A Conspiracy of Confusion
My injury was not insignificant, including a serious head wound and what I thought at the time was a broken arm, or shoulder. The pain was very severe but I immediately found myself being held safely in the arms of my wife Mac, reminded once again as our family has been on many occasions, that if you can possibly swing it, marry a nurse. They are so handy to have around at moments such as this.
“People say there is a treasure buried on the mountain up behind your ranch. They say a man called George Vernon buried a big strongbox and left clues so it could be found. That was back in 1865, about a hundred and fifty years ago.”
Robinson
It was 1919. The ‘war to end all wars’ was finally over and the world had survived a global influenza epidemic, the two historic events taking an unimaginable toll worldwide, wiping out entire generations. Optimism was in short supply. The cattle business had continued to thrive adding to the Countess’ vast wealth but as challenging as it was, it was not enough. She wanted more.
Fumiko and Ainsley
Authors note: I spend most of my summers in Deep Bay BC. It’s a beautiful secret and I know how lucky I am. It is easy to imagine times gone by and the people who were there and make up stories about them. Fumiko is an imagination. Ainsley is not. When I wrote this they were both ten.
Aaarrrggghhh!
So let me be clear this is not just a miserable old man spitting into the wind about ‘this modern world’. This is a 74 year old man observing that for all of our extraordinary capacity to communicate we are running the risk of losing our ability to communicate. We have allowed machines to replace our ability to communicate and we have allowed the makers of these machines to persuade us that they are better at communicating than we are. It is brilliant marketing but it rings hollow.
Don’t Kick the Bucket
So here’s my thesis. I think old men are undervalued and unseen for the most part. So for the past few years I have been watching old men, observing them in their natural habitat. That became all that much easier the moment I became an old man myself.
Oooophing
This morning when I got up I made a sound. No not that sound. That sound squeezes from all of us no matter the age, from an early age. No this sound is more like an ‘Ooooph’. It started a few years ago, I’d say around sixty-five.
Pussy Wash
I have to say though that watching the unfolding campaigns of Donald Trump and Kamala Harris has triggered memories of a time when I tried politics. It was 1967 and I ran for Student Council at the University of Victoria.
My Most Favourite Post
I hope you’ll accept this rather weak, shallow and opportunistic explanation for this week’s blog. You see my wife Mac and I have been moving into our new townhouse. Is there a more loathsome task? That is a rhetorical question and in case you’re not good with rhetoric, the answer is NO! I should acknowledge lest you think I am just a miserable old man …
Time Passages
I tell you what, this getting old thing is relentless and has changed the way I think. There are endless euphemisms of course, usually employed in some desperate attempt to avoid the ‘old’ word: The Golden Years, Well Seasoned, Experienced, Mature.
My ass! The word is ‘old’. Time to embrace it.