I saw the Navigator this weekend

I even poked him in the back.

This weekend was the not-so-exciting but emotional sequel to our grandma's funeral from this past January. We gathered in Melville to inter her and meet as a family. 

The gathering was much more intimate than the funeral, with only the direct descendants gathering. While there was some focus on keeping the family together and united, I never feel like I get enough time at these things to meet with everyone. When I say I poked the Navigator in the back, I think that's about the extent of the interaction I got with him. I talked with a few of my aunts and uncles, but again no real catching up. 

I always somewhat dreaded family reunions in the past, but coming out of this, I do hope we have one for this slice of the family sometime soon. I'd like to spend more time catching up with cousins, aunts and uncles soon. It seems the only time I've seen any of them in the last few years has been to help grandma move or mourn her loss.

It was a bit of a low weekend overall. Rhonda was out of town, which meant I had a lot more on my plate. In addition to the funeral, Jonas's team suffered a pretty humiliating defeat on Sunday night that was capped by a season-ending injury to their slotback. It was so bad that they called the game 4 minutes early to bring an ambulance onto the field. And that was the second player they've lost for the season already. But Jonas made his first reception, so I guess there was a bit of a silver lining. 

Beyond that -a bad rental car, a depressed dog and our water being shut off for 3 days because of the construction out front made for a pretty frustrating and depressing weekend. 

But I think I'm getting it turned around. I played on the Bushwakker stage for the first time last night and had a great time meeting some other musicians and singing songs for people. Between playing at the funeral and the 'Wakk - it's been a busy week of rehearsing. And I've got more coming right away with a little performance at the library for Nuit Blanche on Saturday and another gig in Asquith SK on the 6th. They're all little gigs but they give me a chance to network and spread some more stickers around! 

You're both right

In a time of conflict and fighting among the friends of the world, I come to you today with an olive branch. A realization that sometimes - we're all correct. 

That's right, I'd like to talk about our favourite man-made system to argue about, our units of measurement. 

Now, before we start, it's been pretty clear to me that a lot of this is really about experience and perception. I was playing a game online recently, and one of the guys was insistent that Celsius could never work because, in Fahrenheit, you know that anything over 70 is hot. Like, yeah, but metric people just know that anything over 30 is hot for us. I feel the same way about miles and kilometres. They're interchangeable; you just need to get used to the one that's used on the signs. 

But at the same time, each system does have its strengths and weaknesses. Like in the example above, I think that Celsius does have strength in its anchor around boiling and freezing. It conceptualizes a wide range of temperatures well. I've also thought that the inch is a better size for measurement, and I really like how the foot divides into 12 instead of 10. 

And let's talk about that. 

Metric advocates will talk about how multiplying by 10 makes everything easier. They're right in many respects. Its strength is especially evident when you move between different types of measurement, like from length to volumes to pressures and beyond. They're all very elegantly interconnected, and I find that really satisfying. 

But I've done a lot of work in feet and inches, and I'm telling you, there's something magical about the number 12 and how you can divide it evenly. With 10's you can only divide by 1, 2, 5 and 10 evenly. But 12? Well, 12 you can divide by 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 and 12. Double that to 24, and shit just gets bananas. For the tradesperson, this is really useful. 16 has some of these advantages too. Honestly, I think had we invented the Imperial system after the computer, we would use 24 as our base. 

Nationalism would tell me that Canada is officially metric, and in these trying times, I should be arguing for the home team. 

Oh please. 

First of all, yes, the US uses the Imperial system, but it's not like they invented it. Where do you think the word "Imperial" comes from? The British Empire friend. It's as much a part of Canada's history as it is for any other country. In my area of the country, the gravel road grid is still measured in miles. 

Not to mention, this country has never fully converted to metric, and at this point, I don't think we ever will. I could go into some detail about this, but I think this video describes it best. (Note, it took me a few views to get the screw joke - this was written by an outsider, but one that did his homework!)

All this to say, I will never know how many kilograms I weigh, I'll always buy a gallon of milk and a litre of pop, and I have no idea what to wear when it's 30°F out. And I don't think it's worth arguing about if it works. 

Until it doesn't.

What are your favourite units of measurement? Have you ever thought about inventing a unit? 

A Sticky Situation

Almost 18 years ago, I awoke on the day following my wedding with a seriously sore ankle. Looking at the comments on that post nearly 2 decades later, I wish I'd taken the Navigator's advice and cut the damn thing off. And to the anonymous poster - yes, I do wear those brown orthopedic shoes. 

And I'm walking with my cane again. 

Yeah, I'm back on the stick. Rhonda and I took a lovely walk through Wascana Trails on Sunday. And by walk, I mean stumble and climb and hope we can get back up the hill. It didn't hit me then, but I certainly woke up yesterday feeling it. 

Contrary to the conclusions of my doctor at the time, the ensuing 20 years have revealed that it most certainly is gout - and probably a nice healthy dose of arthritis too. I've got medications for the gout, but I do need to be a bit more careful about going off-road with this 80-year-old body. Have I mentioned I also have glaucoma, and I take drops every day to treat that? Peachy. 

Walking with a cane isn't the classic, stylish endeavour I'd always imagined it would be. It's a lot less Victorian gentleman and more cranky, wobbly Dr. House. Sometimes I like to pretend I'm House because I feel that grumpy. But my medical diagnosis skills aren't there. I'm 3 for 68.

And it seems I use that damn thing more and more all the time. 

