Death of a Friend

A friend of mine died yesterday . Not a close friend - but a Facebook friend.

I have in the past wondered on this blog about the value of friendships as defined by Facebook. It has seemed to me that the millions of people who were on Facebook, seemingly competing to collect friends, had a poor definition of friendship . That if the only value of Facebook was to keep a marginal, superficial relationship alive - then the social platform was of little or no use at all. I may have to change my mind about at least part of that opinion.

Only twice in my teaching "career" did a student ask if we could be Facebook friends. While both students were in the same cohort, they asked me the question, at the end of term, separately. I don't think I was aware that they knew each other well. I suppose if I had thought about it, I would have said no to both of them. It would have seemed to me to be a bad idea for a teacher to share what few personal details I post on Facebook with students and I don't think I was particularly interested in the minutia of their lives. Both of the students were bright, contributed to the class discussions, handed their work on in time and in general were fun to teach. They were the kind of students who make teaching a joy; something that one wants to do again and again in the hopes that there are other students out there who will be equally as interesting and on occasion, challenging.

One of the students had a boyfriend who was enrolled in another program at the college. I would occasionally see them together in the halls and if we had time we would exchange a few comments about the weather or school work. The two of them helped me feel as if I had a connection with at least a few students outside of the classroom.

That student, after graduating went on to university and studied archaeology. She posted every once in a while and I read her brief notes. I have no idea if she read my occasional notes. I don't think we ever directly wrote to each other. In her third year she posted a note that she had been diagnosed with ALS. Shortly afterwards she and her boyfriend got married.

In the past seven years there have been some fairly cryptic comments as to the challenges that she was facing, with long periods of no comments at all. One of her relatives started a GOFund me account to help pay for her extra medical needs and I, a couple of times, made small donations anonymously, but I had no connection with her except this occasional lurking on Facebook. A few weeks ago she announced in a rather subtle way that she had decided to pass from this earth. Her condition had worsened to the point where she, I suspect, needed total care and could no longer live at home. I suspect she decided to use the option of assisted suicide while she still had the capacity to do so.

She died yesterday, back at home with her husband, her family and her friends at her side. In the past week there have been perhaps a hundred messages and comments posted from people who knew her, with lots of pictures of her and her friends doing fun things. People who could not be there, people who from their comments had lost touch with her or who had not seen her for awhile - got to say goodbye; got to reflect what knowing her meant.

I hope she had chance to read these messages - if so I hope that they made her feel good about who and what she had been; I hope the messages would have eased her passing. But I suspect that being able to post these messages on Facebook was far more beneficial to her friends. In a time when so many of us are physically separated from each other, divorced from the important social connections that should be sustaining us - her friends got to reach out and validate, at least for a little while, both themselves and their friend. They got to share that with other people who were doing the same thing.

Perhaps, in spite of the silly uselessness of pictures of cute dogs and orcas, in spite of the endless re-posting of facts that are neither newsworthy or true, in spite of countless pictures of what people ate or where - Facebook does, at its best, have a use. Like all things - when we share real feelings - connections, regardless of the medium, are made.

2018 On the Road Again #11

I am sure that Morse, Saskatchewan is a lovely little town - most of the towns that I have visited just off of the Trans-Canada are. They have been charming. There have even been a few that I have fantasized about living there. But I, like so many of the towns along my route, never got to see it. In fact I only saw the hundred or so metres around the gas station owned by my previous driver. Morse, no matter how big or small it is, was just up over a low rise. A rise that I had no need to climb.

It was not a great place to stand. Across the road from where I was standing, there was Reed lake - It is one of those shallow lakes that are great for migrating birds and mosquitoes. Just beside me, running alongside the generous shoulder was a deep ditch - partially filled with water. It was the first time that day that I was glad of the wind - it kept the bugs away. Other than local traffic, there was no reason for cars to slow down when they saw me. Everyone seemed to be going a billion miles an hour, most of the cars seemed to have more than one person in them and almost no one even looked my way as they passed. There were the usual number of trucks on the road - but most of them were grain trucks - they all seemed to be in a rush as well. There was a fair amount of local traffic - folks who turned off to get gas and then went into town or else got back on the highway to go back to where ever they had come from. It was a frustrating few hours. I would have walked somewhere but there was nowhere to walk to.

