Chugga chugga, Chugga chugga

The Ride of My Life

We met at a wine and cheese party. She was my sister’s best friend and the party was being hosted by another sister so lots of sibs and their friends were sharing their wine and cheese. At one point in the evening, we were a group four sharing stories, She across from me and as the other two carried the conversation our eyes met. She smiled.

And that was it. I don’t think we actually spoke. I didn’t even ask her name. My wife was on the other side of the room so getting into a conversation with a beautiful, single woman would have put me on even thinner ice. The ice beneath us had been getting thinner by the day and our brief marriage was about to implode. I’d made a mistake, not my first, not may last but certainly my biggest in asking her to marry me two years previous and I don’t think she liked me any more than I liked her. But I was trying to avoid another big mistake by letting it go without trying.

So She and I didn’t speak. But her smile moved along my optic nerve and ignited an array of memory cells as it went. That was twelve years ago. A year after that party I was single and went to another party, this time at the home of the other sister, friend of She. We met at the door as we arrived and whoever answered the door asked, prophetically, “Oh, did you come together?”. “I brought some wine”, she responded. I smiled but again, we didn’t speak.

It took the better part of the evening to get up the courage to talk to her and, truth be known, she initiated. Thanks, my love. Without that initial connection, I’d have missed out on the best ten years of my life. She was the catalyst that launched me into dramatic, life-altering change.

We dated frenetically and moved in together two months later. She agreed to marry me a month after that and we bought a house a month after that. Less than a year after we first spoke we were married and working on making a family. As we waited for Him to arrive, I went back to school to start a career change, supported by her encouragement, enthusiasm and income. I couldn’t have asked for more.

We celebrated our tenth anniversary this past weekend and it was as good as our first weekend together. It must be love. Ten years is a cause for pause, a time to reflect on where we were, where we went and where we’ll go. Where we’ll go is still under discussion with plans for job changes in the works and retirement ideas still being tossed about. Where we went is a multitude of stories and includes where we went this past weekend - St David’s - but I’ll write about that next time.

Where we were was two middle-aged adults with sacks full of life-experience fuel and when we joined them it was like adding nitro to glycerin. The results were explosive. We knew instinctively that one and one made much more than two (very quickly we were three) and we continue to grow. I used to regret that we hadn’t met sooner and maybe avoided Miss Thin Ice but perhaps without those life experiences we wouldn’t have created the same energy that we’ve enjoyed.

She once described it, in our earlier days together, as a locomotive out of control. We didn’t know that the locomotive wasn’t going to slow down. We did know we were enjoying the ride.

Freedom! ...or lack thereof...

Coming to street corner near you

The ‘slow strangulation of fundamental British freedoms’ which squeezed Mr Davis into action

It’s a newspaper headline I saw the other day. I’d thought that most people had stopped noticing their rights and freedoms have been taken away. I’d thought that maybe they’d never had them and were used to the oppressive presence of Big Brother, even drew comfort from it. It wasn’t front page news, just a press release from the guy’s office that the newspaper felt obligated to print (must have been a slow news day). And I’m going to re-print it here - type it out manually, verbatim - because unlike the frogs that have been sitting in a pot of warming (now hot) water, I’ve been dropped in and want to jump out.

Former Tory frontbencher David Davis listed a host of controversial developments in the arena of civil liberties as the reasons for his shock resignation.
The Counter Terror Bill and its 42-day detention measure - which he dubbed as a “monstrosity of law” - was just the latest step in the “insidious, surreptitious and relentless erosion of British freedoms”, he said.
Mr Davis made it clear that he would re-fight his Haltemprice and Howden constituency on the widest issue of the “slow strangulation of fundamental British freedoms by this government”.
As examples of the areas that concerned him, the politician listed:

• The national ID cards project, which will see every person aged over 16 be required to register “biometrics” such as fingerprints, plus other personal information, from 2012;
• Massive expansion of CCTV, so that there is now “a camera for every 14 citizens”;
• The National DNA Database, which contains samples from a million innocent people never charged with a crime, including tens of thousands of children;
• “Short cuts” for the justice system which Mr Davis said made it “neither firm nor fair” - thought to be a reference to Labour initiatives such as on-the-spot fines and early release from prison schemes;
• An “assault on jury trial” - namely the Labour government’s measures to allow cases to be heard by a judge without a jury in complex fraud cases and where there is a risk of jury-nobbling;
• The ‘crackdown on peaceful protest” - a reference to the ban on unauthorised protest in and around Parliament Square introduced in 2005, and currently under review by the Home Office;
• So-called “hate laws” which have “stifled legitimate debate”.

