A Christmas Musing

Merry Christmas Friend,

In the aftermath of my computer crashing recently I lost a lot of valuable information, not the least of which is your mailing address.

Your present is not "in the mail" because I never mailed it, so you can can stop wearing out the carpet in front of the window where you keep watch for the mailman and get on with the rest of your Yuletide preparations.

Temper your disappointment with the comforting knowledge that your mailman's usual load will be lighter by one; expensively heavy parcel.

You may also sweeten that knowing pot with a dash of warmth and fuzziness because you'll be pleased to know that the money I would have spent on your gift, I have donated in your name, to the Human Fund.

It's a little known but highly effective organization of people, run by "people people" doing work for people, with people's betterment and a world for all people and their people's peoples' betterment in mind.

I know what you're saying..."nice". ( that's exactly what I'm saying too! )

You may also say "Nice" twice because as an added bonus I'm also sending you my Best Wishes!

Unlike the borderline insubstantial funds I've earmarked for you for the FUND, these wishes are considerably more palpable, undeniably more personal, irrefutably more heartfelt, and unquestionably of more use.

And since they are my "best"...they don't get any better!

I wish you PEACE; the ecstatic tranquility that comes with the realization that if you are breathing you are alive, and if you are alive then you have life, and if you have life then you have the greatest gift of all.

I wish you LOVE; overflowing your soulful heart that all you touch in your life will have been touched by a happy and generous Angel on Earth.

I wish you JOY; the childlike wonder and awe of all things yet magical in this world that fuel the dreams of a young and vibrant soul.

I wish you HAPPINESS; on Christmas and ALL days of the year that the World is blessed by your presence and in which you are blessed to be present.

I wish you FAITH; in God, in Nature, in yourself...in whatever gives meaning and inspiration to your caring and thoughtful deeds.

I wish you STRENGTH; to triumph over any and all adversity that it ultimately makes you stronger and wiser.

I wish you PEACE OF MIND; that comes from mercy and forgiveness - giving others and yourself "another chance"!

I wish you HOPE; because it is the purest fuel, the color of imagination, the fragrance of time, the soundtrack of life, and a reason to live and cherish life.

I wish you the MERRIEST of CHRISTMASES; may all your Christmas wishes come true and may God Bless You with Serenity that lasts the whole year long!

As to the aforementioned "Human Fund" thing....

Nice "try"?

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( ...everyone! )

You Whut!? #79

Morning Friend,

Have you tried any of the interactive marvels out there like “Rock Band” or “Guitar Hero”?

They are hugely popular, quite likely with you or someone you know.

As a former singer/guitarist ( of heroic ambition let’s say vs. any noteworthy virtuosity), I am none surprised at the popularity of such musical interactive technology with its’ nearly lifelike stage environment; the frantic crowd, the rambunctious colors and flamboyant excitement are the meat and potatoes of what makes performing, one of the greatest natural highs I’ve ever known.

But as viscerally fulfilling as much of today’s computer-generated realities may be, they’re not quite the same as blowing up a real ammo dump, mowing down a real platoon of n’er-do-wells nor....

...windmill riffing a Gibson through a blazing Marshall stack whilst bellowing one of your fan favorite Clash tunes ( and sounding not half-bad thanks to the 10K p.a. and a sound man who’s a professional and not your buddy ), wearing sweat-soaked fashionable threads; reflective of your persona (and limited wardrobe), under the always surprisingly hot blast of colored spotlights that exaggerate your provocative leaping, emphasize your statuesque posturing and spotlight the nakedness of your creative self under the rain of instantaneous feedback ( and the odd feminine undergarment), as upon a real stage.

Of genuine interactivity, there is no equal.

My band memories are a nostalgic recollection of a fantasy brought to life and nurtured over a few years in the early 80’s.

Co-founded with my friend and “soul brother” Darren Duke, You Whut!? ably facilitated a healthy release of the exhibitionist tendencies and musical passion of several young dudes - now lifelong friends - over the course of a good little run of gigs and adventure.

We were noisy, and we made a little noise.

Given my own already well evident extroverted bent at the time, my reverence for the trappings of “guitar rock”, my proximity to some truly talented and inspiring musician/friends, my burgeoning creative nature, and access to parental basement practice facilities ( thanks Mom for “...at least I know where he is.” ), You Whut!? was a perfect fit.

The alternative in that “pre-Sega” era would have been the primitive ancestor of today’s Guitar Hero....Air Guitar.

“Start with good instruments”, was the advice of our stoically brilliant mentor and friend Gord Zubrecki ( Gord Zubrecki Band ), as opposed to the oft out of tune department store bargain I had been earnestly thrashing bar chords upon.

A Strat and a Les Paul later, we were poised to “learn songs and rehearse”, with Gordie providing the drums, some vocals and a healthy back beat of encouragement.

A rough rendition of Gen X’s “Ready Steady Go” became the first of many “three-chord-specials-with-a-solo” that would be the staple of our diverse set lists of “all ahead full” original and cover tunes.

About fifty astonished friends and family in my parent’s basement witnessed the inaugural You Whut!? gig on a Friday summer’s eve.

It was to be the first of many imperfect performances marked by a wide range of “tightness” yet consistently energetic, none-too serious and always full of fun.

I never bit the head off of or otherwise maimed any props during shows.

About the only risqué thing I ever did was sport some somewhat revealing ( and tremendously uncomfortable) tie-dyed green one piece long underwear as we opened a set with “Theme from the Friendly Giant” ( You Whut!? style....fast)

As to that name?....

