Have you ever been some place that made you feel a little bit icky and all you wanted was to take a shower once you got away from there? I've experienced that a few times in my cop career. Some of the homes I've searched for items illegal were so disgustingly bad that even the cockroaches complained. Those types of conditions are somewhat expected when the goodness of life takes a back seat to the evils of drugs, violence and greed. I thought those feelings would be a memory once I turned in my gun and badge. To my surprise, I had that same inclination to wash away the icky upon my recent return from a vacation to the United States of America.
America is our neighbour and our friend. Just as with the family who lives next door, you have no say in the colour they choose to paint their house, how often they cut their grass, or whether they try and initiate a conversation with you from a second story window as they sit on the toilet (a true story). We either accept our neighbours for who they are or build one of those so called 'friendly neighbour' fences. These are the ones that are supposed to be high enough to provide the privacy and protection we all desire. I never did get around to building the 20 foot fence for our suburban Burlington bungalow that would shelter me from my neighbour while he was on the John. I figured it better to just go with the flow! I find it interesting that America is contemplating a fence along its border with Canada to parallel the one they have with Mexico. Are they trying to keep us out or keep their citizens in?
America sure has changed in the last ten years. The events of September, 2001 have affected her more than Bin Laden ever imagined. America believes it is under siege and is doing what it must to protect the way of life it has fought for since 1776. Freedom is that country's rallying cry. If it doesn't exist then some American's believe that death incurred in its pursuit is an acceptable by-product. As a Canadian and as only an occasional visitor to the US, I thought the "Give me liberty or give me death!" expression was just that, an expression. My most recent visit there made me realize the extent to which Americans (at least those that make up the government of the people) will go to ensure that their vision of liberty prevails. In a very perverse way, this is achieved by reducing the freedom of its citizens and anyone else that graces her soil.
I know a little about the law and the rights of people when they have dealings with Big Brother. My expertise is Canadian law, but there has always been a symbiotic relationship between our country and America. Our histories and values dictated that our democratic beliefs would and should be similar. As of today, I believe we are as far apart on this as we ever have been.
My case in point relate to the cards that Lynda and I found in our luggage upon returning to Canadian soil from the U.S. of A. These cards informed us that our bags were searched and that it may have been necessary to break the locks on the luggage but US Customs was not responsible for replacing or reimbursing the cost of the locks. I guess that is a small price to pay for liberty! No such invasive search can be conducted in Canada. You would have had to be present for Canada Customs to search your bag, or you would have to had given consent in some form, or the authorities would have required a search warrant. The Americans have whitewashed the issue by basically saying that the mere fact that anyone chooses to travel to or from their country implies that consent has been given for your luggage to be accosted. You may be able to find that innocuous point in the small print on some government website if you were inclined to look, as most of us are not.
While in the Big Apple, I was impressed by the number of NYC police officers walking the beat all over Manhattan. There were almost as many cops as Starbucks, but that's a story for another day. The cops took the city back from the criminal in the 1990's. Since 9-11, the cops have taken a little bit of the city away from the law biding people too. The newspapers and electronic media had daily stories regarding a NYC police policy called "stop and search". The idea is that an officer, who is anyway suspicious, is entitled to frisk a person and look in any bags he or she is carrying. Civil liberty groups attack the procedure because the statistic show that it has resulted in minorities being targeted disproportionately and the practice has not resulted in many meaningful arrests or seizures. I have to admit that when I was a cop I wish I had the "right" to stop and search some of the sketchy characters I came across. I had good spider-sense but our cursed Canadian laws made it impossible to detain anyone without grounds. As for searching any person, Canadian authorities can only do it upon arrest or if the person to be searched gives 'informed consent' to do so. The result is that everyone in Canada has infinitely more freedom and liberty than someone in many areas of America. I'm not sure the founding fathers of the original colonies would be happy with how their constitution has been twisted and interpreted. American legislators certainly seem to like to add amendments to this part or to that part of it.
Not so many months after the chat with my neighbour while he wrestled with bowel movements, I sold my house and moved my family back to Newfoundland. I don't think that incident had any impact on our decision to relocate, but who knows what lurks in one's subconscious. Canada can't do what I did. It is connected geographically, politically and socially to America and that will always be the case. Our hope is that America once again finds itself as the world's shining example of democracy and freedom. The alternative is that it continues to erode and its original ideals that saw it as the "land of the free" will be flushed down the toilet. If that happens, that proposed friendly-neighbour fence along the 49th parallel won't be a bad thing. For Canada that is.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Fat Chance
This morning I tried to give away something that is in high demand, is known as a precious gift, and is synonymous with life itself. It seems outrageous that there were no takers. Right? Well, not really. Especially when the very thing you are trying to give away is only pretending to be that priceless commodity. I was trying to give away some of myself. Literally. Let me explain.
I've been donating or attempting to donate my bodily fluids since I was a much younger man. Okay, I admit that some of those attempts were self serving. Perhaps there's a pattern because I never had any takers back in those days either! I digress.