When I've met people here they've invariably asked "Why the hell would you come here? It's awful!" Even the people we exchanged with were doing it so they could 'try out' Canada as a possible emigration point. It seems every other person I speak to is planning or fantasizing about doing the same. But why?

I'd never run into this in Canada. I've never met anyone that wanted to emigrate except a few that saw well-paying job opportunities in the States. And even then, only long enough to make some money and come home. When asked, people usually say it's the high taxes here or cite increasing crime or decreasing job opportunities. But tax rates here are the same as in Canada and everyone who's expressed a desire to leave is already employed. As for crime my perception is just that; it's perception. The papers scream it ever day with regular calls for a return of the death penalty and flogging, leading people to believe that crime is higher than it actually is and giving the government further license to further erode individual rights.

The real reason is they're depressed. When people feel hopeless and helpless they enter into a state of chronic depression. They feel control of their lives is out of their hands and powerless to change it. They don't have a voice.

The unions were gutted by the Thatcher government back in the '80s and they've never recovered. Membership now is optional with several unions competing for members on the same job site. In a recent teacher's 'strike', only those teachers in a particular union went out. Members of the other major union stayed on the job. Zero power.

You can now be picked up and held for 42 days on suspicion of being a terrorist. No evidence is needed, no charges need to be laid.

The populace has been cowed into submission and like the dog I trained with a choke chain, it will always remember the feel of the chain around its neck.

Sick and Sad

I cry when I get sick.

A deep-seated, overwhelming sadness rises to the surface making me vulnerable to every sappy fare offered on TV. It’s uncovered by a virus that’s eaten through the protective layers I placed around it, protecting myself from my past, and as I lay whimpering with the tears rolling I feel so fucking sorry for myself. It’s odd.

I did my last shift at the hospital on Thursday and unknown to me as I left my keys with the charge nurse, I took home a virus that put this normally healthy body on its ass. The virus spent Friday getting to know me. Silently infiltrating my immune system it multiplied like, well, like a virus waiting for adequate numbers to strike. Munching peanuts and swilling red wine, I watched a movie ignorant of the war that was rising within.

The virus sounded the attack at 7AM. I had a brief warning as their troops stirred. I tossed and shifted, sweated and chilled. I began thinking “What the..” and then ran for the bathroom. A few minutes later the room smelled like peanut butter. They had remained in my gut, their progress stymied by the nazi virus who had sealed their usual exit and they waited for an alternate escape route. Cowards.

Those that know me know I hate to puke (I could never be bulimic). Ten minutes of snorting didn’t dislodge all the partially digested peanuts from my nasal passages and the burning assault of gastric juices on tender nasal mucosa brought my first emotional response; withering self-pity. I’d have done anything to avoid this and it was about to get worse. Phase two of the two prong attack began and I sat where I previously had my head. The southern exit was as busy as the north as the innocents frantically fled the scene. Clammy and bowed, I wanted to surrender but they weren’t done. Some peanuts had missed the initial exodus and were panicking. I flushed and flipped.

And so began my day. Being unusually healthy means lacking the usual resources for recovery. I’m impatient at the best of times and felt impotently angry at being ill on my first days post employment. But I was powerless, reading my e-mail was too much effort, and then the sadness set in. She and He flew the coop to escape the virus and me leaving me to stew in reverie but while I’m crappy at being sick I’ve become an expert on sadness. It was time to get clinical on my ass.

I’d first noticed the relationship between a weakened immune system and my emotions in 1979. I was alone (a prime environment for sadness) and on day one of a flu bug. Too weak to dress, I was watching reruns on daytime tv in my bathrobe. An episode of All in the Family came on and as Gloria went toe-to-toe with Archie I cried. “Can’t they work it out?” I whimpered as tears gathered and then in an “Aha!” recognized the real reason I was crying; I was sick. Not exactly Nobel worthy insight but being able to stand back, dissociate, think instead of feel allowed me to get back the control. I don’t think it’s important to be in control all the time but it was important to find out I could get it when I needed it.

