Tunesday: We Built This City

 

We Built This City

(Songwriters: Dennis Lambert / Peter F. Wolf / Martin George Page / Bernard J.p. Taupin; performed by Starship)

We built this city

We built this city on rock and roll

Built this city

We built this city on rock and roll

Say you don't know me or recognize my face

Say you don't care who goes to that kind of place

Knee deep in the hoopla, sinking in your fight

Too many runaways eating up the night

Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don't you remember?

We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

Someone's always playing corporation games

Who cares, they're always changing corporation names

We just want to dance here, someone stole the stage

They call us irresponsible, write us off the page

Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don't you remember?

We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

It's just another Sunday in a tired old street

Police have got the choke hold, oh, then we just lost the beat

Who counts the money underneath the bar?

Who rides the wrecking ball into our guitars?

Don't tell us you need us 'cause we're the ship of fools

Looking for America, coming through your schools

Don't you remember? (Remember)

Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don't you remember?

We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

We built, we built this city, yeah (Built this city)

We built, we built this city

We built, we built this city yeah (Built this city)

We built, we built this city

We built, we built this city yeah (Built this city)

We built, we built this city (Built this city)

I need to start by saying that I was in high school when this song came out and I never liked it (and when I later learned that Starship was the eventual bastard child of the Jefferson Airplane that once gave us the sublime White Rabbit, I was beyond understanding). But the reason for this song will eventually be made clear.

As I keep writing, my brother Ken has terminal cancer, and as one of the reasons I left my job last year was to be available for him in any way he might need my support, when  Ken told me he wanted to take a trip to Newfoundland (the only Canadian province he had yet to visit) and that I was welcome to join him, I told him I'd go with him. His goals were to 1) Get "screeched in", 2) Visit Cape Spear, Signal Hill, Dildo, and The Rooms museum, and 3) Go Whale Watching. And we did them all (to varying degrees of success).

We flew out on a morning flght, and as we arrived in St. John's a couple hours before our Vrbo was available for check in, I suggested we take the turn out to Cape Spear (the most easterly point in North America) to waste some time. When we got to the parking lot, there was a path that split in two directions: right up to the lighthouse, and left to who knows where. Ken picked the  lighthouse path, and it was a strenuous climb for him, with a couple of stops, and as it was quite foggy, the view didn't have much of a payoff.

Ken was so worn out by this point that when we saw another path heading down into the fog, he said he'd wait for me to go down and check it out. I jogged down the stony path and arrived at a battery (long cannons set up defensively for WWI and then a garrison used during WWII)  and found myself at a marker for the most easterly point (where a woman offered to take my picture because she not-so-secretly wanted me to take her photo for her, lol.).

Leaving that marker, I nearly immediately found myself back at the parking lot, jogged back up to where Ken was still waiting, and explained to him that it would be all downhill (and then a gentle rise back to the parking lot) if he wanted to come see that marker stone. At first he said no (and I still have no idea how much energy he actually has; no clue whether to push him), but then he agreed to come check out what I saw (and I'm sure he's glad he did; this was on his wishlist, even if it was fogged in.)

We got a few groceries and then it was time to get into the Vrbo: a quirky little place just a couple blocks uphill from the bars and pubs of George Street. We eventually made our way down there and went into Christian's Pub  (where Ken's research had told him would be the best place to be screeched in) and asked about the ceremony: they put us on the list and told us to be back within an hour because they lock the doors at 7, and we still hadn't eaten any supper. Got fish and chips next door and made it back in time; a table with a lone man and woman invited us to join them and we learned that they were in from Cape Breton, in town for for the East Coast Music Awards, and that she (another Krista) considers herself a guerilla artist because she carries a craft kit of googly eyes on her at all times, looking for posters and statues to deface enhance, and that at this year's awards, there were even posters around featuring her previous work. (Honestly: amazingly friendly and engaging couple who set the tone for an amazing evening.) The ceremony lasts a couple of hours, and we drank the screech (which for some reason I always though was a moonshine, but it's a lovely, warming spiced rum), and we kissed the cod (frozen in this case, but still a little nasty to put your mouth on after others have.)

