History

Wednesday, June 24, 2009 1:53 AM CDT

A Bifurcation

Well I’m going to leave Spencer’s website as it is for a while. At the moment there is a happy picture of Spencer at a cenote in Mexico. It’s a highly significant photo. Soon I will have important news from the region regarding Spencer, but I can’t say what just yet. We’ll call it Spencer’s Surprise.

Speaking of surprises Tracey went see Mackenzie dance a few weeks ago. Mackenzie was Spencer’s first friend. She did a major solo dedicated to Spencer. Tracey was blown away and cried through the whole thing so she is waiting for the video so she can actually see the dance.

Thursday is the last day of school. Pitt River Middle School wants to have an award honouring Spencer and asked us to come up with criteria and be present for the ceremony. Given that Spencer missed about 2/3 of sixth grade and nearly all of seventh, and because he had a wicked sense of humour, we’ve decided to make the award for attendance. Or something else. I don’t really want to give away the fun.

So we will leave the Mayan photo on Spencer’s website until the official news.

http://www.caringbridge.org/canada/spencer/

Meanwhile I need to introduce the new website. It’s been around for a little while with parallel content. It’s going to do have a lot of features that the old website doesn’t have. We will be able to send updates via email from single sideband radio from 100 miles offshore. Well be able to press a little button on the Spot messenger and our postion will be shown on a live map with a link to the latest blog. There’s room for photo galleries and video links for our voyages. All of this technology comes at a price, but we have a generous sponsor who I’ll introduce at a later time, after I let Stewart know that he is sponsoring our sailing blog.

http://www.sailblogs.com/member/blackdragon/

Foster just turned eleven. He had 15 of his closest buddies over for a party and sleepover. They were a bit noisy, but seem to have a lot of fun tearing around the neighbourhood with flashlights on a scavanger hunt. Not one of them made me coffee on Father’s Day morning! But I have to say I like the playlist they put together. It was AC/DC, AFI, Beatles, Bowie, Police, Queen, Zepplin, Stones, Floyd, G&R, & Chickenfoot - 19 songs in all. I’m not sure if ten and eleven year olds really like this music, or if that was just the best they could do with the library on my iPod. Check out the sailblogs website to see the coolest new land transportation for Foster.

Good news. We have solar and single sideband. 400 Watts in on the solar. 150 Watts out on the radio. Our liferaft is on order. And a nice man from the beacon registry in Ottawa called to chat about my EPIRB filing today. The 100 cone drogue is done including bridle! The bimini is complete. The speed/depth/temperature triducer is working on the NEMA 2000 network. Haulout is Saturday. We’ll be painting the bottom and putting in a new seacock for the watermaker. The new mainsail is nearly done. I just need to sew in the boltrope and have some rings pressed in. All of this probably utterly foreign language gobbledy gook, but stick with us and it will all make sense eventually.

August 1st is departure day. Big party at Vicki and John’s and we set sail from there.

We’ve rented the house to a nice family from South Africa. We told Thunderbird that they can let our slip go. So at this point, we have pretty much reached the point of no return. God help us if we turn the corner at Cape Flattery and decide we don’t like really Pacific swells!

Any way. Not many of these emails will follow. Updates will be updating exclusively on the sailblogs website. You can click on the little orange RSS button and your computer will tell you when there is a new entry.

Cheers,

Steve

Friday, May 22, 2009 1:54 AM CDT

There Goes the Autopilot

Today, I consumed 16 of my #2 spur grommets. Nobody undertakes using their spur grommets lightly. They are premium grommets for the most demanding applications. And I was making weather cloths. Weather cloths go from the lifelines down to the toerail around the cockpit. They keep out the cold winds and stop those seas that want to climb aboard. They need to be sturdy. They need spur grommets.

I’m not sure what Spencer would have thought about spur grommets or weather cloths. He would have been curious about their purpose and dismissive of my indulgence. Not the indulgence in the consumption of spur grommets; just the notion that there is any importance attached to little metal rings. He would have definitely enjoyed punching holes and pounding the dies.

I am pretty sure he would have approved of our giant garage sale this weekend. He always lived in the moment and didn’t get hung up on useless old possessions. He would gladly go into Mostly Music and trade 4 old games that he wasn’t using for 1 new one that he wanted today. Why do the rest of us get hung up on our stuff?

Tracey ditched a bit of stuff yesterday. She took an extra plaster cast of Spencer’s hands over to her mom. They cried together. I’m pretty sure Spencer would have been kind of pissed if we tried to unload a plaster cast of his hands at a garage sale.

The fridge died today.

I’m not sure why it chose the one year anniversary of Spencer’s death to pack it in. Will May 21st always be the day that we remember the loss of Spencer and the Frigidaire?

I don’t think so. We’ll get the fridge fixed tomorrow. There is no energy for a memorial service for the Frigidaire. I wouldn’t have any kind words for the eulogy. Nice stainless on the outside. Cheap crap on the inside.

