...and "engineer" with "microbiologist"...and do some tweaking with the geography...and the stories are just about identical. 

I still miss my parents.  Sunny brisk Sunday afternoons like today were good for talking long walks in Greenwich Park with my dad and talking about all kinds of stuff.  We rarely agreed with very much except that Bach was awesome, that most museums were pretty cool, that Childhood's End and The War of the Worlds were two of the best science fiction novels ever written and that Tom Baker was a better Doctor Who than Peter Davison (although I thought PD was still pretty good). 

I miss my mom more than I can say too, but I associate her with different kinds of days and experiences so I'll talk about her in a different blog.  That's my beautiful sister Margaret BTW.  Another BTW -- all my sister's are beautiful but some of them are a little insecure so I have to mention that.  My brother is beautiful too but only when he puts on the french maid's costume with the high heels and the mesh stockings.

My airplane book home from my last trip from the UK was Marina Lewycka's novel A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian.  It is a wonderful book and the experiences of the characters closely parallels the last five or so years of my dad's and my siblings' lives.  Here's what the bookflap of the paperback edition says:

"Two years after my mother died, my father fell in love with a
glamorous blonde Ukranian divorcee. He was eighty-four and she was
thirty-six. She exploded into our lives like a fluffy pink grenade,
churning up the murky water, bringing to the surface sludge of sloughed-off
memories, giving the family ghosts a kick up the backside."

This is same the sandwich generation situation with a particularly interesting twist and we had to deal with it.  The emotional issues are even more compounded when the parent in question takes great pride in their intellect and their libido shows little sign of easing off in their eighth decade.  I will say that my sibs handled the situation with a lot more grace and intelligence than Lewycka's characters but I know from my perspective that I learned a lot more about them, my dad and myself as we worked our way through what was a very challenging set of circumstances -- just to ensure that dad was safe, regularly fed, and as happy as he could be as his senses and his faculties started collapsing around him like one of the World Trade Center towers.

When I finish this blog I am going to mail the book to one of my sibs with a note to pass it on.  The book is perceptive, funny, sad, incredibly compassionate and incredibly fair.  A lot like many of the Ukrainians I had the honour of growing up with in Saskatchewan.  I recommend it to any human being who has parents or people in their lives with parental aspects.

I'd like to send each one of my sibs their own copy but the economy is still a tad slow and I'm helping to start up a new business.  Actually I'd like to send all of you your own copy, but I'm afraid you'll have to buy or borrow your own. 

Age with grace...

I'm trying to beat a deadline when there's a small thumping sound on the office floor. 

Kal has dropped his tennis ball at my feet. 

Time for another game of "Elephant".  Also known as throw and fetch.  We call it Elephant because Kal owns a fat fluffy stuffed toy in the shape of an elephant, and that toy is his favourite thing to fetch.  Sometimes we can play this for over an hour.  Every time I throw the elephant, Kal dashes after it with just as much enthusiasm as the last time.  Sometimes Chloe will chase after the elephant too but she seems to know that this is Kal's toy and she had better not try and take it away. 

Kal will bring the elephant to me and wave it around very proudly -- but he sometimes forgets to let go of it.  Which I suppose is "Elephant Phase II", i.e. getting the toy out of his mouth so I can throw it and he can run after it again.  Kal growls a bit if I stop trying to take the elephant away but then again he growls if I do. 

Relationships are complicated.  Especially with your dogs.

Kal always initiates the Game of Elephant.  He needs to be in the right mood for it.  He also uses other toys and objects if the elephant isn't handy:  a dragon, a flat cow with bells inside, a rubber radish and at that moment, a tennis ball.

I do make my deadline but only just barely.  You lose a lot of time when you have to stop typing every 30 seconds to throw a ball.

 Just a few recent events to accompany some new lomo pics...

Simon looking up after I've disturbed him from his reading of "TV Tropes".  It is his favourite site and from what he tells me, it sounds very clever and interesting.  Speaking of TV, I think with the current state of his hair, Simon would be a good candidate for the next Doctor Who.

A very rare picture of Chloe the Steath-Puppy.  Yes, and all of you who doubt the existence of Sasquatch will say that this pic is a fake too. 

A note quite so rare picture of Kal, the ever-vigilant.  If he looks a bit nervous it's because he is on constant alert against the steady stream of aliens, triffids and mailmen who come to our door and must be barked at until they cease menacing us.

An extremely rare picture of Evan not holed up in his basement room playing Star Wars Galaxies for hours on end.  I don't blame him too much, it's been a very hot summer and the basement is the most comfortable place in the house.  On the weekend I went downstairs to check and see if he was still alive.  His room is an absolute mess; clean and dirty laundry everywhere, books, action figures, plates and utensils from snacks he's brought down three weeks ago...  It's so teenager, it's almost cliche. 