After days of a struggled search; literally through the entire English dictionary, and finding no noun or verb worthy of heralding our band and its’ soul purpose, I offered up a fairly common catch-phrase to the boys, which reflects some basic elements of surprise: shock, wonder, disbelief, amazement....elements that make life’s stage such an improvisational and entertaining gig.

Someone uttering the phrase is usually seeking some sort of redemptive truth, great explanation or grand illumination; or may just simply be expressing vigorous exasperation.

It turned out to be a good choice not just because of its’ versatile nature and broad interpretation, but because it didn’t brand us to a specific genre of music or trumpet too loudly like say, “Maggot Breath”, “the She-Satans” or “the Parlor Dandies”!?!?

And, it turned out to be more memorable than a lot of band names given the verbal exchange it usually provoked.

Usually someone asks a musician, “What’s your band’s name?.....oh, The Vandalays?....COOL!”, and then immediately forgets it.

Try this exchange.....

“What’s the name of your band?”
“You Whut!?”
“What?”
“You Whut!? is the band’s name.”
“You Whut!?”
“Ya, You Whut!?”
“Is that like U-2 ?”
“No, You WHUT!?...exclamation...question mark...like what you’d say to a person who’s told you they’ve won the lottery.....”
“You Whut!?”
“Exactly!....or what a father says when his daughter tells him she’s pregnant....”
“YOUUU WHUUUT!?!?!?”
“That’s it!”
“Cool!”
“Not as cool as dodging undergarments from admiring females....real ones too!”
“OUT-standing!”
“Truly.”

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....
Love as long as you live ( heroically )

One Liners #78

Morning Friend,

It being too hot and beautiful this morning for anything mind-sappingly deep or energetically earth-shattering, I thought I’d simply share some simple truths that I may one day expound upon but for today will simply throw out like pebbles rippling the serene surface of your Monday mind.

You don’t live to be 5 ( years sober) without picking up a nugget of knowledge, a thought worth remembering or some smarts or two along the way.

In no particular order of triviality and neither sobering nor drunk-inducing, I have come to realize the following:

- When you tell the truth, you have less to remember.

- Cheap Dollar Store batteries and lighters do not last and are virtually worthless at any price.

- Productivity in “Union shops” suffers due to a lack of incentive.

- You never truly know someone until you live with them.

- A sense of humor trumps good looks in the game of romance.

- Sometimes it is better to remain silent and be thought ignorant, than to speak up and remove all doubt.

- Prolonged negative emotional energy can be physiologically self-destructive.

- An hour’s cat nap can be more restful than an 8 hour toss-o-rama.

- It’s far easier to stay in shape than to get in shape.

- A sprinkle of salt with the grounds makes better tasting drip coffee.

- Cake recipes are not chemical formulas; a 1/4 teaspoon of this or that either way is unnoticeable.

- Just about every smoker wishes they weren’t.

- Most plans, promises and vows made while drunk are never kept.

- Music adds productivity to any workplace.

- If your Mother wouldn’t approve of it, it’s probably not the best idea you ever had.

- God watches over drunks and small children.

- Trust is like a credit rating; once lost, extremely difficult to regain.

- You are as young as your dreams and as old as your fears.

- The girls do not look “prettier at closing time”; the pretty ones have in fact left by then.

- Hearing and listening are two different things.

- Sliced green tomatoes fried in butter, salt and pepper until nearly black are delicious.

- Follow the “Serenity Prayer” and you will not only have more energy than you realized, you will likely live longer.

- It is better to have loved a short woman than never to have loved a tall.

- Measure thrice, cut once.

- One “look at what I am doing” is worth a thousand “look at what I’m going to do’s”.

- Violence is the last resort of the ignorant.

- Learn to play the accordion and you will never go hungry.

- True love, is bigger than a shoe.

- Good poetry doesn’t have to rhyme; Great poetry often does.

- If nothing else, sobriety is cheaper.

- You cannot over-water tomato plants in well drained pots.

- The 1,463’rd “I’m sorry” is a meaningless part of a drunk’s vocabulary.

- Kindness will slay a grump every time.

- As distasteful and/or incomprehensible the concept of God might be to some, there are those like myself who whose lives are owed to it.

- One of the greatest distinguishing features of the human brain is the ability to filter out negativity while creating an impenetrably healing aura and comforting mind-state of our own choosing...out of thin air.

- Air is free.

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( exemplarily )