The specific fluid in my body that I tried to give away this morning is one that many people actually want and need. I am referring to my plasma. That yellowy liquid that shares space in our veins and arteries with our blood is a life saver for so many who are sick or injured. As you can imagine, the need is endless. I've been trying to do my little bit to help by donating frequently. The tally of my donations for my plasma, my rare B negative whole blood, and the couple of times I gave platelets is now at 105.
Surely I've given a few gallons of myself over the years to Canadian Blood Services and to its predecessor, the Canadian Red Cross. I understand that in the States donors are actually paid for their blood donations. I figure I've been more than adequately compensated by the awesome people I have met at the various centres throughout Canada, as well as for the number of oatmeal cookies that I have eaten during the rest periods that are mandatory following every donation. The last thing needed is an anaemic donor rushing out the door and causing a traffic accident, thereby suddenly requiring the very blood that was just donated. Wouldn't that be ironic or is it? (Ever since Alanis Morissette wrote that song I'm not sure if I know the true meaning of the word "ironic".)
This happened to be the first time that I was ever rejected as a donor. I've always gotten through the screening process that is the envy of anything I've ever witnessed or tried during my 20+ year career as a cop. Use cocaine in the last six months? No. Had sex with a man, even once? No. Lived in Africa? No. Been to prison? No. Pregnant? No .......... and so on and so on. You get the message. Today I never even made it to the interrogation. All it took was a simple pin prick of my finger and the jig was up. The little pretest on my blood determined that there wasn't really that much premium test flowing through my veins today. My blood was more like Crisco shortening. What was up with that?
I didn't have to think too hard. The signs have been posted on the walls at the clinic since I started going there and the advice was in those pesky pamphlets in black and white. Donors are always reminded to drink lots of water and to eat healthily prior to donating. Now this is good advice at any time and for everyone. It seems that some of us need a kick in the pants to understand that these words actually mean what they say. It seems my Swiss Chalet chicken and rib combo supper (with fries) would not fall in the realm of healthy eating. Who knew? Also, the brownie and cookie batter I licked from the bowls just after my daughter put her creations in the oven probably aren't on the plasma donor A-list. Suffice to say, the fresh from the oven final products weren't a good choice either. At least I washed them down with skim milk.
The staff at the clinic are wonderful people. After all of the years I have been going there to donate, they are more like friends than vampires. They cheerfully sent me on my way this morning with some heartfelt advice. Apparently, oatmeal is an excellent short term antidote for having so much fat in the bloodstream. The only question I had for them was "Do oatmeal cookies count?" Apparently not.
I've been donating or attempting to donate my bodily fluids since I was a much younger man. Okay, I admit that some of those attempts were self serving. Perhaps there's a pattern because I never had any takers back in those days either! I digress.
The specific fluid in my body that I tried to give away this morning is one that many people actually want and need. I am referring to my plasma. That yellowy liquid that shares space in our veins and arteries with our blood is a life saver for so many who are sick or injured. As you can imagine, the need is endless. I've been trying to do my little bit to help by donating frequently. The tally of my donations for my plasma, my rare B negative whole blood, and the couple of times I gave platelets is now at 105.
Surely I've given a few gallons of myself over the years to Canadian Blood Services and to its predecessor, the Canadian Red Cross. I understand that in the States donors are actually paid for their blood donations. I figure I've been more than adequately compensated by the awesome people I have met at the various centres throughout Canada, as well as for the number of oatmeal cookies that I have eaten during the rest periods that are mandatory following every donation. The last thing needed is an anaemic donor rushing out the door and causing a traffic accident, thereby suddenly requiring the very blood that was just donated. Wouldn't that be ironic or is it? (Ever since Alanis Morissette wrote that song I'm not sure if I know the true meaning of the word "ironic".)
This happened to be the first time that I was ever rejected as a donor. I've always gotten through the screening process that is the envy of anything I've ever witnessed or tried during my 20+ year career as a cop. Use cocaine in the last six months? No. Had sex with a man, even once? No. Lived in Africa? No. Been to prison? No. Pregnant? No .......... and so on and so on. You get the message. Today I never even made it to the interrogation. All it took was a simple pin prick of my finger and the jig was up. The little pretest on my blood determined that there wasn't really that much premium test flowing through my veins today. My blood was more like Crisco shortening. What was up with that?
I didn't have to think too hard. The signs have been posted on the walls at the clinic since I started going there and the advice was in those pesky pamphlets in black and white. Donors are always reminded to drink lots of water and to eat healthily prior to donating. Now this is good advice at any time and for everyone. It seems that some of us need a kick in the pants to understand that these words actually mean what they say. It seems my Swiss Chalet chicken and rib combo supper (with fries) would not fall in the realm of healthy eating. Who knew? Also, the brownie and cookie batter I licked from the bowls just after my daughter put her creations in the oven probably aren't on the plasma donor A-list. Suffice to say, the fresh from the oven final products weren't a good choice either. At least I washed them down with skim milk.