For some reason I decide not to (yet again) bug him about the toxic state of the room but ask him how his game is going.

"Nobody else is on line right now," Evan says.  "So I'm not playing." 

That's weird, because he's clicking away at the mouse and looking at the screen VERY intently.

"So what are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm cleaning up my character's living quarters," Evan replies.

At this poing, I can't help myself and tell Evan that he needs to make the shift from the virtual to the real in the tidying department.

How did everyday life get so weird?

I'm a known admirer of things retro but just to let you know that I'm actually pretty pleased (or at least interested) to be living in the 21st Century, here are some recent culture and technology stories:

Story Number One:  Reality Changing Media Devices
I finally managed to download just about every soundtrack written by Angelo Badalmenti (the guy who did the music for Twin Peaks and lots of David Lynch's films|) onto my Walkman.  I now have the most mysterious and sinister MP3 player in town.  I'm listening to the music while working the strider at the gym.  I look up and there's a small man with odd features walking on the treadmill across from me.  I look at the time indicator on my strider and notice that the numbers are moving backwards...

Story Number Two:  Life Enhancing Media Devices
Simon and I are at Kipling Mall, heading towards Sobey's in search of dinner ingredients.  A young lady in a wheel chair calls out to me:  "Can you please help me?"  Sure...  Turns out that she dropped case for her E-Reader and couldn't pick it up.  That's an easy one.  I ask her about the E-Reader and she's obviously very pleased with it. "This brand has bigger touch pads so its easier for me to use."  It looks as though the lady has pretty severe dexterity restrictions so the right controls would be important.  I suspect it would be very difficult for her to turn the pages of a paperback.  "I've got over a hundred books in here," she says.  I believe her.  Simon and I agree that this is a really amazing thing.

Story Number Three:  Reality Altering Media Experiences
We went to see "Inception" Yesterday.  Just go.

Two weeks ago I was speaking to a director about doing a stage production of one of my stories.

"What sort of venue were you thinking of?" he asked me.

"How about the fringe festivals?"  I replied.

Long sigh.   Wrong answer.  Obviously I had revealed my profound ignorance of the Canadian Theatre scene.

"It's not improv comedy." he said.  "And the cast is way too large."

That was a surprise.  Six actors is not exactly Les Mis or Miss Saigon.

The director was a very patient person and explained to me that the problem was that fringe productions are selected by lottery.  Which means a group can invest a lot of time into an elaborate production then end up getting nowhere just because they didn't win the draw.  The smartest thing to do is to invest as little effort as possible in the script and stagecraft and go for a minimal cast, i.e. improv comedy with one or two people. 

What follows is my thinking, not what the director said:  so while it feels like any reasonably qualified theatre group has access to the fringe, they don't just because of the way that random selection process works.  It's also a form of structural censorship -- because it limits what kinds of shows get staged.  Although, heaven knows, stand up is a rare and beautiful thing and must be nurtured at all costs (not).

It's false access.  And it's annoying.

A week later I was at a dinner held by the music committee of our local United Church of Canada.  I know, what a crazed radical I am.  I was chewing celery with the minister who was talking about a book he was working on.  It's his book so I won't say too much about the subject matter except to say that it was a worthy topic and of interest not just to United Church people but to anyone into Canadian history.

My minister went on to say that his agent was having trouble finding an acceptable publisher.

"We want a cheaper softcover edition." he said.  "Most publishers want to do a very expensive edition, do a limited print run and sell a few copies to university libraries."

I asked why.

"That's how they make the most money," he said.  "They get a government grant to pay for the production and make more by selling a few expensive books then a lot of cheaper copies.  But that's not why we're writing the book -- we want people to see it."

So here's my theorizing again:  What an interesting racket.  The publishers make money on both ends, create the illusion of distributing knowledge and the general public is not troubled by exposure to any new information.

It's false access.  And its disturbing.

Which brings me to the G8, the G20 and the famous fake lake.  I'm glad all of these things are history but it would be wrong not to say something about them.

It was fascinating to see how people reacted to the fake lake -- it seemed to hit some kind of hot button in the Canadian Collective Unconscious and I think there's more to it than the fact that the words "fake lake" rhyme and roll off the tongue so easily.  No, I think the fake lake was a very public demonstration of false access.

