How to tell you're middle aged

It's 10PM on a Tuesday. I just caught myself surfing sites on how to declutter the home. God, that's bad. But I do like this suggestion: When travelling, pack old underwear, socks and t-shirts and, get this, Throw Them Out after wearing them. I can just see myself pulling over sweaty for a steamy cheesy foil sandwich from a silver truck at a rest stop near Rivière-de-loup. Peel off that Tee and keep on rolling! Voyons-donc!

Mountain Power

In the heart of Alaska's Wrangell-St. Elias National Park there's the tiny abandoned copper mining town of Kennecott/McCarthy. 30-40 people still live there, even though the mine was closed, suddenly, in the 1930s. It's only in the last ten years that the pool table was removed from the local hall. Back in its hey-day, the only way into town was by rails that were laid across moving glaciers. Some say Armand Bombardier developed the snowmobile here, an innovation to deal with the 8 months of snow. Today the best way in is by bush plane.

McCarthy is a great place to hang out. The main drag of town is a narrow dirt road with the old brothel on one side and the saloon/mercantile on the other. And just down the way toward the river is the abandoned power plant, America's oldest, now home to a posse of young alpine guides. The St. Elias Mountain Guides keep things simple. They bathe with water from the river, grow some of their own food, and light the power plant with the help of a solar panel on the roof.

And now they can have two lights on at once, thanks to a Porchlight bulb. America's Oldest Power plant has been retrofitted with energy efficient lighting.

Over-abundance

I complain a lot about having too much stuff. And it's a dumb thing to do in a world where 90% of people have too little. I have this ideal notion in my head that I will be happier with less. And I want to pass this on to my kids, but I feel I'm failing miserably. Dan introduced Jasper to Gameboy yesterday. Thanks! :-)

The happiest times in my life have been those when I had less "stuff." And discovering Thoreau has given me a historical touchstone for this perspective. But getting there's tough. It seems I keep moving things out of my house and there's still more and more. This eats at me because I'm conscious of just how much of my life I'm spending shuffling things around. And each thing has its own clinging or emotional hook. I still can't throw out a tiny stained baby bib, or one page of a letter my grandmother wrote to me for a long-past birthday.

A small victory:
Yesterday I finally sorted and matched two laundry basketfuls of socks. I won't need new ones now for years. Within 30 minutes, I recovered and reunited 40 pairs. The rest went into the garbage!!! It's an odd thing to derive such delight from throwing out perfectly good unmatched socks. If I closed my eyes, a black one on the right and a brown one on the left would keep my feet warm just the same, I suppose.

Maybe someday this kind of indulgence will come back to frost bite me.

>> From Henry David Thoreau's journal, July 11, 1852:

"What is called genius is the abundance of life or health, so that whatever addresses the senses, as the flavor of these berries, or the lowing of that cow, which sounds as if it echoed along a cool mountain-side just before night, where odiferous dews perfume the air and there is everlasting vigor, serenity, and expectation of perpetual untarnished morning,—each sight and sound and scent and flavor,—intoxicates with a healthy intoxication."

Makes me want to go to the cabin...

Really, I'm fine, thanks.

No, I wasn't Looking at the car door. I Ran Into It (see below). They should rename the Boxter "Bruiser" and sell idiot insurance to the owners.

The only thing I'm still bewildered about is the fact that the first thing that came out of my mouth after hitting the car was, "Is your car all right?" Twit.

Could be the meditation. This week was transformed by 2 hours on my knees Wednesday at the Society of Friends Quaker house on Fourth Avenue. Try thinking of nothing for two hours sometime. It's hard. But so, so worth it. Admittedly, my silent mantra to fight back the noisy mind-chatter was somewhat self-indulgent. I kept repeating: "This is my time. This time is for me. This is my time ..."

So when the lawyer guy opened his door in front of me yesterday on Maclaren Street, I was OK with it. Even though if Wednesday evening's sit showed me anything, it's that I remain far from Enlightenment. I blame Porchlight.

So I rode into work today more slowly. Observing. Observing.

>> Meditate. It has to break you before it works.

Suddenly, on June 22, 2006, aged 38 years

I inspected a car door today on my ride in to work. Up close. It was a silver Porsche Boxer. Convertible. With a tall lawyer in an Oxford blue shirt and gold tie. Maclaren and Elgin, next to Bridgehead. He has good taste in coffee but poor peripheral vision and was illegally parked. More later.

Much More Music Please

Still building the playlist to justify the iPod. Please help! Zac and Heavy Metal Dan have responded with some good tunes. Thanks! I'm listening to The Clientele right now: "Where the Universes Are". Nothing from you yet, Alex! Come to think about it, I should check out people I already know. Like Jon at Kelp Records. I miss our breakfasts at the Maple Leaf. Or Andrew Vincent, or even my cousin's band, Inflight Safety. Keep the tune suggestions coming!

"Permaculture"

Back in the mid-nineties, as the Internet was taking off and media companies were merging in the orgy of "convergence" I used to joke that I wanted to buy a manual printing press and a few thousand no.2 pencils and bury them shrink-wrapped somewhere safe so I could be a publisher after the "inevitable collapse."

