Thursday: Life is Good


It has been a few days since my last update. It has been a busy time for everybody all around. We have a family wedding in May, it will be the first time, in many years that the entire family will be in the same location at the same time, to celebrate my niece Melissa and her husband to be, Stephan’s wedding.

We have watched our nieces and nephews grow up into fine young adults. And we spoil them whenever we get the chance. Holidays are always a big deal for our family. We will be traveling to Southern Ontario (on the train) a first for us.

In July, one of my guys, Juan is going to marry his fiancée Nadia, in a very intimate setting here in Montreal. We’ve been working very hard at keeping them “on the beam” so to speak. Juggling school, work, wedding preparations and life, is a tall order. But, like they say, “we have a program for that!”

The weather has been UNUSUALLY warm, as of late. We’ve had a long stretch of temps ranging from the lower plus side to the high negative side. Much of the snow that had fallen over the season is melting nicely, and thankfully, the sidewalks are clean of snow and ice. Which is very good news to the city population, because many older folks have suffered greatly, falling and breaking bones this season, because of the foul weather. Many of them have sued the city for damages, that is not a good thing. But necessary.

The great weatherman in the sky tells us, not to count our chickens just yet, and we are told that Winter will continue until Summer. With a clear SKIP of Spring. We are told that more drastic snow will fall, between now and May 1st.

God help us if the weather goes really South …

We will gladly take the weather we have had for the past week over more winter, and if it stays this good for the duration, all the better.

It is good that we have good plans on the horizon. This will be a first, seeing a good friend and his soon to be bride getting married. The whole focus on getting and staying sober, is to finally reap the rewards of hard work, done well.

Our young people are all doing well. Everybody is still sober, from our holiday extravaganza weekends. It is a hard slog for some, but they keep showing up, and they are talking. Which is a good sign. Many of us, have committed to being present, as often as we are able.

I am soon to start a new pass through the Big Book, with a young lady friend of my acquaintance, from the Monday meeting. I listen very carefully to what our young people say in meetings. And over the past year, have been blessed to witness one of our young woman, stand up and be counted among us.

Our Monday meeting has been talking hard topics and the discussion has been very fruitful to the extent that I am learning a great deal about sobriety, that I had never heard before, coming from the mouths of babes. Monday night, I asked my friend if she would be able to share her teaching of The Book with me. From what I am hearing from many of my friends and fellows, men and women, I’ve found that i still have a lot to learn. It may be unconventional, but any chance to walk through the book with new, fresh and younger eyes, is useful.

I’ve stuck close to my core meetings, Monday, Thursday and Friday. And I’ve placed my trust in all of my best of friends. One f them reached his Year Mark a couple of weeks ago, after a tragic crash and burn. Drugs and Alcohol will do that to you. With family, friends, and fellows present, we shared in a very special Year Celebration.

I have kept the same routine going for a long time. That being service. I heard a young man say tonight, that the first thing that he felt good about, when he got sober, and finally got connected, was doing service.

When folks in a meeting,ask you to Come Back, and to Stick and Stay, and put trust in you to do a job for any particular meeting, that is pretty special, but lost on many. But our young man tonight said that he took particular joy in knowing that people were drinking HIS COFFEE, and sitting in HIS CHAIRS.

It begins very simply.


It is high praise when someone says, “Hey, you make a mean pot of coffee!”

I know, the first job I ever had when I came in was setting up chairs and tables, for months and months, until the good ladies of my initial home group, trusted me enough to make my first urn of coffee.

Sixteen years later, I can make a mean Urn of Coffee with my eyes closed.

The next spiritual experience he spoke about was the first time someone asked him to share at a meeting. Someone, in asking him that, had wisdom that HE actually had something good to share, with a room full of drunks and addicts.

We all sit in rooms together, with assorted days, weeks, months, and years of sobriety. But is oddly the case, not too many people will ask for help, until they are down and out suffering. Even then, it is like pulling teeth, to get people to want to work with us.

It is hard work, going to meetings, and learning how to stay sober, because someone stepped up and took us on, when we came in and trusted us, with what they had to teach us about The Book and Sobriety. And the greatest gift we can offer, is our time, talent and treasure, when it comes to sobriety.

