled “Getting started” – contained the following good intentions for 2024: (progress reports in red!)

  • The pursuance of an extended visit to Scotland during April/May – including a stay in Edinburgh – a visit to the central highlands (whence originated my clan) – a sojourn on Orkney and another on Skye – and visits to Fort William and Oban on the west coast

…a glance back at the posts to this forum of April, May and June will furnish the gentle reader with all that he or she might wish to know about our splendid visit to the land of my forefathers

  • Continuance for my of teaching at the College – starting with a new course that I was busy preparing at the time of writing

…on this very day I have started teaching the new course again for the third time – now as a blended course. It would be good if the Chair of my department were to acknowledge the fact by arranging for me to be sent a contract!

  • Following the shortest ever retirement (minus two days!) The Girl was about to commence a new employ, the details of which I was not at that point at liberty to reveal

…as I write The Girl is a few weeks short of completing a year’s contract working for her First Nation, helping to set up a new family preservation service. The year has been both rewarding and difficult, not least because of the extensive amount of travel that she has been obliged to undertake (visiting previously un-experienced corners of British Columbia and beyond). She was offered a full-time post and promotion but has decided – for now – to revisit the world of retirement. For how long remains to be seen…

  • Planned further musical exploration on the part of Anam Danu  – with a view to expanding our number and preparing – at some point – to play live. We also anticipated the release of a new album at some point during 2024.

…now a three-piece (though presently looking to add a guitarist!) Anam Danu released their fourth album – “Euphoria” to considerable acclaim at the end of November. More on these exciting times as the year progresses

  • I also included this, slightly nervous, prediction:

“As ever at this time of the year there are many other exciting prospects bubbling under and – though there are also many very good reasons to feel nervous about 2024 – I like to approach the year under an umbrella of optimism.”

…one thing that I had not anticipated was being asked to take on the musical direction for a local theatre company’s pantomime – either side of Christmas – at the Mary Winspear in Sidney. I do not like to say ‘no’ to such proposals – so I didn’t! As I believe that all concerned consider the run to have been a considerable success, I am glad that I did not.

So much for 2024.

Keep your eyes open for the companion posting to this one in which I will hazard wild guesses as to what the new year could bring – and indeed to those things that we will do our damnedest to bring about.

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<a href="https://sketchplanations.com/optimism-bias" target="_blank">"Optimism bias"</a> is licensed under <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0" target="_blank">CC BY-NC 4.0</a>“Man’s fatal flaw is misplaced optimism.”

Allan Wolf, ‘The Watch That Ends the Night’

In November of 2016 I wrote a post to this forum in response to the seismic events of that year… the which, of course, included the decision by the United Kingdom to depart from the European Union – and the unexpected (by many) election to the US Presidency of the orange weirdo!

I closed that post with the following:

What has transpired this year has been a massive wake-up call. In neither the UK nor the US can politics carry on being ‘business as usual’. That model is broken. What now needs urgently to happen is that the centre and the left of centre must start over and build themselves completely afresh – learning not only from what has happened, but also from how and why it happened. This represents a huge opportunity – such perhaps as has not been presented since the end of the second world war. And – concerning that prospect – I feel optimistic“.

You can be pretty certain that – when I scribbled (typed!) that screed I could not have imagined in my wildest fantasies that the madman across the water who was then about to enter the White House would again be poised so to do eight years hence. Or that what in 2016 looked to all the world to be a terrible and potentially calamitous error of judgment on the part of the US electorate now transpires to be an wilful expression of the darkest desires of the majority thereof.

Few of us could have dreamt of the frankly inconceivable sequence of events that has occurred over this late period, and that has led us to this point. I am shocked that we find ourselves in a position regarding which the paragraph that I wrote in 2016 could – and perhaps must – be written again entire…

…though perhaps without the concluding “I feel optimistic“…

Can we really not do better than this?

