allangrae

[allangrae]

The challenge of memoir and other creative nonfiction, is that it’s assumed you have done the work. The gritty, scary, heavy lifting work that is borne out of mindful, practiced self awareness.

Allan Rae

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Miss you Trouser!

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A Mother Gone Too Soon

reflections of a grateful son

Getting up at an ungodly hour on a Sunday, I hop out of bed then sneak downstairs. My father, the co-conspirator, equally unskilled in the culinary arts is already there, burning the bacon, attempting not to ruin the eggs. Realizing their fate is already sealed, he directs me to the grapefruits. Which I massacre, of course, because at six I have no clue how to slice a grapefruit.

“Maybe just use the juicer, that’ll work” Dad says.

Twenty minutes later, Mom is pretending to enjoy a breakfast in bed. Savoring the charred bacon, runny eggs, and pulpy mess of what sort of resembles grapefruit juice. If it tastes as bad as it looks, you’d never know from her expression. After breakfast, she opens, then beams at my homemade card, a colorful mess of a portrait of Frisky, the family dog. Today, I’d call it abstract. Then, just bad coloring.

That’s my first real memory of Mother’s Day. Forty three years later, it’s more complicated, but always bittersweet. Mom died in 2010, and since then I’ve usually avoided this specific holiday, focusing on other things, attempting, usually in vain, to keep the memories at bay.

So I don’t really know why this year is different. Maybe it’s the passage of time, maybe it’s finally being settled in a place I consider home, and maybe in part it’s due to reading this piece by Eric Griggs. For whatever reason, I feel I need to pay tribute to the woman who bore and raised me. And to the countless women I know, mother or not, who are part of my life now. Whether they be friends, relatives, or even other writers here. I think we all know and appreciate the talent and sacrifice it takes to raise a child.

This specific memory is one I’ve written about before, but I think it’s an appropriate one for this occasion. It’s one of the last nights I spent with my mother, who had been diagnosed with brain cancer weeks earlier. It would turn out to be only four, short weeks until she died a quiet, peaceful death, comfortable in the home she’d shared with my father for almost forty years. I’m thankful that my myself, Dad, and even my crazy dog Singher, curled up on the bed beside Mom, had the privilege of being there when the time came.

Snapshots Of Nights Passed

I suppose the best way to describe a reality of spending anytime at all with my mother was the inevitable walk down musical memory lane. Mom had charted the map of central life events through music, each and every pivotal memory grounded in a song. Based more on sentimental attachment than symbolic relevance, her choices would often leave those around her scratching their heads in mild amusement. Or, occasionally, in vague confusion.

Which, of course, made it easy to understand why Mom would credit my enjoyment of sixties folk music one of her greatest parental accomplishments. Truth be told, I think she might have actually been right, since before I purchased my first album (the Grease soundtrack), the likes of Peter, Paul & Mary, Ian & Sylvia, Miriam Makeba, The Byrds, and Scott McKenzie were my childhood musical staples.

The official narrative around this issue would usually go something like it did on that Friday night, eight years ago. Plagued with a bad case of historical revisionism syndrome, mom will follow up her pronouncement of parental success with a most florid description of herself and my father walking in their Birkenstocks, long hair blowing in the patchouli scented breeze, casually picking flowers at a Woodstock inspired musical transcendent event.

Though it’s not until we arrive at the pesky reality of my birth, that there is a chance of breaking that rather colorful little re-imagining. But break it will, after being reminded that her child was born in an American military hospital in Tokyo, Japan, due to my father being a senior officer in what is now Canada’s equivalent to the CIA. Further proof is usually presented through pictures showing her own fashion influences of the time, distinctly and decidedly more Chanel №5 than patchouli, more Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast At Tiffany’s than those comfy granola Birks.

“Oh well, I would have been a hippy if it wasn’t for your father and his voracious support of the state”, she will usually refute in a faux serious tone.

Her gentle teasing poorly disguised, lost on absolutely no one. However that particular strategy never gains much traction though, since she is blaming her lack of flower child, mind expanding revelations on the man who left that same organization over his discomfort with violence and the unfair treatment of gay and lesbian recruits. Oh yeah, that.

When reminded of that small but relevant fact, Mom will just giggle, smile, and suggest she whip up a fruit and cheese plate. Or, God forbid, she will pick up her guitar.

