Cathi’s Comments for December 31, 2015

As 2015 winds to an end I find it’s been quite a strange year all in all.  Personally, the year started with saying goodbye to Erin and Alex who continue on with their life journey in Toronto.  Then was the loss of my cat Domino, who passed away at age 14.  We now are down to one dog and one cat.

It’s been a year of decisions.  My jeep that has been sitting waiting for money to get the brakes fixed since November 2014 now has a dead battery and at last look either a dead battery cable or dead starter or both.  I put it up for sale in August but people either want it for almost free or they want it running and certified, which, sadly so do I.  If it were I’d be driving it.  I could have used the money if it sold but as the year ends it still sits there in my driveway.

It’s been a year of discovering my own truth.  I discovered that there really is a bias that happens at 50 and you will get denied opportunity.  I won’t go into detail but it was said to my face so I have to believe it.  It makes me sad that once again I’m forced to see that no matter how good you are or how much knowledge or experience you have it’s all about agendas and where you fit into it.  And I don’t.  So.  That leads me back to decisions.  I have no idea how long it’s going to take me to pay off everything we owe and bank enough to pay the bills for a year but that’s my plan.  Whenever I do leave this next time it will definitely be my last.  I will not go back to work where I’m not appreciated again.  Unfortunately it’s going to take a long time because I’ll never get a real promotion again I don’t think.  At least that’s the way it looks to me right now.

I say that I need a year’s worth of bill paying ability because as of this date we are still waiting for Jim’s not so great Old Age Security, one year and three months after he turned 65.  CPP by the way is pocket change, not a real retirement sum so if you do have any chance to have input on upping the CPP payout, please agree to it.  Someday you’ll thank yourself and the people already retired who are getting a pittance will thank you.  I also think that the Guaranteed Income Supplement should be based on individual income, not family income.  It isn’t fair to dual income families who suddenly wind up with one person making pocket change and waiting forever for marginally better OAS while the other has to carry the load. Not many middle income earners have planned for one year or more of nothing coming in.

Carleton Park at Dusk But on the bright side, I finally started painting again. I have one painting that is now donated to The Ville, and I have the canvas for 3 more that I’ll be starting shortly. It’s been a good year for me creatively.

Off-Air is finally published in paperback and as a Kindle edition, I Ching Jukebox finally made it as a Kindle edition, my poetry book as well became a Kindle edition.  I also posted my very first novel and am in process of posting my second novel that I wrote in my 20s.  I am also in the middle of writing a novel that started with Nanowrimo 2014.  I did try Nano again this year but ran out of time.  I’ve been very busy but I’m glad I did attempt it.  So you see, me and Genève Blue have been working away.  I also submitted an entry into the CBC short story contest for the first time in forever.

So – looking forward, 2016 should be an interesting year.  There is a wedding to attend in September (yay!!) and aside from my paintings to do I plan to finish the two novels in progress.  I will also take my Troll of Barondale children’s story and create the drawings for it so I can publish that one too.  I actually woke up on morning seeing it as an animated short but unfortunately, like the other ideas I have for animation I’m not sure how to do that without some pretty decent software.  I need to take another animation course I think, but probably not this year.  Time and lack of money forbids it.

Beyond that, who knows what 2016 has in store for me.  So on that note I will say, please people follow your heart and treat others with compassion.  Don’t let the darkness steal your light away, the world needs it.

In love and light, à la prochaine,




I did something last night that I haven’t done in many years.  I wrote some New Years resolutions.  As I wrote them the memory of previous resolutions bubbled up:  the inevitable quit smoking (I did, 13 years ago), the exercise more (I have a love-hate relationship with exercise), the basic flogging myself for not doing as much of a talent like writing or painting or music, the “get thee to a university” one which I did start 13 years ago and gave up on 3 years ago after about 1 year’s worth of courses.  Most of those previous resolutions (and a few I won’t name) are either done or a moot point now.