I guess we all have the same struggle. There is the nice appearance on the outside and we’re forever trying to keep the veggie drawers from cracking and jamming on the inside. And God help us if the refrigerant leaks out or the compressor dies because then things really start to stink.

We sailed with Jared and Jack and Donna on the weekend. A night long cruise to Jedediah Island and sunrise in Deep Bay. And on Sunday, flat seas and the big new Spinnaker pulling us along at 4 knots on a bare breath of wind. Unbelievably beautiful sailing. And a pod of 50 dolphins cruised by at high speed.

And maybe Spencer sends us these things to remind us that we need to enjoy life in all its ups and downs every day. Maybe he talks to the dolphins and kills refrigerators. How are we to know?

But Spence. If you’re listening, Buddy. Could you please fix the autopilot? The damn thing is brand new.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009 0:33 AM CDT

Happy Birthday Spencer

It’s a long established tradition. Spencer skipped a lot of school.

So on his birthday today, we honoured Spencer by gathering up a bunch of his friends at their various schools, cutting class and heading for the go kart track. Yoshi would have been proud.

This year we were rather legitimate. I don’t think anyone was strung out on morphine. We all had proper shoes. Everybody met the height requirements, and only Foster had to invent a different year of birth for the form.

I hope at least that the kids lied to their teachers to maintain a little of the event’s traditional edginess.

Something strange happened this year. I was fast. Maybe the kids are getting heavier. Either that or it pays not to be obese anymore. Or maybe they were all strung out on morphine…

I hope Jared, Keaton, and Michael remember to skip school and do something fun next May 12th.

We’ll try to see if we can find a place to go donkey racing near the Golfo de California. And Foster can have the day off boat school.

Friday, May 8, 2009 0:02 AM CDT

Foster and Jared hung out with the Running Maniacs on the weekend. - A little prelude to Balding for Dollars.

The Maniacs dropped into to town to do the half marathon. Tracey had her own personal pace bunny, fly in from Kingston. Wow! Several shaved their heads and donated hair.

Sunday was race day. Tracey finished with a time she liked! Though she kept muttering something about an evil bunny...

Don't forget to drop by Foster and Jared's Balding for Dollars page on the link below...

Friday, May 1, 2009 11:59 AM CDT

Crossing One Off the List

The income tax is filed.

The spinnaker is done. Complete with a sock.

And the frames for the new bimini are installed. As is a new sub panel and mounting for the VHF, SSB, Stereo. My fabric has arrived for the bimini top. Things are going well.

And of course I crossed one other item off the list today.

The Gillette Series "Cool Cleansing" Shave Gel is intended for facial use only. Don't ask me why I know this.

Dr. Pollock was amazingly punctual. My appointment was for 10:10. At 10:25 I was standing in the line-up at Tim Horton's.

Dr. Pollock's literature states that most men report no pain during the procedure.

Most men lie.

It might be "no needle" but having the anaesthetic shot through your scrotum under high pressure isn't quite the same as a fairy sprinkling pixie dust. But it was all done in a few minutes. They asked if I experienced any pain.

I told them "no".

Again I declined the deluxe post care pack. No need to pay a $150 for a few dressings, a jock strap, some gel ice packs and a couple of Tylenol. Tracey had already taken care of it. Though she did buy frozen mixed vegetables instead of peas. It was quite a large bag. A little more thermal mass than I would have liked.

So I had a day relaxing. I picked Foster up from school and prepared a simple dinner. I served grilled chicken with Tortellini. I was just about to put the vegetables on Foster's plate and he said, "No thanks!"

"You have to have vegetables," I said.

"But I know where those have been."

I drove him to baseball and came back and watched the hockey game. Tracey picked him up from the game and they came home to find me relaxing on the couch with a smaller bag of vegetables. Foster wanted to know what the big deal was.

Tracey explained that I had a little cut on my scrotum.

"That's it? Just a little cut?" he mocked me.

I defended myself. "It wasn't just a little cut. There were stitches and a soldering iron and tubes pulled out and things."

"A soldering iron? Do you have metal balls?"

I liked him better when he was six. I could win then.

Thursday, April 9, 2009 1:00 AM CDT

Checking the Rigging

Today I went to see a man about my scrotum. Or well actually, not so much my scrotum, but a couple of tubes on the inside.

The paperwork and consultation took about 45 minutes. The actual surgery will take between 6 and 8 minutes. I am going for the no needle, no scalpel, pain-free vasectomy. Not only that, but I’m going to the nice doctor who advertises on the radio. He does about 4500 vasectomies a year.

And it’s free. The government will pay to have me rendered reproductively neutral. I didn’t realize that uncontrolled contributions to the gene pool represented a threat to society, but what the heck.

For $50 I could have skipped today’s consultation visit and filled in a form on the internet. But since we are on a budget, I went for the government funded clinic visit.