As the sun began to set, the wind dropped, not completely but just enough so that the mosquitoes could find me, and land on me. The silly little buggers did not know that I had spent years living in Ontario and for the most part my skin is too thick for them - or something. I had a few bites, but very little itching. They were just bloody annoying.

I had already chosen my spot to sleep. There was a nice big sign just off the road welcoming me to Morse, Saskatchewan. It had a few shrubs around it and flags flying from a tall flag pole. It was on a wee hill so that I knew it would be dry and it looked as if there was enough of a flat space for me and my little bivy sack.

I tried to hitch well past dusk - I know better. In spite of a street light at the corner, there was no way anyone could see me in time to slow down. But there was nothing else to do and so I stayed. Eventually I admitted defeat for the day and after using the gas station's bathroom and buying something to drink, I went up to my little mound to set up the bivy sack. Of course by that time it was dark and as I had not set it up for a year, I took me longer than it should have to get everything in the right place. I was tempted not to bother with the tent but there will still a few bugs around - nothing interrupts my sleep more than a mosquito taking too long looking for just the right place to get some blood. I also did not want to get wet. The sky was clear but that did not mean that it would stay clear all night.

The ground was hard. Most ground, unless it is soggy is, but this dirt had no give in it at all. It was not the most comfortable night's sleep that I had ever had, but on the other hand - it wasn't raining, I had met some interesting people and if I wasn't where I hoped I would be - I was on the road again - proving at least to myself that hitchhiking is still the best was to travel.

2018 On the Road Again #10

It turned out that my slightly fond memories of this particular corner in Saskatchewan were somewhat idealized. The wind, if anything, had gotten worse than it had been outside of Portage or Brandon, the dust devils were certainly worse and it was exhausting holding my body upright against the wind. The scenery was not that visually attractive - there was nothing to look at. It was in fact a boring place to stand for an hour or so. There seemed to be a reasonable number of cars going my way but of course I had no way of knowing how many of them were just going a few miles down the road or who was heading across country. I was more than delighted when a car finally stopped.

My driver was originally from Pakistan. His first comments to me other than to say where he was going, was to point out the number of cars that had only one person in it and yet they had not stopped for me. He sounded angry about this. While I may, on occasion, get frustrated at the number of cars that pass me by, usually (if I am lucky) with no more than a passing glimpse out of the corner of their eye and more usually a studied indifference of me, I never get angry at those drivers. It is their right to stop or not stop. I have no right, nor is it very useful, to get angry at them. My driver on the other hand expressed enough frustration for both of us. He was a Muslim - the only Muslim in perhaps hundreds of square miles. He believed that it was his duty, as a Muslim, to help people. He wondered why the other people on the road (he assumed they were Christians) did not follow the teaching of their beliefs. I could not give him an answer.

Although my driver, who had been in Canada for 6-7 years spoke grammatically correct English, his accent still made it occasionally difficult to catch all of his words. But we had an interesting conversation about what it was like to be the only Muslim in his town and the frustrations of working with Canadian Immigration. My driver's family still lived in Pakistan. He was not allowed to bring over either of his two wives. When he said that - I asked him to repeat what he had just said. He explained that his faith allowed him to have two wives but that Canada did not recognize that and therefore he was not allowed to have either wife join him. His "number one" wife had fairly recently just died and I think he was trying to determine if he was allowed to have his second wife join him. He did not seem optimistic. The cynic in me wondered if he was happier living alone and therefore was not trying too hard to have his wife move here. I didn't ask him.

My driver was, like so many first generation immigrants, an extraordinarily hard worker. He told me that he had fairly recently just bought a gas station. He also told me that local people kept on asking him how he could afford to buy a gas station. His answer was clear - work hard and save your money. I suspect that a few of the local people were unhappy that a "foreigner" had bought their local gas station.

