Archive for October, 2010

So the bible tells us that God created earth and all things in it.  Well, I’m not so sure about that.  After a day of raking leaves (mostly maple) I’m convinced that God had nothing at all to do with this tree.  Think about it.  The leaves turn a fiery red and orange in the fall.  Sure it’s nice to look at when you are out for a country drive.  And the setting sun does reflect a wonderful light onto the leaf.  But the color alone is proof enough that this tree did not come from the same hand that gave us butterflies and birds.  Once those leaves start to drop, it’s another story altogether.  Why would God create such a horrific amount of work for us good, God fearing people?  The way those leaves stick to the grass, their pointy tips adhering to each blade like metal shavings on a magnet, I’m convinced that “the man” had nothing to do with that creation at all.  My shoulders are aching.  It’s a pleasant enough task for half an hour, but several hours of raking later I’m convinced that it was the guy down under who created the maple tree.  It must have been the Devil who got his hand in that one.  Fall is a beautiful season only for those who don’t have any maple trees on their property!


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I sat through a couple hours of victim impact statements and reflect on the impact the “Colonel” had on these peoples lives.  Good friends of Jessica Lloyd (the most widely recognized victim, let us not forget there was another woman also murdered, Marie-France Comeau), her neighbours, aunts, brother and finally her mother read their prepared statements.  As the content of their emotional recollections continues to filter into my mind, the image of a hilarious, silly buffoon who donned girls’ frilly underpants and photographed himself in various bizarre states of repose begins to recede.  Gradually, this perverse idiot is replaced by the cold, calculating serial criminal who engaged in reprehensible, immeasurable crimes.  Crimes not only against the women from whom he stole undergarments, and raped and eventually brutally and sadistically murdered, but also crimes against the community, against his colleagues and subordinates in the military.   Listening to impact statements really drives home how widespread the desecration and destruction was.  And how long the survivors must continue to suffer.  One story which I found particularly compelling, was the mother’s effort at getting her murdered daughter’s telephone line terminated by Bell.  Picture this.    Roxanne Lloyd was on the phone for over an hour, bounced to five different people, each time having to explain what she was doing, the fact her daughter had been killed and that the phone service was no longer required.  It’s a story we’re all familiar with but presented in an entirely strange and horrible context.  Are you taking notes Bell?

Victim impact statements are a very effective part of our court system, an innovation that cannot ever be eliminated, that being the right of victims to address the courts.  It forces the convicted to listen to the horrendous effect his crimes have had.  But considering the context of what this sicko did, that is unlikely to have much of an effect.  A man who could engage in such outlandish and freaky behaviour, and then escalate to sexual assault and rape and finally the suffocation of his victims must surely be unaffected by the painful recounting of his victims’ kin.  But the statements do have a powerful effect on the society and community.  We get a sense of what it must be like for family and friends to live through the nightmare, to have to continue with life, to have to face media and recount time and again what they are undergoing.  It is a very good way to remind oneself that this clown who masqueraded as a colonel was in fact a brutal, emotionless and remorseless killer.  How many more victims would have died if it was not for the fact that Williams picked somebody who had an enormously widespread circle of love, a cricle that would after ten days and some excellent police work,  finally crack the case.  They found her.  Tossed out like a piece of trash as one of the aunts recalled, a memory that will haunt the family to their graves. 

May the fact the “colonel” had an underwear fetish follow him to prison where with some divine intervention and hopefully a moment of inattentiveness by the guards, he will meet with an appropriate end.  Perhaps something like underwire bras stuffed up his nostrils and lace panties jammed down his throat.  I don’t think I’ll go back for the sentencing, it’s time the media circus left town.

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As I sit here in downtown Belleville, waiting for court to recess for lunch, I wonder at the ridiculous and reprehensible nature of “Colonel” Williams’ crimes, and wrestle with reasons why I am even here.  I went to the courthouse earlier to try and get in to witness the day’s proceedings but the room was filled to capacity.  An OPP officer advised me to come back after recess for lunch and to wait in line for a possible seat.  I suppose it is the unreality of it that has drawn me here to witness the sentencing.  Or perhaps the opportunity to be part of a national news event, how often will that ever happen in this small town again?  Or is it a need to see with my own eyes that such a twisted and crazy fuck will truly be led away in chains and locked up forever?  Whatever the explanation, here I sit in a local internet cafe, keeping an eye on real time posts by Adrian Humphreys of the National Post.  This is a remarkable event that will be recounted and analyzed for years to come.  So given the opportunity to witness it live, I say why not?

