Sister

Since my last post I have been thinking a lot about my sister who, until last night, I hadn't spoken with since May '04. We were both going through difficult emotional situations then, especially her at that point. We loggerheaded over a sensative family issue and we stopped speaking to each other. Our silence troubled me greatly, even though I was convinced she'd never speak to me again regardless of what I said.

Christmas Day I spoke with my brother in Oakville and he told me my sister has just been in hospital and the doctors found a tumour the size of a grapefruit in her abdomen, probably on her uterus, that is growing and probably malignant. The news sickened me. I called and left her a message while she was still in hospital saying I would be happy to help any way I could. She returned my call last night and we talked for more than an hour. Her attitude about the cancer is very positive and she expressed great interest in my welfare. She even took some of the responsibility for the rift between us even though I had no idea why she was so hostile for a year before the rift happened. I was totally pepared to forgive her though I wasn't buying her entire interptretation of what happened. Anyway, she is driving in from Langley tonight to meet me for dinner. I had no idea how much I this change would impact on me. I rarely cry, but last night in bed the tears kept flowing. They weren't tears of sadness or joy, just a release of stress I no longer needed to hold onto.

Mela and Sera

In the blue light of early morning I tottered to the window and saw sheets of white snow already blanketing the sheets of ice from yesterday. So I returned to my own sheets and blankets to dream some more. When I felt the 'big empty' I got up, had some corn flakes and a hot shower. It is still snowing heavily on this 11th day of siege but today I am in a great mood knowing that it is at an end. By the weekend it is forecast to rain for three days and get up to +8C. The nightmare is almost over. My Team Leader just chuckles when I call in now and just says he hopes to see me before the New Year.

Last night before bed I took a melatonin capsule. On days when with lots of mental activity (e.g. playing lots of computer games lately) seratonin builds up in the brain. Seratonin (no relationship to Sarah Palin, though both induce lethargy and foggy thinking) is a sister to Melatonin and they react, like most brothers and sisters, when they come into contact. In this case Mela metabolizes Sera, which I'd gladly do to my sister if I could figure out how. Mela metabolizes Sera during the brain wave spikes that happen at the start of a dream, which means each time they metabolize a dream begins. So I take melatonin and spend the night dreaming. My dreams are weird and wild as I have a vivid and playful imagination.

Last night I was at some kind of residential job site and I had to leave. I was wandering the corridors of this labyrinth building in my underwear, towing my sleeping bag behind me, looking for my lost bicycle and the rest of my clothing and stepping over all these other half-naked men cuddled up and sleeping on the floor. Next thing I know I was on the sidewalk, clothed and selling tickets for Phantom of the Opera, which I have never done before, though I was a bar tender for the show in Toronto. I had to give out the tickets, for some unbeknown reason, with two blueberries each and I was having a problem finding suitable good ones in my basket. It was the blueberries that reminded me I was hungry and that woke me up. So, who needs other drugs or a date when you can go to bed with melatonin?

The last dream reminded me of the time I was a bar tender for the Phantom along with my bf Joseph. He was 11 years younger and always had to be the centre of attention. He was hot and complimented on his looks all the time, but he was as much of a headache as a pleasure most of the time. He was also flamboyantly gay and made a big point of being my bf, which was a new experience to me. One day one of the other bar tenders named Robin, an attractive straight guy a few years older than Joseph, came to me and said, "Your boyfriend" (with the agitated tone that said this was my problem) "has been offering me beginner lessons in blow jobs!"
"He has?" I faked surprise, stalling for time and trying to suppress a smile.
"Yes!" he responded, waiting to hear what I'd do about it.
"Well I guess that's alright..."
"What?" he was taken aback.
"But if he offers you intermediate lessons," I sighed and shook my head slowly, "he's not qualified."
He looked like a deer in the headlights until a smile gradually crept across his face. He nodded at me and turned and left the room. He never complained about Joseph again.

Hallelujah! The snow has just turned to rain!

.

