Reflections on having survived more than three quarters of a century

 

Thank You Dear Kith and Kin

I am beyond being overwhelmed by all the birthday greetings that have arrived via FaceBook, Jackie Lawson and a few tradition bearers using Canada Post. Thank you all.  I feel a verbal effusion coming on. I seem to have had so many lives in so many places on solid ground and on-line. 

When I was working for the Newfoundland public libraries, the library in Stephenville was presided over by the wonderfully, lovably eccentric Gilbert Higgins, rather a black sheep of a prominent legal family in St. John’s. He held his birthday party in his library every year. It was a movable feast. His birthday orations were worth the drive out to Stephenville. I tried to record one on primitive equipment.  Alas, this failed. They were worthy of the Newfoundland Archives.

I don’t usually make a big deal about birthdays, although people in Corner Brook may remember my 60th when I held a large fund-raising-and-thank-you-world party several years after events described below. Upon reflection, this birthday, too, is worthy of celebration.

Twenty years ago I spent my birthday in the ICU unit in Corner Brook, Newfoundland, with lines and tubes coming out of or into almost every orifice. Several weeks earlier I found myself in pain so bad I couldn’t move. We had to call an ambulance.  I foolishly told them it was probably arthritis. No fever? “Mummy” says you have to go to school, eh? They sent me home with Darvon. Lesson:  Never Self Diagnose!  Five nights later we went back. This time they did bloodwork. The locum doctor I had never met phoned me at home in the morning. “Who ordered this bloodwork? Your white blood cell count is through the roof. I’m having you admitted to the hospital immediately.”  Five doctors appeared around the gurney and asked me if I had had sex in Africa in the last 30 years.  I might have said, “I’m not that interesting,” or “I might’ve had sex with an African but it was in Denmark” but it’s all a rather merciful blur. It wasn’t tropical. It wasn’t highly contagious. It wasn’t contagious at all. No flesh-eating spectres appeared. Twenty four hours later the blood culture results came back: plain old Staphylococcus aureus sepsis. We never did figure out how I got it. It is everywhere. You can develop it after a paper cut if your immune system happens to be off duty. I was in the hospital for seven weeks, survived on popsicles and lost 25 pounds.   

As soon as I left the hospital I said to Ron, “Take me to the mall. I want to buy a pair of white jeans.” Ron, dearest pragmatist, said “You’ll spill red wine on them, and next year they won’t fit.” He took me to the Mall. I spilled red wine. I gained back weight. I had to use a walker for weeks and when I had gained a bit of strength worked with a trainer at the gym for almost a year.  But I gloried in those white jeans for the summer. I was monitored regularly for pleural effusions and was lucky that the only permanent damage was to one ankle and one shoulder. I was also lucky that I had found a new passion a decade earlier in storytelling. It was not quite so difficult to bid adieu to belly dancing and trying to play the fiddle.

For awhile I wandered in a lovely bubble amazed by everything upon which I gazed, filled with the greatest love for everything around me. I wanted to stay in that place forever but couldn’t quite manage it without mind-altering drugs. I once read an article about one of my favourite actors, Timothy Spall, who after surviving acute leukemia, described something similar; then one day he realized he was being petty and realized he was back in the world as we know it. I can’t find that article now, but I found a similar one online in The Express

“When you’re in a state of not knowing whether you’re going to live or die or not, you’re in a state of profundity,” Timothy continued. “So I remember going out to the park in between treatments and looking at a tree and for the first time really thinking what an amazing thing it was. “And for about 10 minutes, I thought, 'That is a really nice tree.' And then after a while I did it again, and after a while I thought, 'You know, this profundity thing is a bit overrated.”

Septic shock killed almost as many soldiers in World War I trenches as enemy fire. It still kills 15 - 30% of the people who develop it today. Just before Christmas, Martin, a member of our church choir and a truly fine human being, was stricken after testing positive for COVID.  He did not survive. It was a terrible shock to us all.

How I managed to draw a long straw on this one I’ll never know, but the last 20 years have been a gift. Amazing people were on my team working in a hospital in conditions that were not always “world class.” Great gratitude is due to Dr. Barry May, who died of a heart attack the year after my experience, and seemed determined I would survive. I hope I have done enough worthwhile things over these two decades to justify the tax dollars spent on me at Western Region Memorial Hospital.  

