The Hot Shoulder

It's a bit of a cliché that every time you hit a major milestone in aging, your body decides it's going to stop working in one way or another. For example, when you turn 30, it seems you get hurt when you never would have been hurt before. Then you turn 40, and nothing heals anymore. You just cut yourself peeling an orange, get sepsis and die. 

Last year, at 44, I got a little bit philosophical and talked about how I wasn't going to let things bother me and was just going to go with the flow. Take things a little bit easier and maybe enjoy life a bit. 44 was pretty good. I enjoyed being 44. But a week and a bit ago I turned 45, and this is the beginning of the end.  

The problem first started coming back from camping when I noticed that my shoulder was a little bit sore. This is nothing new. It's sort of in that same 30- to 40-year-old aging thing. You take a little bit of time doing physical labour and the next thing you know, you're a little bit sore and hurt. But that soreness was not getting better. 

So on the Tuesday, I asked Rhonda if she'd mind giving me a little bit of a back rub and help to loosen things up a little bit. She was very generous and did exactly that. The back half felt great. A good massage was starting to loosen things up. Was hoping that maybe I could enjoy the rest of my time off. 

Then she said, "Turn over. Let's get the front half." And so began (so far) over a week of agonizing pain, hospital visits and really no end in sight as far as pain and shoulder injury is concerned. 

Wednesday morning, I ended up in Urgent Care in so much pain. I could barely see. They took some X-rays, poked at it, prescribed a few medications for me and sent me on my way. That night, the pain was so extreme and so unmanageable. I found myself in the Pasqua Hospital emergency room.

No shade on the nurse practitioner who saw me at Urgent Care, but there was a lot more going on there than just a little bit of shoulder injury. The doctor at the emergency room diagnosed me with a serious form of tendonitis and took me off work for at least a week. Gave me some very strong drugs and stuck me full of needles and things to try and get things under control. 

 Why is this tube full of air?

It actually took about 8 hours for them to get the pain under control, and if I'm honest, it only lasted about 6 hours before I was back to where I was. But at least now I've got some idea of why I can barely even see straight. 

So yeah, that really is my life right now. Just constant fucking pain. Even this blog is being dictated because the idea of sitting with my shoulders up typing right now is too much to bear. I'll just be happy to dictate today's post to you. But I'm sitting in the sun, and that's kind of nice. Makes me warm. 

Holding it together with hockey tape like my ancestors did.

I'm going to say I'm really impressed and want to vigourously applaud the staff in the two emergency rooms that I interacted with, both at Urgent Care and at the emergency room at the Pasqua. They were patient, good communicators, and they were very compassionate. I got a lot of help and a lot of comfort from them. Bravo to each and every one of those men and women who helped me out. They were great people. 

But the government of Saskatchewan can go fuck itself. I'm not impressed. That wait times I now need to navigate are unacceptable. And to be sure this is painful - but it's not life threatening. God help those people who are waiting on the government to let them die. 

I was given a referral for an ultrasound so we can see what's going on and develop some kind of treatment or intervention to make this better. The very soonest that I can see a radiologist to get an ultrasound is the end of November this year. So, foreseeably, I have to wait at least 4 months to even get a test to tell me what is actually happening in my shoulder so that I can start doing the exercises and treatment I need.

I was also given a referral to a physiotherapist. It's a week later and have not heard or seen a fucking word from any of them. So here I am trying to self-diagnose and self-treat using YouTube and the internet. I hear complaints from people in the medical field about how people self-diagnose and self-treat using the internet and using YouTube, but what the fuck else am I supposed to do? Honestly, what am I supposed to do? I have no access to effective treatment. I might just start bloodletting because what other options am I being given?

And of course there's the mental health part of all of this too that I've got to contend with. I took 2 weeks off of work. One week was going to be camping and the second week was going to be getting some things done. Get someone to come quote a new door in the back, do some work on the lawn, maybe see about getting the car fixed. You know, make some plans and get shit done. A lot is falling apart in my house, and a lot of things need to be taken care of, and I had a plan to do that. Until my fucking shoulder went out on me, and now what? Just let it fall apart, I guess; let it all fall apart because I can't get timely medical help and my body won't let me take care of the places around me until I do.