One of the most valuable skills I’ve honed over the years is the ability to emotionally detach. I mentioned it briefly in an earlier piece and referred to overwhelming grief as an enormous steak that would make me sick if I tried to eat it all in one sitting. Grief is good, grief is normal but too much of anything can kill. I developed the ability to push myself away from the table.

It’s called Cognitive therapy, recognizing thought patterns that result in predictable behaviours and emotions. There’s a ton of literature on the field but for a good overview of this and other therapies check this out.

For me it just means taking a breath, stepping back and saying... it’s odd.

Stepping Caerphilly into the Past

With Her in Canada , He and I had to entertain ourselves for a whole ten days. Fortunately he never gets tired of kicking a soccer ball around. But Dad does so one day I piled him into the car and drove up to Merthyr Tydfil, home of Caerphilly castle (accent on the philly). It's the largest in Wales and one of the biggest in the UK. It covers more than 30 acres.

It was built in 1268 and in its day was the most formidable castle in the land. It incorporated the best defense systems from all previous built castles including outer and inner moats.Once more into the breach

It'd be tough to get across, put up a ladder and get inside while the guy on top of the wall keeps shooting at you

A popular spot for weddings. Perhaps it's where she found her knight in shining armour

They think it was gunpowder that knocked that big tower off kilter but there's no record of such an attack.

Somebody didn't read their geotechnical reports.

The inner castle viewed from the outer castle

Watching out for bad guys

In the mid 1200's King Henry's barons were being naughty boys and not playing well together. Gilbert de Clare, theLord of Glamorgan was getting crowded by the prince of Gwynedd, Llywelyn ap Gruffudd and decided this castle was needed to let the prince know these were his lands. It was a huge undertaking and wasn't completed when he died. His kids liked it though. They kept it for a couple hundred years but by the 1500's they'd moved into deluxe apartments in town and the castle started to decay.

Nice place to visit but without central heating, I wouldn't want to live there.

Is It Cultural?

We had an ongoing discussion in my religious studies class when I was in High school. Is there a universal truth? Are there beliefs in the universe that transcend time and place? We talked about man killing man - justifiable homicide, war, capital punishment - but the other side of the coin as well; love, trust and forgiveness. Hefty subjects for seventeen year olds yet they paled in comparison to the important stuff; who’s seeing who and what are you doing Saturday night?

But they were valuable discussions, never answered yet explored and I’m grateful that seed was planted because I’m still wondering. My wonders have expanded since my world expanded and I’m exposed to more ways of being.

A lot of the discussion was around semantics; the meaning s of the words in the context of which we discussed them. What’s moral. What’s ethical. If I recall, we generally agreed that morals were the underlying values to the ethical ‘rules’ we put in place. A code of conduct are the ethics to which a group adheres; lawyers, nurses, teachers, even a whole society and to contravene these rules puts one at risk of expulsion.

We all know we can act legally yet immorally simply selling a car we know to be faulty and not disclosing the fault. The law declares Caveat Emptor! and burdens the buyer with due diligence absolving the seller of moral behaviour. We say to one another ‘ it’s just business’ when we wish to behave badly and gain profit. In fact the ‘laws’ of business meet all the criteria for antisocial behaviour disorder as defined by the DSM (psychiatry’s bible). But I digress.

The question is of universality. Is it just as wrong to steal or behave badly in Cardiff as it is in Vancouver? Is honesty a cultural phenomenon?
A few things have happened since we swapped lives with some Cardiff residents who are now experiencing the Vancouver culture.

The first is that I get robbed a lot here. And while there’s crime aplenty in Vancouver there seems to be greater acceptance of here and worse, that it’s the victims fault for getting robbed. If it wasn’t locked up, if there wasn’t a surveillance camera on it, a fence around it, an alarm system, then I deserve to be robbed. It’s not the thief’s fault, it’s mine for not taking better care of my stuff. The efforts made to prevent crime are having a paradoxical effect. The message thieves receive when they see the camera, the lock or the alarm is that in their absence it’s fair game. It’s reinforced by the school system that bullies children into good behaviour rather than encouraging them to govern their own behaviour. As soon as the teacher-bully is out of the room the children have tacet license to do as they please. And they do.

