I was originally going to post a simple picture of my mother, Helen, but technical difficulties that excede my technical abilities arose and this was the best alternative I could come up with on the spur of the moment. So, with my sincerest apologies to poets and hockey fans everywhere:
The puck drops in spring.
Sixteen battle with sweat and blood.
One drinks from the Cup.
Monday, 9 April 2012
Friday, 6 April 2012
Forty Three
I will be turning 43 on April 10. Please save your well-wishing. Within a week of turning 40 everything started going down hill. My already grey hair turned greyer; I would physically injure myself doing the most trivial of tasks, like stepping off a curb, and I take much longer to heal. I started having more "senior moments" where I would forget what I just did more "senior moments" where I would forget what I just did just did (a joke - not sloppy editing). I seemed to have aged dramatically over night.
Now, I am on the threshold of 43 and things aren't getting any easier:
Now, I am on the threshold of 43 and things aren't getting any easier:
- I'm at the age where I have to start worrying about my prostate, which reminds me that I have to find a doctor with smaller fingers;
- I have cholesterol issues that my doctor has given me until the beginning of June to address through lifestyle changes;
- Speaking of doctors, when did they all become so young?
- When I get up from sitting, my bones crack like someone's letting loose with automatic gun fire.
- People are calling me "Mister" and, worse, "Sir";
- I need bifocals, maybe even trifocals;
- I now drive a minivan, or as I now like to call it, a swagger wagon;
- I ache all the time;
- Tweed is suddenly an appealing fashion choice;
- Elderly widows look at me like so much fresh meat.
Thursday, 5 April 2012
Easter
Well, Easter is coming up again. Sadly, I am not particularly Christian, so it's religious significance is lost on me. But, like a lot of Christian holidays, the day has been secularized and commercialized out of all recognition. I am okay with that, though, since a lot of Christian holidays are themselves merely co-opted from ancient pagan celebrations.
I have to admit, though, that worshipping a bunny that delivers chocolate to children seems to be a step or two down from even pagan religions that celebrated whatever it was at this time of the year - Spring, renewal, the cycle of life and death - let alone the death and resurrection of humanity's saviour.
In any case, whatever your beliefs, be they commercial, secular, pagan or Christian, I wish you all a happy and safe Easter.
I have to admit, though, that worshipping a bunny that delivers chocolate to children seems to be a step or two down from even pagan religions that celebrated whatever it was at this time of the year - Spring, renewal, the cycle of life and death - let alone the death and resurrection of humanity's saviour.
In any case, whatever your beliefs, be they commercial, secular, pagan or Christian, I wish you all a happy and safe Easter.
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
Depression
I am currently in the grips of my second major depressive episode in ten years, which really bothers me because after the last time I swore I would be more vigilant and nip it in the bud with all the useful cognitive behaviour therapy techniques I had learned. Nonetheless, here I am.
Depression is an insidious disease because you can't see it. It can't be imaged with x-rays or CAT scans. It is insidious because it screws up your thinking. I love when people say "What do you have to be depressed about?" On one level they are right: I have a wonderful wife and daughter, am gainfully employed, am reasonably healthy, but depression doesn't care. My depression makes me feel like I am missing something in my life. My depression makes me think my next door neighbours are the devil incarnate - way out of proportion to their actual offences. My depression robs me of pleasure in various aspects of my life. My depression makes concentrating on tasks very difficult, so that I can only manage 15 or 20 minutes at a time. My head feels like it is in a near constant fog. My depression saps all energy from my body; if I'm lucky I have maybe four hours of relative alertness in the morning where I can hope to get things done, the rest of the time is spent on the couch or in bed. I sleep 10 to 13 hours a day and could probably sleep a good bit more than that.
I am one of the lucky few who does not seem to respond to medication. I've tried them all: Mannerix, Celexa, Cipralex, Mytazapine, Abilify, Zoloft, Effexor, Wellbutrin. None have had more than a fleeting effect. I also do behavioural and mindfulness therapy with my psychologist, which I believe help me from falling further than I already have.
My last depression eventually resolved itself, after three years. That's a long time to feel like crap, though that experience is reassuring in that I just have to ride it out and I'll come out the other end of this very dark tunnel feeling like myself.
So, here's to the rest of the ride - may it be shorter than the last.
Depression is an insidious disease because you can't see it. It can't be imaged with x-rays or CAT scans. It is insidious because it screws up your thinking. I love when people say "What do you have to be depressed about?" On one level they are right: I have a wonderful wife and daughter, am gainfully employed, am reasonably healthy, but depression doesn't care. My depression makes me feel like I am missing something in my life. My depression makes me think my next door neighbours are the devil incarnate - way out of proportion to their actual offences. My depression robs me of pleasure in various aspects of my life. My depression makes concentrating on tasks very difficult, so that I can only manage 15 or 20 minutes at a time. My head feels like it is in a near constant fog. My depression saps all energy from my body; if I'm lucky I have maybe four hours of relative alertness in the morning where I can hope to get things done, the rest of the time is spent on the couch or in bed. I sleep 10 to 13 hours a day and could probably sleep a good bit more than that.
