Chapter 11 - Part Five.
By 2001 or so, the Unitarian Church of Vancouver no longer filled my needs. I tired of the services, except for Harold Brown's playing of the piano, the choir's music and some of the sermons. The endless quarrels in the church also turned me off. People came and went from the church, as if they were moving through a revolving door. "The church is a half way house," now retired scientist Merva Cottle said. "People come here to solve their problems. Once they solve them or if they can't solve them, they leave."
"What's the largest congregation in Vancouver?" one jokester told me. "The congregation that went to the Unitarian Church and then left it."
In 1999, the church's main minister Sydney Morris resigned her job. Members forced her out and this small, lively but sometimes disruptive woman returned to the American Midwest. Five years later inn 2004, Anne Buckmaster, a tall minister from Seattle, resigned her job. She too had been told to leave after some disagreements. By then we had a new minister. Steven Epperson was a bearded intellectual person from Salt Lake City. He gave the church the stability it had once had under Philip Hewett.
In the midst of these problems I started problems in the church. My fetishism which I've mentioned before, started to fade. Yet as this occurred I started to stare obsessively at well-dressed women. This was something I'd done during most of my adult life. Yet as I aged, this obsession became much stronger.
Any dark or brown haired woman who was well-dressed turned me on and I would start to stare at her continuously. Amanda came to the church in about 2000. She was a thirty something woman who sang in the choir. All I wanted to do was look at her. (Amanda is not her real name). I used to walk near her house long before she moved into her west side home. Yet I kept doing this after she moved in to the area. One day she saw me as I walked past her house. She saw me in the street and then a few months later left the church and her house.
"She left this area and the church because she was scared of you," a church member told me later. "And she thinks you're a creep. You just look at her and never talk to her."
I wrote a letter of apology to Amanda, but this caused more problems in the church as one woman got very angry at me for doing this. Finally I left the church in 2005 after not giving a sermon I was supposed to give. I was glad to leave but I realized that I needed to go into therapy to cure my problem. I found one therapist and then started to do self therapy after I left her.
Amanda returned to the church after I left and told people what I'd done. When I wanted to return to the church just once to hear one of Steven Epperson's sermons, my friend Jennifer Wade told me, "Dave this wouldn't be a good idea." By then I had written an honest account of my journey in and out of the Unitarian Church, and mailed out over two dozen copies. The book was as one man said, was full of "too much information." It was without doubt one of the worst things I'd ever written.
Yet my experience with Amanda didn't end there. After I left the church, she started to walk past my co-op but wouldn't talk to me. She was giving me the same treatment I'd given her. This tall elegant art curator was no fool. She must have walked near my home about seven or eight times and then vanished from my life. I realized that once again I had caused a woman problems and vowed not to hurt women again. I hope I kept this resolution. Time which I'm running out of, will tell.
Thursday, 22 September 2016
Tuesday, 20 September 2016
Exits and Entrances - A Journey Through Many Landscapes by Dave Jaffe Chapter 11, Part Four.
Chapter 11 - Part Four.
After the renovation of Eight Oaks Housing Co-op were finished, a mega project loomed just outside our building. Liberal premier Gordon Campbell brushed the dust off the plans of his friend, former Social credit premier Bill Van Der Zalm. 'The Zalm' as this conservative premier was called, announced in the late 1980's, that a new Sky Train line would barrel along Cambie Street to Richmond, Vancouver's southern neighbour.
Many citizens along Cambie Street and near it, opposed this project. The N.D.P. governments of the 1990's buried it. Yet the new premier resurrected this plan. Despite a sizeable opposition to this new project, the Canada Line project went ahead in 2005. When the Vancouver city council approved the new line, it called for the tunnel along Cambie Street to be bored underground. Yet this didn't happen. Instaed the builders of the line went for what was called "'Cut and Cover'.
The surface covering of Cambie Street was ripped up, and deep trenches were dug to where the building of the tunnels took place. Now huge Komatsus, cranes, and John Deere caterpillars swarmed along Cambie Street. Massive trucks lumbered around the neighbourhood. Noise, filth , potholes and traffic diversions turned Cambie street into a nightmare.