I did have to drop my drawers and offer the goods for inspection. I’m not sure how that is done online? We had a nice chat about sailing to Mexico while he located all the internal plumbing. I declined his offer to trade places for the year. I’m sure he would enjoy Mexico, but I’m not sure I would want to cut scrotums for a year. Though no doubt, it would buy a very nice boat.

For $195 I could have upgraded to the premium service. This includes the full package of pre-op goodies and post operative care items. And follow ups are done on the phone so no additional visits are required. I declined. It’ll be regular Tylenol and a bag of frozen peas. No premium service for me.

April 30th is the date. 10:10 is my appointment time. By 10:17, I will no longer be a threat to society. Well sort of. There is a whole quality control process that follows, but I’m a little shy about sharing personal details so I won’t mention it.

Tomorrow is the first sailing trip of the year. We’ll go test the new rigging. At least I got to know my rigger. He didn’t just grab me by the balls and then move on to the next customer. Mind you, I’m not sure if the quality control process is as much fun with the new rigging. Oh and I haven’t seen the bill yet. Maybe he grabs me by the balls to say goodbye rather than hello.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009 11:30 PM CDT

White Robes and Black Tails

We went to Harrison Hot Springs. The striking thing about the hotel is that everyone walks around in white robes. And they pace themselves. Never too fast. Itï¿½s as though they might be ticketed for some serenity violation if they appear to be rushed.

We did the cancer parent retreat thing. Quite interesting. A nice mix of parents of the living and dead. Itï¿½s a delicate thing inquiring about peopleï¿½s kids at one of these things. Itï¿½s not like they make you wear a black armband or anything. But with this crowd, itï¿½s never awkward. Itï¿½s like being with old friends. Kind of makes me want to go home and give Scupper chemo out of a sense of treatment nostalgia.

Foster sat on a panel. The grandmother next to him thought he was so cute that she wanted to bite him. Iï¿½ve never had the urge to bite children, even very cute ones. Iï¿½m not sure where that comes from. Keep your children away from strange grandmothers. Make sure they are current on their tetanus shots.

I forgot to mention that we are now triathletes. We did the UBC triathlon a few weeks back. Portions of it anyway. It was a family relay thing with two competing teams. John and John swam. Tracey and Leanne ran. Vicki and I rode bikes. One of the teams has bragging rights over the other, but we were something like 12 & 13th out of 13 teams so nobody is really bragging. I find it appalling how under-represented obese men on mountain bikes are in triathlons.

The upholstery shop is now closed. Weï¿½ve opened the sail loft. Iï¿½m sewing a 49 panel spinnaker that will pretty much cover the entire bottom floor of the house when itï¿½s done. It is black and harvest moon beige. 26 panels are done. In the middle will go a 15 foot tall black dragon. I think Iï¿½ll give the dragon a Portuguese Water Dog tail to fully integrate all harmonious elements of life.

The new rigging is great. We tested it on Sunday with a little sail. Some serenity to follow up the serenity. Just a couple of adjustments and weï¿½ll be good to go.

Oh and once I went for a dip at the hot springs, I was able to figure out the pacing on the robes. If you pull off your swim trunks so you donï¿½t drip through the hotel, the short little robes tend to blow open once a breeze gets going. Best to take it slow, or some grandmother might try and bite you.

That reminds me. I must make a phone call about a vasectomyï¿½

Sunday, March 22, 2009 1:36 AM CDT

Damn. I haven’t written in a month again.

I’ve fallen out of the habit. In truth, writing was an anxiety-driven habit. No anxiety. No writing. I planned to make writing an offshoot of leisure time. But I’m busier than I’ve been in years. So here it is. An update driven by guilt rather than anxiety.

I have to say I never would have imagined what a thrill it is to get up every day and spend the day playing with my stick. Every man should be so lucky.

But not every man can say that he has riveted a radar dome to his stick. I have. And I rubbed and polished every bit of hardware. Every fastener was coated with Lanacote. Every bit of stainless was backed with vinyl. The sheaves have new bushings. The halyards are new. Every wire replaced. My stick is as good as new. Almost ready to go sailing. Just need to finish my boom.

I think I’ve been dragging it out. It’s fun to go to the rigging shop every day.

Tracey is training for her half marathon. In preparation, she ran a half marathon with my sister Vicki. I’m not quite sure how this works. They’ve already achieved their goal in training for the goal. But I guess the goal is the Vancouver Half Marathon. The First Half marathon doesn’t count. Anyway, they are going to run another half marathon tomorrow. Just a training run though, not an organized thing, so I’m sure it doesn’t count.

I turned 44. I now own a guitar. Don’t worry, we’ll be well offshore and post nothing on the internet.

We have been invited to a parents’ retreat at Harrison Hotsprings. A few other cancer parents. Some chats and dinner, but most of all a weekend away from home and the kid at some nominal cost. Sounded great. We accepted. Then they called back a few days later and invited Foster to participate in a panel discussion. What?