Musical Ride #77

Morning Friend,

All aboard the “ban-wagon” everyone.
Now that some truly sensible laws are in place banning the slow asphyxiation of children in cars and the hand-held hamstringing of drivers, let’s roll the wagon on toward another “proven” menace; deranged music-listening cyclists.
The latest “proof” linking music listening and cycling tragedy appeared in a small story in last week’s paper.
A young cyclist was killed when he rolled through a red light and into the path of a large truck.
The fact that the young man had a personal listening device in use at the time was considered a “contributing factor” in the tragedy.
As a cyclist myself, this story obviously touched me, but not just in the obvious way.
“What in heaven’s name”, I asked myself, “was the poor soul listening to, that it was a “contributing factor” in his demise?....Perry Como?...self-hypnosis?....self hypnosis voiced by Perry Como??”
May the Good Lord rest and comfort the poor departed lad and his family, but for goodness sakes, let us for a moment gild his memory with a shred more respect than by suggesting he was so distracted by the music he was listening to that he failed to notice a red light!?
Contrary to the ignorant conclusion inferred by the newspaper, I would beg to differ on behalf of those who know...and the young fellow who I think knew too.
Lo these many years I have cycled the year around and having traversed none of the many miles unaccompanied by some form of music, I can think of zero times when I went suddenly color-blind or lost my mind in some casualty-causing fashion or another.
I would in fact have to strongly argue that if anything, music enhances my skills and critical awareness on the road.
The relaxing soundtrack of my ride nicely compliments the steely sensory process and physiological rigors of a safe journey.
In tunes I am in tune.
Obviously the volume is not so loud as to obliterate the ambient and potentially emergent siren-sounds of the street.
For me the idea is not self-induced deafness ( or blindness?), but a safe spiritual compliment and imaginative enhancement to a bicycle ride.
I might appear to be ambling along on a rusting green Norco, but with an energizing jolt of some blistering southern rock as a backdrop I may well be high in the saddle of some trusty coal-black trail horse named “Storm” or “Lightening”; something biblically titanic.
The badlands of the mean streets lie ahead on the trail with bad drivers lurking like black-hatted rustlers in the sage.
The reins of my handlebars are gripped as tightly as the cast of my baleful Lone Ranger stare, scanning warily for pothole snakes and traffic control devices; relentless as an AC/DC backbeat.
Or it could be the notes of an etude trailing behind me on a gallop through a fine Austrian meadow.
Or perhaps with my “motor running” I could be heading out on the highway, looking for adventure....and whatever comes our way?...my “horse” is now a “hawg” of course.
In any event, the magical world I create for my ride through the use of energizing and inspiring music is not some “bizzaro-realm” of science fiction where up is down and left is right and red means “go”.
The same basic rules of physics, chemistry, biology, and the road are distinctly applicable.
As are the rules of good common sense.
It makes sense to ban things and practices that are bad for children and hazardous to the public’s safety.
A car filled with cigarette smoke is not a “contributing factor” to a child having trouble breathing, it’s the cause.
By all means my friend, ban it.
Listening to music does not cause insanity in cyclists nor does it contribute factors rendering them as drones haphazardly meandering through intersections like suicidal twits.
Let’s ban bad luck, bad brakes, bad mornings or the darned bug or whatever bad thing which got in that poor kid’s distracted eye that day.
If such an absurdity as a ban on music while cycling were to come to pass I can definitely foresee traffic light problems of my own...I’d be seeing nothing but red.
love tImMy:/
Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (saddled up)

Monday Musing #76

Morning Friend,



As if I weren’t challenged enough, I chose Monday as my weekly day of “writing practice” in spite of the inherent difficulties of the work week’s most daunting day.



There is an adage which recommends not buying a car which was manufactured on a Monday (or a Friday), because of the less than ideal mindset of autoworkers on such a transitional day.



Understandably so...for all manner of assembly and sets of mind I’d venture to say.



In an ideal world ( or in China?), where everyone treated and cherished every day like it could be their last, we wouldn’t differentiate the days of the week so dramatically.



We’d be happy to be alive, joyful to be healthy, and thrilled to have a job to go to in furtherance of our quest for personal fulfillment and spiritual enlightenment no matter what day of the week it was.



There’d be no...

“Whew, we’re in a groove now” Tuesday

“Hump Day!” Wednesday

“I can see the light” Thursday

“T.G.I.” Friday

and certainly none of the expletives - too colorful for this “family” forum - associated with Monday.



Alas this isn’t a utopian society – and thank Goodness it’s not some third world regime– so the majority of us who like but don’t love our jobs above all else, deal with the week as it comes, hopefully on the heels of a satisfyingly relaxing weekend.



Satisfied or not however, we grab Monday by the scruff of its’ scrawny neck and give it a good “going over”.



Because the longest journeys begin with a single step and the reward for dealing with Monday’s “frozen mukluk to the head” reality is a date with Tuesday’s “groove”.



And once you’re in the groove it’s a minor hump to the “hump”, a slide to where the light will have begun to be seen and before you know it you’re thanking the Good Lord again for his strength and his guidance and for a day beginning with “F”.



In this "un-ideal" democracy of nine-to-five weekend warriors, the big picture of mortality and frailty often takes a back seat to getting through the week as painlessly as possible.



And if it takes a bit of imaginative folly – and Monday Grumbling- to do so, ( and production doesn’t suffer too greatly), then pitter patter it’s time to get at ‘er.



The ethereal mantras cleverly affixed to the sliced-up pie of the work week make it a palatably manageable meal; each bite growing tastier.



The bough-filtered whispers silenced on Sunday evening, begin to speak in hushed tones by Wednesday; the feathery caress of Nature’s lips drawing ever-nearer. ( THIS sounds like a day when the best cars are made!?)



Barring circumstances unforeseen, you will traverse the stepping-stone days of the wide week’s creek into the warm pine-scented embrace of the weekend, (and I will have completed another week’s literary “exercise”)....after today.



“Do not pray for easy tasks, equal to your powers. Pray for powers equal to your tasks, especially on Mondays” AB LINCOLN



love tImMy:/



Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live (today)

Cool Canadian #75

Morning Friend,



I hope the enjoyment of your Canada Day weekend included a moment or two of reflection and gratitude.



The Old Gal turned 143 last Thursday and by all the reckoning and comparisons that I can make, she remains unquestionably the very best country in the world in which to live.



One need only look at alternative places – drought-ridden, war-torn, disaster-ravaged Hells-on-earth – that other folks call home and the superlatives relating to Canada are pretty well amongst facts of life on this planet.



I asked several people in recent days to pick a country they would rather live in, and many respondents seemed pleasantly surprised when they couldn’t name one.



And that was pleasing to me because it confirmed what I suspect about a lot of folks....they don’t realize how good they have it – what a truly wonderful, prosperous and blessed country they are blessed to be a part of.



I’m always pleased to be able to help others see the Big Picture, especially when it is one so captivatingly picturesque and vividly vivacious as this vast land of endless opportunity and unequalled tranquility.



