Neil Crone - Enter Laughing

A walk to remember.

I just wanted to post a follow-up to my Meagan's Walk entry. I can't say enough about this wonderful event. There is something about a crowd of people, all of whom have been touched by cancer in a very real way, that just reaches you on a level like no other. Meagan's Walk is primarily all about raising funds to research and cure pediatric brain tumors. This is all about kids with tumors in their heads. Not a whole lot of those children make it. And when you stand in front of and talk to and walk amongst parents of these children and hear many, many stories and see many many pictures of the beautiful little angels these people have lost, if you have any soul at all...you are changed.
And when, once we had completed the walk to Sick Kids Hospital, we formed a human chain completely encircling the building, raised our hands together and hugged the place as one, there was not a dry eye in the house. Rarely have I taken part in such a moving, soul-satisfying, change-making event. Thank you folks. I am a better person for having shared that with you.

My oh Myanmar

Do you not just love these tools in Myanmar? Fat, rich little boys wearing cool army uniforms with shiny medals. And what exactly are those medals for do you think? The Campaign of Grotesque Greed. The Battle of the Graft. The Medallion of Dishonor. The Liar's Cross. Man, if those poor bastards weren't so busy trying to stay one step ahead of cholera it'd be nice to see them stage a lovely little revolution and string a few of those porkers up. But, that's hard to do when you're sitting in the remains of your house, waist deep in sewage water, holding your children over your head to keep them dry. Sometimes I want to scream. Life is not hard. It's really very, very simple. Love one another, look after each other and pay it forward. Before you know it we're all happy, healthy and rich beyond our dreams. But obviously there are a lot of folks who are not only not on that page...they haven't read the book. One thing is dead certain. The military has no place in the decision making of any country, anywhere. That, as we have seen ad nauseum throughout history, is a recipe for disaster.

Meagan's Walk

Going to do Meagan's Walk this Sunday morning. I like taking part in most charitable functions. It makes me feel good. Still, if I'm being honest, some just speak more to my heart than others. The first time someone contacted me about doing Meagan's Walk I immediately knew I'd like it. Check out the link for a full description of the walk and Meagan's story. It'll touch your heart too, I'm sure. In a nutshell though it's a five kilometer walk from Ontario Place to Sick Kids Hospital, where (and this is the really cool part) all of the participants join hands,encircle the hospital and give the building a big hug. Love that. I have my own reasons for wanting to fight cancer and for loving Sick Kids...not least of which is the fact that my 13 year old son is bouncing around just fine after having a van run over his leg this past winter. Thanks to Sick Kids. If you've got your own reasons, or if you'd just like to feel good, we'd love to have you join us on Sunday. Cheers.

The final verdict.

How very strange to see my old friend Rob Smith in the paper again today, this time convicted of his various child pornography charges and looking at a prison sentence. A real prison sentence. And a prison sentence as a pedophile. We just never know do we? We just never know what demons somebody may be lugging around with them. Rob, as any one who knew him will tell you, was the nicest, kindest, most generous and charming guy you'd ever want to meet. He really was. But, he was also a very, very sick guy. And no one knew. Not even his wife. The woman he slept beside and kissed goodnight. That, of course, is gone now too for him. As is his role of father. I can't think of a more complete way to obliterate a life than the one he chose. And I suppose we all have a choice, don't we? Some are just a lot harder than others.

Corporate giving?

I saw a guy walking around downtown today carrying a sign that read 'Extreme financial stress'. It was weird. He had a suit on, nice shoes, the whole Bay street thing. And I wondered what his story was. In way too deep and the bottom fell out? What has to happen for you to get to that point, where you figure all you've got left is a sign to carry? Wouldn't his time be better spent interviewing for another gig? He had the suit and the shoes and the haircut. A lot of cats don't have those. The other side of the coin was that even though I watched him for some time, I didn't see a whole lot of folks digging into their pockets to help him out. Maybe that's because most of us these days could probably carry the same sign, most of the time.

Life is so Good.

