A Friend

Dear .....................

Time waits on no one. Please forgive for writing in English . I'm so used to having the comfort of a laptop, with spell checker, that the combination of writing by hand and in Dutch will surely corroborate the wide held notion that the academic and literary standards on this side of the pond are on a very slippery slope indeed.
A lifetime, so it seems, has passed since I drove up your driveway as an impudent long haired youngster to corrupt your innocent boy with exotic tales of controlled mayhem, strange customs and fair maidens. In many ways your home, and the people in it, have had a profound influence on my journey, and continue to do so. My friendship with Jan Willem and the values that sustained it, has been a blessing during the darkest stages of a road less traveled. Back in the day a lot of people would shake their head in fear and loathing when the two of us were roaming the gentle villages of our past on the prowl for another worthy deed. However they failed to see that we were brothers in the best sense of the word. Consideration, compassion and loyalty cannot be given , we bestowed it generously onto each other through shared pain, heart breaking beauty and hysterical weirdness. To meet him again this summer and see for myself that he has found a measure of peace and comfort has allowed me to put things to rest knowing that he's doing so well

It was also wonderful to see you again. I'm glad you liked the flowers, my daughter is quiet pleased with herself since it took her the better part of an hour to come back with the appropriate choice while I was enjoying a cappuccino. Growing up as an only child with quiet parents has produced a habit where I try to steal a quiet moment here and there when circumstances allow it. For the last 10 years I've made my home in Vancouver, on the Western edge of Canada, surrounded by 3 children, Saskia, Josiah and Moriah, 2 dogs, Jordie and Dexter, a hamster, a goldfish, a skunk that lives under the walkway, 3 raccoons that love our grapevine and a multitude of native artists, dockworkers, writers, misfits and other degenerates that consider themselves my friends. Ruling this fine crowd is my partner Janice who has been my steady companion the last 25 years. My mother kisses the ground she walks on, since she credits her with saving her little boy.

The dynamic of North American society tends to give credibility to the rumor that money is the altar where most Americans and Canadians worship however I've had the good fortune to grow into adulthood with your son who not only had impeccable taste when it came to controlled mayhem but who also had a keen eye for cultural and historical events. The monasteries of Meteora, a foggy sunrise on the Matterhorn or the flowers on the banks of Ohrid were as much part of our reality as were the beaches of Greece and the hedonistic peculiarities of its residents.

Now that my children are getting a bit older and I'm getting a sense of what kind of persons they are in the process of becoming I feel blessed that I was so fortunate to be exposed to those who inspired me to look further and beyond . Yes, life has been very good to me and for whatever mysterious reason continues to do so allthough once in a while I can't help myself and give in to the dark side to firmly shake the tree of life to see what else is hiding up there.

Be well, Peace and Light,
Willem

Howdy neighbour

Karma. Dr. Prick explains it away as works or destiny. 1948 was not a banner year for the new age movement. A quick peek in the family dictionary has karma between kaput , used up or gone bad, and katzenjammer ,hangover , two words I'm oddly enough quiet familiar with. "One's destiny as determined by conduct". Holy crap, I'm not quiet sure what to make of that. The conduct part is disconcerting, almost intimidating. It never dawned on me that there could be a downside to this friendly harbinger of occidental truth. And why are my eyes fixed on kaput and not on kapok, kayak or karate? Karma perhaps?

Our fair city has experienced some dramatic changes over the last decade. Olympic fever, rampant homelessness, berserk politicians and shameless developers have set the pace and the future is uncertain. During the last 5 years real estate prices have gone through the roof and a lot of people on the west side of Vancouver have joined the ranks of the nouveau riche. The older residents of this former predominant Greek enclave have taken the whole thing in stride but a large percentage of the upward mobile crowd have no such reservations and have a pressing need to be recognized for their astute investment strategy and dumb luck.............. Welcome to the home of dog walkers, personal trainers, yoga classes, Filipino nannies and $6.00 frappochinos where gangs of soccer moms terrorize our gentle tree lined streets in their overpriced European hybrids, driving around erratically like blind hustlers, giddily jabbering away on their purple blackberries while little Billy and his sister are desperately trying to cross the road to get to school on time. No wonder Billy and his older brother Max roam the streets and alley's after dark, spray painting everything in sight, marking their territory with elaborate etchings like the one on Samantha's moms Audi Q7. Strangers weep when they stop and stare at the carnage, wondering what the hell is going on . But not me. I understand these things. Instead of waiting patiently for a prime parking spot in full view of Starbucks, she now prefers to park behind the friendly local tattoo parlor across the road. A pity really because I'm sure I'm not the only one to admire Max's keen eye for detail and little Billy' psychedelic color schemes