The other relates to our exchange partners. During our discussions leading up to the exchange we agreed to exchange vehicles. We agreed to sell our respective vehicles to each other for one dollar but remain responsible for repairs. In their eyes, just as I’m at fault for being robbed, I’m guilty of being too trusting. We transferred our car to them but upon arrival they informed us they’d decided to keep their car in their name as it was more “convenient” and cheaper to renew the car insurance. “Whatever” we thought. What could go wrong? Well during the course of our discussions they’d neglected to mention that their car had no heater/defroster and winter was approaching. They hadn’t mentioned that the tailpipe rattled, oil had to be added at every refueling and the headlights weren’t functioning either but those things I could deal with.

When asked about the heater the owner said he was aware of the problem but it was too expensive to repair. So where did that leave us? Both cars were now in their names and they were unwilling to repair the car on this end.

Fortunately we were able to reverse the swap and get our car back and we went out and bought our own repairmobile. While they agreed to reverse the deal, they were incensed that we would break a deal because hey, a deal’s a deal. In their eyes the moral obligation to keep an agreement superceded the moral obligation to provide full information and disclosure when formulating the agreement. But is it cultural?

In a recent email the swapee advised me that he “trusted no-one” and I believe him. I look around in this most surveilled country in the world and I can see why. With cameras on every building, corner and school, trust has evaporated. An article I read recently was written by a psychologist who said that the more the state attempted to control its citizenry through surveillance, the less trusting and more angry they would become. He was writing about a guy that had sent poison in letters to various government agencies. When arrested, this guy said he was angry that his father’s DNA was being kept in a national database in spite of the fact he was cleared of a crime of which he had been accused. There are calls here (mostly by the police, right-wing columnists and the people they’ve frightened) for the database to be expanded to all citizens, that a sample should be collected from every immigrant and every newborn.

There’s not enough information - yet - to determine if the self-serving behaviours of our exchange partners is culturally based. I’m inclined to believe it is simply because of all the people I know in Vancouver, few would feel justified in attempting to deceive someone for personal gain. But that’s not proof; the sample’s too small and my interpretation too subjective. I’ll be talking to more Welsh before we go to get their perspective on this. The asking should be interesting.

My biggest concern, however, is that in the name of anti-terrorism personal rights are being eroded in Vancouver and across Canada and cameras are going up so it may only be a matter of time before we emulate the Welsh. And the time of trust is over.

Biarritz: itza bute

It's got to be safer than it looks

I think the crosses were put out there for the people who tried to swim out there

Is it just me or does that tree look like a guy adjusting his afro?

The Harbour and lovebirds carved in a plant

Scenic, no?

We’ve been back in Cardiff for over a week now and I haven’t written about the last day of our last trip: Biarritz. It’s a word that invokes images of glamour and lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. It’s just down the road but a country, culture and language away from San Sebastian.

With its beautiful coastline scenery it’s a natural getaway from the bustle of Paris and as the rich are wont to do, they claimed it as their own. The best way to keep out the less well-heeled is to make everything too expensive for the average man so they built high end hotels and added casinos for entertainment. You know you have too much money when you can afford to throw it away.

Gothic meets Willie Wonka

We only had one night here but fortunately arrived early; too early to check in. But the staff at The Grand Large were accommodating. We registered, left them our bags and got on their internet to check mail and post pics from San Sebastian. Still too soon to access the room so out we went. We’d left the rain but not the clouds back in San Sebastian so
it wasn’t beach or pool time, we walked. And walked.

We walked down the steep path to the ocean and followed the coast around the north side of town, dancing on the edge where ocean meets money. The rugged coastline is some of God’s best work and the city that sits on it is some of mankind's best efforts.
A gilded lily if ever there was one.

A little more dynamic when you take out the colour

We cut back in towards the town and ambled the twisting streets; lovely. Here a pic, there a pic every where a pic, pic. Stopped at a sidewalk cafe for a bite but in typical European fashion were informed (lucky She speaks french) food was currently unavailable.
“Dinner is from 7 PM”, he sniffed.

Invigorated with a glass of wine and armed with directions to the nearest ‘marche’, we headed off to top our wine supply. Now that the UK is part of the EU there is no limit on how much wine we can bring back with us, only how much weight we can bring on the plane. A really good bottle of wine that would cost me $25 in Canada is less than $5. I bought several 'tetra' packs in San Sebastian for 75cents apiece. And it's better than the crap I make for a buck a bottle.