Once reminded of their oft-overlooked wealth, I don’t expect people to suddenly transform into flag-waving patriot-zealots or ambassadorial demons.



I would hope anyone with an enhanced sense of their own good fortune might exude a more refined air of humility and drape themselves in a flag of graciousness.



What!?, I ask, do you have to complain about today?

My sincerest apologies if serious health or family issues are at play in your life today my friend.



I’m speaking about the trivial, minute and inconsequential fluff that many people will actually fret and physically whine about on this most perfect summer day in this most poignantly pretty land.



Does the south African woman carrying a five gallon bucket of clean water on her head for five miles every day bitch about a two cent rise in the price of a liter of gasoline?



Is the Afghani child stepping lightly around land mines on her way to school p.o.’d because she wasn’t able to get tickets to the Miley Cyrus show?



Do we hear the Haitian man cursing the traffic on the way to work, from his home which was washed into the sea?



This is not like Christmas where I’ve suggested we try to be “nicer” all year round.



It’s about extending the spirit of Canada Day and what most of us do on that day.....chill the heck, out!



Count your blessings today and every day that you live free.



Free of pestilence, disease, vermin, snipers, bombs, tsunamis, cutthroats, horror, disaster etc.....terror tempered by constant fear.



A little perspective goes a long way.



Unless you can think of someplace better? Hey, I’ll drive you to the airport myself. ( Write when you find work eh!? )



love tImMy:/



Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( White Canucklng:)

The Merry Tiller #74

Morning Friend,

Dad and I managed to get the garden out at the Lake tilled and planted over the weekend and typically, the sojourn with nature left me wiser, humbler and calloused.

Please note I said “calloused” as in, “There goes my hand modeling career”, and not “callous” like my agent telling me, “There goes your hand modeling career”.

I’m talking of course the good old fashioned thickening of one’s palms that comes from a few hours of wrestling and wrangling our trusty “Merry Tiller” through the rich but sparse Canadian Shield soil that is thick with roots, rocks, and more rocks.

The Canadian Shield is a vast horseshoe-shaped area around Hudson Bay covering eastern and central Canada, and a small part of the Northern United States. Some 1.9 million square miles, very nearly half of Canada’s total area, is occupied by the Canadian Shield.

The rocks of the Canadian Shield were formed in Precambrian times 500 million years ago during a lengthy period when two tectonic plates converged, causing the surface rock to be forced down into the interior of the earth, melt, rise back to the surface and slowly cool. The rocks are igneous and metamorphic and contain large areas of granite.

Due to the effects of glaciation during the most recent ice age which started about two and a half million years ago, the Canadian Shield has very thin soil with rocky outcroppings frequently showing.

We’re not talking about prime farm land here unless of course there was a sudden demand for “pet boulders” for which we’d have the market cornered.

But with a little persistence and hard, but “merry” work behind the Merry Tiller, we do manage to get a nice little crop of potatoes, squash, onions etc. out of a modest sized patch of rocky earth.

Over the years the edges of the garden have become strewn with grapefruit to watermelon-sized rocks and boulders merrily heaved there after frequently and frustratingly stalling the tiller’s tines.

And despite the evidence that they did not crawl back into the ground, the bounty of yet more tine-tingling rocks each spring has led to the belief – Dad’s anyway – that the rocks we remove have left “babies” behind that grow in their parents stead over the winter.

It is uncanny really, to till the same patch of ground year after year and find new cantaloupe-sized rocks that you could not possibly have missed, re-appearing like perennial plants.

Like die hard revelers from the tectonic plate party of 500 million years ago, are they late arriving home, straggling to the surface, a few dozen each year catching a Cambrian Taxicab with the rising frost line?

It is a mystery my friend, but no less mysterious or humbling than the sheer rugged beauty from which we will merrily harvest a miraculous feast in the fall ( as anyone who’s tasted new potatoes, onions and cream served at Grace and Jer’s Full Deck Lodge will readily attest !)

There are great sentinel slabs of stone and granite strewn about too large to be heaved aside which we obviously till around.

Older than civilization, they will be here long after you and I have harvested our last potatoes from the fertile bedding of their millennial home.

They silently remind me of life’s certainties and immovable truths.

You till the soil and remove the impediments that you are able to.

How the rocks and roots get in your way is not as important as the fact you have the capacity to remove them, and are wise enough to let the larger ones be.

You plant where you can, as best as you can.

The garden of my life has the gargantuan slab of alcoholism right smack in the middle of it.

It is timelessly old and cumbersome; too huge for me to move and the only thing I’ll ever manage to grow on it – as you can imagine- is moss.

The remaining soil though is arable enough; with a fair bit of tilling and weeding and tending I’ve got a pretty good crop on the go.

There is the familiar endless supply of rocks and roots – small boulders even - but they are proving to be no match for a calloused, and merry, ( bordering on delirious), tiller...

...who’s always available as a “before” hand model?

love tImMy:/

Laugh as long as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( harvesting)

Ab Steinway #73

Morning Friend,

There’s a saying in the roofing business – “We’re not building pianos here!”.

I can’t say for sure the saying is exclusive to the “soffit/fascia crowd” or if my buddy Rudy of All-City Exteriors stole the quip from another tradesman in the rough-hewn arena of home construction/renovation.

Whatever its’ origins, the saying reflects the diverse nature of life and life’s work.

Some of it is rough; crude and basic -”bull work” at times – requiring little or no subtlety of thought or action.

With all due respect to the craftsmanship and skill of roofers, builders and demolishers everywhere, there are those on the other end of the spectrum of life’s workers who require considerably more ability of a concise and artistic nature; like piano makers...and writers.

