forward and aknowledgement for my book

 I have started writing and rewriting all the things that needed to be said in this book. I knew in my own mind that its subject matter would not ever make this the stuff of Govenor Generals Awards or other literary notations.  

Most looking would probably give it a once over if not pass by as many are drawn to the fascination of alternative history, drama, romance, or other fictional works. The thought of nonfiction often only scares away readers. The topics of mental illness poverty, and transformation not only spiritually, but also ones coming of age make for good stories but often never go into print. 

This is a story written from my eyes with the help of those around me and have passed through my life. Some in fleeting seconds some lasting a lifetime. It's not only a love story of a time that grew from the depths of depression and delusion to the realities of the opening of one's eyes to new beginnings It is a classic remembrance of what was what has changed, What should have never and the immediate reality that in the end death chases us all not us chasing it.  

It's a story of real hero's and saints that put others' lives before theirs and brought peace and the helping hand each of us needs out of a world marred with the bitterness of marginalization into a world of harmony with not only ourselves, but those around us.  

It's a story of a love for a city and community still racked with developing programs for the people who so desperately need them, and the many faces of those disenfranchised or displaced, and those who strive in some small way to ease that burden. 

Most of all it's my story and that of the Capuchin Friars of Toronto who took me from the streets and gave me the strength to build something better. 

Welcome to Our Place and the Friars of St Francis! 

This book is lovingly dedicated to Father Joseph MacDonald, Sister Margret Quinn and the gang at St Francis house and especially Micheal Wilson who brought his love and energy to Our place Community of Hope and was tragically murdered on his way from the dance, 

 

 

Rainy Day End of Drought?that

 Well here is hoping that the rains we see today will spell an end to the drought across the west. Mind you life is full of surprises, and spring has arrived wet bringing with it an abundance of life and Green grass and leaves.

I've always loved the fact that I live in Canada with its ever changing seasons and its diversity of cultures and people. It warms the heart of the world at large, and even though most complain about the often hostile weather no one seems to want to give up on our beautiful land. 

Well if the drought being over weather wise is something to celebrate our political theater is beginning to show its true colors , and it is solid Tory Blue. 

What Canadians saw with Carneys latching onto elbows up became exactly what I said it would a continuation of the worship of Wall Street and an even larger thumb pressed down upon the Canadian poor and middle class. Effectively proving once and for all that Carney was indeed a wolf in sheep's clothing wrapping himself in the flag for the  basic benefit of the chosen few.

In the computer language one should maybe start calling him Poilievre version 2 upgrade. So much so that already a group of Liberal MPs want the ability to challenge his effectiveness as a leader.

As I said to most it is not the outcome of the election that will result in any changes it is in fact more the need for a wholesale change in the philosophy of the two most frequent governing parties and yes even the New Democrats.

We elect parliaments to govern over and draft policy for everyone and provide services needed but also enhance the well being of all Canadians no matter what their standing is. We especially elect these representatives to ensure that those who are marginalised  are protected and lifted up to help achieve some measure of dignity.

Carney of course is no different then that of Poilievre their drive to continue to process the corporate welfare checks and deliver tax cuts to those who can at least afford to chip in a little more will not and have not disappeared in fact they have intensified since after the election.

Now there are those that say hey look he got rid of the tax on gasoline, and that inflation is down to 1.7 percent. I say Big Deal! He did this to take the wind out of the conservatives sails by taking their platform from underneath them. 

I can assure pretty much beyond a shadow of a doubt that when the budget is unveiled in the fall it will read almost word for word from the Conservative's election platform thus putting an end to Poilievre's (who is his own worst enemy ) leadership and sealing his doom. 

This of course will only prolong the pain that Canadians are experiencing as the trickle down economics table intensifies. Corporations have no place in the halls of our Parliaments and Legislatures. These are for people and people alone.

The private sector does provide a vital role in our economy but certainly not inside the houses in Parliament and the Legislative assemblies. 

So as this not so new drama unfolds let us remain vigilant in our resolve to keep our elected members reminded of what they are their to do and what remains to be done.  

A life well travelled

 I figure this is a life well-travelled and watched, I mean, what decades story-wise to live in. I vaguely remember John Glenn first orbiting the earth, the Kennedy assassination, and that of his brother and Martin Luther King in that haunted year of 1968.  

The 1970s really started in July 1969 with Armstrong stepping onto the lunar surface, and the end of the war in Vietnam brought a brief sigh of relief. Only to be crushed by double-digit inflation, wage controls, and interest rates, and high unemployment surged as Governments began to try to slow down the economy. Causing mammoth business and mortgage failures.  

Isn't it ironic how news begins and ends, focusing mainly on stories where the casualty count is front and centre? People rarely remember the happy stories that sometimes make headlines, but are predisposed to all that is tragic, disastrous, and hateful.  

Our happy thoughts, as Peter Pan would suggest, barely get us off the ground before a wave of nasty images comes swooping in and sends us crashing back down to earth.   

It was no different at the assignment desks. The editors wanted the eye-popping, heart-wrenching, graspingly tragic stories right up front and bury what they called the puff pieces somewhere in the middle. Mostly avoiding using them at all. 