One of our men spoke a couple of weeks ago and told me that I should ask for numbers of new folks coming in, INSTEAD of giving them My number first. Flip the equation, he told me. Go out and get numbers.

Caveat here … We actually have to commit to calling those numbers if they come to us.

I guess I am in a place where, I am seeking something new to learn. And in hanging around with young people in sobriety, I am finding that I can still learn something new, that I am not the center of the universe, not that I think that …

The holidays were a great reckoning for many. Through hard work and perseverance we all came through the other end, mostly unscathed. And far better for the challenge the holidays presented many.

Sit in a room for a few seasons. And commit to being present for the long haul. Read: Commit to a room for a Long Period of Time, and you too will see how your friends a fellows grow up and get and stay sober.

I’ve been at this a long time, and teach-ability is not lost on me.

Everybody is well. It is March. The snow is melting.

It might not be Spring yet, but it sure feels like it.

Save for the first appearance of our Red Breasted Robin at the Friday Meeting church yard. I always see her. She has not appeared just yet, because there is still snow on the ground and in the trees at St. Viateur Church.

Stay tuned …

Wednesday: Open Doors

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Keeping it together, when we mourn loss, is sometimes sketchy. Emotions come and go, just like feelings. The farther from the point of impact, one gets, doesn’t necessarily put one in the clear. This is so true, depending on the circumstances of the loss.

Our kids are mourning.

I think, all of us, who are adults, feel for them deeply. Even more, if we, ourselves have children of our own. It is terrible and sinful that trolls in space have been demeaning and degrading the suffering of our kids.

I’ve heard it sad today that the next President needs to be a rousing, angry bunch of kids. They are on the march, and they are moving society and a nation, all by themselves. Albeit, with some superpower support from some in Very High Places.

I grew up in Florida. Over my lifetime, growing up, we had seen our fair share of crime that hit our home several times. But life was safe. I mean seriously, when I was an elementary school kid, we had keys to the house and we would come home after school and have all afternoon to hang out and play.

Our schools were safe. We really never saw the kind of violence that our kids have seen over the last ten to fifteen years. People had guns, but, if memory serves, we never thought about using them on each other.

Let alone, on our Kids …

I don’t ever remember any kid I knew, in any school I attended who had problems or issues that would have pushed them to kill innocents, because they walked into a gun shop and bought an automatic weapon, just for kicks.

There were plenty of guns in our house. And we used to go out to the Everglades and shoot cans and rocks. And there are always plenty of guns shows that used to pop up all over the place. But guns were not so much an issue when I was a kid, not to the extent guns are an issue today.

We need smart, and proper gun control.

We need to vote OUT those politicians who are in bed with the N.R.A. All those men and women who have taken SIX DIGIT SUMS from the N.R.A. for their continued

We need to wrest control of society from all those who think that guns don’t kill people, and that guns are the constitutional way of life for everyone. Because that is the way it is for so many today. We need human beings in government, because the government is a mockery and a joke.

We need Serious change. And if anyone can do that, OUR KIDS CAN.

Stand with our kids. Support them. Love them. Raise them up.

Over the past little while, I have been posting stuff on Facebook for my friends I grew up with to read, because they all knew my father, and my family, all too well.

What I did not expect was what happened today.

I had been grocery shopping and my little “granny cart that could” was straining to hold everything that I had packed in it for the walk home. On the way back, I ran into a friend I got sober with, all those years ago.

He is of Native decent. And he is sober, almost as long as I am. after he got sober, a few years in, he went to work on the streets of Montreal, caring for the Inuit and Native populations who are strewn all over the city. He has an office, in Cabot Square, right up the street from home, and that is where we found each other this afternoon.

We are friends on Facebook, but we don’t connect there. He has been reading my writings, as they went up. And he was really excited to hear of recent events concerning my father.

He told me to mind my dreams and pay attention to them seriously. Because he said that if I am being visited, it is because my doors are open.

My doors have been open for the whole of my life, is why family, all returns to me after they have passed on. I shared with him that story earlier.