Vancouver did not escape the economic downturn brought on by Wall streets financial meltdown however the property market has done remarkably well and homes are still selling at a premium. The construction boom that had Vancouver in it's greedy claws has gone bust but the renovation racket, a business of particular interest to me, is showing no signs of biting the bullet . It has allowed me the little comforts and small luxuries a man needs to get himself into trouble. Meetings are my forte but do not always go my way when I'm confronted with outlandish expectations, cheap ersatz beer and cheaper clients.

This mornings little gathering was a shining example of the yahoos that sometimes get their filthy gritty hands on my phone number. It didn't take long to figure out that they were after a free consultation and that their dream project was on a fast track to nowhere. A classic case of someone who wants to drive a porche but is only willing to pay for a second hand Volkswagen. (What is it with these people? What motivates them to renounce propriety with such recklessness, why are they allowed to prosper and propagate and who is their leader?)We used to be neighbours and got along agreeably. However from the moment they received an obscene amount of cash for their hovel and moved into a shack with a "better" address our cordial relationship has been on a slippery slope. They finally had "come home" and it was time to abandon ship, out with the old and in with the new and make a fresh start with the other members of the "community" they were so eager to join. The wave of the future so to speak, a bunch of hacks and sodomites that have little to offer and nothing to contribute, so cheap and useless that they don't even comprehend their own freakishly frightening downward spiral into Ken and Barbie's world. They had brought along the latest edition of New Homes, a monthly magazine solely concerned with luxury residences, the newest must have gadgets and Martha Stewart's latest drivel. Bad taste and dumb money, brutal but very lucrative when approached the right way.

Paul's irrational fear of his wife was always a fine source of contemplation that used to perk me up whenever I was on the wrong side of Jan's very, very sharp stick. Schadenfreude in it's purest form and the reason why I had a soft spot for the pathetic sod and agreed to meet with him and his wife.
Nick, who lives across the alley, drags Paul to the bar now and then. He has a deeper understanding of the dynamic of Paul's brutal  domestic reality, cooped up at home with a vicious hag and no relief in sight. I see them sometimes at the local watering hole but usually don't bother. Paul can be a real downer and I prefer my regular spot, a strategic location, halfway between the entrance and emergency exit with an excellent view of all the action, right at the bar amidst all the junkies, misfits and degenerates that consider themselves my friends. However when the two of them rolled in the other day I strolled over and shamed Paul into buying the next round since I was low on funds. I joined them for a few minutes, long enough to bend the conversation sideways and give them something to chew on. When I got up, Paul seemed flustered and agitated while Nick kept himself extremely busy with his blackberry, tying his shoelaces while trying to get on top of a hideous coughing fit. Worried it was something contagious I quickly refilled my glass from the almost empty pitcher on the table and returned to the bar. About 5 minutes later I noticed Paul staggering of towards the door while my British friend was working his way through the crowd towards the bar. He ordered another pitcher of beer, filled my glass, then filled his own, looked up and said: " Why do you always have to refer to his wife as the onion"? Since Nick and I share a passion for Balvenie and he is in the enviable position of collecting a very generous monthly check I took the liberty of ordering each of us a double, no ice, his tab, before answering. "Well Nick, uhm, yes, sorry old chap, think nothing of it, it's my upbringing I'm afraid, nice girl, strong teeth, kids seem a bit off though especially that little shit Samantha, don't you think? My dogs go berserk whenever they get a whiff of her and my boy tells me she has hygienic issues. Yes, the mom, right. Wouldn't you cry if you had to wake up next to that every morning?". He looked at me stunned, probably admiring the simple logic behind an odious fact. Kyle, the bartender, interpreted his dumbfounded expression as a sure sign that another round of beverages was in order and I wasn't going to argue.

But I digress, where were we?
About 10 minutes into our little get together I couldn't stand it any longer and told Paul that his time was up and unless he was willing to hand over a certified blank check, put a leash on the motor mouth sitting next to him, things were just not going to work out. Before they had recuperated from this sudden brutal turn of events I managed to finish the crap they had the audacity to serve, pulled out a fattie and used my trusted Zippo to enjoy its soothing qualities before bidding them adieu. It's doubtful that they will be bothering me again anytime soon.