It also extends to some of the fun stuff. I wanted to maybe do a little bit of recording, sit down and do some multi-track demos. I wrote a song while I was out camping that I'd like to demo out, but I'm in too much pain. I can't even focus right now. If it wasn't for voice-to-text, you wouldn't even be getting a blog this week cuz I just can't do it. 

All that to say, 45 fucking sucks. I wish I was 44 again, and I'm not looking forward to 46. Just hoping I can make it through the next few weeks.

Down in the Valley

I'm a couple of days back from a week camping at Echo Lake campground in the Qu'Appelle Valley. It's one of my favourite places in the world, and Rhonda had to tolerate me insisting we should move there for another week. 

I don't feel that way when I visit the Lumsden, Buffalo Pound or even Manitou part of the valley; it's mostly right around Qu'Appelle, which I suppose makes sense since I was born in Melville. We spent time at Crooked Lake when I was really little, and even after we'd moved away from there, we'd regularly pass through on the way to visiting Melville. Going for ice cream at the DQ still feels like a required stop when I go through town. 

Thanks to non-existent cell service at our campsite and my bonehead forgetting to throw the book I was going to read into my bag, I had a lot of time to meditate and contemplate on the trip. This isn't as disastrous as it seems on the surface. It was a stated goal of mine to get really bored that week, sort of reset the brain box and maybe find a bit of peace in my own mind. And I think I did. I certainly found myself in a few deep meditations and finding peace and rest instead of scrolling. It was very nice.  

A few times I found myself pondering what the valley would have been like for the Indigenous people before Europeans came and took hold of the land. I've heard stories that it was a gathering place and that it was also a place of refuge from severe weather. You could survive a bitter winter or scorching summer in the trees of the valley. Certainly that cool shade was welcome on some of the hotter days last week. 

There is plenty of more modern history written about the area, like the coming of the Hudson Bay, the myth of the naming of Qu'Appelle and most prominently for people who live where I do - the signing of Treaty 4. But I was curious to learn more about that pre-history time. I had some questions. 

Unfortunately, there isn't much of anything online beyond what I've already said. I mean, some of it has a bit more detail, but really what I found could be summed up in a paragraph. I'm curious if perhaps more was happening or about to happen in the valley. Famously, what we call "civilization" was first developed in the Indus Valley, and there are many other examples of civilizations forming in resource-rich valleys all over the world. 

We also know that there were a number of more advanced civilizations in the Americas prior to the arrival of the Europeans, like the Aztecs and Maya. Is it possible that the Cree would have started their own cities in the valley over the next few hundred years if left unmolested by colonialism?

I suppose there's a lot more to it than just having a nice valley and some hard-working people to make something of it. You need things like animal domestication and agriculture. I'm not sure if this area necessarily has the kind of flora and fauna to make something of that, but at the very least, we know people were finding enough to survive here; it's really only a few more steps to building more of that. While we know the bison weren't domesticated, the people in the area of what we call Buffalo Pound built infrastructure to help them harvest the animals. In looking around, I found more modern stories of the people of the valley harvesting berries and roots to sell at the market in Regina. 

So maybe. Obviously, we'll never know. But it seems to me that there was certainly the kind of bounty needed to plant the seeds of civilization, and it was a well-known place of refuge and sustenance. 

But then again, this is me looking at this through a particular lens. Is civilization and modernity really something to be proud of or contemplated? Indigenous people lived in this area for thousands of years in balance with nature. That seems like an enormous success, right up until Europeans came along and stripped away the stories, the culture and the way of life. 

Do you ever contemplate the ancient history of the places you visit? Where is your zen place in the world? I have another visit to the valley scheduled in a few weeks. I'm going to try and take some time to visit the local museums; maybe I can find a book or some other resources to learn a bit more about the valley. 

Delicious, delicious organs

Every few weeks, one of our managers or other leaders will host a learning session during our weekly department meeting. Occasionally, that means we get a guest speaker who works in communications/marketing or public relations in another organization. We've had guests from other government departments, police services and other levels of government. 

They're always really informative sessions, and it's nice to network and connect with other people in the industry. What we do in communications is as much about making connections as it is about writing words on a page. Especially in the PR/Marketing part of what we do. 