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I have to comment on that whacko “Colonel” Williams murderer whose trial is currently underway in Belleville.  Didja see those pictures of him wearing girls underwear?   I recognize there is an ugly side to this story considering that murders and sexual assaults were committed.  So I don’t mean to belittle or undermine the grisly nature of his perversions, but I just howled when I saw those pictures!  Talk about a complete and utter public humiliation.  No wonder the guy tried to stuff a toilet roll down his throat.  This character is a writer’s dream!  Meticulous placement of panties and bras.  Computer file folders catalogued and saved.  Hundreds of photos and videos of the creep wearing girls’ unerwear.  I imagine the disgust and diziness of the cops and crown attorneys poring over the incredibly damning evidence, wondering what to present at trial.  I mean, how do you cull from a library of such degenerate wealth?  Pictures of him wearing the frilly lace under-things of girls and women.  Wonderful rainbow colors displayed on his bed (or maybe on the beds of the unfortunate women whose undergarments he fondled!)  His poor wife must be in hiding.  Can’t imagine how he managed to hide such a weird and loony life from his wife.  Never mind that, how could he run the country’s largest air base while all along harbouring this second life?  Here’s a guy who met with prime ministers, chiefs of staff, discussed matters of highest military security and then went home to don some frilly underpants and bras!  It just boggles the mind!  Our poor military, having to live down such a decrepit example of soldiering.  And that brings up another question.  How could such a complete and utter weirdo pass what I assume and hope is a definitive and comprehensive battery of psychological and other testing as he was promoted up the ranks?  You’d think that someone who could rise to the level of colonel in the military, and then be given the reins to 8 Wing would have shown something in his testing that was not quite right.  It certainly makes one wonder about the quality of the men who allowed this guy to go so far, bestow him with honors, give him such a huge responsibility, charge him with the well being, hell the lives, of thousands of men and women serving in our forces!  I do hope an inquiry is underway into the process that allowed such a complete abomination of humanity to almost achieve status as general!  In the meantime, I say good riddance Colonel Williams.  Your life in prison is going to be such a hell.  Even hardened criminals don’t tolerate the kinds of shit you engaged in.  I give him 18 months tops,  even if confined to soliary,before the orange jumpsuits find a way to end his pathetic life.

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What a tremendously productive day!  Didn’t make a cent, but got lots done.  And that sometimes feels better than making a ton of dough.  Installed a honking powerful stainless range hood in the kitchen.  Finally.  Figure that after ten years my wife deserves a nice kitchen hood, even though yours truly does most of the cooking!  So I suppose it’s as much for me as it is for her.  450 cfm for all you gear heads out there.  That oughta be enough sucking power for any smoke or steam the stove can generate.  I had to move the electrical box up 20 inches, so that meant splicing wire, installing a new box and plug.  Up and down into the attic, ensuring the hole was properly positioned.  Cutting away drywall, screwing in a board, measure, cut, check.  Not an easy job when the house is already built and drywall is in place.  If you’re looking for a house, make sure the kitchen has as range hood because it is no picnic installing it after the fact.  But, that’s where job satisfaction comes in.  Still have to lay 14 ft of duct work, but that’s a piece of cake now that the hood is in place. 

Job number two was finishing the kid’s music room.  We have a small barn out back and I’ve turned part of it into a completely insulated room where Z can make his music.  And keep his rat.  Yes. My teenage son has a pet rat.  Cute little bugger, but with two cats in the house you tell me how long that rat would last.  So now the rat and the kid can hang out in their own crash pad.  But he’s a good kid and I enjoy building stuff, so it’s a win/win all around. 

