Hostel Friends

Ottawa, Canada
July, ‘77

Yesterday, I got up early to meet Joe. I was excited about the big
bucks I might make in Toronto. I was even more excited about going to
Toronto with my new found New Zealand friends, Pam and Bruce. They
were newly weds who were honeymooning as world travelers. After
Ottawa, they were on their way to England, and from there they planed
to work themselves around the world. I was just a wee bit envious.
They were both beautiful people. Come to think of it, while in Ottawa,
I've met a lot of really neat people. I have actually become friends
with some of them.

When I arrived at the hostel, I met John. He was a tall, lanky,
Australian. He introduced me to the dos and don'ts of hostel life. It
seemed like he was always around when I was in the hostel. He wasn't
overly talkative, but the two of us seemed to hit it off anyway. He
was a world traveler, but unlike Pam and Bruce, he had been at it for
a number of years. He told me that as long as it stayed interesting,
he would continue. He had already been around the world at least once.
After I came back to the hostel one night and found that he had
suddenly packed his things and left, one of the staff members told me
not to worry, when he wasn't traveling the world, he was working as a
chemical engineer. He was that kind of guy--quiet.

Free Entertainment Courtesy Of Ottawa, Canada

Bumming Around In Ottawa
July 15, `77

The free music sure was great in Ottawa. I especially liked the
concert given by David Wiffen. He played a nice acoustic guitar
and had a fine voice. I found out he's got a couple of albums and one
of them at least will end up in my record collection in the near
future. Also, of the highest quality, a French female singer and her
band spread a whole lot of joy all around. The free concerts
were sponsored by the city of Ottawa, and took place in what is called
the Astrolab, on a grassy knoll behind the Parliament building. On
occasion, though, concerts would take place at other locations.

I went to the Camp Fortune Amphitheater to see Tom Rush.
Unfortunately, he didn't make the concert. I never did get a clear
explanation on why. The bus ride to the no show cost me a dollar. I
also went to see a free theater production of What's Up Charley Brown.
The production needed a bit more polish. All in all, though, I was
impressed with the way the city of Ottawa went the extra mile to give
financially strapped people like me entertainment. Thank you Ottawa!
This city, the Provincial Capitol of Canada, has been an excellent finish
to my otherwise questionable bicycle trip.

No Respect For Academic Elites

Beautiful Ottawa Park
July 10, `77 pics O river, Ottawa boat

Yesterday, I spent five hours in the Museum of Science and
Technology. The main attraction was the Soviet Union's three man
orbiting space capsule on loan to the museum. It was amazing. My five
hours were well spent. It was different from the time I spent in the
Art Museum, however. At the Art Museum I was awed, while in the
Science Museum I spent most of my time considering and deliberating.
The combined experience of the two museums was remarkable.

There were plenty of bicycle trails in Ottawa, but today was the
first time I hopped on my bike since I arrived. It felt good. Any
biking before today would have been a chore. I had been told this city
was an innovator in catering to the silent two-wheeled clan, and now
I'm sure of it. I'm presently sitting on some rocks overlooking
waterfalls on the Ottawa River.

Right after I found this marvelous place, three young university
Professors had found their way to the same panoramic view that I was
enjoying. I was sitting just off the path, but I could hear their
conversation reasonably well. I found it so intriguing that I had to
stop writing. They had come to Ottawa for some kind of academic
conference. What I found really interesting was the way they were
self-promoting themselves. It was as if each thought the other was not
in the same "ballpark," academically speaking that is. In fact, they
took turns defending their credentials. Much of the "persuasion" had
to do with ranking the journals they had published in and how they
rated, academically speaking, their employers. They all taught at
universities with respectable academic reputations—wealthy
universities. My ears really picked up when they turned to berating
one of the convention presenters. Apparently, he was on a burgeoning
career path when he taught at the University of Hawaii, but, according
to them, when he jumped ship and went to Central Michigan University,
a fourth rate institution, his chances of making it in the world of
"academic excellence" had all but disappeared.

Well, as might be expected, when they started berating my university I
began to respect these academic elites a whole lot less. Before I left
that beautiful spot, I managed to get some of my feelings down on
paper. My poem, the Invisible Rebuttal was the result. I guess these
other poems are finished also:

The Invisible Rebuttal

Knowing I have created
my position,
and admiring my present
disposition,
I am disturbed
to think my thoughts
would think themselves
a lofty lot
if perchance they bent themselves
toward degrees of PhD's;
for knowledge is
as knowledge does,
and in the end
those who only see
the `lonely tree'
will find themselves
within the plot
which reads aloud
I knew a lot.