Our most recent guest was from the Saskatchewan Health Authority, and more specifically, from the team that works with the Saskatchewan Organ Registry. She talked about some of the challenges and opportunities they've had in promoting the Registry and some of the work they've done to help spread the message. 

In the opportunity column, unfortunately, many of the chances they have to spread the news about organ donation come after a tragedy or loss. For example, after the Broncos Bus crash in 2018, player Logan Boulet donated his organs. This led to a groundswell of people registering and a grassroots campaign to get the word out. Our guest has used that movement to help promote the registry in Saskatchewan and get people talking about it. 

Likewise, in life and in death, Bella Thompson (Bella Brave) and her mother, Kyla Thompson, shone a bright spotlight on organ donation and worked (and still work) with the Saskatchewan Health Authority to spread the word about organ donation. 

The most relatable part of her presentation for me was in one of the challenges - folklore and false information that prevents willing people from registering. It spoke to me because, as someone who works to communicate traffic safety, we run into this all the time. You aren't better off without a seatbelt than with one. The slowest person on the road isn't the danger - it's the fastest people. But try to convince Buddy from Radville of that. 

The other way this connected with me was that I saw I was also a victim of a misconception that was preventing me from being registered to donate. The misconception is that the red sticker on my health card and donation card in my wallet are enough. They are not, and no longer indicate consent to take my organs if I die. Honestly, I think one of the kids tried to tell me this once, and I even ignored her. If you want to donate your organs to help others in Saskatchewan, you need to be registered. Not only does it make it easier on authorities to learn that you want to donate, but what if you die without your wallet on you? I know, you sleep with your wallet, but what if you're taking a shower or someone steals your pants while you're showing off how you can do a helicopter? It also makes your consent very clear and has a feature to inform your loved ones about donating. Best not leave it to chance. 

The good news? Registering is really easy. Like, it probably takes less time than filling out that tiny donation card. And it also looks way better than that ratchet old health card you've had tumbling around since 1997. 

Just visit the Saskatchewan Organ and Tissue Donation Registry website and go through the prompts. I'm positive it took me less than 5 minutes, and that included writing Rhonda a tender message about why I was donating and encouraging her to donate as well. 

That tender message actually kinda choked me up to write. It's hard to think of putting your family through that decision at such a hard time. So it was important to be sensitive, grateful and explain my decision. 

Rhonda, a registered nurse, also registered to donate in response. Her letter was just "yep, I'm donating, thanks for the reminder". Medical people can be so callous. 

If you aren't already registered and organ donation is something you're willing to do for someone else, go do it today and encourage your friends and family to help out too. If you're like me and think that you already were because of the red dot on your health card, well, times have changed. Sask Health may never update our health cards, but you can update your donation wishes! 

If you don't want to, hey, I respect that. If you're willing to share, why not? I'm curious to learn why. My personal belief is that while I might not know exactly where my spirit will go when I die, but I know it's not taking my stuff or my body with it. I'd much rather it be useful to someone else. But maybe that doesn't jive with you. Share in the comments if you like! 

(Heat) Strokin' Out

 I've spent the last two weekends in Manitou Beach at the Manitou Beach Busking Festival as a performer. A fabulous couple of weekends, a well-run event and a great chance to catch up with some old music friends and meet some new ones. 

The first weekend was very wet, the tail end of the weeks of rain we've been seeing around these parts. I'm not being hyperbolic in saying we had rain pretty much every single day for about 4 weeks. Great for the lawn I'm trying to regrow, terrible for my tan. 

Well, the rain finally broke this weekend, and Saturday and Sunday were clear and very hot. For the most part, I handled it well on Saturday. I found shade where I needed to, took long breaks and slammed the first Gatorade I've consumed in a few years. A solid B+ performance for taking care of myself on Saturday. 

Sunday, on the other hand, I threw all caution to the wind. 

Not that it was intentional. I certainly started the day off with good behaviour and made efforts to stay cool and hydrated. But that started to slip in the afternoon. I had picked up an extra busking hour at "il Pirato", the local guitar luthier, and ended up working a second hour when the next performer didn't show up. Happy to play and even happier to make a few more bucks. But I probably should have spent that time in the shade. 

I had to leave that performance and head straight down to the beach, where I had my final performance in the direct sun - already a bit crispy from the 2 hours I'd just spent performing. 