Domestic bliss

Saturday night.
The fridge is well stocked, Jan is either being taken for a walk by our dogs or trying to finish a few more report cards and the girls are watching Simon Cowell destroy Billy-Bobs long held belief that his musical career is a sure thing. My son, sitting next to me, has his I Pod Touch plugged in to my laptop and is blissfully working his magic. All he needs to do to remain in my good graces is to sprint to the fridge every 15 minutes or so to bring Paps another cold beverage.
My boy. Innocent, quick, sure and pure.
Pretty soon he and his younger sister will be upstairs howling about one thing or another while my 15 year old will be hammering away furiously on a keyboard somewhere in the house, checking out what's new and exciting on facebook and texting several friends on her blackberry. I've given up trying to keep track of who she's hanging out with nowadays. Most punks that come around know that "paps" has issues and is not to be provoked.
Jan's been busy with exercising, shopping, harassing our kids and whatever else she does to keep herself exhausted. Usually she locks herself in the bathroom and treats herself to a nice aromatic soak with the jets going full blast to drown out the whining from our offspring leaving me to roam the house and generally making a mess of all things domestic. Life can be challenging when you have to live with a dashing and righteous foreigner with some questionable lifestyle habits. It'll be another hour before peace and tranquility will have found it's way back into our humble abode so that I may endeavour to finish the day appropriately in my own suave way. Iron Horse and Balvenie will be assisting me tonight while my son's I pod will be providing the necessary musical setting to accomplish the task at hand. Writing in English is not an easy thing when you're bent out of shape and up to no good.
I did enroll in an English lit course shortly after I arrived in Canada. After our third session the prof and I came to a mutual understanding that the kind of gibberish that appealed to me is better done privately, late at night when cops congregate at Tim Hortons, coyotes patrol the streets of Kitsilano and nobody gives a damn. I do posses two Dutch English dictionaries and although they were printed in 1948 they've been quiet helpful. My appreciation for Dr. Prick van Wely's efforts are substantial especially after I became familiar with the English vernacular spoken here on the West coast. I'm convinced that the good Doctor was quiet pleased that mom and dad opted to remain in Holland so that their son could continue his valiant work interpreting English. Anyway, it's way more fun to find a cool groove and to follow it to whatever end. Staring at a screen, wondering about trivial and cumbersome grammatical details has got to be more devastating to the creative soul then a good hit from some serious ganja...........2hrs later..............Just came back into the house after spending some time on the back deck staring at the moon and harassing the neighbours cat. When I was tearing the kitchen apart to dig up that elusive bottle of Balvenie I just happened to come across some......... ganja. Potent little bugger too. No writers block now, just a whole shitload of absolutely useless drivel to sort through and somehow turn it into something that jives with the rest.
Tomorrow we're off to Playland, Vancouver's silly version of Knotts Berry Farm. I haven't been for a decade but my kids tell me it's Gods will that I should accompany them and see for myself what I've been missing all these years. Maybe, maybe not. I am looking forward to watch them and their fiends whooping it up. They're growing up to fast. Not that I miss the diapers.

Where were you, bubba?