And now I’m sitting in man-land (my garage) enjoying a fine Churchill Rigoletto courtesy of my buddy A, and a glass (or two, or three) of wine.  The lake has turned (that means the cold water from the bottom has come to the top) fall is definitely in the air.  Leaves are dropping fast.  Nights never get into the double digit temperatures anymore, rain is replenishing the water table.  Oh yeah, winter is around the corner.  Will Mom make it to Christmas?  It’ll be a miracle if she does.  Will sibling finally get his own place to live?  That looks like it will also be a miracle if it happens before Christmas.  My poor Dad is so fed up he’s close to losing it.  Don’t worry Pop, we’ll get through this.  Will wife find another job?  Probably, but that’s not important.  She’s been travelling with her Mom, coming on five weeks now.  They did a major road trip out east.  Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, PEI and New Brunswick.  Saw a lot of this great country Canada.  Both are burned out now and heading home.  Z and I have got along just fine on our own thank you very much.  But it’ll be good to get the family unit back together again.   Hasta la vista baby, until the next post.

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How time does fly!

Me oh my!  I have not posted anything for two weeks!  Sorry about that.

Visited Pittsburgh PA last weekend.  I was there for a hockey tournament.  Not me personally, but my kid.  I was the taxi driver.  The tourney was great (son’s team did not end victorious but did dominate their pool, finally exiting in the semi-final game, a hard fought contest against a team from NY.  The NY team prevailed, but not after 3 periods and an overtime and a shoot out.)  Hope the coaches work on some deficiencies which even my non-hockey trained eye caught.  Blind outlet passes and forechecking the puck, not the man.  I wonder if you can buy those foam neck supports that one wears after a neck injury?  Coach should make all the kids practice with those on to keep their heads up!  But I must say, the better team did win on that particular day.  Sport.  It’s full of surprises.  The highlight of the weekend was the luxury of spending sustained contact with my buddy “A”.  Living so far apart we only get together about once per year, but this hockey journey afforded us lots of time to catch up.  And it was great for my son to also spend time with Dad’s good buddy.  He’s a good role model and one whom I hope Z can approach anytime.  Like it or not, as he gets further into his teens I know we’ll be bashing heads (rhetorically, don’t get all bent out of shape)  as parents and their teen children do.  So another point of view will be welcome to all. 

As for the situation in my childhood home, not much has changed in the past two weeks.  Dad is still struggling with Mom, and finding it hard to adjust to her pace.  Which is oh so very slow.  Poor Pop gets frustrated with the amount of time it takes to feed the woman.  And I’m the only one who offers him some guidance on this issue.  Sibling is so caught up in his own problems he can’t see the forest for the trees.  But I can’t get too critical with Dad.  He’s the one who is making daily visits to Mom, making sure that she at least gets some sustenance.  Time to get working on the eulogy I think.

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Update on Mom

I missed a visit this week.  It’s a little upsetting since there is no way of projecting how long Mom will hang on.  She gets thinnner every week, weaker by the day.  Every time I go to visit it seems like it will be the last time.  How long can you hang on Mom?  She’s always been a fighter, so it’s unsettling to witness this decline, yet at the same time encouraging that she still has this will inside her.  Yet her conversation, limited as it is, revolves around her wanting to get out, get out.  Is that a rational wish on her part to leave the nursing home, or is it simply a desire to seek the end?   But where to go?  Clearly impossible for Dad to take care of her at his house, given the state of “things” there.  With round the clock caregivers it is conceivable that he could manage with her at home, and I’m confident she would be happier in the house she lived in for almost 60 years.  Think about it.  You are lieing in a strange bed, occasionally getting to sit with numerous other equally disabled seniors.  From time to time familiar people come to visit, but then only for brief periods.  Then it’s back to the new space that you never had any say in choosing.  As fine a nursing home as this is, it’s still not her home.  I think often about moving Mom back “home” with Dad so she can spend her final days/weeks in the comfort and security of her own house.  Unfortunately my Dad is coping with a resident who simply cannot get his act together and move on with life.  It’s one thing to share your house with somebody who contributes and doesn’t just occupy space, someone who engages you in conversation and speaks about positive things, but Dad’s present house mate is altogether a bird of a different feather.  And so I believe it is time to start blogging about this disturbing topic.  Change must come and it seems the only way to encourage change in this situation is to go public.  I remain vague but not for long.

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