We're Not Worthy!

My Three Ladies
Originally uploaded by Unknown species

Sometimes I think I’m not worthy of the life I lead. Right now my life is the best it’s ever been despite some recent setbacks. I sat in my step-daughter’s living room this morning surrounded by good wishes and not a little sympathy for my recent ordeal. Watching the grandchildren unwrap Christmas presents, I started thinking of a line from Wayne’s World: “We’re not worthy, we’re not worthy!” In so many ways I ‘m not worthy of this life, yet here I am. I suspect I may not be alone in this feeling, so might I suggest we all try to be just a little more worthy of those people who love us in the coming year? I know I’m sure going to try! A very Merry Christmas to anyone else foolish enough to follow this blog. May the next year prove us all worthy of our friends and family!

A Rare Find

It was December of 1931 when this issue of Astounding hit the newsstands. My father was sixteen and I wasn't even a gleam in his eye yet. The Great Depression had been going on for close to two years. For someone to fork out twenty cents, this magazine had better be good. Science fiction was new and not even on the title yet. They were simply Astounding Stories.

I read this one from cover to cover and what struck me the most was the optimism. That's right, optimism in the middle of the Great Depression. Writers of the day were hopeful. They were convinced technology and mankind's persistence could and would solve any problem.

This was of course long before the cable news networks took to scaring the bejesus out of us on a daily, then hourly basis. Be afraid, be very afraid. Global warming, global politics, global terrorism: it all amounts to ratings. They equate fear with viewers and sadly, they're right. When big events happen, we watch. When we're bored and channel surfing, we watch. If there's a car chase going on we stay, especially if it involves a white SUV.

Back then heroes were honest and upright. They solved problems and did the right thing, every time. They were true to their family, their country and their mission. Alien invasions were simple: we had the planet, they wanted it. They must be and will be stopped. The professor will find the solution in the nick of time, his daughter will be saved by the dashing young hero and all will be well in the universe. Maybe I'm just a sucker for happy endings but I love this stuff.

Many years ago a professor I was taking a course from asked me which I thought provided a better escape from reality; drugs or literature? I'm sure he picked me because he had caught a wiff of the herb on me more than once. I think it surprised him however when I answered "literature" without hesitation.

You see, drugs don't actually allow you to escape reality--all they do is distort it. Harlie, a self-aware computer in When Harlie Was One by David Gerrold scrambled his inputs in an attempt to simulate getting high, something he had observed his creator doing. It did not allow him to escape reality any more than it does for humans. A good book on the other hand can present you with an entirely new reality, something even Harlie would have agreed with. I only wish I could devour entire libraries the way he could.

A Science Fiction Life

I have lived a science fictional life.

By this I don’t mean I’ve surrounded myself with futuristic gadgets or wear a tin foil hat to ward off space aliens (never works anyway).

What I mean is that my choice of reading material has been almost exclusively science fiction since I was about ten. The first science fiction novel I can remember clearly was Rocket Jockey by Lester Del Rey. I seem to recall choosing it as much because of the word ‘jockey’ in the title as ‘rocket.’ This was probably because I had just finished reading Walter Farley’s Black Stallion series. I devoured everything by Del Rey that I could get my hands on then moved on to the other science fiction writers I found next to him in the local library. From that day until now I have very seldom strayed from the genre.

My alphabet soon consisted of Asimov, Bova, Clarke and others up to and including Zelazny. I went through them all, renewing old friendships over the years and discovering new ones. I soon outgrew the public library and began my own. Then I found Analog. Here was a monthly publication dedicated to science and science fiction. I was in heaven. I bought my first issue in the summer of 1968 and have tried very hard not to miss any since. A few years back I started attending the local science fiction convention (ConVersion) and discovered the dealer’s room.

If you’ve never been to a con, the dealer’s room is where booksellers, artists and others put theirs wares on display: everything from books to jewelry and even chain mail for teddy bears. It is by far and away my favourite part of any con. Once a year I get to go crazy, spend a whack of money and buy all kinds of neat stuff. I started picking up old issues of Astounding, the predecessor to Analog.