I recently re-read "The Hound of the Baskervilles", the Sherlock Holmes book by Arthur Conan Doyle. The book opens with Holmes and his ever-present assistant, Watson, inspecting the walking stick of one Dr. James Mortimer. They deduce that he worked at Charing Cross Hospital, had a dog and had moved his medical practice into the country.  

Sometimes I look at my own walking stick with that same eye. Like Dr. Mortimer, I have a dog who has picked up my stick a time or two. Her teeth marks are pretty evident. And it's my right foot that bothers me the most, you can tell by the way the handle and rubber tip have worn. And I imagine you could come to some conclusion about how I spend my money based on the fact that this is clearly a lower-cost handmade item and not some mass-produced aluminum and rubber deal you get at the drugstore. Although I have one of those, too. Maybe I need to get it engraved or bound with brass to give more clues about me. Or maybe I stay a bit mysterious. Or maybe I don't forget my cane at the private residence of England's greatest private detective. 

But as fun as it is to play detective and look like I took a dumdum bullet in the Boer War, being on a stick is uncomfortable, inconvenient and generally a pain in the ass. Not only is there the pain of my foot, but having to adjust to walking on a stick causes soreness all over the body after a while. You don't just lose a foot, you generally lose a hand since you're always holding the damn cane. Not to mention, every time you lean it up against something to take a pee or grab something, it inevitably falls to the ground.

But I am thankful for ramps, automatic doors and buses that can lower their decks. As much as I've always tried to avoid misusing accessibility infrastructure so that those who need it have it, I'm glad it's there now when I need it. 

And then there's the motivation-draining aspect of this whole thing. Like I don't wanna do ANYTHING right now. I could be forgiven for wanting to avoid building a barn or cleaning house, but I don't even want to sit and play video games or play guitar - like non-standing things. I just want to lie around. 

Ah well. Hopefully, it fades off by the end of the week, and I can start to feel like a normal person again soon. 

The world needs more than stories

 Back at the beginning of July, I played my first "real gig" at Moose Jaw's Sidewalk Days festival. From almost the first moment I was there, I noticed that there were a bunch of people walking around with nice big walking sticks. I mean - wooden broom handles. But walking sticks nonetheless. 

I asked around and was always given the friendly note that you could get one at the south end of Main Street. No one said how much they were or how I was to get one. 

So it was that after my performance and before I had a busking shift to start that I mosied my way down to the south end of Main Street to see if I could obtain my own walking stick. But as I approached the booth with a barrel full of broomsticks, I knew I'd been duped. This was no hippie selling recycled broom handles to gullible festival goers. No, this was an evangelical church, and they'd be happy to give you a walking stick and a string of beads. If you listen to a story. 

I established earlier this summer that I'm probably not going to be swayed to the Lord by some story, but I did kinda want a walking stick, and I do try and approach life with an open mind. Plus, I kinda wanted to hear this story if nothing else. Boy, was I in for a letdown. 

A letdown because there were no stories. Just some old white dude giving me a list of rules I needed to follow - all with "in a Christian church" appended to them. Like 10 minutes standing with this man and he couldn't tell me a single story.

What a waste. I may no longer be a Christian, but I was once, and I know that the Bible is positively PACKED with stories. And Jesus did a lot of work spreading his message using stories. Does anyone remember the good Samaritan or the prodigal son? Like stories abound. But this dude couldn't find one of them to tell me. I wanted a piece of wood, but he wanted my soul - and that's gonna cost more than $7. 

So it was that as he reached the end of his checklist of rules and pivoted to "can we pray together?" that I stopped him. I explained to him that there was no story told in the last five minutes. I explained that I had been raised in a Christian church, and the things I had seen had been what drove me away from faith. And that couldn't be bought back with a broomstick and some dollar store beads. 

Fast forward to this Saturday afternoon, as I was walking the dogs and thinking about this interaction again. I don't know if I saw a broomstick or a flyer for a local church, or what had me thinking about that. And I was thinking about how badly churches are failing themselves and humanity these days. How these institutions that are supposed to be built on a foundation of charity and love are spending more time trying to control and manipulate. 

And in that moment, I stumbled across a man lying on the ground next to the old abandoned church near my house, unresponsive. 

I did what the churches aren't doing. I stopped and offered aid. 

It's a bit more convoluted than that, to be sure. I tried to rouse him and couldn't. I had to run my giant Newfie home because she was very concerned with this person and was getting loud and belligerent. I didn't have a phone to call 911. I was not in a position to offer easy help. So I ran home, dropped off the dog, grabbed my phone and ran back. 

I was able to get the man up, but he was in terrible shape, and I called an ambulance to come offer assistance. The story doesn't have much from there. I kept him safe and gave him instructions, monitored him until the paramedics arrived, then I was left on my own to ponder what had just happened. 

And that pondering led me to the place of - could this man have been helped to a healthier place if that church had spent less time trying to con people into faith and more time trying to help the poor? Could the money spent on wooden dowels have been spent on food, education or drug treatment? 

I've been thinking a lot about this over the weekend. Whenever I am tempted to volunteer to help others, it's never through a religious organization. And after nearly 2 decades in "the hood" I've never even seen a Christian church lending help. I do see the Sikhs feeding people every weekend. So if I were going to consider a faith, it's more likely to be Sikh or Buddhist. Because those are the people I see actually helping. Faith for the sake of faith isn't enough. 

And so ends another tirade about religion. But at least in my anti-religion tirade, I told a story. Actually, I told two. 

Checkmate.