Scupper had some issues. Gastrointestinal stuff that we don’t really like to talk about until we are sure the odour is gone from the carpets. The stool sample Tracey took to the vet showed “Q-tips”. This is quite rare, but unrelated to his problems. So for $143 he got an examination, poo analysis, some pro-biotic fancy dog yogurt, and some antibiotics. Why we are pro-bioticing and anti-bioticing in the same dog is beyond me, but that’s why we pay the big bucks. For $89 we could have had him put down. You can guess who drove him to the vet.

There is a another Portuguese Water Dog who just went to his new home with the Ritcheys in Texas. Sly was there old dog. Sly was Spencer’s idea of the prototype dog. Black and white. Fast and smart. Sort of like Scupper with straight hair and a better education. Sly died several months back after a good long life. The new dog is Spencer.

And the Krageljs have a new puppy, Ozzie. He came to visit tonight. Ozzie is one of the new doodles with tons of lovely blondy-red hair. Just like Foster.

Foster is growing his out. Hasn’t had a serious haircut since Balding for Dollars last year. But he’s planning to shave it all off again this year at Balding for Dollars. He and Jared Dulaba are going to do it together. You can visit their webpage and support them by clicking on the link below.

My dad turned 80. We had a big party for him up in Sechelt last weekend. All the brothers, kids, and grandkids were there. It was nice. Scupper didn’t come. And it snowed on Vicki and Tracey as they ran off the ferry up the hill in Gibsons. Why does it snow in March? This is almost like living in Canada.

Anyway, I think that pretty much covers everything. Making good progress on the list. Might as well just erase it from the whiteboard. Just need to find renters for the house. Let us know if you know anybody who needs a house in Port Coquitlam/Vancouver for a year starting in July or August.

Thursday, February 19, 2009 0:14 AM CST

Blackdragon is Stickless

It’s been a month more or less. I haven’t written.

You might think it’s a natural consequence. A guy’s son dies. Within a year he gets fired from his job. No doubt the man has sunk into a deep depression. Probably spends his days watching PVR leftovers of “American Idol” and “Two and Half Men”. Lost all sense of identity and purpose. A ghostly shadow of the man that once was.

It’s not like that really.

At the top of my list is a vasectomy.

Tracey wrote the list. I think she feels it’s an exercise to rebuild my self esteem. Render myself reproductively inert and restore my manliness.

I pretty much ignore the list.

Instead, I bought a sewing machine. A manly sewing machine. Not like some Bernina that is a model of precision machining. This one is more like a Taiwanese drill press. A bit clunky. But it will punch through a quarter inch of leather.

And I put it to use. Bought a few acres of marine vinyl. I think it is like regular vinyl, but because it’s marine, I pay twice as much. I remade the cockpit cushions. Bought vinyl tubing from Princess Auto to make the piping. Tracey says that my zippers are French zippers. I had no idea. I just did them. The cushions turned out rather well.

Based on the initial success, I pressed on and sewed an outboard cover. A barbeque cover. I made vertical tool pouches for both sides of the companionway. I’ve made pockets for stowing items. And in Foster’s bunk, a giant storage pocket thingy with 15 pockets and 4 cubic feet of storage space. Oh and tethers. I’ve made us each tethers so we can clip into jacklines and never fall overboard.

Now I’m redoing the interior upholstery. It’s a lovely fabric. Foster tested it with mustard, ketchup, coffee, coke, red wine, and olive oil. Nothing left a stain. Well except the oil. Port side is done. Next up is the starboard side. Then cabins fore and aft. No buttons and piping. Instead the smooth modern look. Quilting and topstitching.

I’ve ordered solar panels and radar. We have a new autopilot. Catalina is manufacturing a new rudder. My sail kit arrived. I’ll be stitching a new black and white spinnaker for Blackdragon with a giant black dragon in the middle.

For Valentines, Tracey got a new watermaker. Going full tilt, she can have a 150 gallons of fresh water every day. No need to row ashore and fill jerry cans with questionable water. Reverse osmosis all the way. The height of romance. She’s lucky to have me.

Now I’m at the riggers. We pulled the stick. I’ve stripped off all the hardware from the mast and boom. I’m sanding them. They’ll get painted, rewired, and reassembled. Then the stick goes back in with all new standing rigging. Those are all the stainless steel wires that hold the mast up.

A 20kg Rocna is on order at Steveston Marine. That’s an anchor. A serious anchor. The kind of anchor that you can drop 30 yards from the surf line on some bite in the open Pacific between Ensenada and Cabo, feel the swell, and still get a decent night’s sleep knowing you won’t be dragged ashore.

Tracey works most days. Some days she even makes more money than I spend. And I drop Foster at school and pick him up and make dinner. And of course, I diligently search for work each day. Scarcely any time left to book a vasectomy.