After the quick shop it was a ‘patisserie’ for breakfast pastries
and directions back to theBig, Big.
She tells me Grand Large (pronounced with a french accent) translates to
‘The Big Wide Open’ but whatever.

The view from our hotel room to the east

and to the west

The big, big had a big pool

Our room was on the top floor and had an outstanding view of the ocean and a balcony to enjoy it from. Unfortunately it also had a view of the pool and as soon as Luka saw that and as
the sun was starting to peek out...

We had planned to walk the town again that night and seek out a restaurant famous for its whatever but travelling’s exhausting. The restaurant in the hotel was excellent and
it was just down the elevator; it was an easy choice.

Our room had a full kitchen so we were able to start our day
with coffee and pastry in our underwear
and listen to the crash of waves from our deck.
Lifestyles of the not-so-rich and not-at-all famous but comfy.

The whole trip was like that, comfy. The family transplanted
from Cardiff to elsewhere
but moving at our own pace with our own agenda.
No tour buses or lineups just lots of relaxing.
Freaking perfect.

Is There Anybody Out There?

Hi. Glad you're here. Of course I don't actually know you're here but if a tree falls in the forest and I wasn't around to hear it, it'd still make a sound. I can't prove it any more than I can prove you're here, reading this. But you can. You can make a sound. Doesn't have to be a big sound just something that says you're here. Something like "Hi" or "Good One" or "Thanks". If you're in a typing mood give your full feedback, maybe share a similar story, but don't be a voyeur (as sexy as that sounds).

Like a faithful dog, I appreciate a scratch behind the ear now and again. It keeps me coming back. The big difference between writing here and writing in my journal is the interactive part, the part where it's not just read, but valued. And I can only feel it's valued when it's read.

So next time you drop by say "Hi".

One Last Chance

I spoke to Lloyd last night, probably for the last time. His voice was dry and weak - he hasn’t eaten in a week and is only accepting sips of water - he’s doing it the hard way. He has been wanting to leave for a while now but his body just won’t let him and there’s no easy and legal way to choose the time of your departure. At 85years he figures he’s seen enough, done enough and wants to move on. I can’t blame him really, the last decade has been chronic pain and declining ability, tough on anybody but especially someone who so highly values his independence.

Lloyd is my father-in-law. He lives with his wife on a couple of acres of his own land in his own house miles away from any urban center and he likes it that way. He’s not the most sociable guy and has low tolerance for the shortcomings of mankind which seem to be multiplied in urban settings. But he likes me. Not sure why exactly but it helps not being American or French or a member of any other group he has issue with. I was a teamster for a while and a Realtor and he’s not too fond of either of them. He did approve of me becoming a nurse. And while his daughter has certainly never needed anyone to take care of her, he’s old-fashioned and thinks she should have a man around to “take care of things”.

With Lloyd and Clare living a drive, a ferry ride and a drive away our visits were semi-annual events at best. I don’t think he could have tolerated more frequent intrusions but he was always glad to see us..... in a crusty sort of way. His jibes and barbs had no sting for me but then I didn’t have a history with him. I didn’t have a reason to dislike him. I wasn’t there when he drank too much and did things that put up a wall between him, his children and first wife.

But even the biggest, strongest walls crumble with time. We can’t help ourselves, it’s human nature to remember the good, even embellish it, and maybe not forget the bad but allow it to fade. I’ve never forgotten the severe beatings at the hands of my rage-a-holic father and maybe never quite forgave but over time as I entered my own world and was less affected by his, the bad stuff faded. I began to appreciate his good qualities and to even like him. My only regret is that it didn’t happen sooner.

Lloyd asked for no-one to visit his departure but I suspect he’ll be just as glad to see his daughter as he was when we visited as a family in healthier times. Her plane should be touching down halfway around the world about now and provided his body continued to resist leaving she’ll have one last chance to hold his hand. One last chance to say I love you. One last chance to feel like his daughter.

I hope it goes well, my love, and the visit gives you the sense of closure and connection you need. To leave this world feeling loved is the best any of us can hope for and your visit there is the best going away gift a fella could ever get.