Freeze Out - Day 10

I didn't make it up to the Sunshine Coast with my Faerie friends on the weekend for fear that the snowfall on Saturday night/Sunday morning would prevent me from getting home for Monday morning. I didn't want to call in to work long distance saying that I couldn't make it in.

I've been house bound since then, except for a one block -13C trip up to my favourite breakfast diner Saturday morning. The snow started late Saturday evening and continued through Sunday. Monday the skies were clear but there were more than 15 cm of snow with snowbanks half a metre high where the plows had been. The sidewalks looked mostly clear so checked it out when I took out the garbage. It was worse than it looked with cars throwing up large sprays of slush onto pedestrians and sidewalk ramps at intersections being blocked by snowbanks left by the plows. I went out the back to take out the garbage and it was a total mess there too.

But the snow was melting and there were rivulets of water everywhere. I was hoping to get to work today. I dressed, make my lunch and left full of determination but I couldn't even leave the property. The front steps are sheet ice. The part I use where there is something to hold onto on both sides has been used to pile 60 cm of snow, now frozen solid, and the courtyard which had melted into a small pond is now a skating rink.

I'm really sick of staying home. I have busied myself making a stained glass calla lily box and I have started a sun catcher (window hanging) of a calla lily too. I have no idea how upset my Team Leader is over my repeated absence from work. I leave messages. I have taken these photos too.

Homeless death

Tuesday morning, 3 days ago, I stopped by the 7-11 convenience store to buy bus tickets. A pleasant but weathered older homeless woman stood by the door greeting people as the entered and left with a donation jar in her hand. Though I usually refuse to give to the many beggars in our streets, often more than one each block, I gave her a dollar. In weather like this I knew she would need it.

This morning at 4:30 am she died. She had tried to build a shelter in a shopping cart, wrapping herself up tightly against the -12C cold and trying to use some candles she had found to stay warm. The candles caught fire and that was the end of her. Another homeless man ran into Blenz Coffee a block and a half down the street, the only establishment open in our neighbourhood at that hour, screaming that someone was on fire. But the staff had already been dealing with a few incidents of screaming homeless people earlier that evening so they ignored his pleas for a few minutes until another person saw the flames.

I slept through it all the ensuing police, ambulance and fire alarms, quite accustomed to the sound sirens and of homeless cat fights on the street below. The retaining wall pictured above is part of the commercial section of the property I live at. The steep sidewalk and ramp onto Hornby St in front of the foreground are still covered with a layer of ice making me treacherous to go there.

I am holed up in my condo above the shopping cart, having phoned in sick again, unable to keep warm under my many layers of clothes. It is 1pm. My co-workers have just left for the annual Christmas lunch. Yesterday my Team Leader met with me to discuss his discomfort with me calling into to say I cannot safely make it into work when I am not sick. I have fallen 3 times in the past 10 weeks when there was no snow and I have broken ribs and my right leg on previous falls. I have narrowly avoided falls a couple times this week because he feels I should make an effort, even when that puts my well-being at risk. He also had monitored a call and had a few negative comments to share. His comments are always negative, never encouragement, support or praise. I have no heart for my job these days but I still need it. I'd have no home without it. Perhaps I'd be smoldering in a shopping cart below.

How can one keep a positive attitude and his sense of humour of days like this?

Breathe

7:30 - I am lying under the fug of my blankets listening to the hiss and slosh of tires on slush. I don't need to get up to know that it's snowing, but I do, only to put on a Joni Mitchell CD and listen to the sultry saxophones, funky bass and her smoky voice singing, "Come In From The Cold".

8:30 - I call in to work saying that I can't make it to the bus stop safely. I'm not going to risk breaking my leg again, especially when I can't get up when I fall and I always fall when I slip. Life can be a bitch some days. My Team Leader says he's sure the sidewalks will be salted soon. Yeah, right after they have been reduced to pack ice. I am more concerned about what will fall the rest of the day if I do go to work as it shows no sign of letting up. It's chilly as hell in my condo but I can't stay in bed all day. I set the shower water as hot as I can stand it. In spite of this, even the shower curtain feels cold against my skin.