I may end up doing it myself.

Friday, January 16, 2009 0:51 AM CST

Lo Siento No Hablo Aburrido

I haven’t written much lately. I find it a little disturbing how disturbing it is to other people that I have not written much lately. I’m not sure if they are worried about us or just missing the latest episode in the serial entertainment.

Oh well. There were some good reasons why I was quiet. Some things were going on that I just wasn’t at liberty to talk about. But now I am free.

Today, I was fired.

Nothing personal. Just one of those transactions where a business is bought and not all the bits of the business are wanted and they get left behind. And so it was.

I wish I could say it was all very sad and tragic. Which it is of course at one level, but at another level there is opportunity.

And so it is. My job is now to refit the boat and get the house ready. Because the house will be rented.

And the boat is going to Mexico.

Foster will be dragged from school. Now geography, biology, mathematics, social studies, physics, navigation, watch keeping, engine maintenance, and Spanish lessons will all happen in the cockpit and the salon of Blackdragon. A real education.

And so Tracey gave notice at work today as well. We will leave in July or August. And we’ll come back in time for school to start in the fall of 2010.

We couldn’t be happier.

Planning is done. Now it’s time to do something.

Join us on our journey.

Monday, December 22, 2008 1:06 AM CST

We're Still Rock Stars

If there was nobody to receive the gifts, the whole notion of giving would fall apart. The process would break down. We can’t have that. So in the spirit of the season, we threw our support behind the whole process this week.

It started a while back. We were at the mall and Tracey asked Foster if he would have his picture taken with Santa. I’m not sure if he actually used any words, but the look on Foster’s face suggested not only that he was uninterested, but also that Tracey may have lost her mind.

And a few days later I received an email. And so I asked Foster if he would like to visit with Santa. “No!” Then I asked Foster if he would like to take the day off school and visit with Santa. A short delay and then, “No!” Finally I asked if Foster if he would like to take the day off school, visit with Santa, and fly in a private jet. “OK!”

And so it was. We had a wonderful day making gingerbread houses and hanging out. I know the telecommunications company really wanted to focus on the children and they weren’t doing this for publicity so I won’t mention their name. Just think warm thoughts about your telecommunications company whoever they may be.

Then the next night Foster was invited to go and hang on center ice for the ceremony to retire Trevor Linden’s jersey. TV cameras. Hockey players. The whole bit. Of course I couldn’t be on ice with him so I had to wait upstairs in a box until he was done. Then there was a game and pizza and hot dogs. Debbie Butt dropped by and gave all the kids Trevor Linden jerseys.

Oh and I’m famous too! There was a picture of me in the program. Well OK. That’s not completely accurate. There was a picture of my belly and half my face.

All right. So there was a picture of Spencer in the program. He’s still famous.

If that wasn’t enough, today there is foot of snow. I think snow might actually make Foster as happy as all the other rock star stuff.

And tomorrow, Foster and his buddy Zach are sleeping with the fishes. OK. Actually they will sleep with beluga whales. They’re like fish with blow holes. It’s sleepover night at aquarium.

At this rate, Foster will completely lose track of when Christmas is. I’m sure he’s not all that interested anyway since he doesn’t get that excited about Santa.

Oh and speaking of receiving gifts. Logan has done rather well with her Spirit of Angels toy drive. I think they have enough stuff for oh about 300 families! I hope that’s about 295 families more than actually end up staying over Christmas in the hospital and Ronald McDonald House.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008 0:20 AM CST

Spirit of Angels

It’s Christmas in our house. Sort of. For a little while longer.

There are piles of gifts. Lots of wrapping paper. A few dozen bottles of wine. A big jar full of cash and gift cards.

Tracey has been gathering goodies for weeks. Tomorrow she is loading up the truck and taking it all away.

Spencer’s friend Logan and her mom Jen had an idea that maybe this Christmas they should look after all the kids at Children’s Hospital and Ronald MacDonald House who can’t be home for Christmas. So they created the Spirit of Angels holiday gift drive and started spreading the word.

They’re gathering toys for kids. And robes and coffee cards for parents. Loads of cash for the shopping party. And they are coordinating with the child life people at Children’s.

Logan and her family have done enough time to know that it can suck being in the hospital. And having to be in the hospital over Christmas? Yuck.

So the shopping party is Friday and the wrapping party is on Saturday. Regrettably, I’ve been called away to a sailing emergency involving rum and poker, and can’t be there, but I’ll be there in spirit. Foster and Tracey will go.

I think Spencer would approve. In all the years of treatment, we were always home together at Christmas. But if you had to be in hospital, this would be nice…

Thursday, November 20, 2008 11:46 PM CST

Tracey had the staff from her office over for lunch. And then she took them to the park to show them the bench that they had installed at the park.