So starts the night …

“Allan, did I ever tell you what song was number one on the American top forty charts the day you were born?”

“Why yes mother, you have. Several times.”

“Do you know, I think we may still have that song on eight track. Just going to run and check to see if it’s in your fathers den.”

My father’s den? That is an ambitious description. It’s a room that could legally be considered a fire hazard. There are enough keepsakes and memories housed in that ode to the last forty years to ensure one will not be returning before the change of seasons, should they risk entering.

No need to worry, it seems almost forty years in the same house allows one familiarity with chaos, and Mom returns several minutes later with the mini 8 track player and a surprisingly audible version of:

To which she will joyfully sing (a somewhat generous use of the term) along, playing that damned guitar in unison. So many things I could say at this juncture, but instead I will simply offer an assurance to the band The Seekers that any concern over potential competition is most definitely misplaced.

I then have to make the point that it is, in fact, 2010, and these are post Google times. Thus, the reason that specific recollection results in a spirited disagreement between my mother and me over what song was actually the number one hit on September 8, 1967. Some references would site Georgy Girl, others would claim Bobby Gentry’s Ode To Billy Joe.

But Mom is not backing down. She does, however, note the unfortunate irony in the movie of the same name, Ode To Billy Joe, suggesting a young man’s leap off the Tallahatchie Bridge was due to his shame over being gay.

“That would have just been bad karma, dear. And besides, the camp value in Georgy Girl is just too good to resist.”

A point that I am in every way unable to refute.

May 13 / 2018

I am sometimes shocked that Mom has been gone for eight years, as it often seems like yesterday. Today, looking back, I can say that she was a woman who proved to be my most enduring role model; a voracious supporter and tireless advocate of her only child.

Over time I have come to recognize that my grounding confidence in who I know myself to be, is evidence of just what was her truly greatest parental accomplishment.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom. I miss you everyday. And I would give anything to hear even a few chords from that badly-in-need-of-tuning guitar.

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A Canine Inspired Recipe

to cure the doggy boredom blues

A quick, easy, albeit not cheap, recipe to whip up when your two rescue dogs from hell are driving you up, down the walls and back.

Ingredients

1 large Husky/Great Dane mix

1 medium to large size Boxer/Hound mix

2 invisible fence collars

1 new Kong

1 new Frisbee

1 “indestructible” plastic ball

1 doggy football

1 empty Gatorade bottle

2 water buffalo horn doggy chew toys

1 warm, sunny day

1 fake in every way, but enthusiastic voice from outside the house

1 back door that locks

Preparation

With a spirited voice tone and dramatic arm gestures, coax the aforementioned dogs off couch, then outside into yard

Pre-sprinkle yard with generous helping of above toys

Make huge and dramatic show of faux enthusiasm to chase after above mentioned dogs with above mentioned toys

Execute two generous throws of above mentioned toys directly away and far from backdoor

Scream “go nuts boys”

Run inside

Lock door

Leave above mentioned dogs for 30 to 45 min, checking occasionally, ensuring they have not disemboweled or otherwise seriously mutilated each other.

Serve

Your recipe is considered complete when you find the above mentioned dogs sprawled out in the grass, doggy toys at their side, their exhaustion evident from the audible snores.

Caution!

Please note that ongoing supervision is likely required, otherwise you risk discovering the fresh new hell known as missing and damaged lattice work.

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IN THE END

cherry picking from the MLK Jr. legacy tree

Repeated far, far too often it has become both joke and acrid punchline, when those with allergic avoidance to accuracy of historical truths start talking, quoting what it was MLK Jr. really wanted.

The ironic testament to absent self reflection revealed through a coveted I’m not a bigot get out of jail free card, the last resort declaration citing their many, many close black friends, like possessions. Apparently all too close, too many to warrant mention outside of condescending searches for retrospective neutrality.

Curiosity would beg the question why then in their cherry picked wilful misrepresentations of the man’s legacy do they never include the quote asking we remember not the words of our enemies but the continued silence of our friends.

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ABC’s Of CPR

I have been teaching CPR since I was a 18, working as a lifeguard. I have seen compression rates go from 80 a minute to 120, back to 80, and then to 100 more times than I can count. I have seen the depth of compressions go from the currently recommended 2.0 to 2.4, to 1.0 to 1.5 to 2.0 and back again. I have seen artificial respiration recommended in conjunction with CPR, not recommended, recommended only with a pocket mask, etc. to infinity.

