Author: samandoat

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Perpetual Outrage

I can’t stand unfinished business, but admittedly, some of life is just that. Unresolved mysteries and befuddlements. Some things are better left alone.

What gnaws at my bones is failure of accountability and injustice. An endless stream of unpunished crimes makes me crazy. Heinous politicians and wealthy oligarchs stoop to such levels of depravity that even the worst kind of fiction novel could not emulate. Meanwhile, petty crimes and misdemeanors from the lowly average person, result in decades of imprisonment.

This constant inundation of lawlessness does not numb, it causes perpetual outrage. I feel like I am screaming inside all the time.

However, this is Hollywood.

We are ravenous for scandal. Yes, that is all it is. Entertainment. For whatever reason, the masses are to be kept stirred up and hollering. Unrest. Imagine if justice was served. Good Lord! There’d be peace! Things would get done!

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The Navigator

When galleons ruled the seas, new lands were being discovered and fortunes were made and lost in trade and piracy. John Scott, a retired English sea captain, is seduced by tales of treasure in uncharted waters of the North Pacific. As a true seaman, he is enticed by adventure and forsakes his wife and home to hunt for a phantom island and it’s bounty.

CHAPTER ONE THE INVITATION
Amongst his morning mail, Captain John Scott spied an invitation from Admiral and Lord (by marriage) Huxtable. He tossed it aside and groaned at the pile of paperwork the porter had delivered. The consigned stack of Port Authority receipts sagged on his desk, quill and ink pot awaited his charge.
John’s face, weathered from five years of calculations, ledger entries and bureaucracy, bore a mortician’s countenance. Attractive chestnut eyes and hair lackluster, his six foot frame atrophied. Ink-stained fingertips and shirt cuffs attested to the long hours of his employ.
Mutinous, he screwed up his face at the paperwork. The invitation, sealed with a pithy red wax, wooed him. He lifted the seal, and inside a formal invite penned in handsome calligraphy. A dinner. John folded the paper and slid it into his pocket.
A saffron sunbeam warmed his back, peeked over his shoulder, and mellowed on shelves of his maritime collection. A thin pensive smile softened his face. Thirty-five years of keepsakes, dated to 1690, when John left home, a precocious 10 year old, and sailed with England’s fleet. Dust dulled the colourful cockles, welks and winkles, sponges and coral, and whitened the chalcedony, pumice and granite. Bits of rope, metal and wood interlaced and rivalled the gallery.
The stairs creaked, and a swoosh of petticoats swept up to John’s study. A lilac aura wafted up the stairs and burst into the room, embodied in a petite woman, springy blonde ringlets tickled her blue eyes.
“Hew says there’s an invitation in today’s mail.” She chirped. John hunted in his pocket and she snatched the letter.
“Captain John Scott and wife?” She shoved the invitation at John. “Why the cad!”
“I am sure it is for you, Anne.” The invitation light in his hands. “I met the gentleman only once, years ago. You regularly visited his ailing wife until she died recently.”
“Hmmm.” Anne reflected. “Poor dear, she was so frail. But she knew all the goings on of the aristocracy!” She touched her cheek, eyes wide. “And the Admiral was a friend of my fathers.” She tapped her lips and spotted a cobweb on the ceiling.

“Huxtable has been alone for almost two years now.” John stared at the paper in his hands. “He’s in need of some company and conversation.”
“He did speak highly of you.” Anne sang. “He said it was the Navy’s great loss when you retired. Ha! My gain, however!” She giggled. “I hadn’t considered him after his wife’s death.” She lowered her eyes, then wrinkled her nose. “He’ll want to tell tall tales and drink too much.”
“Well, that’s what old retired sea men do.” John snickered. “Perhaps we should attend.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You never attend any social event.”
“I can make an exception this time.” John forced a listless smile and fanned his face with the invitation, her lilac perfume overpowering.

“I shall accept the invitation then.” She whisked it from his fingertips and bustled downstairs, scattering John’s papers in her wake.

This is an excerpt from my latest novel, The Navigator. You may purchase this book on Amazon at The Navigator: Evans, Pat K: 9798572356656: Books – Amazon.ca or in the US at Amazon.com: The Navigator (9798572356656): Evans, Pat K: Books

Buy Now

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Basic Income

My theories about most things have to do with money.

Money is what makes the world go round. When you don’t have it, you suffer. When you can’t put food on your table, clothe your kids or buy your medication, you are neglected. If you can’t take a vacation or buy yourself a treat, you are deprived. You suffer.

Life is meant to be enjoyed, because there is nothing else. Nothing. When you die it is over. And to me, some things in life are non-negotiable basic rights. Life is not just bare bones survival, inches away from drowning. Life is a celebration, a gift. You are meant to thrive.

I believe that 99% of the worlds ills are caused by the unequal distribution of wealth. I leave 1% open for doubts just in case you wish to argue my point.