Roy Megarry, my boss, who built the Globe and Mail into a powerhouse paper, used to look at me with deeply suspicious eyes as Christie Blatchford and I would write up and collaborate on these stories that he thought read more like Harlequin Romances and submit them under the most dubious names we could think of. He never said it, but I'm sure Worthington over at the Sun was looking at Christie with the same look. The laugh was a great deal of it got published by both publications, Christie, the fire and brimstone political and crime writer, to Alan McKinnon's calm and reasoning style created these fictitious submitters that gave that warm fuzzy feeling stories to the morning read. The laugh was that no readers ever caught on that the stories, however factual, were written by people who didn't exist, and I suspect both Megarry and Worthington loved the parody. 

My wedding anniversary is this weekend 36 years together and knowing each other for 40. You know what? I have centred my life around my family and helping them, so that they are my front pages, they are the keystrokes of my typewriter, and all those other facts are buried away from the stories of my family and good friends. Cause that is the news that is the most important as we guide our lives through a desperate sea. Christie, you may have left us, but the smile you left on my heart still exists today. 

Toronto and the Friars of St Francis

My cold is gone. It's time to reflect on the two weeks I spent creating content and conducting interviews for the book. That I am writing.

First, it is often hard to go to a place you love and continue to do so without acknowledging how difficult it is to always leave, knowing that this might be the last time I set foot in the city. 

Departing from Toronto in 1997 was a straightforward decision due to family considerations and the anticipation of better prospects for my children. Returning is invariably challenging, as many cherished memories are deeply rooted in the city—its residents, our initial experiences as a couple, and the individuals we became close to and hold dear to this day. 

Spending time at the Friary, St Clare house, Our Place, and St Francis Table brought a chapter of our lives full circle. Many faces have passed yet so many in fact are still there doing what they have always done, but for the most part, like all of us, a little older and a great deal wiser. 

Speaking again with Brothers Ignatius and Father John at the Friary took me back to the days when Poverello was building itself into a powerful organisation and voice for the mentally challenged, the poor, and those quickly being disenfranchised by what was becoming the new economic reality. Father John, who went to the seminary with Father Joe, and was appointed Bishop of Kelowna in late 2013, was astonished at just how much I was able to remember, and all three of us discussed that with emphasis on the possible solutions for today's more challenging environment.  

My days between filming began and ended with breaking bread at St Francis' table. Brother John, who has run the table and been involved since the opening in 1987, welcomed me with the biggest hug I have had in years. Showed me the new kitchen and each day would introduce me proudly to the many hundreds of volunteers he has taking care of the patrons.  

The friars became an integral part of my life there, and it was hard to believe that my shared contributions with Karen to Poverello and the Good Shepherd were still remembered and celebrated. 

After each piece of content was filmed, I returned to my beloved Our Place Community to spend time there, both reflecting and observing the goings-on, as well as spending time with members, both old and new. Mayer, my good friend, now in his eighties, was thrilled, as was I, to stand at my side, looking forward to hearing from Karen as well. James, a young man I have known for 44 years, also enjoyed having me back, and we were able to belt out a little karaoke together.  

As much as I enjoyed my time there, are memories that are hard to erase, and I found it all too commonplace to continuously and vigorously remind the Staff that these people were not CLIENTS and that this, from the outset, was a member-directed organisation, not the other way around. I felt that as a director, Menasha, however lovely, spirit-filled, and competent, spent far too much of her time locked away in the office, closing herself off to the members as a whole.  Menasha, if those doors are open, you must be on the floor; you are there at their convenience and thus paid accordingly for that privilege.  

Although it is hard to understand some of the things I am referring to it is necessary while throwing out laurels to the hard work being done given my positioning in previous years it has to come with a few darts as well.  

A few more suggestions I have to make are the bringing back of the night program. Many left because of its disappearance, but when it existed, we opened at ten in the morning and closed at 930 at night. In its prime on Elm Street the membership numbers were over 800 and most were regularly active. 

Secondly there is a definite lack of movement to build up and focus on the different vocational needs of these members. Many people struggle because they feel the lack of purpose that some form of employment or employment training can bring, which is another reason why there is no draw to the younger membership. They find the answers elsewhere in central places like Progress Place. The other reason is that Our Place was never designed to be a feeding station, although it is a necessary thing; it has almost become its sole purpose. 

Thirdly, a return to a more central location. Most of those I have spoken to, including many of the residents at the houses, no longer attend there because it is too far removed from the core community it serves, thus contributing to its further decline in membership. I can already hear the board complaining about the cost, etc. I will tell you that money is out there. With Joe, it seemed to rain when needed, so I think St Michael's should have no problem finding it.  

As my plane took off, I began this reflection, wondering how much it might help, and how much there is left to do. It will not be me there to celebrate with you, as my presence is far needed here at home to begin a celebration of retirement and journey with my partner Karen for the rest of our travels, taking us to Germany and beyond.  

God has given us the ability, through prayer and reflection, to see and build not only into the future but also to raise each other up daily, healing and promoting the gradual changes that make it possible for those dreams that are far larger than ourselves.

 Brother John and I at St Francis Table on Queen Street in Toronto serving the poor and marginalised in Toronto on Queen Street since 1987. Feeding the masses and following in St Francis of Assisi's footsteps. Another faithful friend, brother, and mentor.

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