Just Be Something

It figures.

Every year I grow a winter beard.

Every year, when I decide I'm 'in the clear' and either shave it or trim it back, the weather turns miserable.  It is a snowy, slushy mess outside with a substantial wind.  Ugh.  At least the days are longer.  This may have been the mildest winter we've ever had here, but I'm still ready for it to end.

I'm looking to spring, to be able to jog the city streets again without worrying about my feet going out from under me.  I want to hit the soccer pitch again.  Hell, I NEED to hit the soccer pitch again.  At every thought of kicking a ball around again, a grown kid of 35, my ankle cries just a touch in protest.  Gets a little swollen and thobbing, gently reminding me that it was my obsession with playing again that landed me on crutches for four months.

Last night I was at a friend's indoor co-ed game, one of his teammates went to kick a ball, wrapped her ankle around her opponent's shin instead of the ball and wound up on the ground with her foot dangling uselessly to one side, the same dumbfounded look on her face that said This should be hurting.  Why isn't it hurting?  Don't worry... give yourself a little time.  It will.  A lot.

Truth be told, I worry about hurting myself seriously again.  As it stands, my right ankle will probably never be the same.  It healed well, but there are certain days that it throbs.  Sometimes I limp.  I can't move it with a full range of motion like I can the other one.  The physiotherapist insists that I give myself time, that it will come around, that there is no reason why I won't make a full recovery.  But I worry all the same.

A workmate of mine asked me if I was either crazy or going through a midlife crisis.  Why, she asked, would you risk hurting yourself again?  Is it really worth it?

It is.  I told her.  And it isn't.  Soccer, apart from a bit of recreation, the camaderie of being part of a team and the healthiness that comes from running around a lot, really serves no purpose.  And yet it was soccer that really elevated me and showed me that I could achieve something if I just dropped the idea that I can't do it.  It sounds like corny motivational-speaker drivel, the kind I constantly roll my eyes about, but there is something to it.  Kevin Smith once said about writing that he hears a lot of people wanting to be a writer.  Wanting to be an artist.  Wanting to be a filmmaker. 

Don't want to be something.  Just be something.  You don't need anyone's permission.  You don't need to conform to anyone's standards of good or bad.  Just like the contrived slogan of a popular running shoe company suggests, just do it.  You may succeed or fail, but what of it?  There’s a Russian(?) proverb that I hear once in a while when I’m playing chess that translates to Those who have never failed are those who have never tried anything.  Chess players take great stock in the notion that your failures teach you far more than your successes.  I’ve known that playing chess, but have always had trouble applying that philosophy in the real world.  I was afraid of ridicule and judgment and the knowledge that may not be able to do as well as I would have liked.

In the end, whether or not I play soccer again, I’m glad I tried.  I’m glad I had the courage to test myself, even if for something so trivial.  The confidence boost I got, knowing I could still run with guys ten years younger than me made it worthwhile.

Fuck it.  Maybe I’ll shave… it’s just a coincidence.  Spring’s coming after all.

Although… I do have a date coming up.  There aren’t too many beard-liking women out there, but those that do tend to be really passionate about it.  Maybe I’ll see how the first date goes…

-PW

If Day Turns 70

February 19th, 1942, in an inspired attempt to raise money for Victory Bonds, 3500 volunteers from the Junior Board of Trade and others rented Nazi uniforms and 'invaded' Winnipeg to give an average Canadian, well sheltered from the horrors of war, a taste of what life was like under Nazi occupation.

By all accounts, it was incredibly realistic.  Air raid sirens sounded, blank artillery shells and rifle rounds were fired in the 'battle' for Winnipeg, and volunteers in mock Nazi uniforms arrested and jailed the mayor, the premier and the lieutenant-governor.  'Troops' entered the cafeteria of a large insurance company and commandeered lunch for Nazi soldiers, kicking people out of their seats.  People's homes were looted, and people were seized and searched on the street.  Books were confiscated from the library and burned (they were headed for the incinerator anyway).  Nazi flags flew where Union Jacks once flew.  The Winnipeg Tribune was seized and renamed.  Churches and synagogues were closed.  And radios replaced their normal programming with Hitler's speeches and military music.  And proclamations were posted all over town:

Ankundigung

IT IS HEREBY PROCLAIMED THAT:

1. This territory is now a part of the Greater Reich and under the jurisdiction of Col. Erich Von Neuremburg, Gauleiter of the Fuehrer.

2. No civilians will be permitted on the streets between 9:30 p.m. and daybreak.

3. All public places are out of bounds to civilians, and not more than 8 persons can gather at one time in any place.

4. Every householder must provide billeting for 5 soldiers.

5. All organizations of a military, semi-military or fraternal nature are hereby disbanded and banned. Girl Guide, Boy Scout and similar youth organizations will remain in existence but under direction of the Gauleiter and Storm troops.

6. All owners of motor cars, trucks and buses must register same at Occupation Headquarters where they will be taken over by the Army of Occupation.