10:30 - The weather forecast shows that it will be going down to -10C and -12C the next two nights. It will warm up slightly on Sunday, just enough for it to start snowing again. I have the two front burners of my stove on medium to help warm the place.

3:30 - It has almost stopped snowing. We have about 12 cm or so of the wet stuff. The trees are beautiful but the streets are treacherous. Apparently city buses aren't going down the steep hill to the back door of my building where I would usually get off because they lose control. I am glad I stayed home. I never would have made it in one piece.

Freeze Out - Day 2

I'm sitting at work, having successfully arrived here without falling. It wasn't easy getting those leotards on. And they don't make those things with flies either. No wonder women take so long when they go to the toilets. It wasn't that cold, really--just cold enough keep the ice on the sidewalks frozen. I was able to get out the back door and to the bus stop on Davie St without hitting any major patches of ice, but I won't be able to use the bus stop closest to home when I return because it stops beside the community garden and the sidewalks beside the garden are a frozen nightmare. I'll have to ride an extra two blocks, cross the street and cross again to get around that major obstacle.

The kicker that got me to risk the sidewalks to come to work, besides the stained glass gifts I had made for seniors, was that as future forecasts unfold the temperatures are just getting lower. By Friday it will be -12C (10F). I can't justify taking a whole week off. If the flurries on Tuesday night/Wednesday result in real accumulations then I might have to take the last three days of the week off. The last time the temperatures remained below freezing for a whole week was over Christmas 10 years ago.

I'm doing my damndest not to fall. It won't be easy to last the whole week, but at least it isn't -29C with a windchill of -45C as in Winnipeg! Small mercies. On the plus side, those pesky pine beetles are getting their asses frozen, finally.

Under siege

I made my first tentative outing this morning. The wet snow had packed hard but it was melting where it had been salted. On Sundays, with many businesses closed and regular condo maintenance people off, most of the sidewalks were still ice. The worst parts are the sloped ramps at the intersections where the snow has been packed hard by hundreds of pedestrians. I simply can't climb up them without losing my balance.

I only went half a block downhill to Cafe a Go-Go where the Faerie Coffee happens every Sunday morning. The ramp crossing Hornby St was very slushy but I was able walk down it and shuffle across the street like a penguin without falling. Even that half-block trip, as slow as I took it, was precarious. I felt my feet slipping a bit a few times and by the time I reached the cafe my heart was pounding hard.

I went only because my good friend Danzante was coming. Three others Faeries, Aunty Tinkerbell, Dragonfly and Butterfly Menace, joined us and we had a pleasant little visit. Danzante drove me up the hill to return some videos and post a letter and then drove me home to the ice-free rear entrance of my building. Gawd bless my friends.

I am safely inside now and plan to stay here for rest of the day. I will probably not risk the trip into work and back as the forecast is for -10C (14F) tomorrow am. It's impossible to catch buses that have room during morning rush hour this close to downtown. Taxis can only drop me off on the steep sides of the building where the buses don't stop and it's hard to get to the entrances from there, but even if I caught a taxi it is nearly impossible to catch a cab home at 4:30 when they are all changing shifts. It is possible to catch a bus if I could maneuver the 3+ blocks to get to the bus stop. But if I fell at -10C and couldn't get up again I'd be in serious trouble so I doubt I will risk it.

Tuesday it will be slightly warmer (-8C) and only -6 on Wednesday, but it's supposed to snow that day too. Thursday, after the snow, it will be -9 again. Lovely. My guilt over not working and the prospect of being unable to leave my building has me all anxious as if I'd had too much coffee. I can't imagine 6 weeks of this.

Winter

I hate winter. My muscles hate winter. They fail me when they get too cold and I fall. That is one good reason I live in Vancouver, but not the actual reason why I moved here. I did that before I knew I had a problem with my muscles.

