A Sign

I follow my Inner Guidance.  My Inner Guidance doesn’t always guide me to do things that make sense, but it is always right in the end.  No matter how many signs I receive from the Universe that my Inner Guidance is right, I still have doubt—especially when I am being guided to do something that does not make sense.

Recently I decided to ask the Universe for a sign that I am on the right path.  I requested this and then walked in a ravine hoping some miraculous sign would appear.  The sign could appear in the sky, or perhaps an angel could appear on my path saying, “Gary, you’re on the right path and doing the right stuff.”   As I walked, I often said out loud, “Please, Universe, give me a sign.  Please, Universe, give me a sign.”

And lo and behold, there it was right on my path!  The Universe gave me a sign!  It wasn’t what I was expecting, but it was a sign.  It was an old, rusted sign on the ground saying, “No Trespassing.”

Payback Time

On Tuesday, a non-Asian man stared at me in the shower at the YMCA.  He wore black-framed glasses.  I could see him with a pen pouch full of pens in his shirt pocket, and not dressed in the latest style.  In other words, he looked like a geek.

He just stood and stared while the shower water bounced off his back.  He never washed or moved.  He had lust in his eyes.  I tried to enjoy my shower, but found his staring disturbing.  I did my best to ignore him, finished my shower, and left with him still standing and staring.

On Wednesday, an Asian man stared at me in the shower.  He was not wearing glasses.  Unlike Tuesday’s geek, this man moved and showered.  At times his head faced me while the front of his body faced the wall.  Once again, I found it disturbing the way he kept staring at me.  He, too, stayed in the shower after I finished.

Today, an Asian man wearing black-framed glasses stared at me.  He, too, moved while showering.  At times his head turned 180 degrees to keep me in his gaze.

This is payback for all the times I made women feel uncomfortable by gawking at them.  I now understand how uncomfortable they felt.

I promise never to stare at another woman again—at least not long stares.  Perhaps just a few polite quick gawks so the women don’t feel uncomfortable.

In the meantime, I will endure my fate giving thanks that all the men do is stare at me, and don’t do anything else.


Back To School


Every year I go back-to-school shopping.  I’m not at school, but I like to buy paper, pens, pencils and other writing supplies and more paper, pens, pencils and other writing supplies. I must make sure that I never run out of paper, pens, pencils and other writing supplies.

Imagine that I am writing up a storm.  The words are just pouring out of me.  I’m in the flow.  I can’t let go.  And then suddenly I run out of paper, pens, pencils and other writing supplies. What a tragedy!  My work of genius lost because I ran out of paper, pens, pencils and other writing supplies. This will never happen because make sure I have backup supplies for my backup supplies for my backup supplies for my backup supplies, and then some.

Do you think that if I didn’t spend so much time buying paper, pens, pencils and other writing supplies, I would find more time to write?

Going Down The Stairs

There are over 100 steps to the various workout floors at the YMCA.  One of the activities for the children’s program is to have the children go up and down the stairs several times.

While on my way to a workout level, I passed two seven-year-old boys huffing and puffing on their second trip up the stairs.  One boy said to the other, “Gosh, going down the stairs is a lot easier than going up the stairs.”

What insight!  Experience is a great teacher.

The boy was only 7 years old.  His whole life is ahead of him.  How many symbolic stairs will he have to climb during his lifetime?  Will he ever discover that it is not what happens to him that affects him, but how he views what happens to him?  Will he learn that with the proper attitude, going up these stairs does not have to be difficult?


Don’t Talk To Me, Please?

I like to be left alone.  I do not want to talk to anyone.  If I am left alone, I can spend time inside my head.  I can’t stay inside my head if people talk to me.

Today at the YMCA, old man after old man approached me trying to start a conversation.  This happened in the dressing room, workout areas and shower.  I politely dodged having conversations with them.

I was dressed and gathering up my stuff to leave when a man came in and started to use a locker near me.  He saw the bunch of bananas I had. (I like to eat bananas after I work out.)  He approached me while he was undressing.

“I have a song I like to sing to kids about bananas,” he said.

He started singing I Like Bananas Because They Have No Bones while he was still getting undressed.  And then he was naked and hadn’t finished the song!  I wanted to shout, “Beam me up, Scotty!”

It was bad enough that I had a naked man singing me a song, but then he started to scratch himself you know where.  He was singing and scratching at the same time!  Is that talent or what?

I was polite and waited for him to finish the song.  And then I got the hell out of there!




The other day I wrote how older men stare at me in the shower at the YMCA.  Yesterday, a younger man stared at me.   He looked like Frankenstein except he did not have the bolts in his neck and the green skin.  He did not stare with lust in his eyes like the older men. He had that blank Frankenstein stare.

Frankenstein never moved his head.  He followed me with his eyes.  His face remained blank.  When I looked at him he looked away. Then he would resume staring at me once I looked away.  He stood motionless, with the shower water hitting his back, staring at me. His eyes followed me when I finished and walked to the towel-drying area.  Again, he would look away when I looked back.

What the hell was Frankenstein thinking while he stared at me?  Did I remind him of an electrical wire?  A dark lightning bolt?  A chocolate bar?  Who knows?