So, the obvious question becomes, which is the best way to do it? The answer, although The American Heart Association would likely not conquer, is that we just don’t know. Each change in recommendation is based on studies that have been carried out in the 4 years prior to the change, and are based on not just direct findings but on correlated findings, and a host of variables that may or not be present when you are called on to do it. What may seem like a positive finding may, in fact, just be correlated. And of course correlation does not necessarily imply causation. Is it wrong to implement those types of guidelines? Not, not necessarily. Which brings me to my main point; and that is why instead of calling them CPR standards, that are now referred to with the more intentionally appropriate term, CPR Guidelines.Meaning, if an instructor (and I know a lot of them do) is telling people that they have to do exactly as they are being taught or they shouldn’t do anything, or that they are putting a life in danger by doing out dated CPR, then they are teaching dangerous information and frankly shouldn’t be teaching anyone.

Look, if CPR is required, then that means the person is dead. As in gone, aren’t coming back. They can’t get any worse. No matter what you do when you perform CPR, the worst thing that can happen is it may be ineffective and they will stay dead. It’s really no more complicated than that. We have a saying in emergency medicine that I think is relevant here:

Air goes in and out, blood goes round and round, any variation on the above is a bad thing.

Truer words have not been spoken. If a person is in cardiac arrest outside of a hospital, the only thing that will save them, is bystander CPR. What will increase chances even further are the 2nd and 3rd components to emergency cardiac care and those are early defibrillation followed up with intubation and emergency cardiac drugs given IV (commonly called ACLS interventions). So what does that mean? It means having the most people possible trained in CPR, that’s the 1st component. The 2nd component is having the most amount of public access defibrillators installed in high traffic public areas as possible, and the 3rd component is having an EMS system that staffs advanced and critical care paramedics who can provide the 3'rd phase of care ie. intubation and ACLS interventions.

Early CPR. Early defibrillation. Early ACLS. The key here is time.

The bottom line? CPR outside of an ICU is a low to moderately effective stop gap. The unfortunate truth is that usually it is not going to work (like 55–60% ineffective even if done perfectly). But it’s also the only chance the person has. The dead person won’t really care if you give 90 or 120 compressions a minute or if you go too deep and break a rib. If you don’t, they’ll be a corpse with a nice intact rib cage. So, if you break a rib, keep fucking going. They cannot get worse.

All of that being said, what can cause damage is doing CPR on a person who has a pulse. So … make sure, by checking a pulse for at least 10 to 15 seconds at the neck. Practice doing it on yourself and other people. CPR is not appropriate for anyone but people who are in cardiac arrest. So, because someone collapsed, and is unresponsive does not mean they need CPR. They might, but that is why you check for breathing and pulse. Think ABC. If someone is unresponsive, then call an ambulance because you will need one even if they are breathing sand have a pulse. After that is done, you need to remember ABC.

ABC

First, A for airway. Do they have an airway and is it clear? If it isn’t, you treat for choking (how to is included in a CPR course), if it is clear, then you move on to B, for breathing. Are they breathing? If yes, wait for the ambulance and keep checking breathing and pulse. If they aren’t breathing, then you move on to C, for circulation. Do they have a pulse? If no, start CPR.

By God this turned into a long comment, but the confusion that results from these must-stick-to-exactly-what-the-manual says prohibitively stringent requirements of instructors that have no more than technical knowledge of doing CPR are a real pet peeve of mine. Those types of stringent standards have nothing to do with helping someone who is in dire need of live-saving measures. Sherry Kappel, you did the right thing. Congratulations, because you saved a life. Not maybe, not “kind of”, you did. Without doing what you did, I can say with 100% accuracy, your friend would not have made it.

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MOIST

The air hot and deep, an absent dryness common to those rooted here.

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Air and sky suggest forward ascent I adjust on shifting terrain allowing winters banality, trusting soon spring will return on the heady scent of unexpected resilience.

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Prestidigitator

Falling for a sociopath ...

is never value neutral, the bite of a Scorpion is quick and deep, bloodstains rarely come out

Years, darkened.

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