For me, burdened with walking with a crutch, life became very difficult. Bus stops just vanished overnight. "Can you tell me where the closest bus stop is to my address?" I must have asked the project office's information officer at least three or four times on the phone. 35 stores fled Cambie Street as their customers vanished.
Dangers lurked around me and others. One day a huge truck lurched into a pothole outside the co-op and drenched me from head to foot. "I've had that happen to me at least twice," a neighbour across the street told me when she heard my story. One Sunday which fell on an April Fool's Day, a security guard on the project refused to move his car, even though I asked him politely to do so. I tried to move around his car and fell on one of my knees. My left knee started to swell up. I rushed to the emergency ward of the Vancouver General Hospital which had been hard hit by Liberal cutbacks.
Yet luckily my kneecap wasn't broken.
Still, this new project didn't match or disrupt my life, the way the building renovations at Eight Oaks had. "This building of the Canada Line is a big nuisance," one of my neighbours named Dylan said. "But it's nothing compared to the problems that the renovations caused me and my family."
At the same time as the building of the Canada Line went ahead, there came upheavals at the Unitarian Church. These too caused me problems.
After the renovation of Eight Oaks Housing Co-op were finished, a mega project loomed just outside our building. Liberal premier Gordon Campbell brushed the dust off the plans of his friend, former Social credit premier Bill Van Der Zalm. 'The Zalm' as this conservative premier was called, announced in the late 1980's, that a new Sky Train line would barrel along Cambie Street to Richmond, Vancouver's southern neighbour.
Many citizens along Cambie Street and near it, opposed this project. The N.D.P. governments of the 1990's buried it. Yet the new premier resurrected this plan. Despite a sizeable opposition to this new project, the Canada Line project went ahead in 2005. When the Vancouver city council approved the new line, it called for the tunnel along Cambie Street to be bored underground. Yet this didn't happen. Instaed the builders of the line went for what was called "'Cut and Cover'.
The surface covering of Cambie Street was ripped up, and deep trenches were dug to where the building of the tunnels took place. Now huge Komatsus, cranes, and John Deere caterpillars swarmed along Cambie Street. Massive trucks lumbered around the neighbourhood. Noise, filth , potholes and traffic diversions turned Cambie street into a nightmare.
For me, burdened with walking with a crutch, life became very difficult. Bus stops just vanished overnight. "Can you tell me where the closest bus stop is to my address?" I must have asked the project office's information officer at least three or four times on the phone. 35 stores fled Cambie Street as their customers vanished.
Dangers lurked around me and others. One day a huge truck lurched into a pothole outside the co-op and drenched me from head to foot. "I've had that happen to me at least twice," a neighbour across the street told me when she heard my story. One Sunday which fell on an April Fool's Day, a security guard on the project refused to move his car, even though I asked him politely to do so. I tried to move around his car and fell on one of my knees. My left knee started to swell up. I rushed to the emergency ward of the Vancouver General Hospital which had been hard hit by Liberal cutbacks.
Yet luckily my kneecap wasn't broken.
Still, this new project didn't match or disrupt my life, the way the building renovations at Eight Oaks had. "This building of the Canada Line is a big nuisance," one of my neighbours named Dylan said. "But it's nothing compared to the problems that the renovations caused me and my family."
At the same time as the building of the Canada Line went ahead, there came upheavals at the Unitarian Church. These too caused me problems.
Saturday, 17 September 2016
Exits and Entrances - A Journey Through Many Landscapes by Dave Jaffe. Chapter 11 - Part Three.
Chapter 11 - Part Three.
In the 21st century, problems started to loom head at Eight Oaks Co-operative too.
I had now lived in this place since its opening in August 1982. It was starting to run down just like me. Built at a time when many co-ops were going up, it had like many other co-ops been poorly built. Although not officially classed as so-called "leaky co-op" as many other co-ops were,the building's outside was starting to rot away. Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation that ran the housing co-op program, insisted that Eight Oaks be renovated.
A struggle broke out in the co-op as some board and rank-and-file members rebelled against CMHC's orders. Other members sought a compromise. A veteran now of past struggles in the co-op, I stayed out of this conflict. Still, I was saddened to see some members of the board of directors leave the co-op. "Democracy can sometimes be a messy business," one political scientist told me years ago. As some board members and others moved out, I realized the truth of her statement. In the end the repairs went ahead. CMHC won the day.