What could I possible resolve to do now that so much water has passed under my bridge?  Well, there is the small matter of needing to get back down to at least the weight I was when I moved to New Brunswick.  I have been exercising for half an hour a day on the eliptical but recently upped that to an hour after realizing I haven’t lost anything, I just look more toned.  The real truth of the weight that isn’t normally on me has to do with stopping my night time cleaning (1 hour a night for 4 nights then 4 hours on the weekend – worked out to about 10 km of walking every week). Add to that the fact that I had to stop chewing my beloved nicorette (I have an off and on again love affair with that gum) because I simply didn’t have money to buy it any more since last February and has meant that little bags of candy replaced the gum.  Not that wise a choice I think.

So one resolution is really two; watch what I eat and cool it with the candy for snacks.  I need to go back to feeling like myself again.  For someone who has spent most of her life on the almost underweight side of things, these past few years of peri- and post-menopause weight gain is a little alarming really.  Annoying most certainly.  Jim says I’m not fat.  Bless his heart.  I’m not obese, true, but still more than the upper limit of healthy for my height.

The others are more specific and boring so I won’t put them here, except for one.  I will start to write in a journal again.  I feel this urge to put pen to paper and say what’s inside in a place that isn’t in the ether.  I used to write a journal; my first one I got when I was quite young:  7? 8? It was purple and had a gold lock.  I still have it and I have the series of journals I wrote ever since.

There’s the one I wrote all in code because my sister had prying eyes and was happily telling whoever would listen all the awful (in her mind) things I did.  I wish I had the code for that one, I have no idea what I said for about a year or two when I was around 9.  I have one from my teenage years that is pink and is really a long and thin lined notepad that I folded over and tied up with a pink wavy ribbon from a sewing project I did.  I have the ones from a time in my teenaged years that was pretty dark, and the slightly less dark ones when I was alone and single but on my own and hopeful.  I have the ones from my mid- to late teens where I fell in love and my friends were closer to me than any relative could ever be.  That is until they disappeared or pulled a nasty.  I think we’re equal numbers on those two events.

Then there’s the broken hearted one where for years I fended off well meaning people in my life trying to tell me to get back together with my high school sweetheart.  They never could understand why I broke up with him and rather than being supportive and sympathetic I got chastized for doing that.  This was the beginning of what has been a long history of that kind of “help” in my life.  So.  I did what was the best thing:  don’t give them the ammunition to use against me because the more I tried to explain the more it became all me.  Can I, in the interest of honesty and the passage of time now say why, lo these 34 years later?  Why not?

Here goes dear well meaning people.  The truth on my first love of my life:  He fooled around on me with one of my best friends.  They thought I was clueless enough not to catch jokes between them when we were all riding in a car one summer day.  Boyfriend did not realize that women recognize another’s scent.  I didn’t want to believe until I did and blasted that friend with angry words.  I have said there’s only two or three people I would rather never speak to again in my life.  She’s one.  As for boyfriend, so in love was I, I forgave him.  It was difficult but we were “The Couple”.

Sadly that forgiveness and trust was misplaced because he thought forgiving meant it was okay.  There were others.  One called me on the telephone saying, “I know you’re not going out anymore but you’re still friends so can I ask you to tell him to stop calling me?  Tell him I’m not interested?”  I just said, “Actually we are still going out.”  And hung up.

Another time a friend I had when I was about 6 and hadn’t seen since then came up to me in a parking lot and said hi.  After a few minutes of chatting and isn’t it nice to see you again (from me) he told me, “You’re going out with that XXXX XXXX person right?”  I said I was.  He told me to tell him to stop bothering his girlfriend who works at Brown’s Cleaners, she’s really not happy with that.  A heart sinking moment.  I mumbled thanks and watched my very young childhood buddy’s grown up back walk away.  He didn’t want to know how I was.  He just wanted my person to leave his person alone.

It wasn’t long after that that I said enough already.  A relationship can slip away in moments or they can explode in one bright flash.  The end was more like a death to me.  One morning I woke up and realized that I simply didn’t love him anymore.  I’d had enough.