Parroting

Wind swept nights,
melancholy days,
bright lights shining
in a seed of new decay;
time travels onward
conjuring dominions past,
waiting for summer's rain
and new life beginnings.



Circles

Footsteps, footsteps,
growing old,
hunger waits
and waits and waits,
until the bread,
and then it moves
around again.



The Toast

A drunken poet,
a toast to death,
how sublime;
only a fool would toast again,
bartender another drink.


Sunbathing

On hard rocks,
with speckled dots
in relief on black sunshine;
I hold my hand above my face,
and wait a tired long time.



Eternal Feminine

Come to me in filtered light,
come to me by shaded night,
lead me in your shining wonder
while hidden from my sight.
Spanning horizons,
swallowed in seas,
in a cloak of magic symmetry
she waits for me.

Waiting For The Check To Come In The Mail

Ottawa, Canada
July ’77 pics ott river, seaway


At the bank, I went up to the teller's window, and told my sad story.
The guy was not sympathetic. After he made a few rude comments, he left his
post; I assumed to get the answer to my question. When he came back,
he was not helpful. In fact, he left me with the impression that my
money might never come. That was not what I wanted to hear. With my
voice rising in decibels, I asked for clarification. I ended up
explaining my situation, once again, to the new guy who had stepped in
to prevent a scene. He told me he would call my Credit Union in order
to make sure the money was sent. For some strange reason, he ended up
calling to confirm that the money had been sent, not once, but twice.
When it was all over, the asshole gave me a $25. advance (minus the
$3. taken out for the two phone calls) on the $100. I still had to
wait till Monday to pick up the rest of my money. I was not happy when
I left the bank.

July 9

Last night, back at the hostel, this guy came in and asked if anybody
wanted to go to work painting houses for him. He got a couple takers,
including me. But, after finishing a cup of coffee with him this
morning, I'm not so sure his offer was legitimate. The guy was upfront
about what he was doing—coning the government. His con was to hire
illegals and pay less than minimum wage. Joe, as he called himself,
paid his employees after the work got done, and the government got
nothing. To be sure, it was a scam. My problem was in trying to figure
out which side of the scam I was going to be on. Last night, when Joe
presented his shtick, he told me I would make $2.75 per hour. During
morning coffee, he upped the wage to $4.25. I found it hard to believe
that my amicability was worth the extra $1.50 per hour. Joe was not
shy about talking about his other schemes, either. He also ran a
Christmas card scam where he took the money and ran. I wasn't going to
count my money until it was in my hand. At the very least, out of the
scam, I hoped to get a ride to Toronto. That's where the houses were
that needed painting. We were supposed to leave on Tuesday, which
worked out good for me, since my money was supposed to arrive on Monday.

After Ten Years I Prefer Learning Experiences That Do Not Dead End

This a copy of Canadian Seven artwork, and was created by me from waste material—pencil shavings, wax shavings, metal shavings, all residue from the jewelry making classroom, which, as part of my university janitor’s job, I cleaned.

Canadian Seven’s Algonquin Wilderness And Ontario's Lake Superior Shoreline
July ‘77

I took off early for the same Art Museum that I never
made it to the day before. The museum made me forget that I was broke.
I especially liked the part devoted to the works of the Canadian
Seven. At the turn of the century a group of artists got together and
mixed impressionism, abstract art, and realism in an attempt to
capture their feelings of the great north woods. They went on major
painting expeditions in Quebec's Algonquin wilderness area, and along
Ontario's Lake Superior shoreline. The results were stunning. If it
wasn't that I needed to get to the bank for one last shot at my money,
I definitely would have stayed longer.

Outside the museum, it was time to eat my last chunk of bread, so I
walked over to where there was a peaceful looking mound of green grass
and sat down. A couple young teens came up out of the trees from
behind me, and asked me if I wanted a piece of cheese to go with my
bead. They were hanging out on the other side of the trees, in a gully
next to the museum. I helped them eat their cheese and pickles.
Apparently, the fellows used the isolated gully as their home away
from home. They survived on stolen food from nearby markets.