The repairs started in September 2005 and ended in the spring of 2006. Huge metal pipes soon encased our building. Green sheets covered the building's grey walls. Burly construction workers hammered, drilled and carved on the co-op site from dawn to dusk five days a week. The noise flooded our ears every day.
"It was too much for me this morning," Cindy Weeds, a 20 something member of our co-op said in the fall of 2005. "Two construction workers showed up on my balcony at seven o'clock in the morning and just started drilling." Cindy's experience happened to others in our co-op. We also had a tense meeting one night with the head of the construction team who told us that they couldn't fix some of the new problems they'd discovered while fixing up the other problems they knew about.
At last in May of 2006 the renovations were finished. Yet now a new building project reared its noisy head and right close to the co-op. It was another mega project from premier Gordon Campbell's Liberal government. And it too disrupted my life and other people's lives too.
In the 21st century, problems started to loom head at Eight Oaks Co-operative too.
I had now lived in this place since its opening in August 1982. It was starting to run down just like me. Built at a time when many co-ops were going up, it had like many other co-ops been poorly built. Although not officially classed as so-called "leaky co-op" as many other co-ops were,the building's outside was starting to rot away. Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation that ran the housing co-op program, insisted that Eight Oaks be renovated.
A struggle broke out in the co-op as some board and rank-and-file members rebelled against CMHC's orders. Other members sought a compromise. A veteran now of past struggles in the co-op, I stayed out of this conflict. Still, I was saddened to see some members of the board of directors leave the co-op. "Democracy can sometimes be a messy business," one political scientist told me years ago. As some board members and others moved out, I realized the truth of her statement. In the end the repairs went ahead. CMHC won the day.
The repairs started in September 2005 and ended in the spring of 2006. Huge metal pipes soon encased our building. Green sheets covered the building's grey walls. Burly construction workers hammered, drilled and carved on the co-op site from dawn to dusk five days a week. The noise flooded our ears every day.
"It was too much for me this morning," Cindy Weeds, a 20 something member of our co-op said in the fall of 2005. "Two construction workers showed up on my balcony at seven o'clock in the morning and just started drilling." Cindy's experience happened to others in our co-op. We also had a tense meeting one night with the head of the construction team who told us that they couldn't fix some of the new problems they'd discovered while fixing up the other problems they knew about.
At last in May of 2006 the renovations were finished. Yet now a new building project reared its noisy head and right close to the co-op. It was another mega project from premier Gordon Campbell's Liberal government. And it too disrupted my life and other people's lives too.
Friday, 16 September 2016
Exits and Entrances- A Journey Through many Landscapes - by Dave Jaffe; Chapter Eleven - Part Two.
Chapter Eleven - Part Two.
At the start of the 21st century troubles started showing up at my front door. By now I wanted to forget Montreal. My years in that city now struck me as a horrible painful interlude in my life. Yet people from that city or from my time there, came to Vancouver. One man from my past wanted to live in the city and not far from where I lived.
"Please leave me alone," I wrote to him. "Please find somewhere else to live." This man left Vancouver shortly afterwards and I breathed a big sigh of relief.
Then the B.C. Liberal party swept to power in the B.C. election of 2001. They captured 77 out of 79 seats in the B.C. legislature. The B.C. provincial Liberal party was anything but liberal. The party cleaved to a Reaganesque agenda that shovelled tax breaks to the rich and cut social programs to the bone. "We're going to examine the whole disability allowance program, " vowed Murray Coell in effect. Coell was the new Liberal Minister of Human Resources. Coell tried to strip 15,000 people out of the 55,000 on disability from the disability rolls.
Coell failed in this brutal effort. One woman, the Scots-born Margaret Birrell and the organization she headed up, the B.C. Coalition of the Disabled foiled Coell here. In the end, Coell who was now called by some disabled people "Murray Cruel" kicked nobody off the disability rolls. Yet Coell changed the welfare laws making it much harder for poor people to get welfare. Soon homeless people piled up in the streets of British Columbia.
In the end I wasn't touched by Coell's assault on the disabled rolls. I used my past experience as a welfare advocate to escape being even noticed by the Liberals' attempt to purge the welfare and disabled from getting a government cheque. My doctor John Robinson was conservative but he was also a compassionate man.