I honestly wish I hadn’t had to defend my decision.  I did, without telling the whole truth because a part of me didn’t want to dim their idea of this friendly fellow they liked, but mostly because I knew that it had been decided that I was what? Flighty?  A slut?  Who knows and what could I have said that would have made anyone say that I was right when they’d already decided I was wrong?

My journals kept on until the time my son was a toddler.  Then I worried more about what I wrote because some things that had bothered me for about nine years were wearing on my soul.  I couldn’t write the words for fear they’d be read.  And besides, I had already written them when I was single and when on one of those weeks my husband was out of town I decided to read them I realized how very little had changed since that time.  I was foolish to think I could change someone, and foolish to think I wouldn’t change.

I did, and like my first love, there did come a time when all those words didn’t matter any more and I simply gave up trying.  I had no more love to give for love is a vessel that needs to be replenished once in a while by its source.  My love was for my children and when I could I said good bye because I also knew from experience that children learn from what they see and I didn’t want them to think that relationships are all about anger and the silence in between.

It’s been fourteen years since then and oh, I’ve made a stab at a written diary but found that blogs and my web site filled the gap nicely.  But it kind of doesn’t.  There’s things I’m not allowed to say, things that I shouldn’t say. There’s no continuity.  There’s no way to download one of my blogs for instance, and I really want to port those posts to somewhere else so even if it’s on a memory stick I can go back to them and read them.  Perhaps it will become a day or two cut and paste project for me.

I keep my diaries in a locked box, have done for years.  All my teenaged angst, all my childhood frustrations and wondering.  My hatred for “shepherd’s cack” that they served oh so often when I was ten or so and going to Elmwood School.  My elation at winning awards or happiness at making a new friend.  It’s all there.

So now that I’m in the autumn of my life, I do feel the desire to continue on with that.  Because you see, the more life appears to change, the more it stays the same.  I know there’s nothing I can do to stop some not-so-well meaning things that have been said about me but at least my children are now old enough to ask what is the truth.  No, I didn’t cuckhold my husband (and no, the person who relayed this doesn’t speak Victorian English but I know people who do), and yes, I can cook.  Pretty well actually.  I just don’t invite people over to prove it that often.  My plate is full with life and living it. These are thoughts I am saying outloud today.

My little daily thoughts and angst that can’t be shared with the world at large (at least for now) deserve a place.  And the stuff that can?

It becomes an essay.  Like this one.    To quote Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men,   “The truth?  You can’t handle the truth!”  Well, maybe you can and maybe some truths arrive in small doses on blank pages late at night.

So with firm resolution, I will begin 2016 by turning over an old leaf.







Five More Shopping Days ’til Christmas

Over the past few years what was an orgy of Christmas shopping and gift giving has whittled down to what we have this year, which quite simply put is nothing.  We are literally not Christmassing this year.  Even my little table top tree remains in its plastic bag.

Now before I get a flurry of “you grinch” comments and “don’t worry you still have 5 shopping days until Christmas!” ones helpfully and cheerfully urging me on to do something I really can’t, it’s not because I don’t want a pretty little tree buried beneath colourfully wrapped paper.  Shouldn’t is more the reality.

The thing is that we no longer have children in the house and this year maybe only one now-adult visiting.  There are bills to pay and a car inspection to be done before December 31st.  The car inspection scares me, it’s never just the $25 for the inspection, there’s always something else.  And it’s that inspection last year caused me to park my Jeep and pray for money.

This year the Jeep no longer has valid plates and has been for sale since August.  It’s actually in fairly good shape except that the brakes are rusted, and the battery is dead.  And from the last viewer (a mechanic), it needs either a new battery cable or starter or both.  It has really good mileage and two tiny spots of rust that hasn’t gone all the way through.  It has a couple of stains on the back seat from children.  So basically, about $1800 worth of work, much less if you are mechanically inclined and can get parts cheap.  So I priced the car for the going rate (between $4k and $5k and confirmed by another of the knowledgeable viewers) less the cost of repair.  The price has gone down from $3500 to $3000 with room for negotiation, within reason.  (And I did say that).  I also said $2500 plus two cords of dry firewood delivered would do.