Suffice it to say, it didn't go great. I actually got a clip of video from a friend who was there, and I would really like to just bury it.  You can hear the heat stroke in my performance. 

I drove home straight from the performance, about 2 hours, and while I was tired, I didn't think I was in any extreme distress. I suppose I should have clued in to how I ate the peach on the drive. It was like a wolf going after a toddler's arm in Moose Jaw. Got home, unpacked - all seemed relatively normal. Tired, hungry, but not in any distress. 

Nah, the distress came yesterday. It started the moment I woke up, when my whole body seized up, and I let out a cry that Rhonda could only compare to the screaming of the Nazgul. It didn't take me long to realize that things weren't good. I could barely open my eyes and could only slowly shuffle around the house. I tried to go through my morning routine, make coffee, and get lunch ready. But I soon concluded that I wasn't leaving the house. I probably shouldn't leave bed. 

And so, this is where you find me, reader. I've recovered a bit. The cherry sunburn is turning to a lovely chocolate tan. I can stand upright for a few minutes and even made the trip to the bus this morning. I've still got a pretty sore neck and shoulder from playing so much, but I'm at least mobile again today. 

I'm very glad for the break from the rain. But my God, the sun sure did a number on me! 

Who'll stop the rain?

After a good run of very dry years, summer 2026 has been a pretty wet spring/summer. The snow left late, and I think it's rained nearly every day for the past month. 

Overall, being 44, I'm pretty happy about how it's helping my grass. I've been trying to re-grow my front lawn after the City dug it up last summer to replace the sweet, sweet lead in my pipes with lifeless plastic. With daily rain, it means I don't need to haul the hose out every night to keep the thing watered. I am, however, ready for it to dry up a little bit so I can mow. 

It's hit extra hard in Regina over the last few weeks. Back on June 9, we got hit with a massive hailstorm. Toonie-sized hail, y'all. It was a wild night. I was sitting on the back deck watching the clouds roll in. There was a big, loud blast of lightning/thunder, and then I could just hear this dull rumble in the distance. I sat and watched over the next two minutes as it got closer and louder. To the point where I was a little worried I was hearing a tornado coming, not hail. But then the telltale "ping" of a stone hitting a downspout and the storm front hit. Luckily, our new car was one neighbourhood over and was completely missed. And the Traverse was in the garage. Kayah's car, on the other hand, now looks like a golf ball. And that's not the last abuse we're going to hear about that car here. 

Would I lie to you?

This past weekend brought another dump on Regina, this time just heavy rain. I caught the start of the storm on my way to Manitou Beach, where I was performing at the Manitou busking festival. I texted home and advised everyone to move their cars in. Kayah did not get the message. The water got up to about three feet in the street out front. Amazing, since, as I mentioned at the start of this post, they spent all last summer replacing the plumbing under our street. So Kayah's car got flooded and is now drying in the garage. That poor car may not survive the summer. 

It only got worse from here.

To top it all off, I had to go to Saskatoon for a media event yesterday. Got soaked again. I mean, good for the crops, good for the forest fire guys. I might even be able to get through my summer holidays without a fire ban. And I'd like to enjoy my second weekend in Manitou next weekend without all of the mud. I'm pretty good at camping, and I kept myself dry and comfortable last weekend. But guh that mud all over and just slipping everywhere. Plus, I actually had to dry out my guitar and case when I got home on Sunday. A first for me. 

So yeah. There's my weekly report, from the Vancouver of the prairies. Hope you're staying dry, safe and afloat! 

Another Graduation

 With absolutely no forewarning, Kayah graduated from high school yesterday. 

I joke that there was no warning, but in some respects, I'm serious. It was clear in the conversation Rhonda and I had on the way home after dropping her off that it did kinda sneak up on us. Like Kayah talked about it all year, and we only bought 19 grad dresses, and it was basically all anyone was allowed to mention the last couple of weeks. But I don't think either of us really processed that Kayah was here. 

Kayah is a spicy person. She exploded into our lives and has been the center of so much of our family for most of it. That's not all negative - although there were times it was. She's just a very big personality in a little lady. I think that's why this snuck up, we've kinda learned to maybe put some of Kayah's enthusiasm on a shelf just to preserve our own mental space. 