I used to work for the people that thought of the fake lake.  I think I even know the earlier design that may have suggested the fake lake design.  It was a project with very similar time constraints, also in a convention centre -- it was an exhibition on the 100th Anniversary of the Nobel Peace Prize in Seoul -- and part of the experience was an indoor "Garden of Contemplation" where visitors could walk around the plants and sculptural pieces and read inspiring quotes by various Nobel Peace Prize winners.  Here's few reasons why the Garden was better than the lake:

The exhibition was held during the colder time of the year in Korea.  We figured people might like to get in the warm and get close to growing things for a change.  As many people have pointed out, there were plenty of very nice real lakes just outside the centre that the G8ers and international press should have been enjoying.

The Garden was there to tell you some very important, maybe even life-changing things.  From what I've seen of the fake lake it was an over-designed lounge to hang out in.

Well for a few people to hang out in.  The Garden was open to anybody who showed up with a ticket.  Not so much for the G8 conference. 

False access.  The fake lake was a bizarre expression of all the barricades, para-military patrolled zones, sonic cannons and blocked off roads that allow our leaders to evade accountability.  I'm sorry folks, but the messages sent to me dur  ing the summit were: a) 'we're having a big party in here and none of you are invited' and b) 'for as long as we decide, Toronto is Occupied'.

It's false access.  It's rapidly becoming denied access.  And it is very scary.

And their first film will be out shortly.  Richard Lester has agreed to direct. 

Not really.  But I do think that Simon and Evan are two of the grooviest people I know.  Probably because they achieve their coolness effortlessly without even trying to be cool.  They just are how they are and I it is a regular source of wonder (and occasional puzzlement) to me. 

Evan seems to be over his operation and is back wheeling and dealing in the digi-sphere as media boy.  He's usually hooked up to at least two pieces of technology at any one time -- but he has good taste in music and seems to be doing interesting things.

Oops Kal snuck in here to say hello...Simon is working his way through just about everything that Stephen King every wrote. 

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He's also working on a literary project of his own and I am quite pleased with myself that I haven't been too nosy about what it is.  It feels rather odd, and very nice to be discussing the various challenges of fiction writing with my own son.  Every once in a while those drives to the library or walks to the 7-11 become an impromptu writer's workshop. 

Oh my goodness, here's Chloe!  Stealth-Puppy that she is, she must have suddenly appeared from her cave under the mini-couch.

Anyway, I'm sure that just about everybody feels this way about their kids.  But I'm not everybody and I amazedl that after 17 years of being a parent I'm still being being surprised and delighted by the experience.

And irritated sometimes.  Guys, your room is turning into a biohazard. It must be clean before I return!

Not the easiest few days in my life.  It's hard to see your child in pain and not knowing exactly when they'll be getting better.  And Evan is my optimism machine...it would have been great to have him up and running after the news about Dad.

He's my boy and I can't stand the idea that he's suffering.  I know we all feel the same way.  After 48 hours, I was back home -- being spelled by Helen while I went off to get some sleep.

Sleep in stressful times is good.  Waking up in stressful times is not so good.  You suddenly remember everything that's happened.  Pain.  Fear. Worry. Loss. Uncertainty. Abandonment.  Ugh. 

Just then Kal and Chloe, the dogs appear at my bedside.  

Not many people know it but the noses of dogs transmitt telepathic messages.

"You okay?"      "Are you okay?"  They ask.  The dogs are obviously concerned.  I pat their heads and nod my head.

Yeah, I'm as okay as can be expected.

"Good," the dogs reply and return to their household patrol looking for aliens, triffids and mailmen.

A few days later, Evan is way better and able to come home.

The dogs immediately welcome him. 

"Good to have you back in the pack," they say through their highly articulate noses.

Evan's smile was one of the most wonderful things I've ever seen.

.

Are always associated with my memories of my father.

He passed away yesterday, 86 years old, of pnemonia.  According to my sisters who were with him at the hospital, he was reasonably comfortable at the end but he fought pretty hard to stay with us.

When we were kids, Dad would either read us stories or, in the case of the Albert and the Lion poems or the Just So Stories, he could recite them (more like perform them with his great deep baritone voice) for us.  As we kids got older, the bedtime audience got smaller until it was just me left.  The final phase of this family tradition ended with I was 13 – the last bedtime book he read to me was Treasure Island (for the second time) and then the Regina CBC Radio station ran a BBC serialization of the Day of the Triffids which was kind of the bridge out of childhood for me.  The next Christmas he gave me a boxed set of Heinlein novels and halfway through Starship Troopers my fate as a science fiction person was sealed.  Darn those stories!

There was some overlap between kids and grandkids and Dad was always happy to tell the same stories again to a new generation.  My sister Carla once got Dad to tape his telling of the Just So Stories, which if I can get a copy of, I will post on this site.