Vancouver usually only has 6 weeks of winter, instead of 6 months or more like most of Canada. So it should be easier to handle it, right? Wrongo. Our situation has made us all wooses. We can't even deal with snow flurries let alone a full blown storm. When it hits freezing we think we're going to die. Most of the winter months in other parts of Canada we love to brag about our prolonged autumns and spring flowers while everyone else is still digging out, but when we get hit with the white stuff it's everyone else's turn to make fun of us and our inability to deal it. The worst of it is that no one has any sympathy for us when it happens.

I am the biggest woos of all. Ice and snow depress me, given that I fall at the slightest slip and can't get up again. I dread each winter and celebrate the first flowers with extra enthusiasm. I worship Global Warming. Bring it on.

Friday's weather's forecast said "snow", the first of the season. The city went into emergency preparedness, as though a tornado was approaching. But I knew it was a false alarm as the high was 4C and nothing would settle. I checked the weather before I left home. It was still wet and windy, a crappy day, but no snow and it was already above 3C so I headed out in my running shoes, as usual. It was a miserable walk but I made it unscathed. All day my co-workers were anxiously awaiting for an announcement from management that we could all go home early in anticipation of snow stopping the buses and trains, but I guessed it right. The flurries came and left without leaving anything behind. The walk home was quite pleasant compared to the trip to work.

But the real danger is yet to come. The rain ended last night and it was supposed to stay mostly clear over the weekend. Then the temperatures were going down to -9C!(!!) Sunday and Monday nights and remaining below freezing all day. My legs can't handle -9C. The last time I tried it in January 2005 I fell and that cracked my femur, which led eventually to a full-blown broken femur months later. So today I swallowed my pride and bought two pairs of womens' stockings at the drug store. No one would see me wearing them under my pants and besides, they will be very useful compliments to my drag next weekend when myself and other Faeries gather on the Sunshine Coast to celebrate the Solstice like good Pagans should.

So I felt prepared for the cold and since I thought it would stay dry until Wednesday I had nothing to fear. The spent the evening watching an old Jane Fonda and George Siegal film after having spent the afternoon making three stained glass sun-catchers for the Gifts For Seniors box on Monday. Then, fifteen minutes ago I looked outside and caught my breath. It's snowing! It's already a couple inches deep and it already -3.6 and falling. This stuff won't melt for several days, as the forecast says when it warms up again the snow will start again. The real danger is HERE!! (help!) :o(

And here I thought if the snow could only hold off to Christmas I could survive this winter.

RJ

Last night I attended a rather lame 40s-50s gay men's discussion group. The topic was "What is the future of gay neighbourhoods?". The group is intended as a social club but not much happens socially, just a bunch of men trying to impress each other with their insightful comments that solve nothing. The discussion topics are often vague or uninteresting so I don't make it a habit. The next topic is "Masturbation techniques", as if at our age we need to learn how to do it. We should just be grateful that we still can.

On my way home I stopped into the Fountainhead Pub, our local gay watering hole. The regulars are often found around the bar, "Cheers"-style. The only guy there was a fellow I hadn't talked to in a couple years who once used to be a regular. His name is RJ.

RJ is a doctor in palliative care. He is a friend of a friend, a bombastic, often-vulgar character but quite likable most times. He's totally image-conscious, works on his sizable muscles regularly and wears a baseball cap to hide his bald head. He also his very well-endowed and a total "top". He doesn't mind whipping it out in the bar to show prospective pick-ups what they could be in for.

You get the picture? As far as I am concerned he sees mostly my disability. The idea of losing his muscles, like what is happening to me, is so horrible to him that he can only imagine that I must want to die. Every time we have talked over the past few years he has offered to "be there for me when the time comes", which means assisting in my suicide. The first time he did this I was so stunned I didn't know what to say, but now I just play along, like asking when he wants to do it and whether he fantasizes about it. I introduce him to others as Dr. Kevorkian.