I am one of the lucky few who does not seem to respond to medication. I've tried them all: Mannerix, Celexa, Cipralex, Mytazapine, Abilify, Zoloft, Effexor, Wellbutrin. None have had more than a fleeting effect. I also do behavioural and mindfulness therapy with my psychologist, which I believe help me from falling further than I already have.
My last depression eventually resolved itself, after three years. That's a long time to feel like crap, though that experience is reassuring in that I just have to ride it out and I'll come out the other end of this very dark tunnel feeling like myself.
So, here's to the rest of the ride - may it be shorter than the last.
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
Courage and Cancer
My mother had breast cancer when she was in her 40s. A life-long smoker, whe ended up getting lung cancer, which, after a long battle, claimed her life on New Years Eve of 1998. Her father, sister and brother also died of lung cancer and another brother survived lung cancer. A friend died of liver cancer. Now my wife, Kate, is battling Stage IV breast cancer.
I recall not too long ago a series of letters to the editor being published in the Ottawa Citizen (which I can't seem to find in their online archive) about whether the term "battle" is the right word with respect to coping with illness. In my book, anyone who is touched by cancer has earned the right to call it a battle or a cakewalk or whatever else they want to call it.
Whatever one chooses to call how they deal with the disease, I can assure you that many face it with courage. Kate is an ideal example. She remains in relatively good spirits despite being in either constant pain or asleep because of the pain medication. She continues to be a loving and supportive wife and an amazing mother. Even though her family, friends, medical staff and I are with her and helping and supporting her in any way we can, the disease is in her body alone. I imagine that could be a lonely feeling and dealing with it requires courage and strength. I love Kate, but I also admire her resolve in this battle.
I recall not too long ago a series of letters to the editor being published in the Ottawa Citizen (which I can't seem to find in their online archive) about whether the term "battle" is the right word with respect to coping with illness. In my book, anyone who is touched by cancer has earned the right to call it a battle or a cakewalk or whatever else they want to call it.
Whatever one chooses to call how they deal with the disease, I can assure you that many face it with courage. Kate is an ideal example. She remains in relatively good spirits despite being in either constant pain or asleep because of the pain medication. She continues to be a loving and supportive wife and an amazing mother. Even though her family, friends, medical staff and I are with her and helping and supporting her in any way we can, the disease is in her body alone. I imagine that could be a lonely feeling and dealing with it requires courage and strength. I love Kate, but I also admire her resolve in this battle.
Monday, 2 April 2012
Bonfires
Through the magic of Facebook, I recently got back in touch with an old childhood friend of mine, Shaun. We discovered that we both ended up in Ottawa. Shaun lives on the outskirts of town on a big tract of land and very generously holds a bonfire on the first Friday of every month. All comers are welcome.
I recently took advantage of his hospitality, going with my 8-year-old daughter and her friend. A good time was had by all. I thought this was a very nice tradition - an opportunity to catch up with what's going on in friends' lives and given that new people are always showing up, a great way to meet new people.
So, I raise a cup of hot chocolate to bonfires.
I recently took advantage of his hospitality, going with my 8-year-old daughter and her friend. A good time was had by all. I thought this was a very nice tradition - an opportunity to catch up with what's going on in friends' lives and given that new people are always showing up, a great way to meet new people.
So, I raise a cup of hot chocolate to bonfires.
Sunday, 1 April 2012
Alfred Burrows
I was fortunate growing up to have known my paternal grandfather, Alfred Burrows - the only blood grandparent I knew, the others having passed away before I was born. He passed away in 1982 when I was 13 and he was 92. My middle name is in his honour. Looking back, I wish I had been more interested in his very long life.
I knew some of his back story - born in Victorian England, farm labourer who moved to Australia in his twenties to be near his sister who married and Australian lad, served in WW I with the Australian cavalry (the 12th Light Horse Regiment) serving mostly in the Middle East and Northern Africa. Back to the U.K. where he worked for a spell in the mines in Wales and presumably met his Welsh wife. Then he emigrated to Canada in the 1930's with some of his brothers and where he worked as a farm labourer. During the second world war, he served in an outfit called the Veterans Guards of Canada as a guard at prisoner of war camps and, he said, as a horse riding instructor.