This man wrote a letter at my request to the welfare office I went to, outlining my several disabilities."Get your doctor to write a letter on your behalf," Rolf Auer, a burly anti-poverty activist advised me when Murray Coell announced his plans. This advice and Doctor Robinson's letter saved me I'm sure from having my disability status being re-examined by workers from Human Resources.
Yet after this, new problems erupted at Eight Oaks Housing Co-op where I had now lived for over 20 years.
At the start of the 21st century troubles started showing up at my front door. By now I wanted to forget Montreal. My years in that city now struck me as a horrible painful interlude in my life. Yet people from that city or from my time there, came to Vancouver. One man from my past wanted to live in the city and not far from where I lived.
"Please leave me alone," I wrote to him. "Please find somewhere else to live." This man left Vancouver shortly afterwards and I breathed a big sigh of relief.
Then the B.C. Liberal party swept to power in the B.C. election of 2001. They captured 77 out of 79 seats in the B.C. legislature. The B.C. provincial Liberal party was anything but liberal. The party cleaved to a Reaganesque agenda that shovelled tax breaks to the rich and cut social programs to the bone. "We're going to examine the whole disability allowance program, " vowed Murray Coell in effect. Coell was the new Liberal Minister of Human Resources. Coell tried to strip 15,000 people out of the 55,000 on disability from the disability rolls.
Coell failed in this brutal effort. One woman, the Scots-born Margaret Birrell and the organization she headed up, the B.C. Coalition of the Disabled foiled Coell here. In the end, Coell who was now called by some disabled people "Murray Cruel" kicked nobody off the disability rolls. Yet Coell changed the welfare laws making it much harder for poor people to get welfare. Soon homeless people piled up in the streets of British Columbia.
In the end I wasn't touched by Coell's assault on the disabled rolls. I used my past experience as a welfare advocate to escape being even noticed by the Liberals' attempt to purge the welfare and disabled from getting a government cheque. My doctor John Robinson was conservative but he was also a compassionate man.
This man wrote a letter at my request to the welfare office I went to, outlining my several disabilities."Get your doctor to write a letter on your behalf," Rolf Auer, a burly anti-poverty activist advised me when Murray Coell announced his plans. This advice and Doctor Robinson's letter saved me I'm sure from having my disability status being re-examined by workers from Human Resources.
Yet after this, new problems erupted at Eight Oaks Housing Co-op where I had now lived for over 20 years.
Thursday, 15 September 2016
Exits and Entrances - A Journey Through Many Landscapes by Dave Jaffe. Chapter Eleven - Part One.
Chapter Eleven - Part One.
The Gorge waterway or 'The Gorge' as it's known in Victoria, is a waterway that flows through the city of Victoria. It runs east to west, a sliver of blue or grey that streams out of the Victoria harbour.
I sat on a bench beside one of the Gorge's banks on a May afternoon in 2008. The day's weather didn't stand out from many other similar spring days. The sun popped out from behind spring clouds from time to time. A passing shower sprinkled me lightly with water. The waters of the Gorge turned blue, then grey, and then blue again.
Yet after sitting on a bench for an hour or two, something seemed to hover over me, and I felt some invisible curtain fall over me. I can't say if this was an extra-terrestial force or a spark from above. I saw nothing different or scary. Yet I felt I was being touched by a seemingly divine spirit. At afternoon's end, I hobbled away from the waterway, feeling a changed man.
"I have had a born again experience," I told people about what I thought had happened. I felt I had just put behind me the past eight years. "Now I can begin again," I told myself. Now after that experience I wanted to live in the present and look forward to the future.
When the year 2000 came around, I felt fairly good. I was nearly 58 and though my body was definitely running down, my spirits stayed up. Long before 2000 I'd switched from doing primal therapy to trying Rational Emotional Therapy that was a more mainstream therapy than primal. It also focuses on the present and not the past. After that, I started to meditate every day and this soothed my mind and relaxed me.
I also kept on traveling but the long journeys of my youthful past lay well behind me. I moved around Metro Vancouver and to and from Vancouver Island. At least once a year at summer's end, I went to Penticton, a popular desert vacation spot that lay about four hours east of Vancouver. I was a contented man who was weaning himself away from the obsessions of the past. Yet once again troubles loomed ahead.