(That is the other Krista smiling and taking a picture of me, and in the picture I led with up top, that's  our host "Aunt Luce"; bizarrely, yet another Krista.) The next day we drove up to Dildo: Ken wanted a picture with their (apparently) famous city sign, but it has recently been changed out for something wordy (and less tempting to steal, apparently.) We were not disappointed, however, to discover the Nan and Pop Dildo Souvenir Shop ("Something for Everyone!")

Or to realise, after taking a few pictures down by the wharf, that there's a Hollywood-type Dildo sign up on the hillside (and when we later had lunch at the Dildo Brewing Co, which has a Jimmy Kimmel for Mayor of Dildo sign on the wall, I had to ask Ken if he thought Kimmel installed that sign.)

The next day we went to Signal Hill and attempted to get a picture beside the Cabot Tower (erected in 1898 - already old in terms of Canadian sites - to commemorate the 400th anniversary of John Cabot's landing in Newfoundland}, and it was so incredibly windy that Ken was honestly afraid that he'd be knocked down:

And even I had to fight my way, stumbling,  across the clifftop to take this picture of St John's harbour:

We headed back into the city and went to The Rooms (part museum, part art gallery; totally worth seeing as an insight into Newfoundland history and culture), and after a brief break (it is the hockey playoffs!), we went back to Signal Hill (because the wind had died down and it was safe for both me and Ken to walk around the clifftop):

 And because Ken said that he wanted to eat moose while he was in Newfoundland (which he later said was just a joke), I suggested we go to the only place I could find online that was serving it, The Guv'nor Inn and Pub. And, like everywhere else (even the hotdog cart outside of Christian's), they informed us that moose was out of stock at the moment (which Ken didn't seem to mind), but I was able to order a mess of cod tongues (like my Mum made when we were growing up; Ken said the fish and chips he ordered was probably the best he ever had).

Because we were at the most easterly point in North America, I decided to leave the next morning before 5 am for a panoramic sunrise photo (Ken was not interested in joining me, and you need to respect the needs of someone whose sleep schedule is hijacked by cancer):

We went "whale watching" in Bay Bulls later that day (it's not quite the season for whales yet, and while they do guarantee puffin sightings, the puffins aren't nesting yet, so you can only see them at a distance flying away from the approaching boat across the water; which, while interesting to the eye, was not photographable with my phone), but a boat ride in this rugged landscape is a lovely experience no matter what you're looking at (and Obrien's Boat Tours - with folk singers and screeching in - puts on an entertaining show).

In the end, we did everything on Ken's list, and as for this song choice: Signal Hill is the site from which Marconi played his mamba across the waves to Ireland in the world's first Trans-Atlantic radio broadcast (or, er, received a banal radio transmission), and as Newfoundland is known colloquially as "The Rock", something about "we built this city on rock and roll" just seemed to fit the vibe of St. John's. Overall: The people were amazingly friendly (a talkative and colourful stranger on the street offered to pray for Ken once informed of why his voice is so husky) and the landscape is as beautiful and rugged as promised. I believe Ken got out of this trip what he wanted, and I was happy to go with him. Here's hoping he's up for the Mediterranean cruise in September we're all going on together!

Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don't you remember?

We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll

Tunesday : You Ain't Seen Nothin Yet

 

                                                   You Ain't Seen Nothin Yet

                                                      (Bachman, R) Performed by Bachman Turner Overdrive

• I met a devil woman
  She took my heart away
  She said, I've had it comin' to me
  But I wanted it that way
  I think that any love is good lovin'
  So I took what I could get, mmh
  Oooh, oooh she looked at me with big brown eyes
  
  And said,
  You ain't seen nothin' yet
  B-b-b-baby, you just ain't seen n-n-nothin' yet
  Here's something that you never gonna forget
  B-b-b-baby, you just ain't seen n-n-nothin' yet
  
  "Nothin' yet
  You ain't been around
  That's what they told me"
  
  And now I'm feelin' better
  'Cause I found out for sure
  She took me to her doctor
  And he told me of a cure
  He said that any love is good love
  So I took what I could get
  Yes, I took what I could get
  And then she looked at me with them big brown eyes
  
  And said,
  You ain't seen nothin' yet
  B-b-b-baby, you just ain't seen n-n-nothin' yet
  Here's something, here's something your never gonna forget
  baby, you know, you know, you know you just ain't seen nothin' yet
  