Working my way back from where I had started buying them in 1968, I filled in the gaps on my list each year and the collection grew. I now have most of the 50’s and 60’s, a smattering of 1930’s and ‘40’s along with all of the seventies, most of the eighties and everything from 1990 until now. Every year I go armed with my list and find a few more. Problem is, the magazine began publication in 1930 so there are a lot to collect and of course the older they are the harder they are to find and the more they cost. They are in many ways a history of the genre for writers write what sells and for almost eighty years the goal of a lot of the very best science fiction writers out there has been to get published in Astounding/Analog magazine.

Thus the editorial staff of this magazine (along with others) have shaped the genre. For many years this was John W. Campbell Jr. He decided what was and what was not science fiction, a term he himsel coined, feeling the term 'scientifiction' put forward by Hugo Gernsback (then editor of Amazing Stories) was too cumbersome. So science fiction it became and John Campbell became the father of this new fictional genre. From the thirties right into the sixties he directed and shaped science fiction by deciding what did and what did not meet his publication needs. Writers may be free to write what they want but editors determine what gets published.

Nomads and Settlers

Feeding time at the zoo
Originally uploaded by Unknown species

A house without a cat is not a home. I’ve always believed this and it has more or less determined where I lived over the years.

Apartments are for people on the move, modern nomads. All through history there have been settlers and nomads. Settlers stay in one place, driving in roots and building their lives where they are. Nomads carry their lives with them wherever they go, either on their backs or in a suitcase. Settlers live in houses; nomads prefer apartments or condominiums. I am without doubt a settler for I have never actually lived in an apartment or a condo. Nomads also tend to move often, constantly seeking a better location in which to live; I am at present living in only my sixth (and with any luck, final) address. Next stop, shady acres.

As we go through life it dumps loads of crap on us from time to time. Digging ourselves out with or without the help of others helps to shape our lives and determine who we are. The same can be said of writing. A good story or novel is one in which the main character has a load of crap dumped on them and the shovels are all on the other side of the forest and well hidden. How well the character copes with the challenges and how digging themselves out from under changes them determines what is and what is not a good story. Good stories fundamentally change their main characters and leave them improved by the end of the tale. A professor once told me that what sets literature apart from other works is what they say about being human.

Just as all the twists and turns of life shape who we become, plot twists must determine who the main character becomes. The character must undergo some fundamental change by the end of the story. In quest fiction there is usually an object that must be recovered in order to save the day. Once this is accomplished, all will be well. While on the quest, various loads of crap will be dumped on the protagonist's head and shovels will be hidden along the way. By overcoming these obstacles the main character becomes stronger and better able to cope with future crap. At the end of the quest they are changed, improved in some way that ties in with the overall theme of the story.

Stories written for children usually contain some kind of lesson or moral. The main character discovers something about themself that makes them a better or more mature person by the end of the story. In other words, they learn something. Mark Twain was fabulous for creating characters who were basically ignorant of most of the everday facts the rest of us take for granted. By allowing them to learn and discover the things that everyone else already knows, he casts these widely held beliefs into doubt. Things that everyone knows are 'just so' are revealed to be anything but. In this way he makes the reader grow along with his main character.

In this sense nomads make better characters that settlers for they are used to change and able to adapt to new situations quickly. Settlers tend to like life to be predictable and get upset when it is not. Nomads accept an ever changing world and chafe at static societies. The conflict between the two lifestyles can and often does provide material for the writer. In real life, sttlers and nomads seldom get along all that well and one almost never changes into the other. In fiction however, one is free to extrapolate explore what happens when the two attempt to trade places.

Nomads are dismal failures as settlers and settlers are never happy on the move. Conflict and resolution are the building blocks of any good story. Forcing your main character into a lifestyle not their own and watching them cope can be instructive as well as entertaining Allowing for change is what makes a story work. If by the end of the story your main character has become something they are not however, the whole thing falls apart. People tend to change in little ways, not abandon their entire way of life to embrace another. No nomand will ever be happy settling down any more than a settler enjoys moving around all the time. In the end the sttler will always be left behind as the nomad moves on.