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Dame Maggie Smith

1934 – 2024

RIP

Kebl0597, CC BY-SA 2.5 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5>, via Wikimedia CommonsThe British thespian profession has always punched well above it’s weight – from the secularisation of drama that followed the Reformation onward. This extraordinary tide has shown no sign of abating; long may the trend continue.

In recent times the Brits have furnished the dramatic universe with an abundance of fierce talents, particularly when it comes to those great ladies of the dramatic arts. We have been blessed with more than our fair share of ‘national treasures’.

Sadly, this weekend saw the passing of one of the greatest of those treasures – the brilliant Dame Maggie Smith. I saw her first many decades back in the film adaptation of the Muriel Spark novel – ‘The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie‘ – in which she was, naturally, excellent. That has been the case, of course, with pretty much everything to which she turned her hand.

In the few days since her passing much has already been written in her praise. Rather than re-hash any of these eulogies here I recommend that you search out some such. The Guardian obit would be a good place to start.

Dame Maggie Smith will surely be most sadly missed by us all.

Rest in peace.

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“There’s good random, and there’s bad random. There’s good silly and there’s bad silly, and you’ve gotta know the difference”.

Conan O’Brien

“I ride tandem with the random, things don’t run the way I planned them – in the humdrum”

Peter Gabriel – ‘Humdrum’

A few random thoughts and observations…

Close to home

When The Girl and I were planning our recent trip to Scotland we went looking for appropriate cultural events that might round out our visit to places and peoples. I had of late been doing quite a lot of reading on the subject of storytelling – and in particular of Celtic storytelling – so one of my focuses was very much on finding events along these lines.

Unfortunately it turned out that, because our trip was really quite early in the season, many such programmes were not yet up and running and we found ourselves drawing a blank.

As is the nature of such things, however, little sooner than we were back in Victoria than The Girl found an event at the Victoria Scottish Community Centre (the existence of which I was unaware) entitled ‘Stories of Scotland‘. Stand-up comedian and former physics teacher, Bruce Fummey, combines scabrous humour and a fascination with Scottish history to great effect – spinning yarns about the evolution of a peoples as revealed in their DNA. This was in itself quite a coincidence as I was just finishing Alistair Moffat’s book – ‘The Scots – a Genetic Journey‘ – the which I had purchased at the museum in Kilmartin Glen.

Small world!

Going Back to the Well

Whilst staying in The Girl’s brilliantly chosen Scottish AirBnBs and searching for some suitable evening viewing fare, we were able to re-acquaint ourselves with British TV. On Channel 4 we discovered that all seven series of ‘The West Wing‘ have been made available for streaming. As huge Aaron Sorkin fans it was a complete delight to start the whole oeuvre again from the top. We are still working our way through back here in Canada and have nearly reached the end of season 4.

I don’t think I need labour any points here regarding the quality of the writing, acting and direction that this ground-breaking series has to offer. Some will complain that it is unrealistic, naive, too liberal, sentimental, chauvinistic – yada yada yada… Don’t care!! This show delights in ways that most do not, moves us to  tears and to laughter – and rewards our time with the sheer joy of absorbing something brilliant. It is so good to be able to recharge the batteries thus…

Narrow Margins

There has been much debate over the years as to the feasibility of Lee Harvey Oswald having acting as a lone operator in the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Leaving aside the wilder conjectures of conspiracy theorists, Oswald’s somewhat average record as a marksman in the Marine Corps and the less than ideal performance of the Italian Carcano Model 38 rifle shown to have been the murder weapon have long left doubts as to the physical possibility of his having carried out the assault in the time known to have been taken. Quite apart from such practicalities the pressures of the moment and of the act itself must be taken into account.

The reasons for this being on my mind now are, however, unrelated to the viability of the act itself. Instead I find myself pondering the consequences of the narrowness of margins. A mere inch either way might have resulted in all three shots missing (instead of just the one) or, perhaps, in inflicting only non-fatal injuries. How different might the world have been had Kennedy gone on to run for a second term.

By such small margins are the vagaries of history moulded.

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