On Being Naked

It’s been a month of working out at the YMCA.  I am slowly getting used to being naked with no privacy.  I may never get used to being stared at while I am naked.

Almost every day, while I shower after a workout, some men will ogle me.  The men who do this are older.  I pretend that they aren’t there hoping that they will get the message that I am not interested in what their eyes are suggesting?

And there’s an older man who loves to talk while he is naked.  Whether you are in the dressing room or in the shower, he will come up to you and start talking about how Donald Trump is ruining the world.   I try not to say too much hoping that he will go away.  Political discussions with naked men are not high on my list of things to do.  They have only stared and never touched.

I didn’t realize how uncomfortable I was with my body until I started going to the YMCA.  I will be completely comfortable when I learn to love and accept myself.

A Shower!

When you are a nomad, and can’t shower every day, the three areas to keep clean are your armpits, your crotch, and your butt.  You can get by without a shower if you wash these areas daily.  The only problem with washing in public washrooms is dodging zealous security guards. These security guards want to make the Universe a better place.

“You can’t wash in here,” shouts the security guard.

“But it’s a washroom,” I say.

“That doesn’t mean you can wash in here,” says the security guard.

His logic escapes me, but then I never went to security-guard school.

I showered at a friend’s place on May 31.  For the month of June, I washed in public washrooms.  I must have smelled okay.  I went to two social functions during June and none of my friends said anything.  Were they being polite?

I longed for a shower, a nice long hot shower.

I started making some extra money and had enough money to join the YMCA.  On Friday June 30, I joined.  While I was filling out the paperwork I kept thinking, “Tomorrow, I’m going to have a shower!  Tomorrow, I’m going to have a shower!”

I could not fall asleep Friday night because I was so excited about being able to have a shower.  I was like a kid on Christmas Eve anticipating Christmas morning.

“I’m going to have a shower!  I’m going to have a shower!”

I finally fell asleep, but was up early Saturday morning.

“I’m going to have a shower!  I’m going to have a shower!”

I was so excited thinking about a shower, as I took the subway to the YMCA, that I wanted to run up to people on the subway and shout, “Hey Mister, I’m going to have a shower!  Hey Lady, I’m going to have a shower!  Hey World, I’m going to have a shower!”  But I contained myself.

It’s a short walk from the subway to the YMCA.  As soon as I saw the YMCA I thought, “That’s the building where I’m going to have a shower!  That’s the building where I am going to have a shower!”

I went in.  I worked out.  And then?  And then I had the longest shower in history.  I soaped up and rinsed off a thousand times, and then I stood under the shower for a long time with the water bouncing off me.  I was in Heaven!

Funny how such a simple thing like shower can bring such joy.



Please be advised on Thursday July 27 between 2-3pm the noise level may be louder than normal due to a children’s program.


The library staff posted that sign at the entrance to the Northern District Library today.

The Northern District Library would not be the Northern District Library if it wasn’t for screaming children.  Something is wrong when there aren’t children screaming.  The Toddler Union rules do not allow a child to scream for more than 10 minutes.  As soon as a child reaches the ten-minute limit of screaming, another child starts.  And so it goes.

The sounds of screaming children blends with the cell-phone conversations, people laughing and talking, and more cell phone conversations, and more people laughing and talking.  I keep looking for ear plugs, or muffs, that block out noise completely.  No luck so far.

So now they say that on Thursday the noise level may be “louder than normal”?  Impossible! The noise level at the Northern District Library cannot get any louder.  But I could be wrong.  I will find out Thursday.

The “P” Word

PRIVATIZATION.   No one uses this word to explain the obvious reason our electricity bills are so high in Ontario.  Canadians in other provinces are paying less for electricity.  Critics of the high bills blame “government incompetence”  as the main reason for the high bills.  No critics use the “P” word.

Paul Kahnert, a retired Toronto Hydro worker, has written several articles on the reason for Ontario’s high electrical bills.  Two of the articles are linked below.  He wrote the first article on June 9, 2014, before the provincial election on June 12.  He wrote the second article on February 22, 2017.  The second article says the same as the first, but goes into more detail.

According to Kahnert, Adam Beck pushed for publicly owned electricity in 1905.  Beck was a Conservative Member of Provincial Parliament.  Beck had the support of industry and business leaders who were tired of  “being gouged by private power producers.”

Everything was fine until 1998 when Conservative Premier Mike Harris, promising lower electricity rates, started privatizing electricity.  The Conservatives dodged the question, “How do you get lower rates when you add in profits to generators, profits to distributors, profits to retailers, dividends to investors and commissions to commodities brokers?”

In 2003, when he was elected, Liberal Premier Dalton McGuinty promised to reverse what Mike Harris had started.  Premier McGuinty broke his promise and continued the privatization process.  And Liberal Premier Kathleen Wynne is still continuing to the privatization process.

So now we are once again “being gouged by private power producers.”  Paul Kahnert is the only one I have seen use the “P” word as the reason for the gouging.   The mainstream media and politicians don’t mention the “P” word as the reason.  Why?

We always hear how privatization will lower costs, yet it hasn’t so far.  The public always ends up paying more when something is privatized.

Hold onto your wallets when you see the “P” word.