People don’t have to like us he said. Some people are just angry, and may not accept who we are today, even if we are sober. Trying to make restitution and goodness, sometimes is hard in coming. And sometimes we don’t succeed.

The one thing we have in our favor, is that We Are Sober Today.

I needed to hear his words today. They went right where they were needed.

You can always count on your friends. At least I can.

Always keep your doors open …

Tuesday: Let’s Talk About Sex !


You know a meeting is going to be interesting, when we hit page 69, in the Big Book. The Paragraph that begins with … Now About Sex !

A fellow who is a bit dyslexic, shared last night, that instead of going to page 69, he went to page 96, where it says:

Do not be discouraged if your prospect does not respond at once. Search out another alcoholic and try again. You are sure to find someone desperate enough to accept with eagerness what you offer …

Kind of apropos when you go back to page 69, and we hit the sex inventory.

Sex is a taboo topic across the board.

Yet, sex is one of those issues that either keeps people suffering in their addictions, because let’s face it, sex and alcohol, go hand in hand. You can’t have one without the other, can you? OR, sex, is one of those issues that send people back out to drink and use again, because they cannot either, one, face the issue head on, or, two, cannot get enough of it.

Shame, Fear and Guilt rank right up at the top of the list of reasons why we shy away from this topic. I mean really, I don’t know one single old-timer, in my time, in the room, who dared even to ask about my sex inventory. What straight man or woman wants to hear a gay man’s tale of woe?

Both men and women feel Shame, Fear and Guilt. Equally. 

They just rarely admit that in open community.

Everybody struggles with this question … How can I have sex sober, when all I know is sex while drunk and high? Many of my gay male friends struggle. I don’t have all the answers. All I know is what worked for me.

We all know the First Year Rule… No relationships for the first year.

How many people, follow that advice ? NOT MANY !!!

Really, do we really know ourselves in early sobriety, if we have not written a complete and honest (what is considered honest, in your first year) inventory ? Do we really know what makes us tick, if our sponsors don’t run through the ENTIRE inventory process ?

We all struggle. We just won’t openly admit that to many. Even our sponsors.

Until we do a fifth step and our sponsors look at us and say … YEP I did that !!!

I heard many good things last night. Honesty and forthrightness is common in our Monday group of young people. They are starving, well, not necessarily starving, but they are eager to jump right into dicey discussions, because we don’t often, NOT often enough, speak about this topic.

One of my friends says that sex is like oxygen. You need both, on a daily basis. And if he needs to check how sober he is, on any given day, he looks at his sex conduct.

When my father died, I wrote my sex inventory, in a letter to my brother. Telling him the story he needed to hear, right from the horse’s mouth.

My sex education began at home. With reading material my father had left out for public consumption. My father, when I hit puberty, in my early teens, did talk to me about sex, because he thought that would be helpful to me. Sadly, I was already gay by then, and he did not mention men to me at all.

In school, sex education began in Junior High. That was an eye-opening portion of our lessons. Right down to the actual birth of a baby, live and in color, in film format.

When I moved away to be Gay, alcohol, I was told, would “grease the wheels.” All I had to do was sit in a bar and drink, and wait for fireworks.

Back in the day, we all had certain assets. I knew what mine were.

Nightly BINGO was on the table, all the time. I moved into an apartment complex, right near the Tragic Queendom. That little section of town, just off Hotel Plaza Boulevard, was chock full of complexes filled with boys who worked in the Queendom.

Yes, that’s right … MANY a gay boys work at the Tragic Queendom.

If there was alcohol, drugs were not far behind. And sex, well, that was a given. I loved that period of time, mainly for “some” of the people who were alive back then. I could care less about many of the boys I was involved with. Because, let’s face it, we were not men in our twenties, because the mainstay of my twenties was irresponsibility.

Really not a MAN quality for sure.

I got burned more often than I cared to admit or cared for. Sad really. But who knew, I was in it for the long haul way back when? I did not hit that point, until I hit the ripe age of thirty-five.

There was no book on good gay sex, or how to be a good gay man. I mean, I knew how to date, and drink, and have sex. Beyond that, all bets were off. Rent needed to be paid and food put in the fridge, stuff like that.