  "You need educatin'
  You got to go to school"
  
  Any love is good lovin'
  So I took what I could get
  Yes, I took what I could get
  And then, and then, and then
  She looked at me with them big brown eyes
  
  And said,
  You ain't seen nothin' yet
  Baby, you just ain't seen n-n-nothin' yet
  Here's something, here's something
  Here's something that your never gonna forget, baby
  Baby, baby, baby you ain't seen n-n-nothin' yet
  You ain't been around
  You ain't seen nothin' yet
  That's what she told me
  She said, "I needed educatin', go to school"
  I know I ain't seen nothin' yet
  I know I ain't seen nothin' yet

Continuing on in our year of trying to get out more and do more things, Dave and I went to a concert this past week. As with the Trans-Canadian Highwaymen earlier in the month, it felt good to see Canadian artists perform right now, and this triple bill featured the Headpins (do I ever remember jamming to Don't it Make Ya Feel if it came on City TV's New Music when I was babysitting as a twelve year old on a Friday night), April Wine (we saw them perform before at the Fall Fair, but they deserve this bigger stage; so many hits), and of course the headline act, BTO.  I'm realising now that I was so lame at blogging last year that I didn't even write about the  last concert we saw at the Aud in the fall, so I need to rewind here.

On October 9 of 2024, Dave and I went to see the Doobie Brothers at the Aud. We saw a few concerts last year — I enjoyed The Stampeders more than I thought I would, loved Cyndi Lauper, Ringo Starr & his All-Starr Band was probably my favourite, but I didn't even write about any of that — and although Dave would never think to buy tickets to anything, every time we go to a show, he's just so happy; he says that seeing live music was what he missed most during the Covid lockdowns, so I've been trying to make more of these experiences happen for him. And the Doobie Brothers put on an awesome show: so many great songs, and despite their age, they rocked the house. Here's what I wanted to note: Dave and I were sitting in the eighth row on the floor, and as people started to move to the front of the stage, Dave said, "We gotta go now if we're going," so I said, "Sure!" We went up to the barrier and were singing and dancing and having a great time, until a security guard came up and asked to see our tickets. I pointed to my wristband and said we have floor seats, but he said that only the front row was allowed to stand at the front. Now, all of the front row seats were empty, there was just one row of people standing — no pushing or crowding — and as I was trying to figure out what the problem was, another security guard was asking Dave where our seats were and he pointed to the two empty chairs right behind us and said angrily, "Right. There." So the guards walked away to harass others along the line and Dave and I looked at each other like sorry, not sorry (I know, we're jerks, but we were having fun and not hurting anyone.) Later, during the encore — which I actually did find annoying as the Doobie Brothers were now doing the songs everyone had come for — a bunch of security guards came through again, and one of them said something to me that I didn't quite hear, and when another came by a minute later and said he needed to see my ticket, I pointed at the first one along the line and said an exasperated, "I just showed it to her." And then they left us alone, and within a couple of songs, the concert was over and Dave and I were pleased with our self-serving scumbaggery.

So when tickets went on sale for BTO (with Headpins and April Wine), I bought tickets early and got us front row seats, and we were able to stand at the barrier and dance and sing and have a great time, free from worry that anyone would bounce us. I guess here is where the karma comes in: Even though I bought within a week of tickets going on sale, I paid "surge pricing" of three something a ticket. But I guess most people balked at that price, because the week before the concert, about half of the front row was still unsold and the price went down to $125. And although it was good to have no anxiety about anyone accusing us of not belonging at the front, the security guards never came through to ask for tickets this time (despite a bit of a crowd gathering in the center aisle). I guess we technically didn't need to buy front row, and I guess we overpaid as it was, but in a larger karmic sense, we owed the universe and now I hope we're square.

As for the concert: All three groups put on a fantastic show. Randy Bachman is showing his age — he sits on a stool to play and sing, and when he goes to stand, a roadie stands behind him and pushes forward on his upper back as he removes the stool — but Bachman's voice and guitar playing are as strong as ever. It was a nice added bonus that Tal Bachman tours with BTO and we got to see him perform She's So High.