Opoe taught all off us that breakfast is, or should be, the most important meal of the day. In my case, an unlimited supply of strong, shade grown, organic and fair trade coffee, fortified with whatever substance that's available, kosher bacon and free range eggs, hash browns, multi grain toast, natural yogurt, several newspapers, CNN on the tube and a handsome little tune by Dylan to welcome a brand new day. Party time in BC., for the liberal party that is. Yes, the dark Lord has prevailed and his gang gets another 4 years to run amok and cram another bunch of whoop-ass directives down our throats. Don't forget, dear citizens, this is the worst recession since a million Okies took to the road to terrorize the fine folks in California.
Election time in BC, what an absolute bummer.
I got it over with right after breakfast. The church has been transformed and is now the place to be. Locals with nothing better to do patrol the sidewalk and are now "election officials". Jackboots are optional. "Can I see some ID, sir", don't block the entrance!, do you live in this neighbourhood? Upon my arrival I presented my credentials to the girl that handled my interrogation. To my surprise and without any apparent reason she approached me with extreme caution while smiling nervously, babbling about things that made no sense at all. Her mouth was moving at an alarming speed but the ear/brain thing refused to kick in. Until that moment I was certain that I was on top of things when all of a sudden I felt an ugly but familiar shiver running down my spine. From feeling extremely sharp and refreshingly upbeat I felt myself settling into a darker, cynical frame of mind. Breakfast had been uneventful, the walk, tranquil but now I was given the third degree by some dingbat that was obviously experiencing some sort of emotional breakdown. Fortunately I had brought a bottle along to keep Mr. Hide in his place and out of the picture. A quick refill and, hot damn, nothing says good morning like a generous helping of a fine Scotch on a clear, crisp day . I felt that the best way to move this thing along was to ignore her and present myself to one of the other election associates. Mumbling something about having to use the facilities I managed to slip through the door, turned left and entered the sanctuary. Most pews had been pushed aside unceremoniously and replaced with large plywood tables in various shapes and sizes, ikea chairs and a handfull of voting booths constructed from leftover cardboard boxes. Allthough I noticed several "officials" milling about an eerie silence accompanied the proceedings, only to be broken by the soft, melodious tinkling of tiny ice cubes gently floating in a coffee mug the size of a giant Slurpee. The menacing presence of a huge cross dangling in the far corner, a cherished relic to many of my fellow citizens, oddly enough provided some comfort and allowed me to re-focus. In his day, Jesus was a serious political junkie, eloquent but brutally critical of the authorities. His call for deeper understanding, a just society and a serene place to settle with Mary and the rest of his posse did not quiet work out the way he imagined. They nailed him up and made sure that everyone knew that it was "Gods will". Two thousand years of every imaginable atrocity has been committed in the name of this poor bugger by virtually every form of government known to man, or woman, and even now they still evoke his name when things get a bit dicey.
"Just stay cool, head straight for one of the tables, grab a form, dive into a voting booth and perform my civic duty" was the best I could come up with. However it all went downhill from there and the whole thing just turned into a hideous nightmare of vicious mayhem, obscene screeching and wild accusations. The hellish noise from the alarm system when I made a quick dash for one of the emergency exits seemed to be a fitting farewell.

Another fateful day, fodder for our provincial historians.
Election coverage results and analysis started at 8. At 1 minute past we all knew that Campbell was once again top dog. Some of the "best"political panels in the land tried to give it a positive spin, defending yesterdays wisdom that it would be a close call. Even the wino's at the pub got tired of the bullshit and started demanding change NOW. We had a vote and and it was unanimously decided that the hockey game was the better way to go. Democracy in action. Thank god for small favors.

Election time in Lotusland.

Here we go again.
False rumors and ugly truths are once again hitting the airwaves.
Only the real junkies know who to vote for.
As for the rest of us, well, we'll make up our minds when we drag ourselves over to the voting booth and put a mark behind whatever bum we choose to support.
God, I don't even remember the last time when I actually was excited about voting for someone instead of trying to figure out who is the most harmless jackass amongst all those who feel they have the necessary credentials to represent those of us who don't have the balls or the money to put our own name on the ballot.
The "economy" is the magic word now, and both, the liberals and new democrats are using it like a dull axe to whip dock workers, soccer moms and pensioners alike into such a frenzy that all off them will end up like crazed wino's jabbering away about the end of times, demanding a human sacrifice or at least a tax rebate of hideous proportions.
The liberals don't seem to be able to stop dragging Clark and Sihota's legacy out of the dustbin and the democrats are trying to convince us that Campbell and his goons are exactly the kind of incompetent yahoo's and perverts that we suspect them to be.
The greens are slowly sliding out of the public's awareness because hey, who's going to worry about global warming, rising sea levels, massive crop failures or millions of illiterate heathens in some god forsaken place dying of malnutrition or starvation when YOU could be losing your job. Shit, even the ethical funds in my portfolio took a 25% hit.

Some pollsters have been telling us that both parties could be in a position to form our next government, give or take a few percentage points. Liberal pollsters, who work for the democratic party, foresee a come from behind victory for their client while conservative pollsters, working for the liberals, have gone where the smart money went and are on record by giving Campbell his third win in 8 years. If I were a betting man, and I am, then my money is on the liberals. People will vote with their wallets tomorrow and consequently this province will be run for another four years by people who have no shame. Once again they'll get to whoop it up, run wild and go about their greedy filthy business. These swine would have been legally put to sleep in any properly organized society. It truly is a pity that there is not enough support to throw the old pimps and their whores out and select a whole new batch of incompetent political hacks and let them run the show for a while.
Lord, oh Lord, where will it all end?