Blender or Bottle …
The one relationship, I was truly fond of was Charlie. I really liked him. We spent a lot of time together, watching Mary Poppins, drinking and having sex. I don’t know what it was, but he was the real deal. There was no ruse or pretension. We both knew what we wanted from each other, and I think that was what was the difference from all the other boys I had dated in that period of time.

Either he or I would call and ask only one question. Bottle or Blender. If that was the question asked, sex was imminent.

No fuss, no bull shit.

Money was hard to come by, for me. Even when I was employed for what little time, I remember being employed. A lot of the time, I think about the time I spent traveling from point A to point B. Riding the Orlando, Daytona corridor and up to the Palm Coast, down to Fort Lauderdale and even Miami.

The pivotal period of time came when I hit twenty-five. And on that auspicious night I walked into the Stud, for the very first time. I had darkness in my heart and mind, and from the shadows, off stage, Todd (read: God) was watching.

Todd, the only human being, in my life, that harnessed the Power of God.

Knew, from our very first conversation, what was going on in my head. And in one fluid action, he sealed that deal for me. And endeared me to himself forevermore.

He knew, I wanted something hard. Little did I know, then, that He would have my better interest in mind. Because He did.

That fantasy life, I thought I wanted and dreamed and pined about, never came to fruition. Not Ever. Not One drop from that well.

Even working in a leather bar all those years did not produce one drop of sweet, dark, nectar. Even when I begged a certain couple to engage me.

Boulder-dash !!!

Todd was protecting me from myself, all along. And let’s face the reality, no one wanted to have sex with a man with AIDS, at least me, for that matter. Because many other infected men were riding the hobby-horse, all over the place. I just could not tap that well, for the life of me.

ONCE … not long into the drama, I was bar tending one night, and I happened upon someone who drew a fancy to me. It was probably the shorts and leather I was wearing that particular night.

After hours, we hit the COPA for drinks and some dancing. Later we went to his place to do the deed. I needed to DISCLOSE.

We were half-naked walking in the front door, and I just blurted it out. It was the first time, I would have had sex, after my diagnosis. I may have been deathly sick, but I looked good doing it, for better or worse.

I saw fear cross his brow … I never watched some one put their close back on so fast in my life. It was like the SLO MO film being rolled backwards right in front of me.

He asked me to leave and never speak to him again. And for that matter, he continued to patronize the bar, for the next year, ignoring me like I did not even exist.


A few years into sobriety, I hit that wall of people in the rooms, who did not want me around them. Which sent me into my head, and opened that chasm of the HOLE in my SOUL. And that whole sordid affair with a slip, drugs and alcohol.


We cannot live in If Only’s though.

Today, I know very well, that I cannot be trusted, in many cases, to my own thoughts alone. If for one moment, I don’t use the barometer check, I am in trouble.

All I need to do is close my eyes and visualize Todd. And ask one question:


What would Todd Do ???

When I met hubby, fifteen years ago, we had a short few months of dating and sex, and shaking up together, before the walls caved in on us, and he got very sick. From his nervous breakdown, to today, I can count on one hand, the number of times we have had sex, in fourteen years.

Because within his treatment for Bi-Polar disorder, what the doctors did not tell me, when we began his treatment, was this …

The man who went into treatment, was NOT the man I got on the backside.

Those toxic drugs cleaved away half of his brain. And the man I knew from me. He was entirely another human being when he woke from his slumber off the sofa.

Lazarus might have been raised from the dead, but he was no longer Lazarus.

In the gay world, disease is a deal breaker. Some said walk away, others counseled me to stay the course. I stayed the course. And a good thing too.

Relationships are not all about sex when intimacy is the goal. The good thing today, is that we have intimate time together. Sleeping next to each other, napping, or at night, is a most intimate time for both of us.

Just laying next to him in bed is just something else.

The breathing, the rhythm. The quiet. Intimate …

We reviewed our conduct over the years past. Where had we been selfish, dishonest or inconsiderate? Whom had we hurt? Did we unjustifiably arouse jealousy, suspicion or bitterness? Where were we at fault, and what should we have done instead?