My driver had twice told me where he was going. But because I had never heard the name before, or even noticed a sign along the highway, I could not quite understand what he was saying. Again, if I had realized that we were only going 115 kilometres, perhaps I would have stayed just outside of Moose Jaw. However where I got off was Morse, Saskatchewan. The gas station my driver owned was a big Esso with a bathroom and a convenience store attached. As I was there for some time, it became obvious to me that it was the only gas station for some miles and therefore it was a busy place.

My driver has a lot to teach other Canadians. Not only was he a hard worker who understood that sometimes one just needs to stay focused on a goal and ignore the smaller issues, but he also demonstrated that one's faith is not just something to celebrate one morning a week, but a lifestyle to live every day. While I don't usually pay much attention t it, it seemed to me that this trip I had meet at least two drivers who gave me a ride because their faith said that they should help people. Neither of them preached at me - they just demonstrated their faith through action. Nice!

2018 On the Road Again #9

I have only just recently marginally mastered the Regina bus system. When I got out of my previous driver's car, I was hoping that I knew where I was and where the right bus stop was. Fortunately I had guessed right and the bus stop was only a 100 metres away. Even better I did not have to wait anymore than five minutes for the right bus to come along. It was sheer luck as I truly was only guessing. The driver of the #9 St. Albert bus didn't quite understand why a hitchhiker wanted a ride on her bus, nor did she have a clue as to where I wanted to go. But I explained that I was too tired to walk through her fair city and that it was illegal to hitchhike. She called up the supervisor and we found out together that her bus got me to a reasonably good location, near I think a shopping centre called Grassland - and that was good enough for me. It was a long bus ride, perhaps there were shorter routes, but I was sitting down and that was better than walking.

Every year when I return home I vow that I will take time during the winter months to write down preferred bus routes etc. for each of the cities that I may have to go through. I never do it which is a pity as remembering to do so would save some angst when I am on the road. Perhaps next year.

I was let off at a reasonable spot almost within sight of the Trans-Canada. As usual I walked the couple of hundred metres to an entrance ramp with my sign casually dangling from my left hand. There was not a lot of space for cars to stop which was fine, there were not a lot of cars. My goal was to get onto the Trans-Canada. However, well before reaching the highway, a car stopped and the driver offered me a ride to Moose Jaw. While the driver was very friendly and chatty, the car was a bit of a disaster. There papers, cigarette butts and other bits and pieces of travelling debris scattered on the seat and foot well. While there was room in the back seat for my bag, the whole car felt cramped and almost over flowing with stuff. I think it was the first car that I have driven in where there was no dash. The lights and dials were all there but the protective and decorative cover that usually covers all of the wires etc was just not there. I think if I had look hard I would have been able to see the engine through cracks in the fire wall.

My first comment to my newest driver after the hellos and where are you going introductions was ' It looks as if you have been living in your and doing a lot of driving". I was somewhat embarrassed when his comment back was "yes I am homeless".

My driver was from Regina and in fact had a line on a house that he hoped to move into later in the week. In the interim he was staying at a shelter in Moose Jaw. He had driven to Regina because gas there was significantly cheaper. Not only had he filled up his gas tank but somewhere in the back were two large contains with extra gas. All I could think was "Lord I hope no one hits us in the back!"

It is only an hour or so drive from Regina to Moose Jaw and perhaps I would have been better off to stay where I was and wait for the long drive. But trying to catch the attention of a driver speeding along the Trans-Canada can, on occasion, take quite a while. Perhaps there would be a better spot just down the road where cars would be going slower. If Brandon can have a couple of stoplights on the Trans-Canada - why couldn't Moose Jaw?

During our short ride together we talked about some of the rules of the shelter - it must be so hard to not be allowed to stay inside all day. He didn't complain once about the situation he found himself in, he was working to find a way out of it and while I personally am never convinced that driving for two hours to get cheaper gas is ever a good plan, his math made some sense if one's time is worth nothing (and if the car can survive the trip). We also talked about the St Victor Boogie. The boogie happens once a year in St Victor, a small little town somewhere south of Regina. From my driver's comments it is a big party for bikers of all kinds. I think if I had said - lets go to it - he would have considered doing it. He told me that he use to go but he had done something to his back and now was permanently disabled. He clearly missed riding.