A sixteenth of an inch might be “wiggle room” to a shingler, but it is like the Grand Canyon in a Grand piano factory.

And in the factory of my literary mind, there are some exacting requirements you won’t find on a construction site.

As I’ve recently discovered during what has been a prolonged absence from this forum, I desperately need an element of serenity and stability in my life and home in order to “manufacture pianos”.

Since we last spoke, there has been much in the way of turmoil and distraction here at the old Tomato Farm which spawned “Monday Musings” and which I call home.

My extended hiatus has not been a case of writer’s block, fatigue, burnout or ( heaven forbid!) a drunken relapse.

Nor has it been the result of any personal or family crises – any of which I’d certainly put to use as rich and inspiring fodder.

As it turns out my friend, the unexpected houseguests that circumstance has brought into my home these past months have revealed some pre-requisites heretofore unbeknownst to me with regard to my creative process; first and foremost of those being, solitude.

As grandly gregarious a soul as I am blessed to be – a veritable People Person’s Person! – it seems my left brain does not function while the rest of it is processing the functions of other humans; on the couch, in my bed, on the floor, coming and going, sleeping and snoring, loud or boring, obtrusive or trying too hard not to be, phoning home, home shopping, home improving, making themselves at home and just general all-round being in my home.

I’m not an eccentric or anti-social, in fact I believe I am HYPER-SOCIAL – I cannot help but be “aware” that someone else, a guest is present and therefore I must “host”, or be somehow “hostful”?....anything but lost in the creative trance that writing provokes.

*My “winter roommate” and best friend Jimmy does not count for he is some sort of supernatural being who is “there” without being there....a “cough without a face” you might say...( a topic for another day? )

From this important fact about myself I can draw several conclusions.
- I’ve no use for a portable laptop other than as a backup to my HOME computer
- I’d make a strange and “difficult” husband
- I need to learn how to say “no” to houseguests ( Sunday nights at any rate! )
- I might have made a better roofer than a writer?

I’ve not been able to write much of anything short of grocery lists lately and if I’m disgustingly late in even replying to your emails I hope you’ll consider this explanation as a humble apology.

It is actually only late last week that I found myself at long last Home Alone.

From past efforts I’ve tried to express through words how truly delighted I am with life and to share the lessons and wonder that I’ve been blessed with.

The “work” of writing ( however “rough crude and unsubtle” mine may be) really is a sacred thing to me made all the more special by the knowledge that it is read by and affects others....even if they’re not welcome during “construction”.

After all, I AM “building pianos”!

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( under a good roof!)

Spin-erama #72

Morning Friend,

For over 30 years, Lake Superior State University in Michigan has been publishing its’ annual “List of Words Banished from the Queen's English for Misuse Over-Use and General Uselessness”.

Since its’ first New Year’s Day release in 1976, people from all over the world have nominated hundreds of words and phrases to be purged from the language and among them are such infamous nuggets as: “outside the box”, “24/7” , “user-friendly”, “at this point in time”, “at the end of the day”, “my bad”, and on and on it goes.

A nicely placed cliché or catchphrase, is a spokesperson’s best friend; be they a politician, newscaster, team manager, legal representative or corporate mouthpiece.

Like a catchy “hook” in a song, a contemporary catchphrase may add a certain familiarity and conviviality to what are often banal and sometimes “bad news” messages.

A dull or even dim-witted spokesperson can be seen to be at least somewhat clever through the use of trendy sayings and colloquial buzzwords.

Politicians – the Lords of Linguistic Largesse – use the clichéd language of pop culture in such a manner so as to speak, without actually saying anything of substance.

Listening to a politician is like watching a bad mime...something is happening, but no one is really sure what it is?

The mime’s occasional smile at least tells us that whatever it is, it’s not all bad; comforted perhaps by the common belief that politicians are “monitoring all situations on an ongoing basis”?

This year’s L.S.S.U. list includes a few nuggets I’m sure you’ll recognize by their hackneyed regurgitation if not their downright nausea-inducing familiarity.

Surely we’ve heard “too big to fail” , “transparent/transparency”, “czar”, “stimulus” and “toxic assets” far too many times and clever novelty words like “bromance”, “tweet”, “chillaxin’” and “sexting” at least the one time that is one too many?

One phrase which didn’t make it this year – through some miraculous oversight surely – and one which quite frankly I am sick and tired of hearing is “moving forward”!

Apparently everybody and everything nowadays, is “moving forward”.

A sports team on a ten game losing streak is moving forward in an effort to turn things around.

A company just filing for bankruptcy has done so moving forward.

A celebrity is moving forward, taking back some drunken words said at an awards show.

The solution to the country’s economic downturn is being addressed by effectively moving forward more effectively and more forwardly.

Tiger Woods has cut all extra-marital ties and is moving forward at a sexual addiction clinic. ( and backward, and forward, and backward....*just kidding)

An automobile manufacturer whose cars have defective transmissions with no forward gear, are moving forward by recalling them.

It’s a pleasant enough concept... being on the move, and in a forward direction connotes positive action, but the trouble lies in its’ multi-contextual nature.

It truly is a spin doctor’s dream phrase...applicable to virtually any situation and effective in even the direst of circumstance.

After the first 500 or so hearings of the phrase, it dawned on me that you can pretty say “the whole world and everything in it is moving forward” and be exactly correct!

It seems to me my friend, that the whole world has jumped upon the “moving forward” bandwagon, rendering the phrase a blight upon the Queen’s or anyone else’s English!

Every action between one to another – no matter how mundane or even factual - has become a forward move.

“While asleep in bed last night I made a significant rollover and found a different position moving forward in my restfulness.”

“While walking backwards today I hit a tree branch with my head moving forward in reminding myself not to be so foolish.”