Behind it is a brand new playground. Ahead of it is a view down the hillside where Scupper chases tennis balls. On it our some nice words:

In Loving Memory of
Spencer Bruce Dolling
May 12, 1995 - May 21, 2008
"Apart from my cancer, you can see that I have a fantastic life" Spencer

---

Donated by Dr. Arnie and Sue Johnson
and the Staff of Shaughnessy Dental

Tuesday, November 18, 2008 0:01 AM CST

Subgingival Calculus

I’m used to spending my dental hygiene appointment looking deeply into the eyes of my hygienist. And at some point, when there isn’t a sharp instrument in my mouth, I always like to go for the reach around.

Of course on Friday, I didn’t have my usual hygienist. Instead I had Sandy. I had to be on my best behaviour. No mischievous staring. Definitely no reach arounds. I just laid back and thought about, well, dental hygiene. And I have to say, having your teeth cleaned is really not all that much fun when it’s not a semi-erotic experience.

Unfortunately, my flossing isn’t what it used to be. I have some 5 mm pockets that require more attention. Worse, Sandy made a note in my chart as part of the permanent record. For her, it’s just a little more tracking against the baseline. For me, it could have serious consequences. I asked her to make the “fives”, “threes” and “fours” on the chart. No need to get the regular hygienist all alarmed.

And then as Sandy finished up with a polishing and floss, she surprised me.

“Have you had any experience with a rubber tip stimulator?”

I didn’t want to appear to be ignorant, “Sure. Usually I don’t ever talk about it. I just quietly use it in the shower.”

“Oh so you do have rubber tip stimulator?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” I had to be a little careful here. “At least I did have one… But it may have been lost in a recent bathroom renovation.”

“I’ll get you another one,” she offered. “You know how to use it, right?”

“Oh yeah, yeah. No problem.”

I had to wait in line at the front desk. They were working on Bill’s invoice including a charge for his bottle of specialized mouth wash. “Did you get your complimentary rubber tip stimulator?” I asked Bill. Apparently, his appointment didn’t include any extra perks.

They tried to nail me down on a date for a 6 month recall. I refused to make a commitment. “I want to book in with Tracey, so I’ll have to see what her schedule is like.”

“Oh but Tracey is not in our system yet.”

“That’s OK, I’ll wait.”

They made me fill out a card with my name and address so they could send me an appointment notification.

I can’t wait to practice with my rubber tip stimulator.

Thursday, November 13, 2008 1:27 AM CST

Two and Half Men

Well it was close. I think we managed to get rid of it before the infection spread. You can never tell right away with these things. The garburator died. Actually it didn’t really die. It wouldn’t shut off. If the infection had spread to the other appliances, we could have been out a small fortune.

So I managed to get in, replace it, and get out of the kitchen with the tools and we didn’t trigger a renovation. Tracey wants me to replace a few missing bits of quarter round at the cabinet bases. I know how these things go. “While you have the tools out, maybe you could whip up some new cabinets out of maple and some granite countertops to go with them.” I won’t fall for it. Or maybe I’ll just do the quarter round while she is out running with Scupper.

Speaking of Scupper. He’s looking quite lean lately. I think his obesity problem is over. He’s an athlete. He ran for two hours on Sunday.

I’m still a man and a half. I have a few more pounds to go before I’m no longer obese. I think we’ll get a big cake to celebrate.

Foster is a mature ten year old. I suppose I’m overdue for the father-son talk. Neither fathers nor sons actually enjoy these talks which is why they almost never happen. I have no intention of avoiding my responsibility. There is no obligation to have the talk really – only an obligation to make sure the knowledge is imparted. Therefore Foster and I have taken to watching Two and Half Men together. All the reruns. Everything he ever needs to know. Sometimes two episodes a day. Whatever is missed, we backfill with The Simpsons.

I finished the crown mouldings in the downstairs bathroom. Crown mouldings require a lot of swearing. Even with a nail gun.
The mirrors are trimmed out. Don’t try to attach mouldings to a mirror with a nail gun. Construction adhesive is a better choice.

Tracey has begun to paint the master ensuite and closet. But I’m not worried. She is going to do it all herself.

Actually, our strategy for recovering the massive losses in our retirement portfolio goes something along the lines of: boost the performance of the local Home Depot store, trigger a big uptick in the Home Depot stock price, driving a rally of all the issues traded, continue renovating room by room until portfolio value is restored.

Monday, November 3, 2008 1:38 AM CST

Cleaning Out the Dead Kid's Room Part II

Some people read my last update and thought I was wonderfully real and coherent. Others read it and thought I must barely be on the edge of coping. So I guess it doesn’t matter what I say, people will believe what they like.

One thing I did do last time was throw out a shocking title without ever really dealing with the content.