These 20 years have been filled: remarkable people I would have never met, places I would not have seen, stories I would not have heard, books I would not have read, ankle-biting letters to the editor I would not have written. I would never have been diagnosed as a soprano and sung “The Celtic Mass” with a Canadian choir at Carnegie Hall, where I hit the high B flat while my feet were asleep. Psst: We did have to practice.

I would not have been spared waking on my birthday in 1982 to the dreadful news of the Ocean Ranger disaster, which devastated people I know and love. I would not have seen the destruction of our only planet unfolding faster than my worst pessimism at the time,  nor been locked down in a global pandemic, during which I saw many random acts of community. 

I try, but cannot always rise above the weltschmerz. I’m not good at pretending it isn’t there, and that there are no monsters under the bed. Sometimes I think our bodies can feel the axe stroke of every tree that is cut, every resource torn from Mother Earth's belly or the sound of the last words spoken in a dying language, to allow us to live our lives  of privilege, far enough up the food chain - for now - to be warm and comfortable. Everything IS connected. We cannot really tell our cells that everything is OK.  

We can breath and listen to beautiful music - as we did on the weekend at two wonderful chamber music concerts.  We can enjoy Ron's creation of  a "Retro" meal of French Onion Soup, Boeuf Stroganoff on fresh noodles and a bottle of Beaujolais Villages and watch another episode "Masters of the Air," as we reflect on our parents'  earlier lives - my mother, a Sargeant in the Womens' Division of the Royal Canadian Air Force keeping maintenance records for the planes in which airmen trained in Eastern Canada before heading overseas; my father in the Signal Corps of the Canadian Army, sleeping in slit trenches under the heavy artillery and slopping through the Dutch fields in the The Battle of the Scheldt. He told a story  of a time when most of the soldiers on both sides was suffering from dysentery and the marshy air was beyond fetid. 

I tell fairy tales in which monsters are punished and kind children survive. Would that it were so.  And, if you love people enough, you can turn them into real princes, princesses or rabbits. A few nights ago Prince Ron and I took an absurdist break and watched “The Death of Stalin” It was on Obama's list of favourites from 2018.  

Frequently, Ron and I reflect upon a cartoon, that was posted years ago on a colleague's wall at Grenfell College, which was recently the victim of bad ransomware attack.  It has taken a long time to track it down but I finally traced it via JStor.  Somehow ...

Memorial to the Victims of Communism — Canada, a Land of Refuge

I read that the taxpayers of Canada are going to be stiffed $6 million toward the shortfall on this project:  Memorial to the Victims of Communism — Canada, a Land of Refuge     

I thought we had stopped this ill-conceived project once and for all. Thank goodness we have journalists whose job is to remind us when our emperors have no clothes.This project came back to my attention in my morning paper The Chronicle Herald. I think Maxwell Mason has covered the territory very well.

"Our tasteless and unseemly statue tradition continues" by Maxwell Mason

The project was initially a private one to be hoisted on the land by the Supreme Court of Canada - not precisely a judicious use of government real estate for many reasons. It was initially to be funded by "private" persons - some of whom are known Nazis. One can understand a desire for revenge but building monuments won't bring anyone back. A little sober second thought may allow us to recall that we were not a Land of Refuge for everyone back then and the land we offered was not really ours to offer. Canada was one of many nations that refused to admit Jews trying to flee the antisemitic oppression that would culminate in the Holocaust.

Yes, indeed, communists killed a lot of people, fascists killed a lot, imperialists and colonists killed a lot. Capitalists and religious zealots are doing a fine job, too. Global warming will step up to get a lot more of us. Homeless people are living in tents by our local War Monument and dying in our streets -  one just last week. Where will their monuments be? Our public broadcaster is underfunded so we won't have as many people to check the emperor's deshabille, and if the opposition leader becomes emperor, he says he will shut down the CBC.

I wrote to the usual suspects as well as Pascale St-Onge, the Minister of Canadian Heritage which facilitated the project and Maryse Gaudreault, Chair of the National Capital Commission which commissioned it.

This is embarrassing.