So there’s been a lot of interest, but nobody wants to pay me what it’s worth.  I’ve been offered $1500.  I’ve been offered $2000 and then insulted by someone who didn’t bother to view the car (but neither did the $1500 person).  I’ve been offered a trade for a motor home.  That one kind of intregued me but if I can’t afford repairs for the Jeep I can’t afford repairs for a motor home.  It’s depressing.  I’m selling because it shouldn’t just be sitting, and I need the money.  The winters here, a Jeep is a good thing that sadly I just can’t keep on the road anymore.

That’s the irony.  I need the Jeep where I live, but can’t keep up with the upkeep.  I’ve been living a lot of irony this year.  I come back to work and paid back money that I got when I left before and it caused my income to go up so much that one year (even though the money was taken back) that CRA is after me for the taxes on that money I paid back (that incidently was taxed at the beginning and paid back in gross amount).

Then there’s Jim still waiting for his old age pension more than a year after he turned 65.  So far he’s found out it’s not worth that much anyway and that hurts.  He has land in Quebec he has to sell and can’t because he doesn’t have the money to pay for the title change (and they’re getting angry) though we could probably arrange something if somebody wanted to buy it but like the Jeep, no one wants it.  So he waits for his back pay from the OAS to pay for the title.

There’s been revelations this year, like the realization that being over 50 means you don’t necessary get the job you think you’re perfect for and there’s nothing you can do about it.  That all the experience and knowledge I have means nothing in the grand scheme of things.  At this point I regret going back to work because I see that I won’t get the job I need that would help me get out of the financial mess I got in by going back.  I’m an idiot.  I know.  Twice I found the situation so serious I left but I came back.  This is the last time for that; the next time I leave that’s it.

I am out on the East Coast though, so that dream is fulfilled and so far we’re both happy to be here.  Life really is nice here.

Today as I sit by my fire lit by broken up wooden pallets cut to stove size by Jim, I remember how frantic and expensive Christmas was when the kids where small, and before they were born when I was a nice aunt that bought those toys that gradually reduced to nothing as my own children were born and the cost of living got higher than what we were bringing in, and then single mother I had enough for us to have an okay Christmas.  Back then it meant something.  Christmas is for children.  None of us are that now.

So this morning I said to Jim, “Do you mind we have nothing but a turkey this year?”  Not at all, he says, we’ll have Christmas whenever he gets the money he’s owed or I sell the Jeep.  We’re not holding our breath on that.  I’m betting it’s Christmas in July.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not sad.  I’m not anything really.  I’m just looking forward to a few days off to write and paint, maybe play the guitar and to look back on the year that was and do my looking ahead.  I am hopeful at least for me in my place in the world.  I still dream that someday a publisher will like my writing and pick it up.  Or maybe the public at large will find something special in one of my books and make it a best seller.  Maybe there’s a Lotto Max in my future.  See?  There’s always hope.

Merry ba humbug unChristmas this year.










Here in the Winter of Our Discomfort

The last three weeks have been weird.  I say that knowing in the back of my mind that since mid-October really the winds of history have changed and many things are pointing to one of those universal wtf times.

I can say this.  I know stuff.  I’ve been around the block, hell, the whole neighbourhood more than once.  What I find interesting is all the parallels in assorted times of my life.  That’s where this period is uniquely interesting.

First I guess is finding out that the wish for change politically was so strong and as the provincial elections happen we’re seeing that too.

Second but definitely not least is Paris.  It has a 9-11 feel about it, but it isn’t that.  Between one and two hundred people dead isn’t three thousand, no matter how horrific and sad it is.  And to bring the point home, how many mass shootings have happened in the US have happened since then?  It doesn’t matter to me.

