I was reading a post from a blogger in Finland who is promoting his favourite brand of wool thermal underwear and thought about the wool underwear in my part of the world.
Where I live, on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, many men who work or spend time outdoors tend to wear the same brand grey wool thermal underwear. It doesn’t get incredibly cold out here but it’s cold enough…and the damp is incredible…it’s called a rain forest for a reason. These wool shirts keep you warm in spite of the damp and with the top worn on the outside it’s easy to remove a layer if you overheat while working.
It’s part of a uniform for island men: Work boots, blue jeans, and that plain grey wool pullover. If you go into a beer parlour many of the men, millionaires and bums alike, will be wearing the same blue pants and grey top. I had a laugh when I went to the Stanfield’s web page for the product and saw it referred to as the “Island Tuxedo.”
By the way: I’m told that if you go to work on large construction projects in other parts of the country, you can spot your fellow islanders on the job site by their grey wool shirts.
I have a few “cuts” of oats in the kitchen that range from whole grain to dust. I wanted neither mucilage nor grits today so I blended two grades together.
I was thinking about getting the ideal ratio of coarse:fine oats and my thoughts drifted to mortar….
I’m home sick today so I have time to share a thought…..
A fellow I used to know is in court today and has been accused of doing some despicable things. When the subject of him has come up in conversation with other people that knew him it sometimes degenerates into chest thumping and oath making by someone about what they would if they were dolling out the punishment.
When I think about the anger my friends express I wonder about the root of it. Is it because of the nature of the charges against him or is it something else? We were all shocked when he was arrested. I thought I was a good judge of character and would be able to identify a creep at a 1/4 mile but I didn’t spot him and that really shook me.
I just can’t feel angry about it like some people I know. I feel sad. In his case I don’t think there’s any question whether or not he did what he’s accused of but more about how he should be dealt with. I’m sad for his(until a judge says otherwise) alleged victims and for the turmoil his family must surely be experiencing.
When somebody says a certain criminal should be strung up I share this thought:
When a dog attacks somebody and he’s put down it’s not about punishment because the dog won’t learn from this. It’s not about making things right because his death won’t help the bites heal. If it’s done simply to punish or with anger or a spirit of vengeance then it degrades the whole community(because it’s done with our consent). You should only put down a dog because it’s a 100% sure way that he won’t bite again.
This comparison is not meant to dehumanize anybody. In Canada we don’t have a death sentence but do put down vicious animals so it’s a familiar analogy that I think could apply to a debate about executing people.
Perpetrators of serious crimes are often characterized as monsters and I think this is wrong. They’re people…despicable but still people. It would be easy to protect our communities if they had horns but they don’t. If you’re on guard for monsters then you might not notice a bad person in your midst.
At the end of my shift today I went to my supervisor, as I usually do, and asked him if he needed anything before I cleaned up and headed home. He said, “just be here tomorrow and DON’T BE LATE.” I had never been late for him and asked why he thought that might change. His answer was simply, “DON’T BE LATE.”
I might just have to show up five minutes late one of these days just to see what happens.
That’s what an uncle of mine used to say. I was thinking about it because of a comment a friend made the other day. He is in the process of divorcing his wife and is moving into his new home. He said that he didn’t realize how much stuff he had and though he wasn’t nearly done moving, he was already running out of space.
What it made me think of is shelves and how my friend should make some of his own. I have never felt bad about erecting shelving because they’ll be needed sooner or later.
I used to use a specific piece of grisly imagery when cautioning people I knew about ruthless people: Somebody finding your bones somehow. “Don’t hang around with those guys or one day your girlfriend will find your bones stacked in the shower.” “If you try hitchhiking then the cops will find your bones in a hole someday.” “….. find your bones laid out on the kitchen table.” You get the idea.
It’s something I read in a book as a boy and it stuck in my head as a young man during my time in East Vancouver. In the beer parlours you’d rub shoulders with a few petty criminals you knew and the occasional not-so-petty criminal too. I suppose that in rough neighbourhoods, rough characters are over-represented. Pickton the pig farmer was on the news, I was a pretty tasteless guy and it seemed like a colourful way of tapping into part of the area’s collective angst and add a little colour when warning a friend against doing something stupid.
Imagine my surprise, a few weeks ago, when I was listening to a story on the radio about environmentalists fighting against illegal logging in Peru and Brazil: A group was hiking through the jungle and became divided into two groups: The stronger hikers and the stragglers. The story went that the strong group figured they were getting too far ahead and stopped to let the others catch up. They eventually became impatient and decided to backtrack….only to find the bones of (presumably) their freshly butchered colleagues on the trail.