The Gorge waterway or 'The Gorge' as it's known in Victoria, is a waterway that flows through the city of Victoria. It runs east to west, a sliver of blue or grey that streams out of the Victoria harbour.
I sat on a bench beside one of the Gorge's banks on a May afternoon in 2008. The day's weather didn't stand out from many other similar spring days. The sun popped out from behind spring clouds from time to time. A passing shower sprinkled me lightly with water. The waters of the Gorge turned blue, then grey, and then blue again.
Yet after sitting on a bench for an hour or two, something seemed to hover over me, and I felt some invisible curtain fall over me. I can't say if this was an extra-terrestial force or a spark from above. I saw nothing different or scary. Yet I felt I was being touched by a seemingly divine spirit. At afternoon's end, I hobbled away from the waterway, feeling a changed man.
"I have had a born again experience," I told people about what I thought had happened. I felt I had just put behind me the past eight years. "Now I can begin again," I told myself. Now after that experience I wanted to live in the present and look forward to the future.
When the year 2000 came around, I felt fairly good. I was nearly 58 and though my body was definitely running down, my spirits stayed up. Long before 2000 I'd switched from doing primal therapy to trying Rational Emotional Therapy that was a more mainstream therapy than primal. It also focuses on the present and not the past. After that, I started to meditate every day and this soothed my mind and relaxed me.
I also kept on traveling but the long journeys of my youthful past lay well behind me. I moved around Metro Vancouver and to and from Vancouver Island. At least once a year at summer's end, I went to Penticton, a popular desert vacation spot that lay about four hours east of Vancouver. I was a contented man who was weaning himself away from the obsessions of the past. Yet once again troubles loomed ahead.
Wednesday, 14 September 2016
Exits and Entrances - A Journey Through Many Landscapes by Dave Jaffe. Chapter Ten - Part Four
Chapter Ten - Part Four.
In the fall of 1996 I was hit with sciatica. It left me in terrible pain in my right leg. Also my life was made worse by my doctor who refused to see anything serious in my infirm condition. I was lucky. I found a new doctor who helped cure me. Doctor John Robinson was an immigrant like myself. He was a cheerful physician with a sense of humour who came from Ireland. He had practised in Canada, first in Newfoundland and then in Ontario. Finally he'd ended up in Vancouver.
"You've got sciatica," he told me. "The femoral nerve that comes out of your back and runs down the front of your leg is causing the pain." He advised me to go home and rest. Then he sent me to a specialist.
Friends like Dick Prinsep and Rodger Garbutt phoned me many times during my time of staying at home. Sandy Cameron,, a tall now retired teacher, and the partner of Jean Swanson, came to see me. June Black, an energetic member of the Unitarian Church phoned me often. Suddenly she was gone. A car hit her and killed her on Granville Street. This happened while I was staying inside. I didn't learn how she'd died - or if she was dead - until I came back to the Unitarian Church.
Finally, Maureen Rivington, a former friend of Eric Sommer phoned me regularly. By now Eric had left my life. Yet Maureen and I had become close friends, and her many phone calls helped me connect with the world outside.
Then one Monday morning in January 1997 I got up from the armchair I'd lain in for over two months. No pain ran down my right leg. I couldn't believe it and felt as if a miracle had touched me. For the next four years femoral pain and sciatica wracked my body but never to the extent of my first attack.
"I have come back from the dead," I told Sandy Cameron whom I met in the street a few weeks after the pain vanished. "
"I can't believe it," he replied. "You look so much better."
The 1990's had been a creative but disruptive decade for me. It had been full of ups and downs. Yet it ended on a positive note.
In the fall of 1996 I was hit with sciatica. It left me in terrible pain in my right leg. Also my life was made worse by my doctor who refused to see anything serious in my infirm condition. I was lucky. I found a new doctor who helped cure me. Doctor John Robinson was an immigrant like myself. He was a cheerful physician with a sense of humour who came from Ireland. He had practised in Canada, first in Newfoundland and then in Ontario. Finally he'd ended up in Vancouver.
"You've got sciatica," he told me. "The femoral nerve that comes out of your back and runs down the front of your leg is causing the pain." He advised me to go home and rest. Then he sent me to a specialist.