We really did clean out the Dead Kid’s room. It was full of boxes of stuff that went to the memorial and just kind of got dumped until somebody had the energy to clean it up. Foster urged us to do it. He called it the “other room” or the “playroom” or anything but “Spencer’s” room. But Foster didn’t mind rolling up his sleeves and helping us sort through it. And giving Tracey a hug when tears flowed. After all, how do you make a decision about what to do with the extra set of plaster imprints taken from your dead son’s hands?

So now it’s kind of tidy. We didn’t deSpencerize it or anything. There are still hockey jerseys, model cars and pictures and things, but now there is plenty of room to play. And Foster dragged the miniature pool table out of the crawl space and set things up. He now occupies the suite of rooms in the North wing of the house.

And so there is the painful tortured moment to fulfill expectations.

Beyond that there is more ordinary.

I am still obese. It’s hard to shake. I’ve been riding my bike three or four hours a week. Something that must be understood: exercise makes you eat more. So it was all a terrible mistake. I would have been better off as a couch potato. But at least now I’m a very fit obese person.

So I’ve stopped eating carbs. I’m not sure why I ever reintroduced dessert, pasta and potatoes into my life. But they are gone now.

Max weight (last weekend): 230 lbs
Current weight: 225 lbs
Obesity Threshold: 220 lbs
Overweight Threshold: 180 lbs
Normal Threshold: 140 lbs
Dead: 88 lbs

So I’ll need to move down a couple more notches, but I’ll have to be careful or they’ll attempt to hospitalize me down at the lower end of normal. What normal six foot male weighs 140 lbs? Who makes this stuff up?

Tracey decided to paint the bathrooms. Couple of gallons of paint. Doesn’t cost very much. She was going to do it all herself. Which she did. Including the prep work before hand.

How is it then that a coat of paint that costs a few tens of dollars and means no work on my part results in me installing new shower head, regrouting the shower, installing a new toilet, putting in a medicine cabinet, dropping in a new sink, installing new towel racks, wiring in the new light fixtures, replacing the ugly receptacle, framing the mirrors, and putting in a new toilet roll holder? I know we prudently decided to avoid the expensive and time consuming bathroom renovations, but I’m trying to distinguish between that and a “fresh coat of paint”.

I sure hope we don’t paint the kitchen.

Rob finished the DVD of the Celebration of Life ceremonies for Spencer and delivered a few copies after our long bike ride today. They were beautifully produced. I watched them tonight and cried for a couple of hours. Who ever heard of funerals with standing ovations? I think we should sell the DVDs. Boxed sets with plaster imprints. They’ll move like hot cakes.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008 11:39 PM CDT

Cleaning Out the Dead Kid's Room

I think I’m supposed to share cute stories. You know the Thanksgiving stuff where I baked pies, but really only served as executive chef while Foster and his friends did the pastry and Tracey cooked the pumpkin filling. Or how rather than cooking brussel sprouts, we launched them off Vicki’s deck by slingshot into the sea forever confusing Yoshi on the tradition of Canadian Thanksgiving. Or I should talk about the paint ball and the bruises on my body or the smile on Foster’s face. Or maybe tell tales of Tracey’s training for the half marathon or Scupper’s propensity to stop running and roll in dead salmon by the river bank and how good he smells after he’s been washed in Foster’s Axe because we’re all out of doggie shampoo.

And then maybe I should shockingly rip the tale in another direction and offer some poignant reminder that we are not just amazing people living life so fully, but newly wounded grieving folks able to triumph in the most difficult of circumstances.

And then you are supposed to go “wow” and have some moment of introspection wondering how we do it. And wonder if faced with similar circumstances, how would you react? How would you live your life? And maybe you can’t answer the question. Maybe you are just glad you will never be faced with the question, touch wood.

Or perhaps, I’m supposed to pull profound observations out of the air like, if we won a lottery, we would probably be packing up a boat and going for a nice long cruise in some tropical climate. Conversely, if the economy sunk into a global depression and we lost our house and jobs, we would probably be packing up a boat and going for a nice long cruise in some tropical climate. The difference between the two is that in one case, fishing would be a recreational pursuit, and in the other it would be a quest for protein to go with the rice and beans.

So the two ends of the spectrum actually meet somewhere north of Panama or perhaps west of the Galapagos.

Which at this point should leave you wondering what the hell I’m actually talking about. And my clever obfuscation has left you thinking two levels deeper than I ever was. And at this point, I would just end the story and you would feel good, or moved, or confused. And we would wait for the next one.

But it would all be a distortion. Because I never directly address the question about what it is like to be the father of a dead kid. And I can’t possibly explain it. And you nod your head with understanding and a large measure of pity. And I shake my head because you don’t understand it. Because life is so fantastically ordinary. With work and report cards and dirty dog feet and obesity and soccer in the rain. And the ordinary is wonderful and cherished. And my ordinary is at least twice as ordinary as yours. Except I cherish mine which makes me extraordinary.

So never pity me or envy me.

And yet I could give a damn if I ever win the lottery or if I am left homeless because either way everything will still be OK because we’ll all be together. And I’ll be fishing.