And lordy, how dynamic this little lady has become. She's headed to U of R in the fall to start a degree in Social Work, with some intention to head into law from there. I can see that path adjusting over the next few years, but at the end of it, I know she'll do her work helping people and sharing that big, caring heart with so much of the world. 

For as chaotic as Kayah can be, the grad itself was textbook boring. 3 hours of names just being read over and over and over. Then another half hour at the prom supper that night. Strangely, I was embracing that boredom lately. There's a lot of talk these days about how we don't allow ourselves to be bored anymore. We always have a phone to scroll or a game to play. I just sat back and let it happen. As it is, even though (or maybe because) I hate ceremony, I don't attend many. A funeral here or there, and the odd award thing is maybe all I have to suffer. I did it a lot more when I was younger, going to church every weekend. Plus, the last few weeks have been chaotic, as was the day itself yesterday. Why not sit back and just zone out? Let the brain drain out some of those harmful stress hormones? 

Aside from the ceremony - which was like every other grad ceremony I've been to - we also went to a prom dinner. Rhonda and I finally got to meet Kayah's boyfriend's parents. She's only been dating him for 3 years. Suppose it was time. They seem like delightful folks, about a decade older than us. Their son is their youngest, and Kayah is our middle kiddo. So they're just wrapping up the kid part of life. We've got 3 more years. 

Various offspring

The day and how grown up Kayah's become didn't hit me until we had the dad/daughter dance at the start of the prom. She's still my little Kayah, but she's so grown up, so full of ideas and dreams and potential. I'm so incredibly proud of her. Not the high school thing, there were like 200 people in that room that achieved that. Hell, even THE NAVIGATOR graduated. Nothing to be proud of there. But she's grown into such a motivated and caring young woman, and dancing with her there last night it just sort of all came to me. Michelle even messaged to ask me where the Dad tears were, like just because I didn't share it on social didn't mean it wasn't there. 

So yeah. 2 of 3 graduated, and I'm sure this last one is gonna happen FAST. It seems like just yesterday I was showing Kayah how to take the bus to school, and the next day it was Jonas. So tomorrow, he should be graduating, right? 

Finals

Kayah is graduating next Monday which means this week... is finals. 

Cue dramatic music

I was bugging her about studying and she quickly retorted that I was probably the kind of person that never studied. I told her I did study but only when I wanted to and I didn't want to very often. So I would settle for for a 70 instead of the high 90s that she's shooting for. 

In my adulthood, I'm finding the best way for me to learn is to learn while I'm applying the knowledge. 

A couple of years ago I graduated from the Public Relations Diploma at the University of Victoria. It was a distance education course that took me about 3 years to finish. It was really in-depth and really rewarding, but I think I got the most out of it because I was also working for a media relations shop while taking the education. 

I was able to apply the things I learned at night to my daily work and a lot of things really stuck and connected because of that. Plus I think I challenged the people I worked with quite a bit. This arrangement really worked for me and it showed up in my marks. I finished the program with a 91% average and a deep understanding of public relations. 

I'm finding the same thing as I'm re-entering the music scene. I'm making mistakes and going down. Weird paths but it's teaching me some lessons while I learn other lessons online and read about things. I've been taking seminars and going to songwriter meetups to try and learn more about the craft. But I'm also out there playing gigs making mistakes in the studio. And meeting people all along the way. I'm having a great time learning this way.

 But, I feel like I'm in my own finals. Maybe an easier like grade 9 finals, but finals nonetheless. After the release of Trevor's Tincture back in May, I've been playing almost non-stop with an out of town gig pretty much every weekend. It's not just teaching me to play and entertain, but how to manage my life and responsibilities while being out so much. It's been busy. Very busy. 

That's not something you can learn by watching YouTube videos or practicing scales in the bedroom. You need to actually do the work to figure out logistics like where you're staying the night, how to plan out your travel to arrive on time (but not too early), how to negotiate contracts and how to handle everyone calling you the "kazoo guy" now. 

I still have 3 out-of-town weekends ahead and then there's really nothing on my calendar for a while. I'm kinda relieved. I could use the break from travelling, spend some time watering my lawn and just generally doing a little bit less for a while. But of course - something will come along. 

Oh and in the midst of this all, Kayah is graduating. 

Sigh. 

