Four-thirty in the morning listening to the radio. They’re talking about crises. ‘Bout how a crisis can lead to opportunity. The greatest crisis in my life was when my son was struck down by schizophrenia at the tender age of twenty-one. At first I couldn’t believe it. My son could not be suffering from a…

“MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!” screamed the voice of the pilot, his words piercing through the mundane air traffic control communications emulating from distant speakers “Good God! the plane’s off the radar screen It must have gone down…!!!” CP AIR FLIGHT 21- JULY 8, 1965 is what’s inscribed in stone at the memorial cairn in 100 Mile…

Everytime I am asked to talk about schizophrenia, I find myself agonizing over the simple unadulterated truth about a substance that has been PROVEN to trigger symptoms of the disease – most often in young people. Yes, it’s that fun stuff that will settle your nerves and make sex even more wonderful than what Mother…

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Several years ago the Fraser Lake & District Historical Society published a DVD that featured 3 historical presentations I had composed back in 1997 or 98 when I was employed by the Village of Fraser Lake to help develop our little museum. I was extremely pleased that the Society had put forth forth the funding…

Last week I  had the opportunity to stroll through the most painful, gaping, oozing societal wound that lies hidden within one of the most beautiful cities in our land. It was my first time ever on East Hastings Street, which borders Vancouver’s funky Gastown and historic Chinatown. East Hastings is only a few blocks from the…

I went to the wildfire information meeting at Stelat’en Hall last night. Of course we were all hoping for good news about the two big fires affecting our area. But the only good news at all was that the monstrous Island Lake fire which has caused the evacuation order of Nithi Valley and Dahlgren Rd…

Well, I hear the Legion is in need of a new cook once again and my old camp cooking muscles are twitching. Not twitching much because they would find me dead on the kitchen floor after the first hour. (Actually I think I could last 2 or even 3 hours, if I had a nap…

Three years have passed since his deathday. I feel nothing, as if the horrific event never happened. Some other family standing around. Him on oxygen, not saying much. The baby looking worried. The grand-niece in her gum-boots. Me, chatting up a storm. Other patients in worse shape than him. Some still alive. Some not. Tuesday’s…