I listen to a load of books in the car. Just finished a beauty. A short little title, 'Life is so Good' by George Dawson and Richard Glaubman. Glaubman, met with and interviewed 102 year old Dawson. A man who went to school for the first time and learned to read at 98 years of age. Walking the six blocks to school for three years in a row. It's a remarkable, moving and thought provoking story. Here is a man who really has life figured out and has lived in three separate centuries to prove it. In a nutshell George's philosophy is 'don't worry'. And how true that is. If you want to feel great and inject some much needed perspective into your life, pick up a copy of Life is so Good. Because, it really is.

Bad day in Brampton

Someone has some serious 'splainin to do. The tragic murder of Rahimullah and Nazifa Shahghasy, in a Brampton plaza two days ago raises a number of unsettling questions. First and foremost, why was the individual who attacked Nazifa granted bail? Who was the genius who deemed this guy stable enough to walk around? This does not sound like a 'disgruntled' or 'unhappy' person. Those people don't generally carry nine inch kitchen knives and attack, without provocation, innocent bystanders. Nor do they stab themselves in the throat afterwards. Somebody on some committee somewhere apparently slept through a lot of their University psych classes.
Secondly, and this is something perhaps even more disturbing, why did no one else step in to help these people? From all accounts I've read and listened to it sounds like people were running into stores and locking up. Granted somebody called 911, but why was Rahimullah the only one to go to his wife's defense? Surely there must have been a large number of witnesses? That smacks a little of Kitty Genovese. I don't know. I may be talking through my hat here. These things sometimes happen very fast and who knows what goes on. Still, I remember stumbling into the middle of a robbery in highschool. It took me all of two seconds to jump in and try and stop what was going on. I ended up getting stabbed for my efforts. But I don't ever recall having to stop and 'think' about helping someone. I hope that's not something that we're now aspiring to.

Music Night

Music night at the public school tonight. I love music nights. There's no downside to a whole whack of kids making loads of wonderfully imperfect music. It's great. Because you know that for everyone of those kids singing just slightly off-key or not quite fretting that chord perfectly or just missing that downbeat...there is a parent or two or a grandparent who is hearing only the sound of the angels. There"s something about watching your kid make music, even bad music, that lifts your heart like nothing else. It's very different from watching him or her score a goal or make a basket. Those things have their own joys, but music is, to me anyway, something more akin to where we all come from.

Shifting on the fly.

I had one of those really fun auditions today. The one's where you get the phone call, en route to the audition, informing you that the role you were going to be reading for has now changed. Today, instead of the character of the Sheriff, that I had prepared all night for, I was now going to be handed a bunch of dialogue for the role of 'Professor Marzotto'. And....go. Love when this happens. All I can say is thank God for years of improvisational training. That and the fact that I decided not to wear the cowboy boots, hat and spurs. That would've been fun. 'Ummm, you see, he's a Professor of Western studies!!' Yeah, yeah, that's it. It ended up working out well. I actually enjoyed the character of the Professor more than the Sheriff, whose skin I never really felt terribly comfortable wearing. So, a blessing in disguise I suppose. Anyway, it certainly cranked my adrenaline for a little while.

Chin-Oops

It's amazing how fast your body can pack up on you if you don't use it. My son recently hung a chin-up bar in the doorway to his bedroom. I remember chinning myself, not that long ago, it seems. I used to be able to do fifteen or twenty of them, even the one handed variety. I grabbed onto this thing the other day and tried to haul myself up. I made it to eye level, but the sounds coming out of my body were unbelievable. My elbows, shoulders and wrists sounded like a bowl of rice krispies. Everything was snap, crackle and a very painful pop. It was disheartening, to say the least. Not unsurprising however, as it has been years since I've tried to do that. But I am, if nothing else, an eternal optimist. I also have great faith in the bodies ability to heal and adapt if given the time and chance. So, each time I walk past his bedroom door I chin myself. And it's working. I'm now up to four in a row. It'll be a while before I attempt the 'one handed' variety. For that I'll need to be wearing a diaper.