In this way we tried to shape a sane and sound ideal or our future sex life. We subjected each relation to this test – was it selfish or not? We asked God to mold our ideals and help us live up to them. We remembered always that our sex powers were God-given and therefore good, neither to be used lightly or selfishly nor to be despised and loathed.

Whatever our ideal turns out to be, we must be willing to grow toward it.

I can honestly answer these questions today. I know what my ideal is. One thought that always reminds me of who hubby was, and is, is this …

I never want to break his heart.

And for that I am eternally grateful.

Thursday: Let’s Make a Deal


Every so often, one is in the right place at the right time, to hear a message that speaks directly to you. A few days ago, I said something in a meeting, about myself. Tonight, I heard those same words, spoken back to me, confirming that observation I had made about myself was, indeed, true.

Those words are: “When I Think I Need!”

Our lady speaker tonight, is the sponsor of one of our members of the Thursday meeting. Our speaker is 74 years old, and has been sober, more than 44 years. She comes from Old World Montreal, and Griffintown.

For the history buff, Griffintown, is located in a very desirable location in the city. It is in the East end, and close to Old Montreal. A very long time ago, the only desire of folks who lived in Griffintown of old, was to GET OUT OF GRIFFINTOWN, and not go back.

It was said tonight, how ironic that many of us could not afford to get into Griffintown today. Because real estate prices are astronomical. Way back when, Griffintown was a terribly POOR section of the city. Many had next to nothing, but family, and whatever two nickles they had to rub together.

Come from nothing, stories of alcoholism, are fraught with pain and serious issues.

We laughed and we were struck, stone cold silent, too.

Two things that stuck out for me tonight. One, she mentioned a story about the old television game shows, like Let’s Make a Deal, and The Price is Right. The venerable Monty Hall and Bob Barker. Two men, the world over, came to know very well, if you grew up, in the era, of these shows among many others.

When I was a boy, my mother’s mother, Memere, spoke very little English. Coming from Quebec, she was entirely French. And in those days, she used to talk to me in French, that I remember. To help her learn English, Learn how to grocery shop in English, and Learn her numbers, so forth and so on, watching TV game shows was what we did daily.

The second thing that struck me was, ” When I Think I need …” I heard her say these words, at the tail end of her share tonight. It came back to me this way, because the other night, we were talking about Step One, because a newbie was in the room.

I have said, in the past, that the first time I was getting sober, the messaging was way off. And because of that, I did not stick and stay. And I surely did not trust a single soul, that they would honestly, have my back, and know better than myself, what was good for me.

At one point, sitting in a late night meeting, my brain went into “I Think I Need” mode. And got stuck there for a very long time. I did not know any better, knowing for sure that I could not or would not trust anyone, with what was going on in my head.

Suffering from “I THINK I NEED, and, The HOLE IN MY SOUL” I was going to end up in really big trouble. At the time, I put my plan into action, I had no idea, what I was going to end up doing and sacrificing, to fill that HOLE.

I know today … that if I even Think that I need something … it is probably true that I really don’t need anything, but MORE A.A.

The second time when Todd (read: God) stepped into my life, turning my will and my life over to Todd (read:God) on a daily basis, taught me, what it was I really needed.


Even today, I sometimes find myself lacking in this department. But I am more mindful of my thoughts, and my decision-making skills. Lately, my memory has been off. And I find that disturbing. When I need a pick me up, I know that all I have to do is close my eyes, and picture Todd (read:God) in my mind’s eye.

I know today, that I need very little.

I know who to turn to and who to trust. I know who has my back and who it is that will tell me surely, quite honestly, “Maybe you just need to sit and stay a bit harder!”

The words are here, in the program. The people are here, in the program. The answers are here, in the program. 44 years of sobriety, coming from the world of having not very much, and ending up in serious trouble, over and over again, miracles do happen.

At one point, our lady friend tonight, was summoned to her medical office at work, and the doctor had asked her to look at herself in a long mirror. By that time, she was young and pretty. On the flip side, she had not bathed in weeks, deciding to wear the same old clothes, and just adding a compliment of makeup and baby powder to her wardrobe.

