Category: Uncategorized

My Mom’s birthday was last week. I have some good memories.

During the depression, my Mother and her Dad lived on a farm near Kingston, that the 401 highway now ungraciously divides in half.

Fortunately, my Mother had interesting stories to tell of such a miserable time. She managed to make the humourless a bit entertaining.

Like when she told me they ate turnips for an entire year. I couldn’t eat turnips until I was a junior senior.

Perhaps the story I like best is Psalm 121.

Many hobos would come to their farm and my Mother and Grandfather would feed them and help them out for a short spell. She never thought much of it. One of them gifted her a metal tin with roses on it, which I still have.

When the person was about to leave, my Mom would recite Psalm 121 to them.

I just think that is so neat.

The highway in front of my apartment building has become a drag strip for motorcycles. Their high pitched whines like nails on chalkboard.

Every weekend there are over a hundred stunt driving arrests.

I’ve seen vehicles drive over the lawn instead of going a few feet more to the entrance of the shopping mall.

Cars speed up when they see pedestrians crossing the road, or refuse to apply brakes to at least slow their trajectory.

Bicyclists ignore traffic lights, I’ve almost been hit twice now, and they swear at me and give me the finger.

In Providence they have a colossal problem with ATV drivers who go through red lights and gang up on car drivers and beat them up.

The Greek Church next door blatantly disregarded the law (both lockdown and noise regulations) and had a huge outdoor party in August and kept the entire neighbourhood up, blasting music and shouting until 2 a.m. They still adamantly have their festival and lure hundreds to eat and drink and dance and shout past midnight for 14 days running (though they think they are clever and for covid reasons have reduced it to two-3 day weekends in a row instead, for now.) My opinion is this: If you are stupid enough to be in a crowd of hundreds of people and whoop it up for hours during a pandemic, well…)

In our stores we have anti maskers who scream in your face and can’t mind their own business, and anti-vaxxers who storm buildings (even the wrong ones) in protest.

Our pandemic world looks a lot like Mad Max’s world, post apocalypse.

I am hoping it is just backlash to being confined so long, albeit a very immature and selfish backlash. Go out and expend your energies cleaning up the trash instead of being trash. Instead of wild parties that destroy everything in their wake, including lives, use that energy to help someone fix up their house, go shopping for them, do something useful. Like, I need even say this?

I like the British Royal family.

Oh, yes, I know, they are humans and have their fair share of scandals. Not pretty.

I just like the look of them. I like beautiful things. They have so much class. The way they walk, talk, dress. The veneer may be thin, but I don’t care. I like all that pomp and circumstance. It is a fairy tale.

I don’t expect anything from them. They are celebrities. But unlike some actors, billionaires and certainly most musicians, they have class.

It is good they don’t currently have much power or say in the political realm or we would have dictators. It seems to be a common human flaw. A little bit of power and zoom! We are going to oppress the masses. Off with their heads!

Disenfranchised royals however, that whine and complain about how difficult life is, is another matter entirely. It is like a bad smell to go on Oprah and whine when you live a privileged life for no reason other than it was gifted you by default of your birth and genetics. Where is the dignity and class in that? And we all have problems. Get over it. Grow up. Live with your choices. No one gives a shit about my choices. Friends would slap me in the head, and rightly so, or desert me completely, if I became a snivelling rat over my problems. I know because I have done it (cringe, cringe). Now I have one person pity parties. I don’t invite the whole world to feel sorry for me.

I do not envy royals at all. It would be like living under a microscope. Must be very hard work and tiring to maintain that outward perfection. But for me, I get to enjoy the end product. They look so good!

The pandemic has soured me to all forms of organized religion.

They are all cults.

Now, mind you, many churches have done commendable things. They have helped people in need. I have seen a church I once belonged to buy a car for a family, help with rent payments, buy food, get people jobs. These are the things I expect a loving community to do. I would expect people of God to do. Leaders to do. These are not above and beyond board duties, this comes with being a Christian. It is not exemplary. In fact, if you are doing good in order to indoctrinate someone to your church, you are in a cult. If you do good irrespective of religion, you are a good human being.

Out of the pandemic surfaced dictators. Cult leaders that do not care for their flock. Tyrants who use the name of God for their own ego and agenda, who defied science and the law and brought people together and exposed them to covid. And people died. DIED. Needlessly.

How many times have I read about congregations with smug, outrageous ministers who thumbed their almighty nose at common sense, science and the law, insisted on mass gatherings without social distancing and masks, oh, because God will protect them, we demand our freedom! Then two weeks later, they all moan and cry and set up go fund me pages because entire families contracted and died from covid they got at these rallies. Self serving trump like rallies. SHAME. SHAME. SHAME.

And evangelicals who worship a man, a politician, who has probably violated every good thing mentioned in the Bible. Who fly around in million dollar airplanes, party on yachts, have ‘pool boys’. Bleed people for money to support their debauchery. Bible thumpers who never cracked open a Bible in their life. Yes, I am plenty mad about it. Sick too.

PEEVED.

I will never go back to Church. Never.

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!

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

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.

The tallest building, and by far, the ugliest in our city has finally completed installing the windows, which does not beautify it in the least. It is hideous from any angle, with any embellishment.

However, I digress. What redeems it, in an unusual way, is that the sun hits it in the mornings and sets it on fire, like a blazing monolith to the heavens and lights up my entire apartment!

I don’t get any morning light, only late afternoon, so it is kind of neat.

But that building is one UGLY piece of work.

It is amazing how good one can feel when you get something new.

I got a new couch cover, thanks to a Christmas gift certificate from my brother and sister-in-law. My couch is done, but I am unemployed, and a good couch costs a month or two of rent. The previous cover was easily 20+ years old and although well taken care of was clearly quite tired.

There was only one time in my life when I was making good money and could afford new things, but I’ve always been frugal and make things last. I repurpose a lot of items and make do. So, foolishly, I did not take advantage of that small window of 8 years in my long life and get myself some nice things. Like a house. A car. All I splurged on was a professional camera, and, oh, how I agonized over that! I did a lot of research before I finally let go of the cash. That was in the 1970’s. I still have that camera!

I am whining a bit too much, because those frugal 8 years afforded me to go to University and get a Bachelor of Arts. So it wasn’t all bad I suppose. But I should have got some nice things too. Had I known I would never make much money again, I would have done things a bit differently. But you just can’t know these things.

I confess this with much shame, and remorse, because I have missed out on a lot of life.

I put on the new cover and my whole spirit lifted. What a difference! Getting something new improves your life. It doesn’t matter what it is. It’ll make a grey day sunny.

Now you know I would never encourage you to spend money you don’t have, but I have said it over and over, get yourself something ‘just because’, and now I say, get yourself something new because it will brighten your whole day.

The kind you eat, not the massive amount of nut jobs that have come out from the cracks in 2020.

My friend reminded me that fruit cakes have been maligned without cause. I agree. I love fruit cake. It has so much bad stuff in it, you get your chemical fix and load for an entire year! Not to mention calories.

It is not surprising that the amount of bad in something is equal to the deliciousness of the item. The more yummy it is, the worse it is for you. But it is only once in the entire year. So if you like fruit cake, indulge!

I bought my bit of sinful eating yesterday; dark with marzipan icing. But I will eat just about any kind of fruit cake.

One year, when I was younger (seems like most things now have that qualifier!) a friend made fruit cake with rum in it, unbeknown to my young self. I ate the entire thing and felt pretty damn warm and good the whole Christmas evening. But I’ve never done it again. I am quite happy with non-alcoholic versions of fruit cake. There is already enough bad in there!