7. Each farmer must immediately report all stocks of grain and livestock and no farm produce may be sold except through the office of theKommandant of supplies in Winnipeg. He may not keep any for his own consumption but must buy it back through the Central Authority in Winnipeg.

8. All national emblems excluding the Swastika must be immediately destroyed.

9. Each inhabitant will be furnished with a ration card, and food and clothing may only be purchased on presentation of this card.

10. The following offences will result in death without trial

a) Attempting to organize resistance against the Army of Occupation

b) Entering or leaving the province without permission.

c) Failure to report all goods possessed when ordered to do so.

d) Possession of firearms.

NO ONE WILL ACT, SPEAK, OR THINK CONTRARY TO OUR DECREES

published and ordered by the Authority of (signed) Erich Von Neuremburg

Although it was publicized beforehand, some people managed to miss the warnings that this would be staged.  It was a miracle that some gun-toting vigilante didn't shoot any of the mock soldiers!  But all in all, the only two reported injuries were a sprained ankle a soldier got (soldiers used the event to practice field maneuvers) and a cut thumb a young woman received in her blacked-out apartment.

If Day was covered all over the world as a major news event, and by all accounts a resounding success.  In 24 hours, If Day raised 3 million (in 1942!) dollars and gave people a little better perspective on what life under military occupation was like.  A neat day in the history of Winnipeg!

My Weekend With the Boys #5 - The Soccer Disaster Edition

Ah yes, when I'm depressed or lonely, little Gerry comes along and reminds me that one of the cutest things little kids can possibly do is eat soup noodles.  And he does it cute, even by little kid standards.

The boys came over with usual excited fanfare, and dopey me thinking I'm going to be a hero greet them outside with only a t-shirt and gym shorts on.  And nothing else, not even a key to get back into the building.  It was a balmy -27C outside, so no worries as there was somebody else coming in as I was getting the boys.  I had it all planned out.  And if not?  I would have sat in the van staying warm with my ex and her new fiancee until someone came along to let us back in.  Awwwkwarrrd.

Gerry practically fell asleep in my arms as I was getting his winter clothes off, so I put him straight to bed... and you know what?  He slept.  All the way until 7 the next morning.  Bless his little heart, because I was bloody tired.  Nick and I do what we usually do on Friday nights:  strip to our underpants, make popcorn and play video games (yes, in that order).  He's still having trouble sleeping in his own bed, but he slept in his own room without too much of a fuss.

Saturday morning, and we were still in our underpants, watching Our Beloved Newcastle United get utterly thrashed by Tottenham, who I guess had something to prove.  Last week, England's football manager Fabio Capello resigned as coach over the John Terry Fiasco.  I, for one, am sad to see him go.  He had the highest win percentage of any England manager for a very, very long time, World Cup 2010 notwithstanding and had gone through 2011 undefeated.  Anyway, Tottenham's manager, 'arry Redknapp has been tapped as England's next skipper, and I'm sure the Spurs, who are mounting their first serious campaign as league champions in a half-century aren't too keen on seeing him go.  As much as I hated to see Newcastle get slaughtered, it was kinda sweet to hear the faithful chant their love for their coach at White Heart Lane to the tune of the Beach Boys' Sloop John B

We want you to stay!
We want you to stay!
We love you Harry Redknapp,
We want you to stay!'

Which is a lot more brotherly than Newcastle's take on the Sloop John B chorus, which is

'Get out of our club!
Get out of our club!
You fat Cockney bastard!
Get out of our club!'

The 'fat Cockney bastard' being none other than the owner, sports apparel magnate Mike Ashley.

Out of all the London teams, I only conceivably support two:  Millwall and Tottenham.  But I gotta admit, I do want to see 'Arry for England manager.  I think he'd be good.

No matter, Newcastle gets slaughtered 5-0, but I'll watch the Winnipeg Jets instead.  Nope.  They get thrashed 8-5.  Oh dear, and England plays World Cup runners-up Holland in two weeks with no manager.  Let's talk about something else.

I made turkey noodle soup and bread rolls from scratch for dinner and for the second supper in a row, the boys inhaled it.  I made shepherd's pie last time they were over, and Nick shocked me by devouring it.  He had thirds for Chrissakes!  And now he was wolfing down bowls of homemade soup and buns like there was no tomorrow.  I could get used to this.  I put Frankie to bed and me and Nick cuddled under a blanket and watched Kung Fu Panda.  What can I say?  He likes it, and it's a damn sight better than any of the Chipmunks movies he was obsessed with last year.

Sunday we went to my mom and dad's for supper.  My dad is having an operation to cut out some kind of nasty abscess on his bum on Thursday, but he's hanging in there.  There was a lot of tension in the house, and I could instinctively tell that dad has been drinking again.  He'd been sober for the last five months, but he's back drinking, and apparently a lot.  Probably stress from the upcoming surgery - dad does not do hospitals, doctors or surgery at all.  Trouble is, if he's back on the bottle again, I don't think he'll make it another year.  Alcohol has ravaged his body to the point where he's almost incapacitated.   Sure enough, my mom told me he's started drinking again.