When they invited me to hang with them, I politely declined. Ten years
ago I would have jumped at the chance. Back then I looked at
everything as a learning experience, but now, even though I was lonely
and without money, I was inclined to pursue more relevant learning
experiences, ones that didn't dead end before they got started. Once
again, I thanked the lads for their generosity, and walked away. From
the top of the hill, as I turned for one last goodbye, I noticed that
their attention had turned to practicing knife throwing. They were
trying to stick knifes in an empty potato chip canister lying on the
ground. They never did look up, and, I might add, they were terrible
knife throwers.

Hanging Out In Ottawa

Out Of Money
July 8, `77


It was three dollars a night to stay at the hostel, and an added
dollar if you ate breakfast in the morning. The food was great, too. I
was a real tourist now. Yesterday was an especially good day for me.
After I watched the changing of the guard (an English holdover I
guess) I took off for the Art Museum. On my way there, I stopped at
the Photo 77 exhibit. I spent an hour viewing the photography and then
another hour or so, trying to figure out how holograms were put
together. I never did figure it out, and I left exhausted.

A few blocks down the street I found a small pub. I felt right at
home, as I drank my thirty-cent drafts, listening to a room full of
old men talk French. I spent the whole afternoon playing pool with a
couple of the old guys. I never did get to the museum. With 25 cents
left in my pocket and almost drunk, I left the pub and went back to
the hostel and cooked up the steak (the one I picked up earlier and
stored in the hostel community fridge). I was now out of money, but I
wasn't too worried because I knew more money would arrive in the
morning. After dinner I watched TV, and turned in early.

After morning breakfast, I walked down to the bank to pick up my
money. The guy behind the counter told me it hadn't arrived. It was
Friday, and I had already waited four days for the money. I wasn't
happy. With only twenty-five cents in my pocket, and only a slight
chance the money would arrive on Saturday, the thought of getting
through the whole weekend without any money was not a pleasant one.
After I left the bank, I stopped at a bakery and, with my last
quarter, bought a hard crust of bread. At that point, I didn't even
know if I had a bed to sleep in. It took a little friendly persuasion
(something I didn't like to do), but in the end I was permitted to
keep my bed at the hostel (on credit) until Monday.

We Are An Extension Of The Process That Science Calls Reality

Pirsig Book Discussion Concluded
Ottawa Pub

“What happens,” said Riley, “when we get stuck? Doesn’t our mind
seek a solution? If we think hard enough and long enough, don't we
miraculously solve problems; no matter how deep-rooted they seem to
be? At the very least, don't we discover how to make problems less
problematic? I want to suggest, like many have before me, that a
harmony in the cosmos lures us to those solutions. The mind is a
problem solver a/natural, and `quality' is our guide. Quality, or
whatever you want to call it, gets us unstuck. If the problem is a
difficult one, it is `quality,' not the facts, that lures us to the
answer. In fact, some would say that without an elegant solution, the
problem remains only half-solved. That's the way the scientist goes
about his business, and that same science tells us that reality is not
static; it's dynamic. It doesn't just exist `out there,' in opposition
to us; we are an extension of the process that science calls
`reality.' Our changing views of science and history have taught us
that facts are relative anyway. A fact's validity is determined by the
context it is embedded in, and that context, in turn, is embedded in
our sense of the cosmos' harmony and beauty. Quality is the continuing
stimulus that our environment puts upon us to create the world in
which we live. Phaedrus believed, or wanted to believe, that mind,
nature, and technology are the products of a single prior reality.
Value, for him, was not a derivative of self-conscious thinking;
rather, it was the antecedent of self conscious thinking."

"You really believe all that crap, don't you," Jim said.

"What's not to believe?" responded Riley. "The real question, if you
ask me, is how can you persist in believing in a value free world of
dirt and grim?"

"I can't help myself," Jim shot back, "it's the natural way."

"Well maybe for you it's the natural way," said Riley, "but what nature
is telling me right now is that I've got to pee!"

"Right on!" said Jim, "Do you mind if I tag along? After all, it's a
long way to the bathroom and I wouldn't want you to forget your
purpose. Remember Phaedrus; he wasn't so lucky. He was so overwhelmed
with the `quality of his own thoughts' that he plumb forgot where the
bathroom was. I wouldn't want that to happen to you!"

"Very funny," quipped Riley. "Let's have another round."

"This one’s on me," I replied, "The night is still young."