The doctor looked at her and said … “Look at what you have become!” He took out his trusty little pad, and began to write. On that slip of paper, he jotted down a number for A.A. and told her that WE had the answers she needed.

WE, as THEM, Back in the Days, when I was just a child …

Thank God for people who work the phone lines. You don’t hear it very often, people actually admitting that it WAS the phone line that got them in the door, but way back when, before the dawn of a cell phone, or the internet, for God’s sake, there was the phone, that brick that usually was stuck to your kitchen wall, or on your bedside table.

As a kid, I had both. A phone in the kitchen, and later on as a teenager, I had a phone in my bedroom, hard-wired into the wall. With a ten foot cord …

She took that number and thought to herself, maybe I should make that call.

It was a good thing she did.

It took a while, but at one point, members brought a meeting to her home. And very gently, after astute observations of her in the meetings, that “She might feel better if she washed herself.” Because, in early sobriety, she could not bathe herself, opting for the more makeup and baby powder route.

We hug in A.A. A LOT.

People would hug her and come away with a layer of baby powder on their clothes, wondering just what she had inside of her clothing.

She bathed for the first time in a very long time.

That was the first miracle for her.

44 years later, many more miracles followed.

We all know what they are tonight. I laughed with her and I was struck silent by much of her story. And several times, while she spoke, I kept asking myself …

For God’s sake … When is the miracle going to happen for her ?

The story was long and arduous. Many people, who come from the world of “not much to very little” have stories unlike the rest of us. And it is well and good that we hear these stories, because it keeps the rest of us humble and grateful for small mercies.

Alcohol is capricious and very capable of removing every good thing in our life.

The good thing is, Once we come in, time and time again, miracles happen, and very often, we get to hear the good stuff, when people get things back in sobriety.

I am grateful for sobriety today.

Monday: Miracles Happen


On Saturday night, I told you of my conversation with my invisible father, asking him why he came around, if he wasn’t going to show himself, and I surmised that he did that to spite me, for reasons we know about each other.

On Sunday I got up and his energy was gone. I went about my life. Sunday night I went to bed, thinking about him. But I slept well and not disturbed.

Today, Monday, I had a full day of running errands, grocery shopping and unpacking. I did some earlier writing about some of my concerns with the gender changes to our National Anthem. I am not pleased at all.

Honor – Respect – Dignity and Memory …

If we strip those things from all that we hold sacred as a nation, then what ?

In the evening, before I had to get ready to go out for the evening, around 4 o’clock, I went to take a nap until 6. My dreams usually follow a predictable path.

It takes me a while, unassisted, to get to sleep on my own. But once I get to sleep, I sleep for the duration. And almost always, my Technicolor dreams come at the tail end of a sleep cycle.

If someone is going to ring my phone, as ALWAYS happens, that damned phone rings at the most inopportune moments, as a dream is hitting its climactic end. And usually, I always miss the END. All the time.

It never fails.

Today, I was in a dream. Talking about clothes, as I was standing in front of my closet door, which is next to my bed. I was talking away to whomever was there, and like a lightning flash, unannounced and without fanfare, my FATHER appears in front of me in corporeal form.

Color me shocked !

I looked at his face. I reached out and I embraced him. I heard him speak to me, saying that he was sorry.

I was besides myself really.

In a flash, he turned and was gone. And I shot out of bed like a maniac.

He returned. He came back. After I mused as to why he was even here to begin with.

I got showered and hit the meeting. On the walk back to the station, I Face Timed my aunt in Florida. The first words out of my mouth were, “I saw my father.”

As I walked along the sidewalk I was sobbing uncontrollably.

It was the second time I cracked. The first time was when I called one of my cousins and said the words … “My father is dead.”

We both agreed that he really had no purpose in coming back to me after the way he treated me in this life. Yet, I know God forgave him everything, and I needed to forgive him everything as well.

I saw my father. In corporeal form.

I can go on now.

I am free…



When does Political Correctness need to stop ?

When do we, as people, get to say, enough already with your penny ante bullshit needs for everything good and right needing to be changed because of the way you wipe your ass ?