Love can conquer all and in fiction this is certainly true. Nomads and settlers fall in love all the time and one or the other takes up a lifestyle not their own. Most times it is the nomad that gives up their wanderlust and becomes a settler. Occasionally a settler will cast off their roots take up the open road but this happens much less often. Neither is happy in the other's world and the relationship usually breaks down in the end with Shane riding off into the sunset and the little kid calling out his name in vain.

Out of Focus

Out of Focus
Originally uploaded by Unknown species

It was a lovely day today and for a change I was out and about in the morning hours, a time normally spent sleeping. I had a few errands to run and took my camera along intending to stop off at a friend’s on the way home to photograph his two cats. Before I knew it I was driving past a house I haven’t lived in for nearly a quarter of a century. I was disappointed at first that the shot was out of focus. Then I thought about it for a second. When I lived there from 1975 until 1985, it was always more or less out of focus too. Those who knew me then understand why, the rest don’t need to.

I will have to make a point of going back there some day and holding the camera steady. Not sure why I was shaking but it was an emotional moment. Even now there are a lot of memories attached to the place. I find myself grateful that whoever owns it now hasn’t torn it down to build condos yet. The little house on the corner we knew as 804a is still there.

Most of the other shots I took this morning turned out fine including several of my friend’s two beautiful cats. Shadow and Socks are two of the prttiest cats I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. They always come to greet me whenever I drop over. I have been threatening to take their pictures ever since they were kittens. Too bad I missed that stage as they were super cute as only kittens can be. Even as adults they are quite striking.

After that I took a long slow drive home snapping a few pictures along the way. Snapshots are really the only kind of memories we have, now that I think about it. Whether on film, digital or simply in our minds, the images we carry around of our past are still images for the most part, a moment frozen in time, an image our mind and time have had more than enough time to edit. The result is a memory that like the above image, is just a wee bit fuzzy and out of focus.

I got the last of my Christmas shopping done today, made good on a promise to an old friend and visited a life gone by. It’s good to know where we’ve been and even good to go back now and then for a visit. The past is just that however, the past. The world and people move on. The ten years I spent living at 804a were both wonderful and terrible years all at the same time. I don’t live there any more. All of the people I knew then have either died or moved away as have I. My life is a little more in focus these days and as a result I have much more in it. Still, it was an interesting decade and an unforgettable chapter in my life.

Snow Day

Max
Originally uploaded by Unknown species

I woke up this afternoon with all kinds of plans, looked out the window and decided it was a snow day. A day to sit indoors and glare at the pile of crystallized dihydrogen oxide covering everything. Winter. The season of our discontent, runny noses, frozen fingers and cars that won’t start. Eight months out of twelve up here in the Great White North we have winter. Even then, one can always find a sunbeam. So I shall take a page from Max today and just enjoy.

Cats and Dominoes

THE S CATS
Susie 1974–1984 Sabrina 1977– 1992
Sandy 1988 -1996 Sarek 1995 -

So many years and so many changes in my life. The cats were the only constant. Everything I did revolved around them. Susie and I went east in 1977 and started a chain of events that led to where I am today. Like a neatly stacked series of dominoes one thing led to the next and the next and so on.

Because I went east in ’77, I picked up a pair of hitch hikers on the way back. Because of them, I lost my Toyota and wound up buying a taxi. Then one day while buying groceries I met an old friend. There was dinner at The Moose Factory and dancing at Lucifer’s. A year and a plane trip later the whole thing was nothing but a memory.

Then there was 804a and all the roommates, friends and lovers. Back to school and three long years with next to no sleep, the return of an old friend and our mutual disappointment in each other. Graduation, a new locale and a return to the ways of old. The garden and the bust. A change of careers and one last visit with an old friend. Hugs and goodbyes. Another change of career and yet another return to ways of old. An unexpected kiss. More than friends. A new home and a wife.

No one piece of the chain can be eliminated or changed in any way. All are required for me to be here and here is where I want to be. Through all of it there however there were the cats. First Susie and Sabrina, then Sandy and finally Sarek. All have been strays and all have had names beginning with an S. Each one has known their predecessor. There have been and are other cats in my life but there has always been an S cat.