Dad was a scientist but he was also very interested in the arts (he had an exhibition of his sculptures when we lived in California), he read all kinds of stuff, and had the best collection of recorded classical music that I have ever seen.  Going to visit Dad and his second wife Dorothy was a like an accelerated course in arts, culture and civilization  – their place was always filled with visiting scientists, artists, actors, grad students; we were always going to plays and concerts, and they doomed me to my love of museums and galleries. 

Because of these wide interests Dad had lots of opinions – some of them were pretty bizarre but others were often quite perceptive (at least I thought so).  Having a conversation with Dad was usually pretty interesting and while it was very rare that he changed his opinion, he always gave you a fair hearing.  And unlike many scientists and scholars of advancing years he stayed open to new ideas.  Once when I was visiting him on a break from grad school, he noticed that I was a bit pressed on a deadline and offered to type one of my anthropology papers.  It was a very generous offer which I accepted but I knew that part of his motive was to try out his new typing device (this was 1982 and the machine was half-way between being a typewriter and a portable word-processor—Dad became an early tech adopter as he grew older ).  Two days later, he handed me a beautifully typed manuscript and remarked: “This anthropology...it’s almost like a science.”   That was a big complement coming from him.

The last few years were pretty hard on Dad. He gradually lost the use of his legs and then the progressive dementia set in.  The loss mobility was an inconvenience but Dad could manage that – but his intellect was how he made his living and what he took the greatest pride in.  He was finally forced to retire and that just made the condition worse. 

The hardest thing for me was the loss of Dad’s hearing.  He had to give up listening to music and that just wasn’t fair...and we couldn’t have any more of our discussion.  I used to really enjoy those conversations!

My last visit with Dad was the day after my mother’s funeral and it was actually pretty good.  He seemed to remember how I was (he didn’t always) and he was very happy to see me and my sisters Margaret and Carla.  I had one of my lo-fi cameras along and we took some pictures which you can see here.

A few days after he entered the palliative care ward, my Dad asked my sister something.  He asked her to tell him a story.

And other useful phrases in the coming months.

I went to Alberta a few days ago.  First to Edmonton for some work and a wonderful dinner with the editors of On Spec magazine (more on that later ) and then I bused down to Calgary to visit my sister Jane on Saturday morning.

I like Edmonton.  It's a somewhat more interesting version of Ottawa and I've enjoyed every visit I've had there.   

I got the idea for the title of my short story "Why I Hunt Flying Saucers" when I was at the Canadian Museum Associations conference in 1990 (my associates looked askance at me when I used my evening to go to a great comic book shop and check out West Edmonton Mall) and the city gives me that sense of "Prairie Futurism" that inspired a lot of the old Super 8 sci-fi movies I talked about in my story "(Coping with) Norm Deviation".  Yeah, Edmonton!

I want to do a blog or story about bus trips so I won't talk about how I got to Jane's place in Calgary right now.  When I got there Jane was refreshing the contents of some of the family Emergency Evacuation Packages. Last year the Women's Relief Society at her church asked members to recycle plastic milk containers by filling them with  non-perishable, high-energy, high-protein packaged foods.  The idea is that when the Army comes by and says "you have 10 minutes to get out of the house before the floods come/meteor hits/aliens land" -- you can grab your EEP by the handle and your kids by the hair and charge off to relative safety.

Of course, nothing is truly non-perishable, so Jane was emptying the packages -- putting new supplies in and encouraging all to eat up the old stuff quickly.  As we discussed the various disaster scenarios Jane and I decided that we preferred the Alien Invasion of Calgary...which inspired a new use for the recycled containers.

The empty EEPs can be worn as "Alien Deception Hats".  The idea being that when the saucers and cigar shaped objects have descended on the city, occupying our public spaces and institutions, and disgorged their human-hungry BEM hordes -- we can simply place the EEPs on our heads and pass for alien.

As you can see the back of the EEP container can easily be mistaken for the large craniums found on most alien invader species which the half-spout beautifully mimics the single optical receptors/eyestalks so common with Daleks and similary cranky extra-terrestrial organisms.

Of course a number of frequently used phrases such as -- "Let us enslave the puny bipeds before we have lunch";  "Look at the foolish human creatures with their silly inability to resist the onslaught of our mighty heat ray" or "These humanoid infants are wonderful crunchy" -- will also come in handy.

Later in the evening, my sister and I went out to meet her daughter Tara and her friends to show them our wonderful new protective disguises.  They were so pleased and excited that they drove off in the car without saying very much.

Humanoid offspring are so delightful!

BTW - I took all these pictures with one of the $10 digital cameras on a key chain that you can get at Black's Photography.  I like the results!

...please bear with me!