He talked a little about his war experience, but not a lot. I remember one particularly amusing story of him being on a ship in the Dead Sea and his mates jumping of the deck into the water. Not knowing how to swim, he didn't want to join the fun, but his friends cajoled and teased him into finally taking the plunge. So, in he went, and amazingly he kicked his way to the surface and began swimming like he'd been doing it all his life, not realizing that the concentration of salt in the Dead Sea is so high that it increases buoyancy by a lot. Several months later they were again shipping out to a new area and again weighed anchor in a somewhat less salty ocean. Emboldened by his experience in the Dead Sea, he did not even hesitate to jump in with his comrades. This time he sunk like a stone and was saved by a vigilant friend.
I wish I had asked my grandfather more questions about his life, but being a kid, I was more interested in other things - my beloved Montreal Expos, playing sports, girls (eventually), television and many other things that seem trivial in comparison.
My wife is an avid genealogist, and for a brief couple of weeks, I became infected by the disease. I was amazed by how many on-line resources were available for researching family history. In just a couple of hours surfing on the Australian and Canadian archives sites I was able to find all kinds of interesting documents, including Alfred's enlistment papers with the Australian armed forces and the ship manifest for when he and his family emigrated to Canada. This in turn led me to his mother's name and other records that allowed me to go back a couple of generations earlier than him.
Amazingly, I went back to the Australian national archives again recently and found that Alfred's entire service record was now available on line. This was a revelation.and it helped fill in a lot of information about his service. A particularly cool item in his file was a letter written in his own hand to the army after he had come to Canada in the 1930s asking if he could claim his war medals since his children, seeing other veterans wearing their at Remebrance Day festivities, asked him about his. I know his request was granted because those medals now hang proudly in my family room.
My next task is to try to track down his service record for WW II. I'll b,log about this enterprise in the future.
I am moved by how important our family history is in shaping who we are today. I am amazed how my family moved from poverty and years of servitude to a relatively well off middle class family. I would encourage those of you who are interested to do a little research into you family history. You'll be amazed at how quickly you can down through the generation.
My wife has a great blog on genealogy that I encourage you to read. Because she is currently battling cancer, she hasn't been posting a lot lately, but her past posts are informative and are infectious in their enthusiasm for the field.
I knew some of his back story - born in Victorian England, farm labourer who moved to Australia in his twenties to be near his sister who married and Australian lad, served in WW I with the Australian cavalry (the 12th Light Horse Regiment) serving mostly in the Middle East and Northern Africa. Back to the U.K. where he worked for a spell in the mines in Wales and presumably met his Welsh wife. Then he emigrated to Canada in the 1930's with some of his brothers and where he worked as a farm labourer. During the second world war, he served in an outfit called the Veterans Guards of Canada as a guard at prisoner of war camps and, he said, as a horse riding instructor.
He talked a little about his war experience, but not a lot. I remember one particularly amusing story of him being on a ship in the Dead Sea and his mates jumping of the deck into the water. Not knowing how to swim, he didn't want to join the fun, but his friends cajoled and teased him into finally taking the plunge. So, in he went, and amazingly he kicked his way to the surface and began swimming like he'd been doing it all his life, not realizing that the concentration of salt in the Dead Sea is so high that it increases buoyancy by a lot. Several months later they were again shipping out to a new area and again weighed anchor in a somewhat less salty ocean. Emboldened by his experience in the Dead Sea, he did not even hesitate to jump in with his comrades. This time he sunk like a stone and was saved by a vigilant friend.
I wish I had asked my grandfather more questions about his life, but being a kid, I was more interested in other things - my beloved Montreal Expos, playing sports, girls (eventually), television and many other things that seem trivial in comparison.
My wife is an avid genealogist, and for a brief couple of weeks, I became infected by the disease. I was amazed by how many on-line resources were available for researching family history. In just a couple of hours surfing on the Australian and Canadian archives sites I was able to find all kinds of interesting documents, including Alfred's enlistment papers with the Australian armed forces and the ship manifest for when he and his family emigrated to Canada. This in turn led me to his mother's name and other records that allowed me to go back a couple of generations earlier than him.
Amazingly, I went back to the Australian national archives again recently and found that Alfred's entire service record was now available on line. This was a revelation.and it helped fill in a lot of information about his service. A particularly cool item in his file was a letter written in his own hand to the army after he had come to Canada in the 1930s asking if he could claim his war medals since his children, seeing other veterans wearing their at Remebrance Day festivities, asked him about his. I know his request was granted because those medals now hang proudly in my family room.
My next task is to try to track down his service record for WW II. I'll b,log about this enterprise in the future.
I am moved by how important our family history is in shaping who we are today. I am amazed how my family moved from poverty and years of servitude to a relatively well off middle class family. I would encourage those of you who are interested to do a little research into you family history. You'll be amazed at how quickly you can down through the generation.
My wife has a great blog on genealogy that I encourage you to read. Because she is currently battling cancer, she hasn't been posting a lot lately, but her past posts are informative and are infectious in their enthusiasm for the field.
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