What matters is innocent people have been gunned down for whatever stupid reason people do this.  Do I care the reasons why?  Actually, only remotely.  I am more concerned that weapons of war are freely available in the open market in certain places  which makes them available on the black market everywhere else.  To me I don’t care what kind of crazy you are, you still had access to stuff that can kill a whole bunch of people when you shouldn’t have.  I don’t care what religion you are.  No religion if they truly are holy should be advocating mass murder.  Pointe finale.

One thing that was interesting was out of the blue I read a post from an online acquaintance talking about landing the planes in Gander on 9/11. Now people who say that the recent events in Paris is their 9/11 is (a) wholely dismissing WWII and the hideous things the Nazis did, and (b) forgetting that 9/11 was kind of a bit bigger.  People are forgetting history, which isn’t new at all.  What was new was presenting the Gander story to people in a social media format that made people who didn’t know go wow, thanks.  Some of us lived that.  So I smiled and posted links to things that told the story from a different viewpoint.

But then I was in a phone call recently where I explained the history behind an old method of doing something related to my work that made me believe, yeah, maybe there’s worth in me yet work wise at a time when I was seriously wondering what posessed me to go back and….

An evening of chatting with a relative clearing the air.  It was an all night thing and I’m glad we did that.  Time moves on.  There’s one thing  that I will be able to better explain concerning a life issue someday but that issue we can talk about some other time, they need to just know that everything that happened and everything that was done and fought for by me was because I very much believed in them and wanted to very best for them.  Who they are today is in large part because of stuff they just don’t remember, and that’s okay.  It means maybe I kind of did something right, amid a whole bunch of people who on the sidelines where quick to disagree.  It is interesting that when they weren’t on the sidelines but actively involved they came to see what I had known all along, and no, there were no apologies.  At this point that is water under the bridge that’s so old it’s dried up.

I removed stuff online that I could as had requested, understanding that as a writer my soul is everywhere for the world to see.  That’s who I am.  That what I do.  Darkness breeds in the silence so that’s not me.  However, where I could put the cloak on and not dismiss my own story, I did so we’re good.

Nanowrimo ended with me not finishing this year which is okay; what I was writing is not my usual fiction and it took a lot more considered thought than one month could provide.  That happens sometimes.

I submitted to the CBC Short Story contest for the first time in a few years so while I never have high hopes for that one, I’ll take it as an accomplishment.

The world is changing.  Massively.  As we pretend this isn’t world war three and while people are decrying their fears against refugees and others are claiming that financially the world is just about a-okay if you forget about oil, um….

I like change.  It’s needed.  But change for change’s sake isn’t always good either.  As we live through the growing pains into the next era, all I ask of anybody is this:  compassion is paramount.  The world desperately needs this.  At home, in the workplace, in general.  Please care because if nobody else does in the world we’re lost.

I’ve said this before about religion but I’m going to say it again.  Religious communities can do absolutely wonderful things, but the thing is this:  if your religion pits you against everyone else in the world, if it asks you to do unspeakable things that you wouldn’t have before you joined, if you feel that compassion and love is second place to hate and anger is that godly?  Really?  Think.  That’s all I ask.  Please think.  And if where you are isn’t suiting your heart, go elsewhere.

Avoir le coeur, aie amour entre nous, aie le voix de parler de tes veriters, aie de la joie et de la belle humeur, être soix-mêmes premièrement entre tous.
















When We Wake Up in the Morning, It Will Be Less of the Same.

I hope.  I am not allowed to make political comments so I won’t but I will say that I’m very very pleased indeed with the turnout of voters this time around.  All those one little votes add up don’t they?  Things like entire Reserves taking buses to polling stations to ensure the aboriginal voice is represented this time around.  And young people – bless your souls, you now see the effect you have on our country!  I am so proud of us.