Now that there's a name for the end (Print and Read This Article) and I still don't have my press, I've been looking to see what's out there in the way of survival guides. Surely someone has written The Guide to Surviving the End of Oil. Maybe I should. Meanwhile, here are some good links. This is the first time I've seen these called "Permaculture," which (among other things) may refer to those who survive long enough to read each other's hand-printed newsletters.

See if you can tell when the loop repeats

I enjoyed this, though it took a minute to figure out why the site was called that. What's that green hand thing?

The hills are alive with to-do lists

"High on a hill lived a lonely goatherd."

- Write sponsor letters.
- Call Giant Tiger about media kits.
- Send the PM package.

"That men will want to write on.
To-o-o write on..."

- Send the revised budget to Suzanne.
- Call Globe about the bulb boxes in Shanghai.

"Timid and shy and scared are you. Of things beyond your ken."

- Prepare for meeting with Mayor at 2.
- Follow up to press release.

"Fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet and willingly I believe."

- Call McGuinty, Baird, Poilievre.

"A prince on the bridge of a castle moat-er"

- Review final Hydro contract for signing meeting tomorrow.

"Folks in a town that was quite remote-er."

- Get back to Cleveland Porchlight guy.

"Happy are they, lady-oh, lady-ee-oh."

- Call Hammy about getting back into therapy?

"Men drinking beer with a foam a float-er."

- Find out if booze is ok during detox diet.

"Change every light bulb! On every street. Line up very sponsor! Till you find dream!"

- OK, that's a stretch.

(How is it possible that I've met another Suzanne who travels with a copy of The Sound of Music?)

Please send tune suggestions! No heavy metal, please, Dan. Zac's Yo La Tengo suggestion is great. New to me!

They'll never take it back now.

Happy Belated Father's Day. Or, Belated Happy Father's Day.
I've been coveting an iPod for months; yesterday I got a jPod. Which is great. I really like Douglas Coupland, though I also hate him. Every time I read one of his books I think, "Shit, I could have written that." And that's the thing about art. It's like JD said Friday night as we were waiting in line at the Fringe Festival to see Brendan McNally's new play, Heads or Tails. "The artists are the people who have the balls to hang it out there for everyone to see."

Brendan's been writing plays for years. Heads or Tails was fun, but even the lead won't know how it ends until she flips the coin.

So I got jPod. And it was Father's Day. And I figured I could read it yesterday and take it back. That's $40 toward my iPod at Chapters. Practical.

But then there was the water fight in the back yard. And the KY. And the soya sauce from the leftover dim sum. Later I noticed that the dinosaur paperclip that Jasper gave me with the book leaves a noticable crimp. And my wedding ring was missing. That was a shock -- the first time I lost it in seven years. But sure enough, there it was on the bed. Too much lube. And that's as close as this artist can come to letting it all hang out there, folks.

So now I have a beautiful hardcover book that's all mine. As always, I'm eager to share. Skip the library line and sign up here!

Penis extender. Penis extender. Penis extender.

And now, from the "Gratuitous Grasp for Web Traffic" department, Kwesi's got an idea. Skim down his post -- and buy yerself some jigging line, har!

Big orange heads and gap-toothed smiles

It's been over six months since I was at Walden. I know because my dreams change. Lately at night I'm in the woods or on the deck or near the spring. Sometimes Dad is there, silently watching, and that's not a bad thing anymore. Last night I dreamed of a big pumpkin patch out behind the bath house, bright orange balls popping out of the fall-dried field full of kids playing and picking jackolanterns for carving. I want a pumpkin patch. And a trip home.

>> Too lazy to write more today. So I'm going to recycle.

Regret

I used to shave on Saturdays.

Today I met a friend on the street at Westfest. She said I looked good. "You've lost your gordon face." I'm glad. I do feel better.

A month after leaving my job at gordongroup marketing and communications, I'm beginning to see that two years as Director of Writing in perspective. My biggest regret about leaving is that there was a time when I thought I should stay longer.

More soon.

That's why they call them that.

Last October, a week before the Porchlight launch, I called Stephen Harper's office. I said I wanted to take a photo of The Leader holding a compact fluorescent bulb. "Everyone's doing it," I said.

I thought my request would be a long shot, or at least lead me to the foot of some weeks-long queue.

Just a few minutes later, the call was returned.

"Mr. Harper will be arriving on the Hill in a few minutes. Can you come right now?"

Luckily, I'd brought my camera to work that day. I ran out of the office, up Metcalfe and across the lawn of Parliament Hill, to the base of the Peace Tower; Mr. Harper's assistant was waiting. Within 5 minutes, a single black Chevy pulled up and out popped The Leader. He shook my hand, I adjusted his shoulders and arms for the shot I wanted, and told him that if he gave one CFL bulb to every household in Canada, Canadians would save nearly half a billion dollars on their energy bills.

"That's after-tax dollars, sir."