Sarek will probably be the last in the chain for we are planning to let the cats we currently have live out their lives without any further additions. They are all getting too old to contend with any newcomers as am I. It’s been an exciting life to say the least. Not a perfect one but who’s is? I’m here, healthy and happy. The path I took to get here is irrelevant as is where I go from here. The journey is and has always been more important than the destination and now at least, I no longer have to travel alone.

Cheaters Shouldn't Prosper

When I started this blog (and the attached Flickr page) it was with the most transparent of motivations. Quite simply I was hoping an old friend would come and read it, realize I am no threat to her or her lifestyle and be willing to rekindle the friendship. Alas it would appear this is not to be. So be it. Life goes on and it would appear this blog now has a life of its own. It’s no longer about her but rather anything that happens to be bugging me. At the moment it seems to be Canadian politics, which in itself says a great deal for I am the original apolitical apathetic Canadian.

Most of the time I simply don’t care what goes on in Ottawa or Washington. What the politicians do or don’t do, while occasionally entertaining is seldom relevant to the average citizen. Lately however, the three unwise men from the east and their antics have managed to get my blood boiling. I have to admit for the first time in my life Canadian politics isn’t boring. I no longer reach for the remote when Mike Duffy comes on. After all, I may be apathetic but I am still a Canadian. This is my country too and I for one resent anyone attempting to seize power without at least going through the motions of asking my opinion.

The three unwise men did not win the last election. The people spoke and soundly rejected them. Now because they fear losing their federal subsidies, these clowns seem to think they can just ignore the results of the last election and simply take over. Is it just me, or does this kind of remind you of Florida in 2000 and again in 2004? George Bush lost both times yet miraculously rose from the ashes of defeat on a mountain of hanging chads to become president. These three unwise men of the east would appear to be looking for a similar miracle and just like George, they are perfectly willing to manufacture one of their own.

Cheating is not (or so I was raised to believe) the Canadian way. We’re supposed to be better than that. Can these three unwise men really think they will capture the hearts and minds of this country by stealing power? Yes, the rules may allow what they are trying to do just as the rules allowed what happened down south of us but is this really the kind of government we want--a government that had to cheat to get there? I think not. A government must have legitimacy to rule, something this coalition of losers would never have. Winning means nothing when you have to cheat!

So who needs a government?

Right at the moment Canada does not have a government. Can you see the difference? Really? Try as I may I honestly cannot see any change. Life goes on with or without the clowns in Ottawa. In fact, most times Canada functions in spite of the politicians, not because of them. People who have had their appendix removed live quite normal and healthy lives, never missing the apparently functionless organ. In the same way, Canada seems to be getting along just fine without parliament. Could it be that they too have become essentially a functionless organ we can live without?

Historically this would not seem to be the case. However bad and dysfunctional a parliament is, they do seem necessary. Monarchs who have tried to rule without them fail. Conversely, when parliament has tried to do away with the monarch it hasn’t worked out that well either. Both are apparently needed. Our own governor general had to step in when Canada’s parliament could not effectively rule. Perhaps over the Christmas break the three less than wise men currently attempting to hijack our government will come to their senses and allow it to function properly.

Time out for bad behavior

I love how the three stooges are trying to convince Canadians that Mr. Harper is somehow responsible for the current mess. Excuse me? This whole tragic comedy was started when he tried to reduce government spending by stopping the subsidization of political parties at the taxpayers’ expense. That’s right folks, he tried to save us some money!

Nothing like greed to bring politicians together now is there? To me this is somehow reminiscent of the Iraq war. First they were there to find the weapons of mass destruction. Then, when there weren’t any to be found, suddenly they were there to liberate the country. First the stooges balk at losing their welfare then they try to blame their stupidity on the government of the day rather than admit it was simple greed.

As for Mr. Dion becoming Prime Minister, what a joke! This man was barely able to get elected and let’s face it, was already on his way out as party leader. Now he sees a miracle! A way to seize power and fulfill his wildest fantasies without ever having won an election. As for Mr. Layton, the less said the better. Why he would choose to support Dion is a question only he can answer but I suspect it has something to do with the ‘anyone but Harper’ campaign he initiated during the last election. What motivates the Bloc is another matter but again, greed is no doubt the major factor. All want their slice of the pie, a pie Mr. Harper was trying reduce in size.

