Tunesday : He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

 

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

(Performed by The Hollies, written by Bob Russell and Bobby Scott)

The road is long

With many a winding turn

That leads us to who knows where?

Who knows where?

But I'm strong

Strong enough to carry him

He ain't heavy, he's my brother

So on we go

His welfare is my concern

No burden is he to bear

We'll get there

For I know

He would not encumber me

He ain't heavy, he's my brother

If I'm laden at all

I'm laden with sadness

That everyone's heart

Isn't filled with the gladness

Of love for one another

It's a long, long road

From which there is no return

While we're on the way to there

Why not share?

And the load

Doesn't weigh me down at all

He ain't heavy, he's my brother

As I've referenced here before, my older brother, Ken, is in late-stage lung cancer; but while I've hinted at it a bit over the past year or so, I can't really bring myself to put anything too personal here. So here's a surface-level story about what's going on.

Ken's health has been going up and down over the past few months, and while our younger brother, Kyler, wants Ken to commit to going down to Nova Scotia with him and a bunch of other guys in June in order to put in the dock at his lakehouse, Ken can't quite plan out that far. I have told Ken repeatedly that any time he does want to go to Nova Scotia (that family lakehouse is his favourite place on earth, and close to our aging parents), I am free and interested in going with him. So it was a little alarming when, a few weeks ago, Ken texted me and said that we should probably plan a trip down, sooner rather than later. So we got flights, and he and I flew down for a week.

Where Ken is in his journey: From the beginning, Ken's oncology team has been hesitant to give him a prognosis, and when Ken initially told them that he'd be interested in having his life insurance paid out while he's still alive, the doctors informed him that they couldn't sign off on the forms until he had less than a year to live. And the doctors have now signed off on the forms. Where Ken's head is at: He keeps reassuring everyone that he is in a good place mentally; he feels really good about getting the fat insurance cheque (and paying off his mortgage and other debts and knowing that his wife and kids will be well-provided for), and he wants everyone to know that he has no regrets; that he has lived a full and happy life. But feeling particularly weak as January ended, Ken felt like this might be his last chance to visit Nova Scotia, so I didn't hesitate to book the tickets and join him.

We flew in on the Wednesday and went straight to our parents' house for a short visit. Ken immediately told Mum that he thought she was looking good and she said that she feels like everything is going down hill. Both of Mum's sisters died last year from dementia-related comorbidities (how strange that my own funk prevented me from writing anything at all here last year about the loss of my aunties), and Mum herself was hospitalised last year with a dangerously low red blood cell count (again, unremarked upon by me here), and Mum ominously said to me this time, "It's so funny that when I was in the hospital last year, I really could have died — the doctor said to me that he had never seen anyone with my blood count who survived — but I don't remember any of my time in that hospital at all. I could have died and never seen it coming, and never knew it happened. That's just how fast it can happen." So, by comparison I guess, Ken is "lucky" to have had a year, and maybe one more, in order to get his affairs and mind in order.

We then had one quiet evening at the lake, and were joined the next day by my Mum's two brothers and one of their wives (and for context on that: Mum's brothers are only 11 and 7 years older than Ken, and they have always been really close); and as much as this was a loving and lovely show of support for Ken, these folks sure can talk, and that can feel a bit draining (they even talked all through the Four Nations Hockey Tournament — including the all-important overtime period of the final game); and while Ken kept feeling like he needed to apologise to me for their presence, it didn't much bother me — it was good to see Ken active and sociable.

The whole gang went back into town to see Mum and Dad on the Friday — and despite her protests of deterioration, Mum was still shuffling around their house on her own, following and adding appropriately to the conversation, and appeared to be having a good time — and I was left behind for the night when Ken and the others went back to the lake. Dad wanted to go over their estate with me — showing me where to find important documents as their executor, telling me what their wishes are for final arrangements, wanting me to get better insight into Mum's evolving needs — and I did have a nice visit and learned what I needed to know; it sure was sweet to see how Dad dotes on Mum now that she can't do much for herself anymore.

Dave and Kyler flew in the next morning, came for a brief visit with Mum and Dad, and brought me back out to the lake. They were really only there for about 24 hours, but again, Ken must have been feeling the love and support, and that's what it was all about.