The fluidity discussion has only grown in the last year or so, and I have seen this across many social platforms, and in my social groupings in the rooms I attend weekly. The classification of who you are, the color your skin, your nationality, your heritage, your background, your sexual identity, or lack thereof … has caused much fracas in these social circles.

Everybody is vying for a piece of the pie, so to speak.

We all want to be recognized, and respected, and equally represented, in all areas of life. Most importantly in our homes and in our communities.

Racism and Exclusion are very serious problems here in Canada.

And I am tired of having to prune my words in public and lately, when in conversation with friends, about many things, I have to actually, consciously “THINK” of what words I use in conversations that used to be so easily had. I cannot speak to friends like I used to speak to them before the P.C. Sexual Orientation/Fluidity topics have come to the fore.

Just the other day, I was talking to a friend, and within that conversation, he mentioned someone I know well and care about. Said person is on the S.O. spectrum (sexual orientation) spectrum. And as I was talking, I had to carefully MINE my words, having to actually choose words wisely, so as not to be offensive to them.

Do you know what kind of mental gymnastics that is ???

Having to carefully choose ones words, that do not come naturally, and having to think on ones feet, so to speak, making sure one uses the right pronouns or identifiers, is a real pain in the ass.

It’s like OOOPS, what did I just say ?

Did I use the wrong word there, because I cannot speak naturally, like I had been able for the whole of my life ?

They changed the National Anthem of Canada … Oh Canada …
The old version, written before W.W. I reads “IN ALL THY SONS COMMAND”
it now reads “IN ALL OF US COMMAND.”

The reference was put there to honor the memory of the great sacrifices that the many men who fought for this country in wars far and wide, that we remember them, respect them, and honor them for all eternity in song, every time we sing the anthem.

Now that has all changed.

Honor stripped from the Anthem. The memory lost to a bunch of tree hugging, politically correct pin heads, who bent over backwards and got fucked to make community more inclusive, because they just could not help themselves, could they?

  • Oh, I feel oppressed.
  • I don’t feel accepted.
  • I’m socially inept and sexually dysfunctional, and these days,
  • It is a Sin to be a MAN.
  • I mean really,
  • What the fuck WOMEN ?

Let’s just punish all the men in the world for the shortcomings of a few really bad apples. And while we are at it, let’s just change the whole fucking National Anthem for good measure!

When is enough ENOUGH already ?

I’ve spent HOURS walking the Canadian National War Museum in Ottawa with my best friend. If you’ve never been, you really need to see it.

I find it REPUGNANT that the national anthem was changed. Because the Honor, Respect and Memory of all those who died in service of Canada, have been just tossed aside for expediency and political correctness and for the whim of the female population, because they are SO HARD DONE BY, us men.

We should just RAZE the God Damned building for heavens sake now, because the hallowed honor of that building has been desecrated for sure.

I am all for respecting everyone … I mean we pray it over and over in the long version of the Serenity Prayer every night.

But enough is enough already.

This truly pisses me off to no end.

It sucks being a man. But I won’t stay silent for expediency and the fragile temperament of women who have their endless axes to grind with us.

There is a limit to my willingness to be accepting of social norms. But when you cross the line and begin to strip away honor, respect and memory from men who died for my country, you have taken a STEP TOO FAR …


The Senate passed a bill that renders the national anthem gender neutral Wednesday despite the entrenched opposition of some Conservative senators.

The House of Commons overwhelmingly passed a private member’s bill in 2016 that would alter the national anthem by replacing “in all thy sons command” with “in all of us command” as part of a push to strike gendered language from O Canada.

The bill was first introduced by Liberal MP Mauril Bélanger, who died in 2016. It now must receive royal assent by the Governor General before it officially becomes law.

Since 1980, when O Canada officially became the country’s anthem, 12 bills have been introduced in the House to strip the gendered reference to “sons,” which some have argued is discriminatory. All attempts have failed until now.

The song was written by Robert Stanley Weir in 1908 and has been changed before — including an update that dates back to before the First World War when the author added the line that later sparked so much debate. Weir, a poet and judge, changed “thou dost in us command” to “in all thy sons command.”

‘Very, very happy’

Independent Ontario Sen. Frances Lankin, the sponsor of Bélanger’s bill the upper house, said she was elated after the bill’s passage.