So in steps the governor general. Because the children won’t behave, she suspended parliament to give everyone a time out. It is to be hoped the three stooges will take this time to consider what they are attempting to do. I for one do not care that one of theses stooges is heading up a party dedicated to the separation of Quebec from Canada. What troubles me is their collective ability to govern. I cannot honestly see them accomplishing anything good for Canada. If they do manage to seize power in their bloodless coup, they will be in the same position many a third world dictator has found himself in. Seizing power is easy, exercising it wisely is not.

Sometimes I'm almost normal

Anyone who knows me will tell you how absurd the title of this post is. Normal? Me? Looking around at some of the other fine examples of humanity to be found on this planet, I begin to wonder. Okay maybe I’m strange but for the most part, harmless. I can honestly say that I have never gone out of my way to intentionally hurt anyone. Even when I drove a cab I never bothered ripping any of my passengers off. Over the years I have crossed paths with individuals that didn’t seem to have even the limited moral compass I do. Then there were the others, the ones who actually get some kind of sick pleasure out of hurting others.

These are the ones I do not understand. Recently a young man escaped such a situation and his story was all over the news. Someone had been torturing him. Not to gain information as in the official non-torture water-boarding at Gitmo. No, this was torture for pleasure. Someone enjoyed inflicting pain on this boy. Why? I have no idea. Watching it though, I couldn’t help wondering how many of the guards in the World War II concentration camps were there because they enjoyed the work. What part of mankind takes pleasure in acts such as these? Is it there in all of us or only a few? Why are some of us better at suppressing it than others? These are question I have no answer for. If there is some part of me that could take pleasure in hurting others I am eternally grateful it has never surfaced.

That is not to say I have not hurt others. I have. By oversight, by cowardice, you name it. I’ve let others down, we all have. A while back I watched a rather unusual movie called The Martian Child based on a story by David Gerrold. One line stood out. One of the characters turns to the other and says, “Why can’t you be who we want you to be?” That one question sums up a lot of the hopes and aspirations of the human race. Each of us has an image of what we want other peopleto be. Sometimes they live up to it, sometimes they don’t. When they don’t, we’re like the character in the movie, disappointed and puzzled and whether we voice it or not, asking the same question.

I have disappointed others just as they have me, usually because I could not be who they wanted me to be just as they could never be who I wanted them to be. We can only be who we are. It has taken me a lot of years to come to terms with who I am. Accepting others for who they are is more difficult but I'm working on it.

Past present and future

The more things change the more they stay the same. A cliché to be sure but even clichés contain some truth. Years ago, telephones were misused by misguided individuals to harass other people. Telephone harassment has for the most part disappeared with the advent of call display and call blocking. Now it’s the internet. Several sites and of course the usenet allow misguided individuals to spread rumours, slander or just to rant with relative impunity. Trouble is, they tend to make their victims somewhat skittish and reluctant to allow legitimately friendly overtures. When someone who means these people no harm simply says hello, they get shut down. It has become reflex by this point.

It’s the old ‘bad apple’ syndrome. Buy one bad apple from a merchant and nothing that merchant can do with entice you back into his store. Men who harass and stalk women make it doubly difficult for decent men to even approach them. Communication between the sexes is difficult at the best of times and establishing trust on either side a slow process. Each of us bases our level of trust in another person on our experiences. The more we get burned, the less likely we are to open up to the next person. Over the years we build up scar tissue just the same as we would over a physical injury.

Scar tissue unfortunately, is not very flexible. We tend to prejudge others as soon as they match a pattern we’ve seen before. All of us, whether consciously or not, slot new people we meet into categories based on our past experiences. Some are to be embraced, some held at a distance, others avoided altogether. Prejudging may be wrong and definitely inaccurate but we all do it because it saves time and pain if it allows us to avoid one wrong move. Trouble is, it also prevents us from many of the right moves. People who mean us no harm and who in fact might very well be supportive and helpful to us are often shunned simply because they remind us of someone else.