My driver drove to the far end of town where there was a small truck stop. Not too far out of his way but I could tell that he was pleased that he had been able to help. It always amazes me that at least half of my drivers are people who are struggling, who have had to, and still are dealing with adversity. They would have the right perhaps to be a little bit bitter, to be just a tiny bit angry at the world, to not want to give a helping hand to people, when they themselves are not getting the help they need, but they offer me rides. And for that I am grateful.

I had been at that corner before with a trucker and we had bought supper. So I had some hope that truckers did stop there and perhaps one of them would give me a ride to Calgary.

Lawsuits and the Unfairness of Insurance

In the past few days both the CBC and the National Post have posted stories of the RCMP being sued in a class action by officers who have alleged "systematic bullying, intimidation and harassment"(CBC). With no judgement as to the validity of these claims - although they are, given the para-military design of this agency, easy to believe - the amount being claimed (1.1 billion dollars) seems excessive. The RCMP has no money. It is not some private corporate entity that has access to millions of dollars tucked away in some off shore rainy day account. Its only money comes from me - the Canadian tax payer. The RCMP officers are suing Canadians because our government has not interfered at the right times, in the right way to prevent the alleged abuses. I suspect that the officers are right; we should have done more to ensure that their rights were not abused, that when issues arose - that they were dealt with in a speedy and appropriate manner. It should be noted however, that in general opposition parties have historically been quick to criticize governments that interfere too often with the internal workings of its arms length agencies.

On any given day, one can find a story in our national media about some person suing some employer or agency for alleged wrong doings. In many of these case, such action has only come after either the criminal court system or another tribunal has refused to recognize the validity of the case. But there are as well numerous example of people deciding that the best way of getting some attention, or claiming money is to threaten a lawsuit in civil court where the burden of proof is less. It is frequently hard to distinguish which of these reasons is the real reason for the lawsuit.

It seems to me that part of the problem is that we live in a litigious world; a world that is afraid that someone, someday may sue them. Sue them not for the very real costs of injury, but sue them for all sorts of indefinable additional trauma and their associated costs. The original claims are so inflated that the alleged offending party has no choice but to deny the claim and go to trial. Trials cost money. If the amount of the claim is inflated by the cost of a trial, then justice surely can be better served by finding alternative means of resolution.

I sell my weaving at a local farmer's market. The market board has been informed by the municipality that they negotiate with for space that all vendors must have insurance that indemnifies the municipality and associated partners from all potential lawsuits. I accept that it is remotely possible that my tent which is held down by a total of over a hundred pounds of weights might blow over and lightly injure a passerby. I am unconvinced that the risk is so high that my insurance company requires $300.00 a year to provide coverage.

I am required to have insurance because lawyers have convinced a public body that the risk of being sued by other lawyers is so high that they need special protection. The cost of insurance is so high that I will no longer be able to attend the market. The cost is so high not because I produce a product that puts people at risk, not because I am doing anything inherently dangerous to the public, but because someone is afraid that some undefined person might at some point in the future be injured so severely that there will be a lawsuit for millions of dollars.

I do not benefit from this expenditure, the public does not benefit - only the insurance company does. And they do so because the public entities are told that they should be afraid of lawsuits and that citizens, if something happens, that they can demand excessive amounts for their injuries.

I am pissed off that I have lost a portion of my income because some lawyer has convinced someone that what I do puts them at risk.

Pay Your Bloody Taxes!

For long time readers of this blog - the following is a familiar rant.

I read in my CBC news of today that Revenue Canada has reported that tax payers owe 44 billion dollars to the Canadian government! That is amount that Canadians, according to their own tax returns, owe. That does not include the billions of dollars that are in dispute - just the amount that Canadians have agreed that they owe. $44,000,000,000 is a lot of money.

To be fair just over half of that is owed by corporations, the same corporations that bemoan our high taxes ( but benefit from our stable economy and social structures) and constantly threaten to relocate elsewhere. But, according to the CBC just under half of that money owed, is owed by individual Canadians.

