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Happy Fishing on Rainy Lake

Its hard to lose a family member and it is monumental to lose a mother.

I have been tapped to to give my moms eulogy. I have done this before for cousins, uncle, brother.  But fuck my mother.  I don’t know if i have it in me.

I do not do drafts of a speech or a talk I go in with ideas and feel the room.  But this is different.  Yes its just a death ive been there.

But this is my mom.  The one and only person I could count on.  Its fucking hard to just let go.  I am just scared about the speach

 

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Goodbye Mom, I Love You.

It is hard being a kid, full stop.  It is hard growing up and trying to figure out who you are.  But imagine for a second not knowing your own birth mother like many of us can, because we were adopted.

I never knew my birth mother, I was adopted at the age of 6 months by my parents.  Apparently I was and instant hit. I had stuffed animals coming out of my tiny wazoo.  This is not an affront to my birth mother whom ever you are. This is a glorious celebration of who my parents and most specially my mother was.

Soon after I arrived my brother Brent showed up.  Something about having a baby in the house kicked hormones into high gear I guess.  My brother and I were holy terrors in our youth.  I remember I think Brent cracking eggs so mom would get off the phone and I remember trying to play Buggs Bunny chasing Brent down our back alley with an axe till one of our neighbors stopped me.

Given the fact that we must have made mom absolutely crazy being boys she was actually very kind with us. I remember the wooden spoon coming out a few times but I don’t actually remember being hit on the bum with that particular weapon. Even though Brent took a match to it and tried to burn it in half.

One of my happiest kinda memories is swimming in a mud filled ditch after a rainstorm.  I do have photographic documentation but sadly I do not have a digital picture of the moment we were caught.  Mom was putting away groceries and I apparently decided to take my younger brother swimming in a rain filled ditch.  She was furious from what I recall, but silly enough to take pictures of her boys in a mud puddle.  My brother was almost crying.  He was so upset.  Anyway she stripped us down to nothing and gave us a spray with the garden hose.  It was the 70’s after all. Child care tended to be a bit more free range back in those days.

I remember going fishing in very simple boats on the huge Rainy Lake with Mom and Dad. For some reason Brent always caught the first fish normally so we would stick at that honey hole. Mom always used a very simple reel and black line.  Us boys had casting reels and monofilament.  Damn if she didn’t out catch us most of the time. Pulling the line out by hand, getting some sun and most times reading a book pulling in Walleyes.

She was the same at the beach as Brent and I swam in the shallows, lawn chair, tanning, reading a trashy novel.  But we did learn to swim and swim well.  I never feared drowning and never did Brent till his day.

I know I love my Dad in Heaven, but I will always probably miss my Mother more.  She was always there.  She scolded me when I was bad, she fixed me when I was hurt.  She mourned and wailed at my baby brothers death.

I talk about the old days, but there were new days also.  She moved to Windsor to live with my Sister and Brother in Law and eventually my Niece.  I know she loved them all and the little feet running around again.  Calling Amma, Amma do this with me. Come with me.  I sadly missed a great deal of time with my own daughter do to BS and Hate. But my niece Keeliegh fills me up with happy as I know she did with Amma.

There is literally so much I could go on about but Mom gave me the intelligence to want to learn, the drive to tell truth from fiction, and the basic need to be good to our fellow people.

I owe you so much mom, I am finally crying .

Love Bobby

I Really Hope Those are Not the Drums of War.

OK I know it has been a while since I have written anything. My name is Bob and feel free to grab a cookie and a chair.  The cookies are metaphorical but the chairs are yours so real I hope.

Disclosure, I am Canadian.  Frost born, winter is always coming. I finally have a keyboard I can write on with my cobbled together system .  As I was told, don’t ask. Just write you crazy bastard write.

Something has my hair in a knot this week; well a few things. The 787 Max crashes. I work for a large commercial aircraft manufacture and I never expect or want to hear about an airplane going down.  To all those concerned as a person in the industry but not involved in the production of that particular airplane. I can say for a fact that people are working as hard as possible to correct what ever issue it is that troubles that specific version of the 737.

But what really bothers me tonight is this whole supposed explosion of violence against perceived invaders. Against apparently sovereign exclusive white countries.

OK LETS BACK THE FUCK BACK.

There is one HUMAN RACE, like it or not. So FUCKING STOP saying race war.  I dare anyone alive to take a DNA test, which was not invented by the Jews.  And claim you as you claim have Mongrel, Nigger (as you say) or Middle East ancestry.

This is a war of Culture, Color, and belief.  You hate groups are like two little boys in the bath naked as fuck fighting over a submarine. What did your mama do when she saw to kids fighting over nothing?

