Saturday, December 13, 2014


               So I wake up this morning and before coffee
I'm sort of half watching a movie called, "Two Weeks Notice." Hugh Grant plays a ruthless real estate developer who lives at the Grand Hotel,
supposedly in New York.
       I realize that people love these rags to
riches stories where two poor people fall in love and
realize that one of them is rich, yada yada, or something like this. Of course, they always end up
driving away in a limosene and everybody's
happy, happy, happy at the end.
              I like happy endings, even if most of
them are utter nonsense... I figure life is
depressing enough, and people don't need
other poeple to prick their balloons,
however unrealistic their dreams might be.
              The fact of the matter is that
no matter how happy the bullshit ending
is, it can never match the real cosmic joy possible
in the smallest corner of the universe, available
to all of us right here, right now.
              But this is rough stuff and hard to
get to, since the divine altar and playground
is atop some magic moutain with slippery sides
 that is always difficult to climb.

              So here are some ironic facts. The Grand Hotel in the movie is in Toronto not New York.
I know because I lived in the hotel for several
months. The hotel was not glitzy when I lived there.
The hotel had been a grand hotel, but it was
run down. It had high ceilings and big bathtubs,
but that was about all.
             The truth of the matter is 
is I was in the midst of an alcoholic bender
and I had just found the dubious wonders
of crack cocaine.
             The bar downstairs was seedy in those
days, just the way I liked draft rooms. I'd
go down and sit at the bar and drink plenty
of draft and then watch whatever deranged
floor show they put on that evening.
             One late afternoon I ran into a guy
who looked just like Harrison Ford. He was drinking
right next to me. Eventually he asked me for
a light. I gave him one and realized, "Hell! This guy
sounds just like Harrison Ford!"
             I told him this fact and it turns out
he was very aware of it. Why? Because he
was Harrison Ford's brother. It turns out
he had just come back from some adventure
in the Arctic.
            So we had plenty to talk about
because I'd also worked up and down the
Mackenzie River. Even if we had had nothing in
common, after about my fifth or sixth draft,
I want to talk.  So did he. Was his name
            Anyway life is ironic, I'm thinking.
I,too, have aspirations to develop some
land which I purchased decades ago.
But I'm not a ruthless developer. Each lake
is someone's drinking water, sooner
or later.
        My story is more of a riches to rags story,
but I was also living at the Grand Hotel
talking to Harrison Ford's brother. And life
to me has always seemed to be
highly romantic.
            I'm always happiest not knowing
what's going to come around the next
corner. What I believe is required
for a happy life is, "A SENSE OF POSSIBILITIES".
 I had that sense back then.
           And I have that sense right now this
morning. So I'm a happy camper.
            The great mysterious Circle of
Life keeps spinning around, repeating 
similar stories over and over again...
with ironic differences.

           I'd have it no other way. 

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