Last night was no different. He started off our conversation saying that this week he has "pulled the plug" on three clients and reminding me that I should keep in touch. He said I must be bitter about what life has done to me, but couldn't explain in what way I demonstrate this. But he admitted my deterioration isn't visibly noticeable over the past couple years and that I am looking particularly handsome for my age and affliction. His compliments have that sort of back-handed Sagittarius crudeness to them.

He eventually made a pass at me, which he always does when he is horny. He told he wouldn't mind as it would be an exotic experience doing it with a disabled guy like me. I insisted I wouldn't be that good as I am more into affection than sex, that is, more cuddly than volcanic. That always turns him off, or at least depresses him by making him think he is losing his sex appeal. On a down night I wouldn't want to be anywhere near him but last night I found him hilarious. He had me laughing most of the time.

He turned his attention to the new bar tender Isaac, a handsome 30 yr-old hunk who he admitted is unfortunately straight. Isaac lives on a boat in False Creek and I engaged him in talking about life on a boat. RJ though only wanted to talk about sex. He says he has written a few books in his younger days under the name RJ Marsh, books of pornographic fantasies, such as his first ever experience in a shower room when he was 16 with the captain of the St John's wrestling team. RJ was the captain of his hockey team. Every time he started into the nasty (but interesting) details of his story Isaac would walk away. I never did hear the end of it as every cute ass that passed distracted him. We ended up sharing a snack and two beers. He said he wanted to pay for my share of the snack and one beer, but I left him $10 and headed home when he went for a bathroom break.

17 years ago

17 is my lucky number. This is what happened to me exactly 17 years ago, back when I was athletic and stronger, back when no one could tell me from my bicycle since we had never been separated:

I was in my 10th month for traveling by bike from Portugal to India via Norway, around the 15,000 km mark of my trip. I was in Baluchistan, the SW province of Pakistan on the underside of Afghanistan in the great valley where Alexander the Great had lost most of his army returning from India 2300 years earlier. I was traveling NE towards Quetta, the capital, with four others, 2 straight Dutch psychiatric nurses (Coen and Vincent) and a young couple from Britain (Kate and Stephen).

The Lonely Planet Guide Book for Western Asia warns travelers to stay out of this area, not to try to cross it unless with an armed police escort. It is mostly a lawless desert area filled with smugglers with machine guns slung over their shoulders fading in and out of the desert. The Pakistan military mans the occasional outpost along the one lane "highway" that runs 700 km from Taftan, the border town with Iran, to Quetta.

From Taftan to Nok Kundi there is only an unpaved trail weaving through the rock desert. The guide book offers "Places to Stay" in each town, but for Taftan its single word recommendation was "Don't." We all crossed into Pakistan the day we arrived because the visas for the two Brits were expiring. After the local smugglers were kind enough to cook us a humble dinner of fried potatoes we headed off into the desert without sufficient food or water. I had to choice but to follow them.

The trip to Nok Kundi, only 85 km, took two days because our tires kept sinking into the sand, especially mine as I wasn't riding an off-road bike. Fortunately we found a military outpost that had a good well and, in Nok Kundi, some dal, rice and fruit. From there too the road was paved, thanks to the UN, since tax monies in Pakistan are used exclusively on the rich and the military. Nok Kundi was the first town where we were pelted by stones by the town's children as we approached, a favourite sport in the area which I attributed to lack of TV or shopping malls to occupy them. We slept in police compounds for safety from thieves and kidnappers, and fortunately the police didn't rob us.

About 4 days along the distant mountains, that at first seemed to be sunken beneath the horizons on either side, had gradually closed in but the valley was still flat and wide between the ranges. And then, as if in a dream out of a French Foreign Legion film, a beautiful oasis town called Dalbandin appeared. It was so picture perfect at first we thought it must of a mirage but it wasn't. Villages we had passed through before had had a temporary feel to them but I could see the ancient history of this town in its architecture.