For many years I fancied myself to be in love with a close friend. She often pointed out that the real problem was that I am and will forever be, a hopeless romantic. You see it wasn’t her I was in love with. Oh I loved her and a part of me still does. I was not in love with her though. I was in love with the idea of being in love. I didn’t see the difference until quite late in life when I finally did fall in love. Not the same thing at all. Now I finally understand what she was able to see all those years ago. Sadly, in the process of learning this and establishing a new life, I lost the friend--too bad, for I owe her a great deal. You see, she taught me the difference between loving someone and being ‘in love’ with them.

I love my friends and I care about all of them, even the ones who no longer speak to me. I made a serious mistake with her trying to push the friendship into areas it was never meant to go. I see that so clearly now but hindsight always was 20/20. Looking back I can see she was worth far more to me as a friend. Lust has a funny way of clouding men’s judgment that way. Now that I’m older sex is not the be all and end all it was back then. I can enjoy a woman’s company without the tension that was always there in the past. I’m happily married and not looking for anything else on the side. For the first time in my life I am beginning to appreciate the other half of the human race on their own merits rather than as a collection of interesting body parts.

What a shame we only start to figure out this thing called life as we begin the final quarter of the game. With my luck it’ll all make sense to me just as the heart monitor begins its long drawn out beep. Until then however, I try to grow and learn. I make fewer mistakes now and move on quicker. The past may shape how we react to the present but the future is in our own hands. Experience is a guide but should not be a straight jacket.

The bloodless coup of Canada

Remember how as Canadians we wondered how a man who lost an election could wind up President of the United States? Twice. Seemed unbelievable at the time didn’t it? The whole idea of democracy is supposed to be that the person with the most votes wins, right? Not necessarily.

Welcome to the New World Order as laid down by the leaders of the three losing parties in the last Canadian federal election. I call them Larry, Curly and Moe for obvious reasons. These stooges cannot and will not accept that they lost. Now they’re trying to pull off an end run. Since none of them induhvidually (sic) had what it took to win an election they’ve all come together to pull off what amounts to a coup.

Oh it’s a bloodless coup all right, staged in the finest traditions of Canadian politeness. No tanks, guns or any real blood. Simply the hopes and desires of all Canadians for a fair and representative government, laid down on the floor of the house of parliament. Nothing to lose any sleep over here, unless you care about democracy in this country. We had an election, they lost. End of story. That, in the eyes of most Canadians means one thing and one thing only: the Conservatives won. Now these losers want to simply take all that and throw it away.

Who cares what you or I want? Not the Liberals, who lost more ground this time around than ever. Not the New Democrats, who have never been anything but a fringe party for all their claims. And certainly not the Bloc, a party dedicated to splitting this great country apart. The absurdity of this coalition is vaudevillian at best and a tragedy for all of us. If these three modern day stooges are allowed to take over the governing of Canada without having won an election it will mean our wonderful democracy has become nothing more than a demockery.

Punctuation Marks

Once the final punctuation mark at the end of the train, now the few cabooses left are to be found on sidings such as this one in Strathmore, Alberta. When a train crosses in front of me I find myself subconsciously looking for something more. The train seems to end far too abruptly without the little red caboose.

Most of life has its own punctuation marks or dividers, sectioning off time periods and delineating events. This era or that is always known by some characteristic symbol. Even within one's own life there are always memories or events marking beginnings and endings. As time goes on they're often all that remains.

In the case of World War I the image of the trench soldier with his helmet on and bayonet fixed going over the top is uppermost in most people's minds. In the thirties the hobo camps and long lines at the soup kitchens were always there. For World War II it's the airplane and in the end the atomic bomb marking the beginning of the cold war.

The Berlin wall, both the symbol of communist strength in eastern Europe and the final punctuation mark of its demise. Vietnam and helicopters are forever linked together. The Kuwait fires, twin towers, all of these events mark off the times and provide chapter divisions for history books. I can't help wondering what the future will associate with this present decade, the one still haven't come up with a name for yet.