The Monday was Dad's 78th birthday and their 59th anniversary, so Ken and I and the uncles and aunty went back into town with a cake and cards and flowers for another brief visit. (The only concerning thing was Mum asking me if Kyler was going to be able to make it down from Ontario this trip — despite seeing him two days earlier — but she seemed to remember he had been there when I reminded her; memories fail, don't I know it, and for now, she doesn't seem to be going the way of her sisters.)

Back to the lake again, the uncles and aunty left the next day, and after one more quiet evening, Ken and I flew home early the next morning.

Okay, that is a pretty surface-level, non-introspective, just-the-facts-ma'am, recitation of events, but here's what I came here to say: My choice of song for this Tunesday borders on ironic; Ken (and Kyler for that matter) are no burden to me, but mostly because I seem to be incapable of carrying anyone. Ken kept thanking me for coming with him, for "everything" I do, and I have honestly done so little for him. My brother lives across the street from me, I know that I am going to lose him (in less than a year, according to the experts), and yet I don't really see him that often; I haven't seen him at all since we got home last Wednesday. I know part of it is denial (I know he's going to die, but I also don't believe it), and part of it is this awful funk that I'm in — I feel incapable of doing any of the things that used to bring me joy; I'm writing no book reviews because I'm reading no books; as my brother lives out the last days of his life across the street, I'm over here spending my days doing very little of consequence at all. And I don't know how to change things. And I feel like a fraud anytime anyone says that I'm being so great to Ken. I would do literally anything he asked, but I can't bring myself to offer anything. I would also do anything my parents asked of me, but I don't even call them regularly. I'm not lazy or cold-hearted or depressed, but there surely feels like there is something wrong with me. Yet, despite ironic overtones, it's the right song in the end:

So on we go

His welfare is my concern

No burden is he to bear

We'll get there

For I know

He would not encumber me

He ain't heavy, he's my brother

Mind Picking : Hyprov!

 

Last night, Dave and I went with Dan and Rudy to see HYPROV at Centre in the Square (we gave them the tickets for Christmas) and it was lots of fun. Live improv (led by the incomparable Colin Mochrie) with a group of audience members put under hypnosis by "world-renowned hypnotist" Asad Mecci, the skits were so smooth and clever that it almost beggars belief that the participants weren't plants.

To begin: as soon as Dan understood what the show we would be going to was about, he assured us that he would not be volunteering for hypnosis. I figured that was the general cosensus among us, but since we were front row (technically the second row, off to the side with no seats in front of us; my favourite seats at that theatre), when Mecci first gestured to the semicircle of chairs on the stage and invited volunteers to come fill them, Dave turned to me and asked if he should go. I said, "Of course!" and off he went to join the willing participants. (On a side note: people were lining up politely to climb the stairs to the stage, but since only twenty volunteers would be needed, I watched in awe as a middle-aged white guy came running down the aisle, belly-flopped up onto the the stage right in front of me, and then commando-crawled/sprinted towards the last empty seat; claiming it like he was playing a life and death game of musical chairs.)

It was interesting to watch Dave up there with the other volunteers, and he closed his eyes when instructed, and he relaxed forward and let his arms and head dangle as instructed, and I thought, "This is so exciting." But when Mecci told the participants that they were driving racecars down the highway, waving to their friends, Dave was not one of the ones steering and smiling at unseen others. Eventually, Dave was among those who were dismissed, and he said later that he couldn't quite make out everything the hypnotist was saying; that perhaps the rear-facing speakers weren't well-placed, and it's true that all of the people in the centre of the semicircle of chairs (like Dave) were eventually dismissed; leaving me, disappointingly, with no inside information on what it feels like to be hypnotised.

Once the five successful volunteers were fully put into their trances, Mochrie asked for suggestions for scenarios from the audience and then led the group through improvising various scenes. And while I appreciate the reasoning behind "the lack of inhibition created by hypnosis will make these participants ideal improvisors", I was surprised at just how quick and clever they all were; which is what made it all so funny (none of them were degraded or did anything embarrassing; they were all just completely, hilariously, committed to their characters.)