'I told him,' she said to me, barely keeping her composure 'that I'm not happy.  And he asked if I wanted to leave, but where the hell am I going to go?  I'm 70 and all my friends are scattered across Canada or in England.  I don't know what to do.'  I told her if she felt that strongly about it, why doesn't she move back to England?  She said she'd been thinking a lot about it, but it'd kill dad if she left.  And yeah, I can't argue that, it probably would kill him.  I don't know what to tell her.

The ex comes to pick up the boys after another awesome visit and I head home to sleep like the dead, the way I usually do after the boys visit me.  Now as I finish off this blog post, I realize it's Valentine's Day.  It's liberating to be single on Valentine's Day.  It used to suck, but man I'm feeling good right now.  That may change the time next Valentine's Day rolls around but for right now, I feel like dancing.  I would pick the Wilson Pickett version of this song, but Warner Music isn't in a sharing mood.  No matter, Tina Turner can be my Valentine any day of the year :)

And no, the neighbour's daughter didn't wake me up this weekend at all.  I'll give it a few more weeks, but hopefully the letter I wrote had an effect.   Good night all...

- PW

Dear Neighbour Across the Back Lane...

Hi there,

You don't know me, but I live in one of the apartments across the back lane from your house.  I've never introduced myself properly, but we've smiled and nodded when we've crossed paths in the back lane.  Anyway, this isn't the purpose of this letter.

It's your daughter.  just about every weekend night since I've moved into this neighbourhood, your daughter and her friend cut through the parking lot underneath my bedroom window.  That's not the problem.  It's not my personal property, so go ahead.  My problem is that

a) it's anywhere between 2-4 in the morning
b) she is LOUD
c) she is clearly severely intoxicated

The last straw came this Saturday night when your daughter and her friend (maybe sister?) were cutting through the parking lot while they are shouting and arguing with someone on her cell.  It woke me up at about 3 in the morning.  Then I hear the sound of breaking bottles.  I look out my bedroom window to see your daughter and her friend smashing bottles against the apartment next to ours.  You may have even heard it. Yes, all that broken glass you may have noticed was from your daughter.

Then her and her friend both take down their pants and proceed to urinate right under my window, while STILL arguing loudly and being disruptive on her cell.  I opened my window and told her not to piss against my building, to which I received a torrent of obscenities and accusations that I'm a dirty old man, a peeping tom and I should mind my own business.  Probably not the smartest thing to do, I got dressed, intending on confronting them myself, but by the time I got outside, they'd presumably gone home.

This has been happening consistently since I've moved in 8 months ago.  Your daughter cannot be any more than 14 years old, and I find it really concerning she's drinking this much at such a young age.  I'm positive you aren't ignorant of it either.  At the end of our street is a clinic who can provide resources to help your daughter and yourself, should you both choose.  They are free and non-judgmental and can provide help and support.  I have personal experience living in an environment where someone may be abusing alcohol or drugs, and it can be personally shaming.  There is nothing to be ashamed about.  Alcoholism affects people of all ages and all lifestyles.  I implore you, from one parent to another, to seek help.

Of course, you could tell me this is none of my business, and you'd be right.  In which case, I'd still like your cooperation in your daughter's disruptive behaviour.  Because the next time, I may simply call the police and be done with it.

Thank you.

Your neighbour,

Prairie Wanderer.

Officially...

... I am now divorced.  Signed and sealed by Madam Justice at the courthouse.  People are asking me how I feel and in all honesty I don't feel much of anything.  As far as I'm concerned, I was divorced the day I confronted my ex about her infidelity and she looked me in the eyes and spewed the most obnoxious stream of bullshit out of her mouth to try to save her own skin, while fucking some lowlife ex-boyfriend at the same time.  I'd like to believe she wasn't the woman I married, but in truth, I don't think that woman ever existed.  She was a serial cheater who was ashamed and trying to outrun her past, and I viewed her through the eyes of a desperately lonely man who could save her soul.  She tried hard enough, I think, but the easy route has always been too hard to resist for her.  And as much as she will never admit it, me leaving her affected her more deeply than she expected and affected me more positively than she wanted.

A couple of people have offered to take me out for drinks tonight, but I don't think this is an event to celebrate.  Maybe in a day or two, but not tonight.  I'll talk to my sons before their bedtime, do the dishes, make a cup of tea and watch music videos on Youtube and then call it a night.

Tracy Chapman is one of the most prolific musicians of our generation, and this is one of my favourite songs.  It has one of the most memorable lines in any song I know:

You will do and say anything/To make your everyday life seem less mundane


I think we all do, in our own way, and the ultimate irony is that no one's life really is mundane.  It's a roller coaster of ups and downs, triumphs and tribulations, successes and setbacks, love and heartache.  It's intertwined in all of us and they are stories worth telling.  That's why I love blogs, bloggers and blogging.  Good night all

-PW