“Comfortable footwear with a good sole for changeable weather helps me moving forward in all conditions.”

Surely a phrase as“...misused, overused and generally useless.” as this one deserves inclusion on next year’s banishment list ?

Otherwise I fear society’s ongoing evolutionary process will be like a mime behind a pane of glass....unable to move forward.

A “good” mime anyway.

love tImMy :/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (on the move)

One For the Books #71

Morning Friend,

I’m not what you’d call a “History Buff”.

I never excelled in the subject at school....too many dates to remember and too many Royals with the same name but a different number after it; Charles the Second, Isabel the fourth, Otto the EIGHTH!? etc.

It’s not a memory issue because I can remember jokes I heard as a child, but as far as what year “...did Hercules sail the Magna Carta into Boston Harbor setting off the Seven Day War?”....I haven’t a darn clue?

Creativity was never a problem; if I had to, I could “make stuff up” that would make the real story as lame as a lost homework excuse, but alas, no History teacher I ever dealt with gave points for “style” or validated a “poetic license”.

From what I understand, History – particularly Canadian – is not a Big Ticket item in the curriculum of today’s schools which seems kind of a shame.

A good number of High School respondents in a recent survey on “Canadiana” identified Sir John A. MacDonald as “that guy on the twenty?”, while several even went as far afield as crediting him with the invention of haggis.

Even as poor a student of History as I, knows good old Sir Johnny founded our nation’s largest tobacco company! ( check the name on your pack of “Green Monsters”....duhh!?!! )

I would think it valuable to know where we came from and how we got to where we are, especially in terms of planning for where we want to go and the best way to get there?

If nothing else we can a least avail ourselves of the opportunity to aspire to some of the greatness and to avoid the mistakes of our adventurous ancestors.

While I am admittedly “a tad off” when it comes to the nuts and bolts of history – the names and dates and such – I am nevertheless enthralled by the grand tales of gallantry, sacrifice and victory against seemingly impossible odds which adorn the tapestry of our Pioneer Heritage.

Just the thought of a brave and wary Lenny Riel ( no doubt pining for the fjords of his Nordic homeland) and his trusty Inuit guides forging the mighty Niagara river through the rugged untamed peaks of southeastern Manitoba in the 1500’s with electricity only in its’ infancy, is pause for reflection and awe. ( and perhaps a fact check or two?)

I often marvel at how afar afield of their beloved birthplaces must many a bold explorer stray in the course of discovery, conquest and adventure!?

To leave ones’ town, ones’ country, ones’ continent behind – to uproot from the very soil from whence ones’ life germinated and sprouted – and soar like a feathered seed in search of unbroken ground and unwritten history is the hallmark of many who heed Adventure’s siren call.

“Go West Young Man!” was such a call that spurred the taming of West; luring many unwary but determined souls on a migration of dreams into a nightmarishly alien land.

“The New World” beckoned a wave of bold humanity leaving their birthplaces an ocean behind them.

“The Call of the Wild” can be ascribed to many whose place of birth serves merely as a “starting block” in their life’s race of discovery and fulfillment.

While the world may be known geographically, contemporary explorers must still re-locate to specialized global regions far from home in search of history-making adventure.

Ahh what a sweet and blessed moment it must be for those lucky enough after many years abroad to complete the circle of their endeavor and to go home again.

To immerse again in the familiar fragrance of the Fatherland....to say – not like a practiced daily litany but like an announcement to Heaven and all of Nature within earshot – from the bottom of a tread-worn heart and jet-lagged soul.... “I’m HOME!”, is surely a moment worth etching in time.

In the course of examining my own journey I discovered two important but not necessarily historically significant things.

Firstly, I have come a “long way”; some might say a WORLD away from the drunken life I left behind. ( while it might not be earth-shattering stuff to you my friend, with the Good Lord as my guide I am making “discoveries” on a daily basis that ROCK my world and those in it! )

Secondly, I presently live across the street from the hospital where I was born.

From that blessed day in January some five decades ago, I have come....about 45 feet.

Christopher Columbo I guess I’m not.

Alexander Marilyn Bell did a lot of his work “out of the house” didn’t he?

Hello?.........

love tImMy :/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (leeward)

Brush With Life #70

Morning Friend,



Late this past Friday afternoon, two cars crashed in the intersection I was in the process of crossing; one of them actually came sliding to a smoking crumpled rest in the very spot I had been standing and watching from, seconds earlier.

Two cars coming towards each other on Westminister, one of them suddenly tries an ill-advised/badly timed/dumb? left turn at Maryland and BOOM....pretty much head-on into the other guy.

Now I can go all dramatic on you and say I seized my bike in one hand and a pregnant woman with the other and LEAPT headlong into a crusty snow bank and no uncertain fame.

But in all honesty there was no one else to “save” and because it happened in slow motion, there was no leaping required.

In fact, I’m happy to report that while both cars were certainly totaled, no one was seriously injured. ( at least until the lawyers get involved I imagine?)

“Slow motion” you ask?

That’s exactly how it all seemed really....a few seconds stre-e-etched out into a moment of pristine clarity.....

“Oh oh, those cars are going to......WHOA!.....here comes one toward me....it’s horn is blaring.....I think I should move OUT of the way......”

Despite being astride my bike holding a bag of groceries, I was able to somehow jump backwards enough that the old “Green Hornet” and I were buffeted by nothing more than smoke from the car’s exploded air bag.

Funny what goes through your mind at a time like that.

Funnier than what doesn’t anyway...

My life didn’t “flash before my eyes”, I didn’t cry out “I love you Mother!”, and I certainly did not suddenly feel an old familiar craving for a strong distilled beverage.