Near the end, Mochrie said that at every show audience members accuse the participants of being plants. So he went through them one by one and asked who in the audience had come with each volunteer, asked what they did for a living (everything from student to "cruise agent") and that did make it seem like they were all authentic volunteers; that would make for a whole lot of plants just to pull one over on us. Also: as we were walking up the aisle to leave, we could see one of the participants having a lively conversation about the experience, and that seemed authentic. Further to this, my sister-in-law Christine messaged me later to say that she had seen the show last week and totally thought that the participants had been actors; so much so that she's thinking about seeing the show again next week at a different venue just to see if they're the same people. I hope she does go so I can get the scoop!

Overall: super fun night with great people. 2025, the year of experiences, starting off strong!

Tunesday : Good Feeling

 

Good Feeling

(Songwriters: Ash Pournouri / Breyan Isaac / Etta James / Henry Walter / Leroy Kirkland / Lukasz Gottwald / Pearl Woods / Tim Bergling / Tramar Dillard)

Performed by Flo Rida and Etta James

Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah
I get a feeling that I never never never never had before, no no
I get a good feeling, yeah
Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah
I get a feeling that I never never never never had before, no no
I get a good feeling, yeah

Yes I can, doubt that I leave, I'm running with this plan
Pull me, grab me, crabs in the bucket can't have me
I'll be the president one day
January first, oh, you like that gossip
Like you the one drinking that God sip dot com
Now I gotta work with your tongue
How many rolling stones you want
Yeah I got a brand new spirit,
Speak it and it's done
Woke up on the side of the bed like I won
Talk like a winner, my chest to that sub
G5 dealer, US to Taiwan
I hope you say that, I wanna play back
Mama knew I was a needle in a hay stack
A Bugatti boy, plus Maybach
I got a feeling it's a wrap ASAP

Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah
I get a feeling that I never never never never had before, no no
I get a good feeling, yeah
Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah
I get a feeling that I never never never never had before, no no
I get a good feeling, yeah

The mountain top, walk on water
I got power, feel so royal
One second, I'ma strike oil
Diamond, platinum, no more you
Gotta drill a land, never giving in
Giving up's not an option, gotta get it in
Witness I got a heart of 20 men
No fear go to sleep in the lion's den
That flow, that funk that crown
You looking at the king of the jungle now
Stronger ever can't hold me down
A hundred miles going from the picture smile
Straight game face, it's game day
See me running through the crowd full of melee
No trick plays, I'm Bill Gates, take a genius to understand me

Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah
I get a feeling that I never never never never had before, no no
I get a good feeling, yeah
Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah
I get a feeling that I never never never never had before, no no
I get a good feeling, yeah

Look at the lights that now are shining my name
You know you know you gonna feel the same
'Cause we are here now, is about to go down
I think tonight we gonna party for days
Put up your drinks when I come down
Tonight we gonna run this town
Maybe feel like I'm wearing a crown
Make the love like there's no one around
And I know you wanna have it
Come on up here and grab it
I gotta feeling that your life's gonna change

Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah
I get a feeling that I never never never never had before, no no
I get a good feeling, yeah
Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah
I get a feeling that I never never never never had before, no no
I get a good feeling, yeah

This past Saturday night was the grocery foundation's annual fundraising gala, Night to Nurture, in Toronto. There was a bit of a pall over the crowd - this was a room full of Canada's top food producers and sellers, and as this was also the day that Trump to the south announced a 25% tariff against all Canadian exports to the US, this was a room full of executives uncertain about the future. I don't generally have a lot of fun at this event anyway (I'm just not a small talk with customers and their wives smiling-Betty-Draper-type), but this year I was seriously annoyed that the headliner was Flo Rida - an American - and I was determined to not enjoy myself.

However, dinner was fine and the conversation was fine. The event was hosted by Rick Mercer and he kept the mood light and nonpolitical (other than thanking the young Indian singer in a sari for her beautiful rendition of O Canada and stating that that song isn't going anywhere; a hundred years from now people will still be singing our anthem in that room), and when Flo Rida and his group began to perform, there was so much energy and life injected into the crowd that I didn't resist too hard when some women on Dave's team pulled at me to get up and dance with them. And after bouncing and waving along in the crowd to more Flo Rida songs than I thought I knew, I followed along when he called the ladies up front onto stage. I'm up in that picture there, having a pretty good time despite myself, and I left happy that the performer was Flo Rida: he was great and a perfect reminder that not all Americans are threatening to annex us.