We found rooms in the Boys and Girls Club, an extension of the Boy Scouts organization which the Pakistanis take very seriously. We spent the evening relaxing and preparing for two long days of cycling to the next town over 150 km away. We made a large afternoon excursion to the local market place to buy supplies. While we were there we saw our first "magic" tree. It was a sort of desert-acclimatized willow and when the breeze rustled in leaves it produced the sound of running water. It held us spellbound for several minutes as it was too great of an illusion to ignore. Later, when it was dark, Vincent and Stephen inquired around and eventually bought a sheet of hash paste (ganga) for $5, enough to keep us stoned for a few weeks.

The next morning we set off. Two km outside the town we stopped while Stephen and Vincent rolled a cigarette of tobacco and hash and smoked it. That put me off, as I reminded them that it was dangerous enough in this area without being stoned out of our heads. They ignored me. At the 16 km mark, Kate let out a whoop because we reached our first sand dune. It wasn't large, maybe 100 m long and shaped like a boomerang with one arm parallel to the road and perhaps 20 m off the shoulder.

We never cycled for long as the two Brits were heavy smokers. This was as good as any place to have another break, I suppose, but then Coen climbed to the top and let out another whoop! On the other side, hidden from the highway, was another magic willow, many km from the next nearest tree. We moved around the far side to sit under it while the Brits smoked. Then Kate announced, in her privileged princess ("Fuck you if you don't like it!") way that we must spend the night sleeping under the tree.

I was pissed off enough to have to stop every half hour with or without shade to wait for she and Stephen to have their cigarettes, but we had only enough food for two days and we just covered 16 km of a 150+ km journey that we had to cover in two days. But more than just this senseless selfishness, there were somewhere between 300 and 400 holes in the sand at the base of the dune, some as close as 4 m away. Some were big enough around to stick my foot in without touching the sides and others much too small for my hand. No one said a word about them. I moved away to the far end of the dune away from the others in the offhand chance of finding my spiritual balance again. Eventually it was Vincent who came to seek out my opinion.

"Did you see those holes around the base of the dune?" he asked.
"Yeah," I nodded.
"Do you think there is anything living in them?"
"It's a sand dune. It shifts constantly so the holes would be filled in a few days if they weren't occupied."
"What would make those holes? Could they be birds."
"No. Birds wouldn't make holes in the ground. They'd make them on a cliff face and they would all be the same size."
"Do you think they are gophers?"
"No. I don't know if gophers live in this part of the world, and besides, they would have mounds of dirt outside each hole, which they don't."
"Well, do you think they are snakes?"
"Well, snakes come in all sizes and there's no mounds outside their holes. I can't imagine what else they could be."
"What kind of snakes do they have in Pakistan? Would they be poisonous?"
"Desert snakes are often poisonous. Maybe they are vipers or adders. Certainly those are poisonous."
"But they'd have to be HUGE snakes to make holes that large!"
"No doubt."
He pondered this a bit, then said, "Well, do you think they'd bother us?"
"That's very unlikely. They would avoid us because they are unfamiliar with our smell and that would make them cautious."

So, believe it or not, we all bedded down under the "magic" willow, listened to the rustle of its leaves and dreamed we were sleeping beside an idyllic stream somewhere in an English meadow. The smugglers and thieves that might have passed on the highway could not see us behind the dune. Fortunately no one had to get up to pee in the night. In the morning the desert sun rose quickly and we woke around the same time. We got up and looked around us. Kate uttered a slight gasp of astonishment and the others stood in silent amazement.

There were no snakes around us, they being night crawlers, but in the sand we saw the trails they had made all around us less than two metres away. Each hole had radiating 'squiggles' in every direction, as they had been in and out hunting all night. Some of the tracks were 20 cm (8") across and the squiggles more than a metre from side to side. Some of these snakes must have been at 4m long and weighed more than 50 kg. Any one of them could have probably killed us. Our small patch of undisturbed sand was a small island in a large span of tracks that extended a great distance in all directions. It was certainly a strange feeling that we had been tolerated as inconvenient visitors by this city of snakes and that we had survived to see something few people have seen. We soaked it in quietly while eating breakfast. As soon as we were finished we packed up and left without discussion.