 

Damn wee wooos

 Hello reader. I'm feeling a bit lethargic this morning, so I've decided to ask a friend to do a guest post on Pilot's World today. Please enjoy and be kind; she's a new writer.  - Pilot

Hellos!

My name is Ahsoka Francesca Newfounland IV. As my last name hints, I am a Newfoundland-breed dog. I am 5 and a half years old. 

Me enjoying the finer things on Doodey Street

As you know, Pilot is a man, and I am a dog, so I am his best friend. Not just a friend, as indicated in that rather weak introduction. Thanks for the rousing introduction, man. 

An interesting fact about me is that I have lived for my entire life on a street named "Cameron". Even before I moved in with Pilot, the house where I was born was also on Cameron. Just a few blocks north of where I live now! 

It's a pretty nice street. There are lots of trees around to sniff, and on any given day, someone has left a hot dog bun or some leftover spaghetti on the ground for doggos like me to enjoy. It's pretty great.  

But there is another street very close to Cameron that's not so great. Sometimes we go walking on that street. Its name is Doodey Street, I think they call it that after a big piece of shit. There are not as many trees, and there are lots of cars that drive very fast on it. 

But there is one particular type of car that's extra annoying. Always looking for attention, they're constantly screaming, "wee woo, wee woo," or sometimes really fast, "wow wow wow wow." All hours of the day and night, "wee woo, wee woo."

Now, I am as fond as the next person of giving a nice loud "AWOOO" or even a few nice "woof woofs" when you meet someone. I mean, you need to let them know you're excited to meet them. But these guys are next level. You can hear them for BLOCKS. 

That noise kind of annoys me, but it sends my brother Liberty into an absolute crisis. He has to howl back and gets all antsy. Sometimes he even needs to go hide with Mom. He puts on a brave face, but I think he's secretly a bit of a coward. 

But sometimes I get to see these loud cars, and it's even worse than all the noise they make. Some of the cars are small, some even look like Dad's car, which he takes us on rides in. Others are really BIG with lots of hoses on them. Liberty always tells me he'd love to bite one of those hoses, that it's probably way better to bite than the little snakey hose we have in the yard. 

But the worst part is that if they aren't attention hogs enough, they're covered in flashing lights! If I could see colour, I wonder what colour they'd be? Probably glitter. 

The noisy menace is filling my street with water

Sometimes they even escape Doodey and come onto our street, at which point these men in big snow suits come out and start breaking stuff! They take big hammers and start knocking holes in things, then they take those hoses and start filling people's houses with water! I mean, I love water, but I don't want to SLEEP in it. 

Rude. 

The menace kidnaps people across the street.

Sometimes these other smaller ones come, and they just straight up steal people. Sometimes they're strapped to a bed with wheels on it. Other times, they tie a person's hands up and throw them in the back, and the car drives away again with those flashing lights and noises. 

These cars are an absolute menace, and since my Dad isn't doing a DAMN THING ABOUT IT, I call on you, gentle reader, will you please come (bring Capone and Sadie) and tell them to be quiet? Tell them to go inside and leave us alone. I know they can go inside, I saw some going inside their home a long way away on Doodey a couple of years ago when Dad would take me on super long walks. (Hey Dad, when are we doing a long walk again?)

I'm glad that I've been able to catch a few pictures of these criminals from the front window. You can see a lot from there, and I'm always very vigilant to let people know when these bad boys are around. Or if there's a dog on the street. 

In conclusion, I wish there weren't so many grandstanding cars around. We all need a bit of noise in our lives, but I'm totally sick of it. And their behaviour is terrible. They need to leave people alone. 

-Ahsoka 🐾

Old Man Yells at Bus

I ride the bus to work every day, plus any time I need to get downtown. I know the bus isn't for everyone, and it's only because I live in a particular part of town that it comes in as convenient for me. Like faster than driving to work, convenient. Faster than walking, convenient. 

What can I say, I ride a chauffeured vehicle that costs many millions of dollars to work every day. 

Score. 

But the shine has started to wear off my trusty transit transportation tale. 

The longest-standing issue has been with many of the drivers. To be sure, there are many great drivers in Regina Transit, and when the ride is smooth, it's kinda blissful. You can just relax and get home. But there's quite a crop of drivers coming out lately that make me wonder if they truly obtained their Class 1 licence. Jerky stops and starts, and rude behaviour can really ruin that end-of-day ride. 