Oh, and Spence, I think about you every day, five months later. Love you buddy

Wednesday, October 8, 2008 0:09 AM CDT

I've been under pressure to provide an update.

I think it has something to do with where I left off. People want to know:

"Did he have a prostate exam or not?"

It's a personal question. I don't feel compelled to answer.

But thank you for the feedback on Scupper. I didn't realize you were supposed to get the dog's height standing on two legs for calculating the BMI. That may change things a little. Not that I really need to compare myself to the dog.

The doctor didn't really have anything to offer in the way of enhancement. He suggests exercise will be more effective than trying to grow taller. Though I swear for a moment I was an inch or two taller. The good news is that my prostate is normal. Not that I feel compelled to share.

And everything else is OK. Except perhaps my RRSP. But I'm not really nervous about that. The Government will fix everything. They know what they are doing.

Thursday, October 2, 2008 0:48 AM CDT

Body Mass Index

Scupper is drifting into middle age. He’s getting a little grey around the muzzle.

Today, he went for a check-up. Tracey brought along some cute pictures for the bulletin board: Scupper kayaking in the Broughtons, Scupper sitting in a kayak. They like Scupper at the clinic and follow his story on the website.

Scupper is 2 foot 3 and weighs 58.5 pounds. That gives him a body mass index of 56. He’s way far into the obese category. Nevertheless, he has lost 5 pounds and the vet says he’s in good shape. She gave him the go-ahead to do a half marathon with Tracey as long as he trains with her.

I’m drifting into middle age. I’m getting a little grey around the muzzle.

Tomorrow, I go to my doctor for a check-up. I’ve never actually met my doctor. None of my middle age friends ever have nice things to say about going to visit their doctors. I’m not sure if I should bring a picture for the bulletin board.

I calculated my body mass index. I am a little bit on the obese side. I need to grow an inch and half just to be overweight and a full 9 inches to be normal. I hope the doctor has some strategies to help me get taller. But at least I’m a reasonably fit obese person and ride my bike a few hours a week.

Scupper can’t even ride a bike. And he needs to grow 14 inches just to be normal.

Monday, September 8, 2008 0:41 AM CDT

Cinnamon Buns in the Fog

We're home now. I'm supposed to give an update, but I'm not quite sure I'm ready to do that yet.

I don't even know how to describe what it's like emerging from the fog on Johnstone Straight after narrowly missing another sailboat and having fresh hot, home made cinnamon buns and coffee in brilliant sunshine while dolphins swim in the bow wave. I can tell you about it, but I can't explain what it feels like in your chest. How alive you can be.

There is something magical about watching Tracey and Scupper row ashore in early dawn and pull a crab trap. And hear the screams as the door falls open and the crabs spill into the dingy while both Tracey and Scupper try to occupy the little seat in the bow and the stern lifts up out of the water. What it's like to pull the anchor and steam in as the hero to rescue...

the crabs before they are lost in an endo dingy capsize.

I can't explain what it's like to pull into Campbell River after 3 weeks in the Broughtons and drop off laundry and go to the Superstore to buy groceries. And stop in the medical clinic above the Superstore to have the pain in Foster's leg checked out. And to hear the doctor say they want us to go to the hospital for an X-ray. Just to make sure it's not a tumor. How alive that makes you feel.

To hang at anchor with friends while a gale blows. And throw apples and pears to wild sheep descended from those left by Spaniards hundreds of years ago. And have all the kids in the anchorage go to a party on the upper deck of East Wind complete with a disco ball and strobe lights pulled off the life vests. While Pocket Pepper the rat dog huddles in his basket below. Safe from eagles and eight year olds.

And Spencer came with us. Every day. In one way or another. And of course his cremated remains, as the dead people folks call the ashes, were tucked up behind the microwave waiting to be scattered. And they never were. Because it doesn't feel right. Yet.

New memories mixed with old memories. New friends mixed with old friends. And all was good.

And we watched as Devin reeled for ages with bent rod. Dragging the monster Chinook from the deep. As we dodged cruise ships coming down from Seymour Narrows. Making plans to dive overboard and wrestle the oversized brute into our undersized net. Only to see Devin's soul destroyed as the dogfish hooked in the dorsal fin is finally dragged to the surface. A miserable little shark.

To watch waterfalls come down granite from thousands of feet up. To feel 40 knots of wind that kills your wind meter. To punch into eight foot seas. To have coffee in bed. To fold the table down and have family movie nights on Fridays. To hike into the woods and see 20 foot cedar trees - in diameter.

It's not really possible to describe these things yet.

At least once in your life, you must find an excuse, a reason, to check out for an entire month. You don't even remember what work is.

It was especially nice. And nobody asked us, "How are you doing?" with that look that is full of pity. And we were just doing. Fine. With an emptiness and fullness that combine together to something well north of average.