It’s been a strange few weeks for me, a lot of uncertainty on a few fronts.  I’ve been trying since August (unsuccessfully) to sell my Jeep.  Not that I want to, but I simply don’t have the money to fix it and it’s been sitting in the driveway too long.  It makes me sad but what else can I do?  Jim turned 65 over a year ago and numerous trips to the office behind the old age pension hasn’t gotten him any closer to his OAS, so he brings in $82 a month.  I make too much for him to claim the guaranteed income supplement so all of his bills, until I literally ran out of every last spare penny I had, were paid by me.  It was always just one more month until I ran out of money for the next one.  Sigh.

I have been fending off worries of my own that I won’t go into about how I went from money to none but a lot of what I got before I had to give back and it meant sending a letter to the latest communications with do what you will, what you want I don’t have.

But then came the tests for Jim, and the worry there and on this beautiful fall day, we learned not to worry, it’s fixable.  Yay!

And then the election.  Will it be better?  Who knows, but it is different and a fresh perspective is very often just what we need.  It gives hope.  And for me, and many other middle class people, hope is what we desperately need right now but many like me just don’t have the answer on how to fix our situation.  So we will continue to wait for his OAS, knowing it’s way too late to fix anything as it’s gone beyond believable.

But I do believe that when we are faced with challenges there’s a road that opens up if you look for it, and so I shall.  And after today, with just a little bit of a smile on my face.

Politics Ruins Everything

It’s been a while since my last Cathi’s Comment and oh, what can I say?  We’re in an election that is the 3rd longest in history (beaten by 1867 and 1872).  We are hearing stories of an impending El Nino, which may or may not be a good thing.  We are in a technical recession which is bafflegab for what was previously known as a recession and the sad image of a little boy face down on a beach is the shame of Canada and the world.

Canada used to be a haven for refugees, a bright light in a dark world. Instead, like the boatload of Jews from Europe that were turned away during WWII (, we have any number of reasons why these thousand of refugees around the world have to live in camps for years rather than be brought to our faraway shores. At the same time, we now have a temporary worker program that allowed companies to bring in temporarily workers from around the world because we don’t have the number of (often) low-skilled workers to fill our need. But they can’t stay here. And now, because of abuses, it’s much less – approximately 25% of the number from Jul-Sep 2014 than there were in Jan-Mar 2014. These by the way are the latest numbers I could find published at time of writing this so I can’t vouch for accuracy there and I have no idea what the 2015 figures are.

So. There we have it. I can’t discuss politics or show favoritism for a particular party or denigrate any party, which is probably a good thing because from where I stand at the moment, I think politics ruins everything. I am forever ending my posts here saying something to the effect of please people, show compassion. This is what the world needs.

I find a lot of election campaigning to be a turnoff; and to have a really long campaign (although for some parties it seems non-stop campaigning) means endless opponent-bashing ads on t.v., and the eternal search in the media for the perfect sound bite, the perfect line or picture that can be skewed or stopped at just the right moment to make a candidate appear foolish. I don’t care which parties do this, I hate those ads. I mean it. If the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Party was created and did that, I would it hate it just as much.

There are buzzwords that drive me crazy. War-chest is one of them. A war-chest, for the uninformed, is the money donated to politcal parties to fund their election campaigns. I find this expression particularly offensive because that means that I, as a voter, am the enemy. I am here to be swayed and conquered by these marvelous war-chests of theirs. The bigger chest the tighter the sweater…wait, that’s another expression. But it makes as much sense. I, as a voter, do not want to be considered as something to be conquered or wooed or even slightly swayed. I want honesty. I want facts. And by facts I mean real facts. I want options. Not long lists of what political party experts have decided that they think I’d like to hear. I want humility, but more than that, I really want at least a glimmer of the truth.

On a grander scale, we live in a world of my way or the highway thinking, and that’s something else I truly hate. I don’t know exactly when it became fashionable to engage in black and white rhetoric though I’d personally blame it on the 1980s and the Thatcher years. I want all politicians and people in power, including those in big corporations to know that there is rarely if ever anything that can be answered with a black and white answer. Life is a myriad of greys, pick the appropriate shade for that particular situation. That’s when fairness begins. But that is too complicated, too expensive. It all comes down to the almighty dollar, and if it means suspending any rational thought to save a dollar and believe an ideology so be it. It shouldn’t be like this. I ask all those people thinking of entering politics right now to consider the human side first and go from there. Please. Somebody has to.