It is a fact, we have more than enough money, food, medication, and housing for everyone on this entire planet. Look at how much we produce, build and waste.

There is no doubt in my mind, that if everyone, and I mean everyone, had enough money to live on we could solve major problems. Wealth inequality is the reason there is a rise is right wing politics. People feel powerless. Poverty makes you defenseless.

I am a proponent of basic income for so many reasons. It would end poverty. Reduce crime. Increase health and well being. I can see nothing but positive outcomes. Education. Freedom. Peace. Innovation.

Ah, but it is exactly those things that the wealthy and powerful cannot let the peons have. It would end slavery.

Imagine if everyone’s most basic needs were taken care of. Needs that are, in my mind, rights. Do you know how good it is to be assured you will have x number of dollars in your bank account every month? You can count on it? The rent will be paid, you won’t be homeless. You can feed your family. You can buy your medication. You can have a quality life. Go to school. You might even be able to save some money for retirement! Or even have some fun!

I ask you. WHO would not want this?

The rich and powerful. That is who. Because they can’t control happy people. They can influence happy people. They can’t do nefarious deeds, or worse, coerce happy people to do that for them. They can’t hoard wealth and wield it over others. They can’t blackmail and make unreasonable and dangerous demands on employees. The list goes on an on.

I am not against wealth. I am against poverty and needless suffering. I still believe in and promote seeking fortune, living well, buying things, and being rewarded for your education, experience, skills, talents and knowledge, or even your good looks! But not at the expense of others and the planet because you are an greedy asshole.

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Nat King Cole

My friend and I sat at a long curved table, that cupped a window with backwards lettering announcing it is a ‘Piano Bar.’ Unassuming, it was a tiny bar, tucked in between two imposing Federal Government office buildings. A long haired man, thirtyish, played a keyboard at our side. His singing was a bit nauseating, but after a few beers no one was really listening anymore.

Across from us was an older couple, maybe in their fifties. They looked like they didn’t have much money. They sat nursing one beer between the two of them.

The piano man asked if anyone would like to sing.

I could never be drunk enough to volunteer to do that, but the man sitting across from us stood up and we cringed. Yes, he’d like to sing. Sing for his beloved, he pointed to the woman he was with, who smiled a grin that was missing a few teeth. He wanted to sing Unforgettable. My friend and I looked at each other. This was going to be unforgettable for sure. We prepared to plug our ears.

The musician fumbled with his music scores, found it and started playing, while the man casually, easily picked up the microphone. He stood in the center of the room and looked fondly at his mate.

Then he opened his mouth to sing, on cue.

The voice that came from that craggy face, emanated from those bar worn lungs neath a shabby windbreaker was from Nat King Cole himself. My mouth dropped open, and the man smiled at me, knowingly.

He sang that one song and refused to sing any more. His girlfriend smiled affectionately at him as he sat down beside her.

He wouldn’t even take a beer from us.

What an unforgettable evening.

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Strange Sounds

In an apartment building you get to hear sounds not heard anywhere else in the world.

Lucky us.

Sometimes it sounds like someone is building an airport in their rooms. I have no idea what they are doing. I don’t want to know.

Many years ago, several times a week, a loud metallic banging echoed through our apartments. A few boisterous clangs and it would stop. This went on for over a year. No one could figure out where it was coming from, or what it was.

Eventually, the superintendent, with the aid of several office workers found the culprit.

Culprits.

A married couple were banging on the heating registers with metal pipes. No, not to clear air out of them. This is not the 1930’s. And they were doing it when it was 90 degrees out.

WHY?

God only knows. For fun I guess.

Life is very strange.

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No Speed

My zen practice today is my internet.

It is a good thing my computer is not part of a security base where I am responsible to notify people the bomb is being dropped.

By the time my computer warmed up, found the site, downloaded or uploaded or whatever the F it does for ten minutes while I wait and chant OM, the bomb would be old news, and they’d be paving our burial site with a new super highway. The year would be 2026.

The slowness of life cannot be matched with the sluggishness of a modern computer.

It’s a good thing we still make pens and lined paper, otherwise I wouldn’t have a single book written.

I don’t wait well. Many places and many times I have been sure to reach old age, possibly even death before what I’m waiting for arrives. Computers, buses, miracles. I wait until there is a layer of dust on me.

Yet, sometimes I am late too. And this drives me more nuts than me waiting!

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Joyful Pee

My cat loves his litterbox.

He enjoys going toilet more than most anyone or any creature I know.

Going for a pee or pooh is a theatrical production starring Sam.

He announces the upcoming performance with meows, then launches into a tear around the house at fifty miles per hour, skidding over floor, scattering rugs, upending anything standing, artwork and paperwork strewed.

He lands in the litterbox and rolls in it. He digs and digs. Rolls some more. Goes out for another run around the apartment. Rolls and digs some more.

And then finally, finally, relief!