The question might be asked why I didn't choose Takin Care of Business for this Tunesday, but I've used it before: It was one of the songs my eye surgeon was listlessly singing along to on the radio while I was having a semi-traumatic experience during cataract surgery. I must have made enough of a deal about it, eight years ago, that both of my kids were worried about it triggering me during the concert, but, of course, despite that picture up there, I was dancing and singing and having a great time throughout. Another great evening out with my favourite guy and more experiences to come.

                                                                     You ain't seen nothin' yet
                                                      B-b-b-baby, you just ain't seen n-n-nothin' yet
                                        Here's something, here's something your never gonna forget
                                  baby, you know, you know, you know you just ain't seen nothin' yet

Tunesday : It's All Been Done

 

It's All Been Done

(Written by Steven Page, Performed by Barenaked Ladies)

I met you before the fall of Rome
And I begged you to let me take you home
You were wrong, I was right
You said goodbye, I said goodnight

(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done before

I knew you before the west was won
And I heard you say the past was much more fun
You go your way, I go mine
But I'll see you next time

(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done before

And if I put my fingers here
And if I say, "I love you, dear"
And if I play the same three chords
Will you just yawn and say
'Ah, I hate it'

(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done before

Alone and bored on a thirtieth-century night
Will I see you on The Price Is Right?
Will I cry? Will I smile?
As you run down the aisle?

(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done before
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done
(Ooh-ooh-ooh) It's all been done before

Months ago, Mal told me that the Trans-Canada Highwaymen were coming to a local small venue, and as Steven Page (formerly of Barenaked Ladies, a band we've seen as a family several times over the years) is one of the members of this Canadian supergroup (along with Chris Murphy of Sloan, Craig Northey of Odds, and Moe Berg of The Pursuit of Happiness), I agreed that this would be a great night out for us (with the addition of Dan and Rudy).

As an aside: There was a headsup on the event information that seating would be limited, so we arrived early to stand in line — only to be let inside and discover that "limited" means "nonexistent", save for some benches on the wall off to one side. We were able to secure a standup table, though (of which there were only two or three, so that was a win for our drinks and ability to stake out an unmovable area in the growing crowd), and as hundreds of others pushed and surged around us, it was agreed that arriving early was definitely worth it.

I chose this song because it was the opener, but also to note that every song was familiar and "done before": from Page belting out Brian Wilson to Moe Berg bringing down the house with I'm an Adult Now in the encore (Mal told the table, "I've heard this song exactly two other times in my life: when Mom sang it to Kennedy on her 18th birthday and when she sang it to me on my 18th birthday"), we at least knew the chorus to every song. And I have to say: for a "supergroup" formed of basically famous-in-Canada-indy acts, Trans-Canada Highwaymen are incredibly talented and perform together with what looks like ease and joy; it was a fantastically fun and nostalgic evening and I was so glad to be out, singing and dancing along, with all of my favourite people.

And further to my aside: As we were out walking in the parking lot afterwards, I said to Rudy, "Well, I guess what we learned this evening is that we're too old for general admission seating; that crowd was brutal." And a man of about our age upon overhearing me said, "Nah, you just have to know how to handle them," and then he did a front kick in demonstration. I laughed and nodded and added, "Chairs would have been nice." And despite the recent bravado, he quietly said, "Yeah, chairs would have been nice."

Great music, great company; the year of interesting experiences is proceeding nicely.

Tunesday : I am Canadian

 

Something a little different this time; I want to share a recent social media post from the inimitable Jann Arden:

I am Canadian. I am part tree and part mountain and part rocky shoreline and part prairie dirt. I am a free range child of the sixties, born to hard working people who dreamed small dreams and worked relentlessly to give all their children bigger hopes than they had.

I have travelled across this country more times that I can count. In cars and buses and trains and boats and float planes, I have watched the glorious landscapes morph and change right before my very eyes. From arid deserts to rain forests to crashing waves and mountains of majestic ice, I have seen Canada and Canada has seen me.

All my words are because of Canada.

All my songs, all my art, my musings, my creations are because of this strong and fierce and free land.

Any courage I have, is Canadian.

Any grace I have acquired over my 6 decades here, is Canadian.

My failures and my triumphs are here in the dirt, forever part of whatever this wonderful place is.

My ability to think and reason is Canadian.

My heart is Canadian.