“I’m very, very happy. There’s been 30 years plus of activity trying to make our national anthem, this important thing about our country, inclusive of all of us,” she said. “This may be small, it’s about two words, but it’s huge … we can now sing it with pride knowing the law will support us in terms of the language. I’m proud to be part of the group that made this happen.”

My Line in the Sand has been drawn, when it comes to Political Correctness.

I’ve had enough !!!

O Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

Lest, we never FORGET the brave sacrifices of our men who fought for this country in wars far and wide, and forever HONOR them. This is our anthem as it SHOULD be sung.

Canada symbol on a flagpole

Sunday Sundries: Visitation


My father died over a month ago, on January 7th. I have not dreampt about him, or even thought about seeing him return to me, in one form or another. I am the seer in the family. Most of my relatives have come back to me.

My father, on the other hand, is a different story.

However …

For the past few nights, I’ve felt an oppressive dark pall hovering in the apartment. I could not quite figure out what it was, but it was weighing me down. I could feel it, so it had to be there. Since I had not spiritually summoned my father to visit me, I did not think he would make the effort to visit.

I have posed the thoughts to the universe about all those questions I did have about him in posts, already written. Last night, as I went to bed, and closed my eyes, I was not feeling myself. My ears were ringing and I had a headache that would not go away. I took some Tylenol before crawling into bed. I could feel that darkness hanging in the room.

I realized that my father had been hanging around. He would not show himself to me, I could not see him, like I have seen other family who returned. But I figured that he was there. It would be just like him to hang about in the shadows and not really allowing for me to see him properly. So in the dark, he remained in the dark, to my eyes.

As I closed my eyes to sleep, I said to him, in my heart and mind, that I knew he was here and that I felt his presence. I told him that he needed to go … That he had no place returning and haunting me. I forgave him and told him not to return to my home ever again. That I did not need to see him, nor did he need to see me.

Yet he came anyways. Why did he want to see me now, when in his life, he had no desire to see me or acknowledge my existence? Did he need some spiritual forgiveness from me that I actually speak those words to him now, in his present form?

As soon as I had that conversation in my mind’s eye to him, the energy began to dissipate and I went to sleep. This morning I got up and the energy was gone. It would have been nice to see him corporeally, but he was here, nonetheless.

This is the only photo I have of my father, from his Face Book Account.

Forgiveness is about freeing us of the pain that others have done to us. In that forgiveness, it does not absolve the “other” of what they have done to us, but forgiveness allows us to move on with our lives, no longer carrying that old pain around like rocks in a sack, hanging over our shoulders.

There is a story about a woman, who survives the Holocaust. She lived in Berlin, after the war. One day she was walking down the street and a strange man approached her and spoke to he quite confidently …

Corrie, do you not recognize me ?

After a few moments of contemplation, she did …

The man was a guard in the concentration camp she was sent to. He had killed her mother and other family members in front of her. She knew who he was …

He begged her forgiveness.

In that moment, she denied him forgiveness, and sent him away from her, not so gently.

In the ensuing months, our woman found Faith, God and the Savior.

It happened a second time, that those two humans met on the street.

Our woman had found forgiveness. In her new-found faith, she realized the gift of forgiveness, in the end, she did forgive that man, so she could go on with her life, no longer carrying around that rock of pain around her neck.

At some point, we need to Sink Into God. And to allow Him to help us become the men and women we are meant to be. One cannot be faithful to God, and keep that part of us that feels pain, in the darkness, from God.

Turning it over, is a 100% proposition.

If you only allow light to be shed on part of you and not all of you, then why bother, if you aren’t willing to bring to the light, all of you?

I am all about The Light.

See the Light, Be the Light.

I’ve spent my life, studying family and I’ve been visited several times over by my grandmothers, and my grandfather. They all returned to me. I have concrete proof of their visitations. I know within myself that they exist on the spiritual plane.

I don’t know where that gift came from, or from whom it came from, but I have the eyes to see it. Because I would not be able to speak about it if it did not happen.

We all have gifts, spiritual gifts, we just need to open that eye to see them.