 

Plastic words, climate change and the value of CBC

Yesterday I happened to take a brief look at our municipality’s Central Plan, now under revision   It was aglow with "plastic words" like, stakeholders, strategic, visioning, frameworks, etc.  I hate trying to read these things. The very word strategic planning almost sends me into apoplectic fits.  During my career as a civil servant, I began to see strategic planning exercises as an invitation from government to help them figure out how best to cut your budget using empty rhetoric - in my case, the libraries.  It is far more palatable to cut something called a resource centre than a library

I was trying to remember who developed the concept of "plastic words" – those words that are vague and deliberate diversions from more sinister meanings.  “Not Noam Chomsky,” said my husband over breakfast.  I searched.

First up:  a March 2023 article by Andrew Nikiforuk, especially timely as we observe a climate change conference taking place in an authoritarian city with a culture of human rights abuse. Dubai boasts of its sustainable development but owes its great wealth to the oil industry and nearly enslaved foreign workers. It began its climb as a pearl fishing centre. It is hardly a society to emulate.

How Plastic Words Mask Reality: Latest example: The BC government’s reluctance to say ‘oil and gas.’ 

I have subscribed for a number of years to The Tyee - an online journal based in British Columbia, which offers independent journalism that swims against the current. I should send them more than my humble five dollars a month.

I am forever grateful to my High School Journalism teacher Mr. Brockman who taught us to read the media critically looking for manipulation and fallacies in logic. Every now and then, I need to go back to that list of fallacies for a refresher. Had the concept “plastic words” been around then, he would surely have introduced it. Thanks to Nikiforuk I finally tracked the source: German linguist, Uwe Poerksen:  Plastic Words; the tyranny of a modular language, written in 1988, long after Mr. Brockman’s challenge.

I then recalled that there had been a CBC “Ideas” program about Plastic Words hosted by the well respected Canadian journalist Lister Sinclair.  It featured Uwe Poerksen. Thirty years on, the transcript is well worth revisting.

We have just experienced the announcement of serious layoffs (10%) coming for the CBC, our national Broadcaster, made by a Liberal Government that campaigned to support it. This plays right into the agenda of Pierre Poilievre, our prime ministerial contender who wants to axe our public broadcaster completely.  He is from the Stephen Harper school of politicians who hate the media and has a large vocabulary of plastic words himself.  My inner crone wonders if this was a sop to the supporters of Poilievre who are currently polling too high for comfort.  My inner crone has had enough ankle biting for the day.

 

Are No-Pet Policies yet another way for landlords to renovict tenants. Halifax Examiner writer thinks so.

Now that we can't share Canadian News Items that irk OR delight us on FB I will attempt to circumvent the foolishness by using this dormant old blog. Here is an "Irk-er"  and the letter I wrote to elected folks and the Human Rights Commission.  This will also spare FB friends some of my ankle biting and hissy fits. I feel like I want to aim at higher body parts lately. Perhaps it's the heat, the humidity, the rain, the power outages and the general angst that one feels out there in a world on the brink. The links work, but it's a bit convoluted - 2 steps.

https://www.halifaxexaminer.ca/housing/priced-out/the-housing-crisis-has-created-cat-crisis-landlords-are-declaring-their-buildings-pet-free-as-a-way-to-get-around-rent-caps-and-renoviction-rules/

 

 To the Minister of Housing in Nova Scotia ( and the Premier, and heads of other parties and the Human Rights Commission)  with a addendum to an interesting book launch, which I was actually able to share on Face book.

An HRM councillor referred me to the province as my concern does not fall under the municipal jurisdiction.  "Not my Department" is unfortunately the universal default on many housing issues. I refer to an article in the Halifax Examiner:

 I believe no-pets policies to be a human rights issue and will place additional stress and heart break for many lonely and poor people. There is strong evidence of the positive effect of companion animals on mental health. I am sure the policies will not be applied to people in high end apartments. Most pet owners are responsible. Leases can contain clauses for damage made by pets to be the responsibility of tenants. 

I realize this concern may be perceived as a "micro" concern in terms of the larger housing crisis, which has been developing from years of inaction at all levels of government. Yet I see it as one more symptom of an issue that will be dealt with in what sounds to be an important book being launched this  Wed Sep 20 at Dalhousie University.