I can go out farther into the world and be courageous in my career and my art, because I am Canadian.

My gratitude over flows. It never stops.

People that come here from all over the world, to make this place their home, are as Canadian as I am. They are the soul and spirit of what makes us magical. We are all people. All colour. All religion. All beliefs. We see each other, and when we don’t get it right, we keep trying to get it right. We own our mistakes and we carry our misfortunes tenderly. We don’t give up.

We fight for goodness.

We stand for goodness.

We are not weak or timid, we are ferocious and tenacious and steadfast. We may falter, but we pull each other up, sisters and brothers and mothers and fathers.

We are ancient roots, spread across a vast and mysterious place, filled with riches and secrets beyond imagination.

I am this land. We are this glorious place.

Everyday, we show the world what it is to be

Canadian.

Having gone to see Jann Arden perform before with my most excellent sister-in-law, Ruthann, (and knowing that she has long followed the singer; bonding from a distance over relatable stories of caring for a mother with dementia), when I saw that Jann would be appearing at the bookstore I used to work at for an intimate event, I knew that tickets for it would be the perfect birthday present for Ruthann. Anyone who has seen Jann perform would probably agree that her storytelling and relatability are what make her shows truly special, and as we made our way to our seats (me happily greeting the former coworkers I haven't seen for months now), we could see that we were the common demographic: past middle age white women, eager to feel a connection with someone who has given voice to a lot of what we've been thinking and feeling and experiencing over the years.

I went in knowing that it would be a Q&A format, and the closest I could come to a question for Jann was to reference the above post, let her know how it resonated with me, and then ask whether or not she thought that Canadian celebrities who live in the US have a duty to get more vocal in the wake of Trump's "51st state" nonsense (because, Mike Meyers aside, I sure haven't seen much from them.) But as the (mostly) women around me asked thoughtful, vulnerable questions about (mostly) art and loss, I knew that it would be an inappropriate and nearly rhetorical intrusion for this format: I knew how I expected Jann to answer, and it could have come across as an aggressive push for her to shame folks who think it best to keep their heads down right now instead of their elbows up.

It truly was an emotional and intimate experience (the last question was from a young woman who had recently lost her dog, and knowing that Jann had lost a beloved pup a few years ago, she wanted advice on navigating the empty spaces of her life and home; Rudy and I were in tears at both the question and Jann's heartfelt response) and then we joined the queue to meet Jann and have her sign the vinyl of her new release, Mixtape, that was included in our ticket price. The line moved fairly slowly — everyone who reached the front of the line took their chance for a few intimate minutes of conversation — and when Rudy got her turn, they talked about taking care of their mothers (Rudy told me later that when she told Jann that her mother had also suffered Alzheimers, she was moved by the fact that Jann didn't say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I know how that is," but rather she reached out for Rudy's hand and asked, "How old was Mum?" That moment felt like grace and brought Rudy to tears.)

Now, Jann had an assistant at the front who tried to keep the line moving, and he kept repeating that there would be no posed photos, but that a bookstore employee would be happy to use our phones to take candid pictures. And when I got near the front, my old manager, Nicole — who had booked this impressive event for our little store (only one of three such events) and was feeling pretty pumped at its obvious success — told me she was going to "starfish" in my pictures (I didn't quite know what she meant by that, but she demonstrated how she would loom in the background with arms and legs splayed and I said, "You better.") So when it was my turn, there was the slightest kerfluffle as Nicole ran forward and starfished and Jann went, "Wait, wait, what's happening?", and as I turned and mugged for the camera, Jann crumpled into the fitting pose above, all while the assistant kept trying to say, "No posed photos" off to the side somewhere. None permitted, but I somehow got one. And when I got my chance as Jann personalised my album, I told her that I had been moved by her "I am Canadian" post and she sincerely thanked me and said that she had been sitting in her kitchen one morning, looking out at the trees and the mountains and she felt compelled to write it out, "I'm so Canadian," she said, "that I am the mountains and the trees. I am this landscape." And I replied, "Well, I'm so Canadian that I'm Jann Arden." And she gave me a "Huh" and a quizzical smile as she passed me my album, and I felt pretty good about the whole experience. (Rudy would later post her own photos on facebook, writing, "Krista gives the best birthday presents", so, successful all around.)

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