Finished off of course with more digging (fortunately no more rolling!) and a finale of running around the house and rearranging all that you put back in place.

He has a lot more fun going to the bathroom than I do.

But I’m not about to run around the house and splash in the pool (my litterbox).

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Threshold Philosophy

What I have found with any pursuit that there is a threshold you need to cross that will take you from amateur to expert. From failure to success.

Of course you say.

But my point is, you need to reach that threshold, and cross it, otherwise if you don’t persist to that juncture and stop for even a short period of time, you will have to start all over. From square one.

I mentioned this before in my Square One Rule, that you need endure a lot of practice to get to this precious threshold.

You can’t know where that line is unfortunately. It will just suddenly one day pop up.

Or not.

Sometimes you can struggle decades and not move one inch closer to success.

So when do you stop?

When you are no longer enjoying the pursuit, or more importantly, not getting anything from it. When you have exhausted all attempts to make it more challenging and you are not advancing one iota. When you have explored all aspects of it and nothing is happening. When you are no longer open to life and where it wants to go.

Not when friends and lovers say give up. Not when you are having a pity party and beat yourself up. If something truly matters to you, you won’t give up so easily.

But all practice can become dull. You have to decide if it’s dull because you’re not advancing, challenging yourself, or it just does not interest you any more. You have to be very careful in your assessment of that, because of the Square One Rule.

It may not mean abandoning it totally. Sometimes you just need to tweak it a bit. Find a different direction. Find something that gives you the same pleasure, in the same field, but doing things a bit differently.

For instance, to get a bit off topic, I knew someone who desperately wanted to be a pilot, but she had a problem with her eyes that could not be corrected. Had she spent some time figuring out what it was that she loved about being a pilot, she may have found something to satisfy that, within that industry. She need not abandon aeronautics just because one door was closed. There are thousands of positions in that field. She may have even found it was not airplanes that she loved but something else, like freedom, or technology or prestige. And those things can be found in many capacities.

Single minded purpose is good, but you need to be open to life, pay attention. Doors may open for you and you don’t see them. Allow your interests to evolve. One thing may lead you to something way more exciting and beyond. Sometimes life knows better than you about where you should be and what you should be doing.

Before a threshold appears many times you hit a plateau. These are tests to see how much you want to keep going forward. If you are going to exert the effort to cross a threshold.

I do like thresholds. They appear everywhere. In your career. Your creative pursuits. Your relationships.

I especially like crossing one. Then you have to find a new one.

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Silence

There are still a few places in the world you can experience complete silence. You need not travel thousands of miles. I have been delighted to find a few places right in the city, in the outdoors, where sounds are effectively barricaded.

Unless you are with my Mother.

My Mom and I used to take weekend excursions to the country. Little day trips by car to the great outdoors where civilization was far behind in the rear view mirror.

One place I remember very well.

It was late summer and we were deep in some forest, on a road not travelled much. We stopped to stretch and enjoy the scenery.

It was dead quiet. Not a sound. Heaven.

We sat on a guard rail and just listened.

For about thirty seconds.

“It is so quiet here.” My Mom said. I agreed. “I really enjoy the quiet, don’t you? There is no quiet at home. I love it when it is so quiet…” and on and on and on.

“Mom, could you just be quiet for a few minutes so we can enjoy it?”

“Oh, yes of course! I am so sorry to have interrupted your enjoyment. I know that you must need a lot of quiet after your busy week….” and on and on and on. If I persisted to silence her she would get angry and hurt and, well it just wasn’t worth it.

Mom had to comment about everything.

I find this quite funny now, but at the time I was exasperated.

Mom loved to talk, and, I inherited that from her.

However, I can sit quiet for several hours to days.

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The 25 Minute Rule

Our brains are like children, they can’t focus for long on one thing.

25 minutes is the maxium.

So any thing you pursue, from reading a book, to doing a craft, practicing a musical instrument, drawing, working, exercising, stop after 25 minutes.

Stop and move around. Look at something else. Shake your body. Get a change of scene. Go outside. Take a walk. Buy an ice cream. Drink a glass of water. Pet the cat. Do the dishes. Clean the litter box. Go pee.

I am so bad at doing this I have timers all over my house, all set for 25 minutes. I get so absorbed in my projects that hours can pass and then I hurt my brains. There aren’t too many of those precious cells left!

And what would be the point of doing something for hours and hours without a break? You want to prove that you’re an idiot? I know, there is something macho here, and I’ve been guilty of it myself. But I am older and wiser, okay? Your body and brain need a break.

If sex were still an issue, I would say maybe go a bit longer than 25 minutes, maybe less. Sorry guys, sex can get boring after that. I don’t vote for all that tantric stuff. Like my friend used to joke; want a sixty second romance? Got a minute?

No, I would not set the timer for sex. Although it’d be a good laugh.

The timer is to make sure you take a break, not set a record on how fast you can do something.