I was actually staring at the poor fellow dazedly shaking his head in the driver’s seat a few feet away and thinking, “Man did your Friday Night ever just Go South on you ya poor bastard!?”

I was then pondering that the guy’s horn was going to continue to blow probably until the tow truck driver or somebody cut the battery cable when a woman’s voice behind me said, “You almost got hit there”.

Had I not been in such a fog I might have cavalierly replied, “Just the facts Ma’am”....or “All in day’s work my dear”....or even “A miss is as good as a mile”, but all that came to mind was a much less classic, “Yes I did”.

At that point the acrid smoke from the exploded air bag ( I had NO idea that was how they worked? ), broke my reverie and I wondered if there wasn’t a fire starting.

Now I could “embellish” a might and tell you about smashing the side window with my fist and hauling three nuns out of an inferno to safety, but there were no passengers in either vehicle and no such heroics called for.

Laying my bike and groceries on the snow bank, I opened the driver’s door and helped the poor shaken fellow out of the car gasping and cursing and onto unsteady legs where he was soon joined by the profusely apologetic and less worse for wear driver of the other vehicle.

With help on the way, and seeing that there was hardly a need to get further involved as a “witness” to such a cut and dried mishap as this, or to further the ruination of these poor fellows’ weekend by berating them for “almost” putting a damper on mine, I grabbed my grub and the “Hornet” and moved on. ( into the sunset – cue closing theme)

Pondering... from then until now, why I didn’t at any point look heavenward and pronounce my thanks to God?

Was it because I was “dazed”?

Am I taking God’s gift of new life for granted?

Have I become ungrateful?

Did I think I was just “lucky”?

In actuality, I’ve come to learn that besides strokes of luck ( sometimes Big ones), near misses lurk at every intersection of life.

Does the Good Lord intercede at every mishap on every street corner?....I’ve heard he does if there’s a “drunk or a small child” involved!

What about an “ex-drunk” with enough wits and physical well-being about him to turn a near miss into a “field test” of his serenity and an invaluable learning experience?

Could I have been too caught up in the sudden misery of those two “poor bastards” to be offering up prayers of thanks?

Doesn’t empathy grow best in the rich soil of a grateful and humble heart?

When your first instinct becomes “others”, that seems like all the thanks God might need?

But just in case.....(whew!) Thank You Lord....again.

( cue credits)

love tImMy:/


Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live ( safe)

A Load of Bun(K) #69

Morning Friend,

With a blizzard tempestuously raging outside this morning and bracingly frigid temperatures in the forecast, I should have known it was too good to be true.

When one derives as much pure joy from cold, snow and ice as I do, they are often setting themselves up for a balmily bitter disappointment.

Mine came in the dratted and determined hands of my mailperson; so unstoppable is she in the face of any climatologically natured obstacle that someone should write a “creed” about her and those of her ilk? ....something about “...sleet and snow and hail...?” would do nicely I think.

Nevertheless, the source of my anguish –the letter- looked weather-beaten, well-traveled, and harmless.

The West Indies postmark verified over 3,000 miles of road-weariness, but the unmistakable logo on the envelope told a tale fraught with harm, and hardship.

It was from the Barbados University Natural Center where I have held an Associate Assistant Advocate Pseudo-Professorship for an number of years.

It seems some of my learned colleagues are also members of the Barbados Olympic Freestyle Ski Dancing Team ( a grueling sport not usually associated with Caribbean climes ), and are competing in the upcoming games.

I have been culled from my arctic reverie and “called to duty” at the Center.

OH the HUMANITY! I say, just as Winter here had started to have a nice sweet “bite” to it; the itch of the woolies beaconing like a molting mantra!

But my head is still cold from being outside for 10 seconds to get the mail so it’s “cool” enough to prevail in this instance.....the important research and invaluable humanitarian work being done at B.U.N.C. must not go unattended.

The study of Nature takes scientists into laboratories as unbelievably harsh as they are mysterious.

The sun-baked beaches, dizzying blue sea, blinding sunshine, incessant scented breezes and tropical torpor, make Barbados a “lab” suited to only the truly fanatical realm of the scientific community devoted to unlocking the secrets Mother Nature closely holds to her oft-mysterious and alluring bosom.

I am as you may already know, one such devotee.

And as such I must leave these blessed blizzard blown boundaries of my comfortable northern home and forsake them for the stench of sweat and sun block... and the malingering malaise of equatorial madness.

The ache of homesickness already tightens like a frozen knot in my sit-up-hardening stomach with the knowledge I now have but 42 sleeps....I mean DAYS of wondrous Winnipeg winter to endure....I mean LUXURIATE in!

The history of all great scientific discovery is filled with stories of selfless sacrifice and suffering....just THINK for instance of all the moldy bread that Fleming fellow must have eaten!?

While it’s not an antibiotic I’ll be seeking during my three week odyssey, I will in fact be looking for a similarly beneficial result...”ONENESS” with Nature.

And a pretty nice tan :)

love tImMy :/

Laugh as much as you breathe...
Love as long as you live (going for Gold)

Miller Time #68

Morning Friend,

One of the fine old workplace traditions the world over is the “couple of drinks after work”.

After a rough day, a tough week – and especially a “payday”, the call to “go for a brew”, ( or “Miller Time” as the famous old American beer slogan used to trumpet), can be heard like a battle cry from the factory floor all the way to the executive offices of companies large and small.

The after work drinks can be an essential part of the culture of a workplace; an excellent morale building and bond forming exercise.

In the comfy environs of a neighborhood pub or a favorite lounge, with hair down and gloves off, the stress and strain of the “grind” drains further away with each successive glass or bottle.