Friends like Dick Prinsep and Rodger Garbutt phoned me many times during my time of staying at home. Sandy Cameron,, a tall now retired teacher, and the partner of Jean Swanson, came to see me. June Black, an energetic member of the Unitarian Church phoned me often. Suddenly she was gone. A car hit her and killed her on Granville Street. This happened while I was staying inside. I didn't learn how she'd died - or if she was dead - until I came back to the Unitarian Church.
Finally, Maureen Rivington, a former friend of Eric Sommer phoned me regularly. By now Eric had left my life. Yet Maureen and I had become close friends, and her many phone calls helped me connect with the world outside.
Then one Monday morning in January 1997 I got up from the armchair I'd lain in for over two months. No pain ran down my right leg. I couldn't believe it and felt as if a miracle had touched me. For the next four years femoral pain and sciatica wracked my body but never to the extent of my first attack.
"I have come back from the dead," I told Sandy Cameron whom I met in the street a few weeks after the pain vanished. "
"I can't believe it," he replied. "You look so much better."
The 1990's had been a creative but disruptive decade for me. It had been full of ups and downs. Yet it ended on a positive note.
Tuesday, 13 September 2016
Exits and Entrances - A Journey Through Many Landscapes by Dave Jaffe. Chapter Ten - Part Three
Chapter Ten - Part Three
At the Unitarian Church I became friendly with Jennifer Wade, a short Indian-born woman, whose struggles on behalf of the downtrodden spanned at least three continents. Her courage sometimes amazed me. Yet in the end her conservative stands on some topics ended our friendship.
I also realized that I knew very little about many things compared to some Unitarians. "I never knew professionals until I came to this church," a very active member of the church once told me.
"I didn't know muac about many subjects," I replied. In the late 1990's I started to study on my own sociology, mathematics, biology, economics, geography and other introductory college courses. If I had problems with the subjects I was studying I just brought the problesms to the church on a Sunday morning. Here, I usually found someone who taught the subject I was studying at a community college or a university.
Soon I enlarged my knowledge of the world quite a lot.
Yet then my body woke me up again and told me to take care of myself.
It started in the late summer of 1996. I hobbled down a hill with a small pack on my back. I felt a twinge in my right knee. Then over the next month or so, the twinge morphed into a brutal pain that ran up the length of my right leg and lodged itself ever so painfully into my right hip.The pain was so great at times that I thought of killing myself. What did I have, I wondered.
"I think it soundsd like sciatica," one nurse told me. Yet the new doctor I had just switched to, kept telling me, "There's nothing wrong with you. Just ignore the pain and you'll get better." Alas, the pain just got even worse. I was soon confined to a wheelchair writhing in pain, especially a night times.I needed a rescuer ands once again someone came to my rescue. Once more I realized that I was a lucky man.
At the Unitarian Church I became friendly with Jennifer Wade, a short Indian-born woman, whose struggles on behalf of the downtrodden spanned at least three continents. Her courage sometimes amazed me. Yet in the end her conservative stands on some topics ended our friendship.
I also realized that I knew very little about many things compared to some Unitarians. "I never knew professionals until I came to this church," a very active member of the church once told me.
"I didn't know muac about many subjects," I replied. In the late 1990's I started to study on my own sociology, mathematics, biology, economics, geography and other introductory college courses. If I had problems with the subjects I was studying I just brought the problesms to the church on a Sunday morning. Here, I usually found someone who taught the subject I was studying at a community college or a university.
Soon I enlarged my knowledge of the world quite a lot.
Yet then my body woke me up again and told me to take care of myself.
It started in the late summer of 1996. I hobbled down a hill with a small pack on my back. I felt a twinge in my right knee. Then over the next month or so, the twinge morphed into a brutal pain that ran up the length of my right leg and lodged itself ever so painfully into my right hip.The pain was so great at times that I thought of killing myself. What did I have, I wondered.
"I think it soundsd like sciatica," one nurse told me. Yet the new doctor I had just switched to, kept telling me, "There's nothing wrong with you. Just ignore the pain and you'll get better." Alas, the pain just got even worse. I was soon confined to a wheelchair writhing in pain, especially a night times.I needed a rescuer ands once again someone came to my rescue. Once more I realized that I was a lucky man.
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