The Tenant Class, By Ricardo Tranjan
https://atlanticbooks.ca/events/book-launch-the-tenant-class-by-ricardo-tranjan/

Tranjan is a political economist and senior researcher with the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives (CCPA). In The Tenant Class, Tranjan asks the question, What if there is no housing crisis, but instead a housing market working exactly as intended? This book has been described as a “trailblazing manifesto in which Ricardo Tranjan breaks down pervasive myths about renters, mom-and-pop landlords, and housing affordability. Drawing upon a long, inspiring history of collective action in Canada, Tranjan argues that organized tenants have the power to fight back.”

This event will be Hybrid, registration for those joining online is forthcoming.

Dear Customer Service - A small pandemic tale

We recognize this as a “first world” story, and likely a “supply-chain” tale. We ordered a white fridge and dishwasher at Home Depot on June 15 to arrive July 15.  A few days later, our existing refrigerator died.  Anticipating the imminent arrival of the new fridge, we bought ice daily to keep the cat’s insulin and our milk in a cooler during a hot spell.

Several days before the anticipated delivery, they advised us the fridge was back ordered until mid-September and the dishwasher slightly delayed. The dishwasher installer called us on the appointed day and said he was running late. We said “No problem! Nothing here to install.” They don’t co-ordinate installation with delivery. They don't even know who the other party is. Very Spy vs. Spy.  The dishwasher arrived the following day. Rescheduling installation took several weeks of phone tag. I lived dishwasher-free for 50 years. Not serious now - except for a bruise or two tripping over the new dishwasher sitting in the middle of our tiny kitchen.

It would be cheaper and less stressful to buy a mini-fridge than to buy ice every day out there in the lockdown world. It’s tiny freezer quickly displayed inadequacy. Could we chip out enough ice for a gin and tonic - maybe one or two a week. Hardly. Last month on a balmy summer's eve we took to the ferry to Halifax we went for our first restaurant meal since Mar 2020 at The Highwayman and ordered a flight of gin and tonics.They were wonderful. 

On September 3 came a heavily accented and crackly phone call.  I almost hung up thinking it yet another Amazon Prime hoax - until I managed to decipher “gee” as “General Electric.” The agent told me the fridge was back-ordered until Nov 15. I pity the people in these thankless jobs, but thanked her when I got over the shock.

Grasping that there might not be a white fridge left in the universe, Ron Quixote drove to Home Depot, ordered another fridge, negotiated with the pleasant, helpful clerk a discount for “inconvenience” equal to the cost of the mini-fridge, and cancelled the first one. He settled for stainless and was told delivery would be Sep 15.  It was delivered about a week after the expected date. It does not quite fit the space. It sticks 6” out into the kitchen from its niche. I‘ve never had “A Fridge of My Dreams” on my Bucket List anyway. “We’ll cover the glare with fridge magnets,” said Ron, and did.

Now to get it registered! My first incomplete glance at the warranty card said it could be registered by scanning the code, but the code space was blank. OK – I tried on-line. I had to create an account which took more than a few tries. I thought I had been recognized as being in Canada.  When that was finally successful, I entered the serial #  all good

Next I entered the Model #  and got this  “Model not found” message

I clicked the link for “How to find the model #” and got a “404 Page not Found”

Re-examining the paperwork, I realized there was a separate card for Canadian consumers - no option for on-line. I had spent 10 or 15 minutes on a hopeless cause – not for the first tiime in my life. I ‘minds the bitterness of offers on the cereal boxes of my childhood being “void outside the U.S.A. and it’s possessions.” No plastic Thunderbird models or grow your own Sea Monkeys for you Canucks! I filled in the card, put it in an envelope to mail it to the Mississauga. I don’t like sending postcards with personal information through the mail. Such paranoia is beyond naive, of course. I listened to part of the  2020 Massey Lecture series on CBC by "Reset: Reclaiming the Internet for Civil Society" by Ron Diebert. I learned that ALL our devices, including refrigerators, are collecting data on us. After four episodes I got so depressed, I had to retreat to those Nordic Noir detective shows like "Bordertown" and "Trapped"  for escape.

Life is threatened daily by hurricanes, volcanoes, global warming, species extinction, tyrants, extremists and people off their meds..The loss of many near and dear ones grows exponentially.  Isn’t it a comfort to know we will be soon be outed by our refrigerator as consumers of strange pickled things?