I won’t presume to know what political menu would be best for you, the reader, but I will say this: please take the time to find out a little of what is being said, a little of what has happened recently that is affecting now (and please don’t dig up memories of old bones of politicians whose actions and policies have no bearing on today’s issues whether they are alive or not); think about how you’d like to see things change or stay the same and go from there. Most important of all, vote. Just vote. Follow your heart, follow your mind, whatever it takes, vote. What we don’t need is a country run by the results of only 61% of votes actually being cast because that really isn’t representational of who we are is it? Please don’t say your vote doesn’t matter. It does.

In other matters, though I’m not posting as many Comments as I used to, favoring instead other means of social media like my WordPress blog (, Facebook and Twitter I will at some point soon update this web site as perhaps a convergance of my other sites with links to my historical web pages. It’s been a while since I’ve done any programming to speak of and I miss it so yeah, it’ll happen. Right now though I’m concentrating on writing and artwork.

Off-Air and I Ching Jukebox by Genève Blue are now available both as paperbacks and on Amazon Kindle; my Polariods Get Yellow poetry book is also now available as a paperback and Amazon Kindle, and on Tablo ( there’s a novel from when I was in my teens that is up and can be read there for free (I don’t plan to do more with that one), as well, there is a book of my short stories in progress there that can be read. For Genève Blue, there are two other novels in progress: The Late Night Cleaner’s Club, and the novel Cassandra which is a novel I wrote between 1988-1990 and I’m pleased to say is seeing the light of day. So far I like it and will most probably be publishing that on Amazon as a Kindle edition and possibly as a paperback.

I’m pleased to say that I’ve finally started painting again; my newest painting is a view of Carleton Park at dusk and I have donated it to a local Fredericton former school turned Community Centre ( More paintings to come, I promise.Carleton Park at Dusk

So that’s it for now, à la prochaine,

End of August Musings

At the beginning of August I did a remote viewing that I didn’t post here. I’m glad it didn’t happen, though it is possible that it could still happen. Basically it involved the evening of August 23, 2014 being one where we’ve been staring at the tv so long that we’ve just decided it was time to stop watching. It had a 9/11 feel about it, and there were massive things that happened in important capitals like London, New York and for some odd reason Ottawa. Whatever it was, communications were down so information there was spotty. We decided we needed something to eat, and hoped something like KFC was open, or perhaps a Chinese food take out place.

Regardless, hasn’t this been a horrendous month? I literally feel queasy thinking about the world and how we seem to be falling from a dangerous precipice, one where the machinations are not things we are privy to. We have to just take the stuff the media feeds us and hope that somewhere in there is a glimmer of truth.

Suicide. Robin Williams’ suicide bothered me greatly (and still does). It brought back the sad month of March where two people I knew killed themselves, and it reminded me of a long ago best friend who died in November, of what I will probably never know.

I think that what the world needs now is laughter, to remind ourselves that whatever else is going on out there, when there’s not much you can do about it, you can laugh. And laughter feeds the soul in a way that nothing else does. I hope that with Robin’s passing, others will step in and help fill the void with their own unique voices. We may need to discover many comics, his boots are large ones to fill indeed.

Now that I’ve published the first print of the Geneve Blue book Off-Air, once the minor tweaks that need to be done as a revision, I think our dear Geneve needs to turn her attention the as-yet-unfinished humourous novel about the underlings who work for the government. And beyond that, perhaps I’ll be working on some more funny essays like Our Wedding and Other Miracles (

As far as remote viewing goes, I haven’t tried to look at world events though I will. I have a personal tax thing that’s bothering me so that’s what I’ve looked at (I’ll be okay, it seems – fingers crossed I’m right on that one) but I will and if there’s anything out of the obvious that won’t get me in trouble, lol, I’ll post it.

So that’s it for August, and on to September.