Politics

There's a political meltdown happening in Ottawa in our federal government, though no other countries have yet noticed. Seven weeks after winning an increased minority in our Parliament the ruling Conservatives have riled the three opposition parties so much that they say they need to bring the new government down. The Conservatives created this situation by introducing legislation to prevent federal workers from striking, to remove the right of women to use pay equity legislation to file complains about inequities in pay and, most of all, changing rules for political party financing that would ensure a fiscal advantage for their own party. In spite of thousands of auto and forestry workers being laid off every week the Conservatives introduced a new budget that offered no economic initiatives that address their situation.

The election in October wasn't exciting and really changed nothing. The voter turnout was a record low. But this showdown has upset the nation and stirred voter interest. I had hoped it would work against the Conservatives and possibly help bring them down, but the immediate general reaction has been in their favour, putting them in range of a majority government if a new election is called. The public seems to be saying the opposition parties are only interested in gaining power at any cost and not doing this for the public good.

That poll, released this afternoon, has me in a funk. I am suddenly sick of all the speculation and hype. The Governor General, Michaelle Jean, has allowed the Conservatives to suspend (prorogue) Parliament until the end of January to allow the situation to cool and to delay an opposition coalition from deposing the Conservatives next week. At 30 below, January can cool a lot of things down in Ottawa, but the problem isn't going to go away. The government might call another election at the end of January if the budget fails as expected. I just hope it doesn't result in a majority for the tyrannical Conservatives. Both sides will be bombarding the country with their side of the story over the next seven weeks. On top of Christmas hype this will be overload.

To prevent us from turning down their forced wage offer, the Conservatives have offered federal government workers like myself a $4,000 signing bonus. Hopefully our union can get their act together to have us ratify the offer before the Conservatives fall from grace (power). In a lose-lose situation it is best to get what one can.

Counting

From the time I was 5 I have had a habit of counting things. I don't know why. When I cycled everywhere I kept track of the number of kilometers my bike had gone, adding up totals from odometers that had died long before my bike did. (I did over 61,000 km in the first 12 years of owning it, before I had to stop.) Some friends reacted with confusion or amusement, others with disdain. Some thought I must be obsessive/ compulsive and urged me to stop though I never considered it a problem.

To me it was just a curiosity of how long a bike could last. Perhaps I should have kept my eccentricities to myself but I find it amusing how others sometimes try to control what others do even though it has nothing to do with them. Such as when a visitor uses my bathroom and takes the opportunity to rearrange how I hang my toilet paper or shower curtain. Now who is being compulsive there? Anyway, it doesn't upset or change my preferences.

One thing I do count religiously is the number of times I fall. I record the date, location and circumstances. I began that record in January 2004, after it had begun to concern me that I was falling too often. I decided to try to improve my concentration to avoid falling, for I have a wild imagination that likes to hop from cloud to cloud or from past to future while I walk along. The next thing I know I have tripped over some rise in the sidewalk and I am down on the ground.

I set out with the best intentions to go all year without falling if I could, but 3 days later I fell. And so it went. By mid-June the same year I had fallen 10 times, an average of 17.4 days between falls. I decided if I fell 20 times that year I'd buy a scooter and stop walking to work. That decision improved my focus and I only fell 4 more times that year. The next year I only fell seven times, and the following year only 5. The past two years I have only fallen four times. By October 4th this year my average reached an average of 102.3 days over the last 10 falls.

Since then I have fallen three times, something I suppose I should eventually expect as my strength and balance deteriorate. But I am determined to keep up the struggle in spite of this bad stretch. If I avoid falling before the end of January I'll regain my 100-day average, and if it lasts to the end of February I will set a new record. This is one obsession that serves me well.

Wish me luck!