The staff at the clinic are wonderful people. After all of the years I have been going there to donate, they are more like friends than vampires. They cheerfully sent me on my way this morning with some heartfelt advice. Apparently, oatmeal is an excellent short term antidote for having so much fat in the bloodstream. The only question I had for them was "Do oatmeal cookies count?" Apparently not.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Walls Fell
I'm back!
I'm not sure if I was beseeched with a case of writer's block or if I just figured I had nothing worthwhile to write about. Anyone writing in a public domain, such as a blog, really has to ask themselves the question of why they are putting themselves out there in the first place. I think I became too fixated on spitting out stories that were cutesy and whimsical. If I couldn't make you laugh, then damn it, it wouldn't be worth writing.
I think I had it all backwards. At least for who I am as an individual. If I am to continue as a writer and to improve at this wonderful craft, then I must write for the person who is my biggest fan and who is also my harshest critic. Me. By being true to who I am, I believe the words will flow more freely, the stories will be more compelling, and you, the reader, will willingly join me on my quest to enjoy each and every slice of life's pie.
My blog, Tales of the Not So Private I, is a look at the world as I see it. I'll continue to share some very personal thoughts and experiences if I believe they will be necessary to make a point or add to your understanding of my story. If I can't be open and honest as a writer, then I may as well turn off my computer, put away my thesaurus, and stick to reading self-help books.
So from here on, I will be selfish (though only as a writer). My writing will be a reflection of my thoughts and my feelings. I'll be writing about what happens to be tickling my fancy at a given time. I promise to be more controversial than the financial expert I saw interviewed recently on the Business News Network. The expert was an analyst for the agriculture sector of the United States economy. Her only salient point in the ten minutes of airtime was that if the weather is good this spring and summer, then the US will have a good corn and wheat crop. She added that if the weather is not favourable, then the crop will likely be not as good. Now that is captivating stuff! Thankfully the world has experts to inform us of the obvious. I'm not an expert on anything, but even I can tell when the bar of common sense has been set way too low. I'll endeavour to raise it a notch or two.
As for how often I will write, who knows? I'm under no editor's time crunch, nor is the payment of my light bill predicated on churning out the next story. I'll know when I see it. Or as may be a better descriptor - I'll know when I feel it.
With my selfish perspective to writing all that laid out, I do still hope that you will continue to read, share, and enjoy my tales. As long as Jim's world continues to present good stories, I will be here, ready to dissect them from angles that may be both acute and obtuse. After all, the beauty of life is in its unpredictability and variety. The blocks that from time-to-time encircle many writers form all too predictable angles and shapes. Once these walls fall, the result can be an exhilarating ride for the writer, as well as for the reader. So, hang on!
I'm not sure if I was beseeched with a case of writer's block or if I just figured I had nothing worthwhile to write about. Anyone writing in a public domain, such as a blog, really has to ask themselves the question of why they are putting themselves out there in the first place. I think I became too fixated on spitting out stories that were cutesy and whimsical. If I couldn't make you laugh, then damn it, it wouldn't be worth writing.
I think I had it all backwards. At least for who I am as an individual. If I am to continue as a writer and to improve at this wonderful craft, then I must write for the person who is my biggest fan and who is also my harshest critic. Me. By being true to who I am, I believe the words will flow more freely, the stories will be more compelling, and you, the reader, will willingly join me on my quest to enjoy each and every slice of life's pie.
My blog, Tales of the Not So Private I, is a look at the world as I see it. I'll continue to share some very personal thoughts and experiences if I believe they will be necessary to make a point or add to your understanding of my story. If I can't be open and honest as a writer, then I may as well turn off my computer, put away my thesaurus, and stick to reading self-help books.
So from here on, I will be selfish (though only as a writer). My writing will be a reflection of my thoughts and my feelings. I'll be writing about what happens to be tickling my fancy at a given time. I promise to be more controversial than the financial expert I saw interviewed recently on the Business News Network. The expert was an analyst for the agriculture sector of the United States economy. Her only salient point in the ten minutes of airtime was that if the weather is good this spring and summer, then the US will have a good corn and wheat crop. She added that if the weather is not favourable, then the crop will likely be not as good. Now that is captivating stuff! Thankfully the world has experts to inform us of the obvious. I'm not an expert on anything, but even I can tell when the bar of common sense has been set way too low. I'll endeavour to raise it a notch or two.
As for how often I will write, who knows? I'm under no editor's time crunch, nor is the payment of my light bill predicated on churning out the next story. I'll know when I see it. Or as may be a better descriptor - I'll know when I feel it.
With my selfish perspective to writing all that laid out, I do still hope that you will continue to read, share, and enjoy my tales. As long as Jim's world continues to present good stories, I will be here, ready to dissect them from angles that may be both acute and obtuse. After all, the beauty of life is in its unpredictability and variety. The blocks that from time-to-time encircle many writers form all too predictable angles and shapes. Once these walls fall, the result can be an exhilarating ride for the writer, as well as for the reader. So, hang on!
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