I am not here to poke and prod but to remind us all of when we were children and could all get along.

But I guess those times have passed these days.

I love you all.

Bob

9/11: 17 years later and clearer than ever.

I remeber the morning well. I knew the world had changed that day and we would, Canada and the United States would be going to war. Which the British commonwealth did beside Americans.
Something that sadly gets overlooked these strange days.

I remember as the sky’s shut down, towns in the far east of Canada, little more than fishing villages and refueling stops for Trans-Atlantic flights welcomed hundreds of planes, thousands of people and gave them comfort regardless of country, race, religious beliefs or gender.

I remember very sadly as I saw on the noon news when my friends and I left work to watch the news as the second tower collapsed.
Thinking my Good Lord, someone used one of the planes I build with pride and turned it into a fucking bomb.

I remember sitting in Madison Square Garden a few years later talking with people who had actually witnessed their friends jumping to their deaths rather than burn alive. How these tough sons of britches, working men and women., strong people. Cried at the thought of it all years later.

I remember the calls for vengeance that I knew would come against a regime and people who were not our enemies. I remember seeing Canadian bodies coming home from a war that had to happen perhaps but in wholesale different manner and in a completely different country and way.

My High School World Politics teacher used to say that the only coin worth holding was trust. Trust was the coin of the realm, the only thing worth anything. We as a people, both political and basic were robbed that day and days since in ways both gross and sublime.
Slights of hand have happened to basic simple freedoms, taken for granted, unworked for in our generation.

The world as a whole as I look back has changed as I predicted, we went to war, crushed a region and unleashed exactly what the planners of 9 11 had hoped for all the long. Democratic common sense and reason at war with it’s self.

Rest in Peace Chef: Anthony Bourdain dead at 61.

As I write this I’m watching people share stories and thoughts on what is looking like an apparent suicide by Anthony Bourdain.

The one time chef and author/globetrotter was found dead by his friend Éric Ripert in France this morning apparently by his own hand.

Anyone who has even casually looked at this blog will know that I have been a constant fan of the man and his work. A previous girlfriend of mine used to call him my man crush and I suppose that assessment was true.

In fact this blog page is a direct result of my early ‘obsession with Bourdain’. When my girlfriend and I won a trip to New York one of the first things we did was go to eat at his old restaurant Les Halles where he had been head chef.

I can’t even begin to imagine what his ex wife and daughter are going through this morning and in all sincerity my heart goes out to them though all of this.

Bourdain has the distinction of being one of the original bad boy celebrity chefs along with Marco Pierre White and Gordon Ramsay.

He used food as a bridge to explore different cultures. Sharing a meal and finding out what really makes the world tick. From high end dining with 3 star chefs to squatting in the sand with tribesmen in Namibia eating the less appealing parts of warthog.

He opened my mind to the world of exotic food. To the point where I will often try a new cuisine and just have the server bring me what they would want to eat.

Depression and suicide are very serious medical issues. One can never really know what demons a person is struggling with. What pain, guilt or shame they carry in their hearts. Real or imagined to the outside world those feelings are all too real to the person suffering.

Mental illness can be as debilitating as a broken bone or heart condition. But because that pain is invisible to everyone else it is misunderstood and marginalized by the outside world. I know this because I deal with depression and severe anxiety on a daily basis.

To all of Anthony’s family and friends I offer my sincere condolences. You do not grieve alone.

Did you ever need to Floyd Out?

Sorry to my younger readers, I’m talking about having a day that was so very hard you couldn’t sleep for a few days before?

Well in my prime I had a cool ride, a little four speed that could take most big V8 in a short hop.

Not fast, but fucking quick.

Anyhoo in those days all we had were tape music. 8 Track and Cassette. So music was at a premium.

Those days in the hinterland of Ontario it was a government ears from hell. The same loop over and over.

So we grabbed the latest, the weirdest.

Pink Floyd.

It was a change from reality, from the norm.

It became who I am today.

This is not a blog post I wanted to write: The joys of living with depression.

Life is a funny thing, sometimes we go on with our lives and constantly pass judgement on people and things whether we mean to or not. For people such as myself it turns out that the thing I judge regardless of the situation is me.

That’s pretty normal as people go but in some people such as myself those self condemning voices are almost impossible to shut off or ignore.  Those little “Brain Weasels” are relentless actively trying to undermine you at every turn.  Whispering that you are worthless, you’re all alone in the world, nobody loves you.  Just get it over with and kill yourself already.  Sometimes it’s hard to get though the day when your own brain is trying to kill you on a regular basis.

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