And now I'm back to worrying about that, but it's good to also remember that oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah.

Mind Picking: Viva Las Vegas!

 

Partly to shake this funk I've been in, and partly to scratch the wanderlust as my brother's illness has made us feel it's not the right time to take another big trip, Dave and I started talking last fall about going to Vegas for a few days. I kept getting facebook ads about seeing the Eagles at the Sphere (dream concert; intriguing venue), and when I mentioned the concert to Dave, he got excited and added that he had heard about an Elvis tribute artist performing at the Westgate (the same hotel known as the International when Elvis performed there in the 70s), and booking both concerts within a few days of each other gave us something to look forward to and didn't quite feel like an abandonment of kin. Here's how it played out:

First of all, Dave had more than enough points to fly us Business Class for free (and what's better than lounge access, priority boarding, more leg room, and free booze? Getting it free!) It was still before noon when we arrived in Vegas, so after picking up a rental car, we drove out to Death Valley (Ken's suggestion, based on a previous trip of his.) GPS led us to somewhere in the middle of the National Park, so we backtracked to an Information Center we had recently passed (at Furnace Creek) and the Park Ranger couldn't have been more helpful. If we only had a couple of hours for exploring (although she thought we should have budgeted a couple of days), she recommended we check out the Badwater Basin ("Lowest point in North America and the reason we're all here"), come back along the Artists Drive, head to Zabriskie Point, and try to make Dante's View by sunset. This was a beautiful way to spend our first day, and maybe we could have used a little more time, but we felt we definitely made the most of the time we had. 

23° Celsius and the warmest temp we saw

Single digits temp at an elevation of 5475 ft a couple hours later

  

The next day we spent walking the strip, and as I ranted on facebook about a negative experience I had, I'll just quote that all here:

Today we were walking the strip, going in and out of hotels and casinos, and - as they do everywhere - as we were leaving Planet Hollywood, a young Black male employee (I think race matters) was calling out to Dave, "Sir...sir...my brother..." So Dave turned around to not be rude and the man said, "See? I knew we were brothers, we're all Americans, or are you from...?" And we said Canada and he said, "Right. Brothers. Americans. You're Fifty-oners, or will be soon enough." And we both said a stunned no and turned and he.said, "It's all jokes," and I said, "That's not a joke to us." And I think he really had no idea just how offensive that was to us, as he kept calling, "It was a joke," as we hightailed it outta there. And I think race matters, because I don't think of people of colour as natural supporters of Trump and it was just wild coming out of the mouth of someone who was obviously trying to sell us something, and it makes me really nervous to think that some average (not old white MAGA hat wearing, open carrying, freedumb trumpeting) American thinks that it's casual and appropriate conversation to quote his incoming leader threatening the sovereignty of the quiet neighbours upstairs. TL;DR: I will launch myself on a shaky ice floe from Iqaluit before I ever become a Fifty-oner. (And Dave said I couldn't rant this without cussing; sir, I am a polite Canadian.)

Yet after that (still frightening to me) experience, we went to the Benihana in our hotel for dinner, and as we took our places at the Teppanyaki grill, we made the acquaintance of the couple to our right: slightly older than us, from central California (not near the devastating LA wildfires), and we enjoyed wonderful (never political) conversation throughout dinner; he and Dave vibing together on their mutual love of Elvis. He: Did you know this used to be the International Hotel where Elvis performed? Dave: That's why we're staying here. He: Did you know there's an Elvis tribute artist performing here? Dave: We have front row tickets for tonight. He: Dang, now I wish we had tickets. We left them feeling better about Americans and America in general (we obviously know that not every American thinks of Canada as annexable), and not long after we were seated, the pair of them walked past us, beaming, being led to their own close-up seats; he and Dave continuing to grin and gesture at one another throughout the show; soul brothers at heart.