Can you imagine what it would mean to the hundreds of thousands of students just about to enter a post secondary institutions this fall if their first two years were to be free? Or what even a portion of that much money would mean to First Nation communities in northern Canada who desperately need housing, health services and access to safe drinking water? Or what it could do developing alternatives to building pipelines?

I am not suggesting that we arrest all of these people (although in the case of corporations it is tempting) but surely there is a way of publically shaming individuals to that they change their behaviour and accept the responsibilities for the privilege of living in Canada. If posting (in Ontario) a list of all people who work for the public and who earn more than a $100,000.00 is acceptable, why can't we post lists of who has not paid their taxes. Would people be more willing to pay their taxes if they knew their neighbours were to know if they didn't. It would be interesting to see how many of those who complain about poor health care, roads, schools etc are also those who do not pay their taxes.

I am not sure why, if dads who do not pay child support money can have that money deducted at source, why the government can not do the same with money owed to the Canadian people.

It is rather mind boggling to me that the Government of Canada needs to take some of my hard earned taxes so that they can hire civil servants to make other people pay their taxes.

We in Canada are blessed to live in the part of the world that is relatively free from strive, stress and instability. Even our weather, compared to much of the world is benign. But it cost money to maintain that society, the hospitals, the roads, the schools. Yes - the government makes bad decisions and quite frequently decides to spend money in areas that I would not personally choose to do so - but our society works for most of the people, much of the time because we have made a commitment to collectively take care of each other.

Pay your bloody taxes!!!

2018 On the Road Again #8

The spot in Brandon where hitchhikers stand is a good one in that there is a lot of traffic including trucks and at least half of them have slowed down because of the traffic lights. The shoulder is reasonably wide and as the road is flat and straight, the sight lines are good. I was right in believing that the winds would move the clouds away. It was now a clear day - the wind however, having done its job, continued to blow hard. It was windy enough that I had to use my chin strap to keep my hat on my head. Holding my sign was difficult as the wind kept on trying (and on more than one occasion succeeding) in blowing it out of my hand. I like hitchhiking and the spot at the edge of town is a good one, but an hour or two in the wind, the blowing of road dirt into my mouth and eyes made it a little bit less fun than usual. After a too long wait I got another ride.

It again was not the epic drive that I had been hoping for This driver was only going to Regina - drive of about four hours. A respectable distance and certainly helpful, but my goal for the day was Calgary. I was starting to develop a certain sinking feeling that my goal would not be reached. My driven, although I did not find out until an hour or two into the journey was a dentist. I have never socially known a dentist before and it was interesting to hear his perspectives on his profession.

My driver had spent much of his professional life running his own practice but had found it stressful. I had always assumed that dentist had stressful lives (and a surprisingly high suicide rate) because no one likes them - they may be the most universally hated profession in the western world. But no. In fact when consumer surveys are evaluated, it would appear that most people while they dislike dentists in general, think their own dentist is quite wonderful. The stress comes from running a small business with no training, of being responsible for a number of staff, of being the sole provider of income. I had never thought about that before and it made some sense. Although I still think that working in a profession that we all think is overpaid and may hurt us, must take a toll on them. I think it is interesting that he did not tell me his profession until we were well into our drive.

My driver had retired at some point and then started to work part time as a dentist in a federal penitentiary. One doesn't really think about it but of course, criminals who have received long sentences get toothaches too. My driver told me that some of his patients were the nicest and had the most patience of any of his customers. Of course as he said, they were not going anywhere and certainly not in any rush to get there.

It was a great conversation - my driver was friendly, intelligent and had interesting stories to tell. His car was a hybrid vehicle and it was fun to watch his display showing where the power was coming from. It seemed to be the perfect car for him. Not the fastest car on the road, but very comfortable and seemed to handle very smoothly.

While he had further to go, Regina was his destination for the day. He was looking for some cheap motels and I was of no help to him at all. He would have dropped me off almost anywhere (and got a bit irritable when I dithered) but I finally decided to get off where I was reasonably sure there was a bus stop. My last two trips though Regina, with me hoping to get a ride at the Husky had not turned out well. I just wanted to get through town a quickly as possible.
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