It’s a chance for all to blow off steam, bitch and whine, tell nasty jokes, commiserate, flirt, laugh, and ultimately....jointly solve a pressing global issue or two; usually toward the end, of the evening.

For some it’s an excuse to get drunk and avoid going home after work, but those poor souls are likely in the bar avoiding home every evening so the novelty of the exercise is lost to them as is the opportunity for spontaneous co-worker interaction.

They’re there for the drinking, irregardless of the company, and often the last to leave...unless they get cut off first.

Thankfully in today’s society, the great majority of people are “social” drinkers - according to the Canadian Encyclopedia, approximately 4% of adult drinkers in Canada are alcoholic.

Even with my vivid imagination, I have trouble perceiving what sort of anarchic maelstrom would replace civil society were those figures reversed?

“Joining us for a drink after work Bob?”

“No thanks Tim, I’ve been hammered all day! I could go for a coffee though?”

“Keep that kind of talk to yourself Bob. Coffee? It’s only Wednesday!?....you don’t have some kind of a “problem” do you?”

The carnage – were it to be “Miller Time” all the time - would be substantial.

As it is, the ruination and heartbreak wrought by even such a small percentage of problem drinkers in today’s society is far-reaching enough to have affected the life of just about everybody.

Left my own mark on a fair bit of damage to be sure.

But despite the fact that I now don’t drink, and I managed to salvage my job because of it, I still get that familiar “itch” towards the end of the work week.

Not to drink mind you, but to drink in the fomenting fellowship and charismatic camaraderie of my brothers and sisters with whom I spend a third of my week with; toiling on a daily basis.

We work alongside thousands of others in a large hospital so there is ample stress and an ongoing battle against it.

In my own particular department however, I’d noticed that for various reasons we never “went for a few after work”.

There is a broad demographic of about 50 of us who work “evenings” so the logistics themselves are not what you’d call conducive to such activity.

But just because something is difficult doesn’t make it less necessary, and YES I do think there is value in cultivating friendships with co-workers outside of the workplace, especially in circumstances like mine where the mix of cultures, values and ages is so varied.

So since my charismatic leadership abilities are bruised but yet functional, and since I’m still a “social butterfly” ( albeit a sober one), and since I’d get nothing but funny looks by asking 50 people “out for coffee”, and since statistically only 4% of my department ( me and another guy?) should be alcoholic, I took it upon myself to organize a “Few After Work” for the gang last Friday.

The crudely but enthusiastically drawn poster proclaimed “Friday Fellowship!....Come for a Couple!....11:45 til ‘an hour’....Say Farewell to a Good Man!” ( it wasn’t a “payday” Friday but it was the last day for a fine young fellow who was leaving us )

Now in my mind it was a rousing success not because it was a good turnout with laughs aplenty and enough madcap and warm heart to fill 10 beer commercials, but because of who showed up...

- the “old” veteran of the bunch

- the “oddball” guy

- the “quiet” loner

- the “rookie”

- the “hothead”

- people who I’d never seen so relaxed and animated

...and of course the “alcoholic” in the background sipping on a cola; drinking in all the good natured griping, the irreverent humor, the problem solving, the fellowship....and the fun.

But the best part of it all had to be when someone asked me why I’d go to all the trouble to organize such an event when I don’t even drink?

And instead of a mini-diatribe about; discovering the essence and joy of life without booze, giving back to others in payment for years of selfishness, celebrating the freedom of being able to say “no” to a drink, doing the Lord’s work by fostering peace and brotherhood, or bettering our work environment by promoting extra-curricular interaction, I simply said,

...“Cause it’s Miller Time!”

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( happy hours)

Thank You #66b

Morning Friend,

With all the imagination I know you possess, please pretend these words are the hearty and warm embrace of a free and grateful man celebrating a *birthday today.

*it’s my “belly-button” , or “real” BIRTH-day as opposed to my

A.A. Birthday in June, in case you were wondering? As far as my “age” goes, the only information I’ll divulge on that front is that I’m more months sober than I am years old.

The reason for the “e-hug” is because if I have ever met you, spoken to you, or in some way ( cosmically or otherwise) interacted with you, than you have unwittingly become a driving force in my on-going quest to put my best foot forward and keep it there.

I am nothing else, if not a HUGELY gregarious alcoholic gentleman.

*from Merriam Webster

gre-gar-i-ous ( adjective) 1 a : tending to associate with others of one's kind : social b : marked by or indicating a liking for companionship

The “hugely gregarious DRUNKEN alcoholic gentleman act” was panned brutally.....by YOU: my acquaintances, friends and family.

An empty theater on The Grand Stage of Life echoes like an empty heart when you’re a “people person” drinking alone.

“WHY did I do it”??? the oft asked question.....

“Because as someone who is “wired” to interact with other humans; intelligently, humorously, soulfully, spiritually, playfully, creatively, intuitively, purposefully, repeatedly, compassionately, artfully, sensually, powerfully, respectfully, enthusiastically, honorably and with GREAT regularity, it HAD to be done. ....the answer.

The “act” as many will attest is as flawed as it ever was but certainly “cleaned up” at any rate, and every now and then I’ll pull off a show-stopper or garden variety crowd pleaser that’s just about worth the price of admission.

“Thank Yous” abound for this Birthday, this day, this life!

The Good Lord, my Mom and Dad, my whole family, Alcoholics Anonymous, my friends, St. Boniface Hospital......and on and on the list goes of people – and a Savior – who give me the INCENTIVE that fuels my every show!..... I mean day :)

Thank you and may God Bless you and your day friend.

Glad I could get my mitts on ya!

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

Love as long as you live (motivated)