The show itself was about as close as anyone is going to get to seeing Elvis live at the International anymore (even if Dave was initially disappointed that the show spanned songs from Elvis' entire career instead of just replicating the actual 70s Vegas show), but getting to go on the VIP backstage tour after was like treading holy ground for Dave. We were shown the spot where Elvis prayed every night preshow, the dressing room that he had built (half of which is closed off for current performers; Barry Manilow right now), the one area of original hardwood flooring from Elvis' day (complete with shrine), his elevator, drinking fountain, just about more than Dave could handle. He got to go out onto the stage and see the audience as Elvis once saw it (even if the seating is different), and after posing with Joey the tribute artist, and after everyone else walked on to see other things, I said to Dave, "Why don't you sing?" He said, "I can't sing," darting his eyes to the hallway. I said, "You don't know these people." And when Dave sang the first couple lines of In the Ghetto, his eyes got shiny and his smile got big and that may have just been the most connected he ever felt to his childhood hero. That's a good day, overall.

The following was our free day, and since we had a rental car, we had planned for a drive along the Extraterrestrial Highway to Area 51 (mostly for the lols, but also because I wanted to see it?)

The first stop was the Alien Research Center - which is actually just a gift shop, but it's the only place with Area 51 warning signs, so of course I had to do a book pose with one.

Funny story: the woman who worked here apologised for being dopeyheaded as she rang us up, saying that a wracking cough had been preventing her from sleeping every time she laid down. "Living out here," she said, "I know better than to go down rabbitholes, but everyone seems to have this cough. And the flu is over - it came in December and now it's done - but this cough...everyone has it and it almost makes you wonder if they're trying to get rid of us before he takes office next week." I could not tell from this just who "they" are trying to get rid of: there were zero context clues as to whether she was for or against Trump, or whether it was Trump's or Biden's side wanting to get rid of people, and then she said this: "And out in California, I don't know. The Santa Ana winds have never burned down LA before and now it's just gone. It makes you wonder." So, yeah, good thing she avoids the rabbitholes (but she might want to investigate some straight up, fact checked science sites...I unironically think to myself as I leave to continue my drive down the Extraterrestrial Highway.)

We had lunch at the Little A'Le'inn and the lovely server reassured us that it's not dangerous to take the nearby Back Gate Road to the rear entrance of the Edwards Air Force base (the closest a civilian can actually get to Area 51) because tourists do it all day long, every day. So these tourists did it, too.

I definitely wouldn't have gotten any closer to the guard hut

From here we travelled on to Tonopah and the world famous (probably haunted) Clown Motel. Definitely worth a look for the curiosity-minded, but as their website warns that some guests have felt a "malevolent presence" in the middle of the night, that's not somewhere I would want to stay (not that I necessarily believe in malevolent presences, but why risk being wrong about something like that?) The gift shop/museum is creepy enough for me. (We also would have explored the nearby "ghost town" silver mining site, but it was super cold and windy and the staff at the visitor's centre said that the outdoor exhibits were closed due to the weather.)

The next morning we spent driving around and walked up and down Fremont Street (not so much happening during the day, and we've been there at night before, so it was mostly wasting time, and it was cold in the shade). 

We drove around to a few classic toy stores (nothing for Dave at any of them) and I waited in the car (maybe snoozing) while Dave checked out the Pawn Stars shop (did I mention that we stayed up really late the night before drinking at our hotel's lobby bar and digging the house band?) When we had seen about all there was to see, we went back to the hotel for a siesta, had a lovely dinner at the hotel's Italian restaurant, and then Ubered to the Sphere.

OK, sidenote: We're not foodies, and rarely plan meals too far out, so when we started thinking, "Where should we eat before the concert?", I googled restaurants near the Sphere and website after website showed no available reservations for that evening (not surprising in retrospect as the Sphere holds over 18 000 people and was sold out).  I then checked the Italian restaurant at the Westgate and was able to get a reservation, so that was settled. But when we went down for dinner, we realised that the Teachers' Convention must have just let out and there were crowds and lineups everywhere. We waited patiently in line as groups in front of us were either led into the restaurant or put on a waiting list, and then this one woman wearing a lanyard from the convention pushed to the front of the line, loudly saying, "We have a reservation", and waved with both arms for her big group to join her at the front. Well, we had a reservation, too, and perhaps some of the others in front of us did, too, and isn't learning to wait your turn, like, day one of kindergarten? (Ultimately, this didn't affect our timing or our enjoyment of a fine meal, but it felt ironic coming from a group of teachers.)