"What? Really?"

Then he left.

This kind of encounter is never going to happen again in this country.

Threats of terrorist attacks have already affected access to our leaders. Stephen Harper now travels with a four-SUV sniper escort. There's talk of making Parliament Hill off limits to the public.

This is the wrong reaction to this threat. If we're a nation that's going to last and, perhaps, help to redefine nationhood, we have to assert what's most important to us. Confidence. Openness. Fairness. If someone manages to blow up the Peace Tower, what would that mean for Canada? We would build it again. If, God forbid, someone kidnaps and beheads our Prime Minister, would our democracy die? No. It would be absolutely horrible, but maybe we would be jolted from our political and civic complacency and actually vote.

Locking up our Parliament and making our leaders inaccessible send the wrong message. We're terrified. They've won.

Righteous

I don't use that word very often. In fact, I'm not sure it's spelled correctly. My reluctance on righteous probably stems from my shadowy religious upbringing. If I close my eyes and concentrate I can still smell communion juice (never wine, always Welches), and pew stiffness quickly creeps into my back.

It's also odd to have become an evangelist, despite no longer believing in Noah. I've spent the past two months going church to mosque to Sai centre addressing congregations about hope and light-bulbs. It's fun. Compact fluorescents are universally good. Porchlight is working with Faith and the Common Good. Kristina drives a Smart Car; it can hold 400 CFLs (and driver).

Things are changing. Leaving a director job at a marketing agency and then travelling to Alaska have made me realize that the happiest times in my life had one thing in common: I had less stuff. I'm a very impatient person, so I have to pace my downsizing and get some satisfaction from little changes: 1) Yesterday was my first hassle-free commute on my old bike (now retrofitted with an electric power-assist motor. Get one.); 2) I save 20 cents/day (and cut waste) by carrying a coffee mug and buying at Bridgehead instead of my old *bucks; 3) my new work space is a tiny room of the Vrtucar office, on the third floor of a walk-up on MacLaren Street. It's simple. All right.

My new title

"Emerging Social Entrepreneur"
I like it.

Me, a baguette, and one change of clothes

Twenty years ago, after one year of university at Carleton, I decided I'd had enough of Ottawa -- a familiar feeling. On my way into the library to study I happened upon a poster that said, "Study in France." So off I went, to Universite canadienne en France, a branch of Laurentian University that was set up on a low mountain overlooking the aquamarine Mediterranean and the gritty Riviera resort town of Nice. I took with me one suitcase, a bike that was too big (built for Rod, my 6'4" stepdad), and no clue what I was doing. I was 19. It was a riotous year of travel and wine (and a little study).

This week, as I'm thinking of leaving Ottawa again, an old friend from that year fired off an e-mail with a link to our old French campus -- now an exclusive private resort. I think I'd have to take more clothes if I visited now, and nice shoes.

>> Visit Mont Leuze and see for yourself.

Time. Change.

Alaska is four hours behind Eastern Time. Since getting home last Thursday, this fact has made midnight productive but mornings a mess. I took Jasper to school this morning in a fog on a clear day. Then I headed into town to my first day in my new office and didn't know where it was. Project Porchlight is now renting space from Vrtucar on MacLaren St. just around the corner from a Bridgehead with free wireless Internet and expensive fair trade coffee. Which is Virtuous with an i.

Alaska has me thinking about what kind of life I want, and more confident that I could have whatever life I choose. It's at once comforting and alarming to be so happy when travelling with all my possessions in a bag that fits in an overhead bin. The challenge is the fact that all my possessions are not all I need. My increasing longing for a simpler life has to include my wife and kids.

Henry David Thoreau said, "Simplify. Simplify." But he lived alone in his cabin. My Walden's rented to tourists.

Falling for Alaska

It's 12:30AM Anchorage time. I have a wake-up call in 3.5 hours for a 6AM flight to a 10AM Starbucks Tall Bold in Seattle, and dinner in Chicago and a snooze en route to Ottawa to (hopefully) a nice hug and kiss from sweet Mme Siouxie. 15 hours of travel.

I'm beat. I would call this trip: Planes, Trains and Automobiles if it didn't also include boats, glaciers, kayaks, crampons, mine shafts and whale pods. Today I spent 7 hours on a 20-passenger yacht on Prince William Sound en route from Valdez to Whittier writing a Porchlight funding proposal. I'd write a bit, then dash to the bow to watch Dall porpoise dance alongside the boat, close enough that their blow holes splashed me when they surfaced. Then there were the humpbacks, puffins, 1000-year-old sky blue glacier bergs. Ironically, I powered through the proposal writing on all cylinders. Writing about compact fluorescent bulbs was Never easier. Nor more in context.

Once in Whittier we caught a 3 hour train to Anchorage. A long travel day. I will miss the other writers. More on that later.

I just have to say that I've never felt more at home when away than while here in Alaska. I'm coming back. With the Mme, and les boys.

(Photo: That's me jumping for joy near the gaping hole in the glacier. Click on any photo to see a larger version.)