In some cases, I get it. Being a bus driver seems good on paper, but when you look at the reality, it's not all sitting on your butt saying hello to Mrs. Jenkins. I've seen people full fist punch the bus, overdose and get in fights on the bus. More than any driver is paid to deal with. 

The riders are the other wildcard. Sometimes you can have a deep philosophical chat on the nature of words. Other times, they're punching the side of the bus so hard you wonder how they don't break a hand. Seen people overdose on the bus. And don't even get me started on not being able to use the accessible seating while I'm having a gout attack because some loser won't move. 

And I think that those things are pretty universal gripes with transit all over the world. It's hard to deliver that kind of service well. 

But Regina Transit has started to cross the line with me lately. It started in April when the cost of a monthly pass went up by $9. A 10% increase. Just like that.

Now, I am in a place where I can absorb that cost. I get it, the world is getting more expensive. But, for a lot of people, they can't. So there will be more of those violent encounters to look forward to. 

And the coup de gras? They removed both of the stops where I get picked up and dropped off. Like gone. They won't pick me up there anymore. So this mobility-challenged man is now forced to walk an extra two blocks at the start and end of my day. In addition to the two extra blocks I've been walking downtown for the last 2 years while the City takes FIVE FREAKING YEARS TO FIX ONE STREET. It's tolerable right now in clear weather, but once the snow returns, those extra blocks are going to be un-navigable for me. 

Yes, I'll write a letter. And yes, I'll get my blood pressure up when I read their dismissive response about cost-cutting. Talk about the danger of monopoly, as it is companies are trying to charge more for less, and when it's a government monopoly, they won't even hesitate. 

The next time I see the word "accessible" on the bus, I swear to God I'll deface it. Transit is a service for the lowest earners and the lease priviledged among us. If you're making it inaccessible and expensive, then who exactly is this service serving? 

No one. 

Results-driven Elmer Fudd

Many, many years ago, my youngest sister, Shanna (Soulfood), had a little rabbit named George. George had all black fur and was very small. Like very, very small. I don't know if he was some breed of dwarf rabbit or what, but he was always able to fit in the palm of my hand. 

Shanna always wanted a rabbit, so there was some delight when she finally got one. But at the same time, I don't know that she was in a position to care for an animal yet. At the same time, she was about 15 when she got George, so also just a teenager. And who cares about anything when you're a teenager? 

And so it fell to me on occasion to look after the little guy. Not that this was much of a lift, feed him, clean out his cage, play with him once in a while. One day, while I was playing with ol' George, Mom instructed me to go give that rabbit a bath. 

I recall even saying then, "Do rabbits need baths?" My thought was maybe they're self-cleaning. Like a cat. Or the oven. 

But mom insisted so dutifully, I proceeded. I took George to the sink, put in some water and gave him a gentle scrub. After that, I wiped him off, put a towel in the bottom of the bathtub and let George run around a bit in there to get totally dry - rather than put him back in his cage where his wet fur would just get clogged with woodchips. 

I left for a moment to do something and, upon return, found ol' George dead as a doornail.

It was pretty upsetting. I mentioned it in a discussion with Kayah last week that I haven't faced death that often. Since then, I've said goodbye to a couple of dogs and many fish. But up to that point, it had only been some distant or very old relatives. I'd never stared death in the face. 

Fast forward 25 years to Sunday night (Monday morning?), and I was driving south on Highway 2 on the way home from a gig in Prince Albert. I had just passed the turnoff to Penzance when a streak dashed from the ditch to the left of me and directly under my bumper. The last I would see was two tall rabbit ears before a sickening THUMP. 

Pilot's rabbit bodycount: 2. 

Talk about taking the joy out of a good night. Luckily, the car wasn't damaged, but that poor rabbit is now another mess of roadkill on the side of the road. 

I'm not so sure why Elmer Fudd found rabbit hunting so hard. I've taken two down without too much effort, and in my part of the world, you can walk within a couple of feet of a rabbit. I guess it speaks to the skill and intelligence of Bugs Bunny that he was able to survive so many run-ins.  But I do think ol' Elmer may need some guidance from an experienced hunter. 

Because if I were in a survival situation, I'd be eating rabbit.