Moving on: we Ubered to the Sphere (lovely young driver who had no idea that the Eagles had extended their residency and who was shocked to learn that their show was sold out every night), and it didn't take long to enter the building, get Dave a Tshirt and a couple of beers in commemorative cups, and find our seats on the floor. And I will admit that there's a trade-off to where we sat: We were 11 rows back from the side of the stage (front row, centre were available at the time of booking but they're something like two grand [US] each and we didn't think that was reasonable), so while our view of the stage was incredible, we weren't part of the pitched seating further up that might have made for a more immersive experience. (But again, those seats have their own drawbacks, and looking waaaaay up to the top rows, I think they would give me vertigo. If I think of this as watching a band perform, we had ideal seats and the projections behind them certainly enhanced the show; if we were truly wanting the Sphere experience, I think we would have needed to be up higher.) When Dave slipped out to get a couple more beers before the show started, I began a conversation with the man beside me - probably in his 80s, he and his wife were from Vancouver Island and had seen the Eagles a few times over the years - and he told me that when they realised they had floor seats, they were worried that they would have to stand to see the band when everyone else inevitably got up to dance, however, ushers had come by a couple of times to warn that there's no standing or dancing anywhere at the Sphere (which I guess I  understand for the high up seats; and while I thought Dave might be disappointed, it was pretty relaxing to just sit in our chairs and enjoy the music as it washed over us.)

The Eagles (I do know there's no "the" in their name, but it doesn't feel right to refer to them without it) played every song we could have hoped for - including Joe Walsh performing some of his top solo hits ("If I knew I'd be singing this song for sixty years, I'd have written a better one"), the late Glenn Frey's son, Deacon, filling in on his Dad's songs, Vince Gill joining in, and of course, the great Don Henley front and center (when not on drums) - and while, yes, they're older, and, yes, this isn't exactly the original band, they crushed this concert, and I do feel like I have seen the Eagles at the ideal time and place. (Loved that they saved Desperado - considered Ken's song around here - for the encore; I wish he could have come.) We walked back to the Westgate afterwards - although we had been told it would be too far, it took twenty minutes in lovely, cool air - had a drink at the lobby bar while vibing with another excellent house band, and that was that before leaving the next day.

OK, I can't help but note again: When Dave checked us in, he was told that if we wanted a room with a coffeemaker, it would be an additional $20/night (and this on top of the hotel charging $50/each/night for "resort fees" when the hotel has no "resort" facilities, but that was known in advance and accepted as we were staying there solely to sleep where Elvis had slept), so every morning Dave went down to the Starbucks to get me a coffee (best guy ever). As we were leaving the hotel, weaving through endless shop-lined hallways as we made our way towards the parking garage, we came upon a line-up, dozens-deep, of folks from the Teachers' Convention, waiting to order Starbucks. And as we struggled through with our carryons rolling behind us, I had to wonder: OK, I understand it must be frustrating for none of these people to have coffeemakers in their rooms, either, and they must have been anxious to get their Starby's before their day started, but as we excused ourselves through gaggle after gaggle, I couldn't help but wonder, "Isn't learning to lineup singlefile, like, the second day of kindergarten?" These teachers: sheesh.

After anticipating this trip for months, it's hard to believe it's over. I never once in my life thought about going to Death Valley, never seriously planned to drive a ten mile-long gravel road to the back gate of Area  51, never actually expected to see the Eagles in concert: they've come to Toronto before and I never even thought to look for tickets. Something about this trip at this time just felt right - and all the Elvis stuff was a thrill for Dave - and I'm so glad we did it. So there: I've made a memory and shook off the funk enough to write it all down. Let's go, 2025.

Mind Picking: Hello 2025!

After a 2024 that had me in such a funk that I rarely wanted to write about what I was going through, I reckon I can only resolve to get out there in 2025 and start living again (and hopefully, based on a few of the things I have planned so far, I'll feel like commemorating those memories here as they are made.) Cheers to 2025 and more mindfully filling my days.