I have always been a questioner. All my life i have wondered about things and tried to figure out what was important, what was meaningful and what was of value. We face a barrage of ideas and images designed to manipulate us in so many different ways- commercial, political, religious. I think it is important to know what we ourselves are made of in this world of confusion.

Recently a friend has asked me some important questions, and I have scrambled to refind my answers. Sometimes I don’t remember why I decided something or when it became important. I’m further down the road, and I don’t always remember what road sign sent me this way.

I was asked if I thought all people were of value. Am I an equal to the five billion on earth, or superior, or inferior? Does it even matter?

What makes other people have value? How can people I’ve never met, individuals I don’t know exist have worth? Do they have any value at all?

I...

Thanksgiving is a great holiday and I believe everyone has things to be thankful for. I have so much treasure- good people in my life, a roof overhead and food on the table. I’m rich.

A lot of people where I work have been talking about tough times past and they were surprised to hear that I had at one time been homeless. It’s not really something you brag about. It was a long time ago now, more than 25 years, so I don’t remember it so vividly.

I don’t remember the hunger and the pains – or maybe i do, maybe they are always in the background, making me most thankful for the blessings I have currently.

Homelessness was a thing that just kind of happened. I lost my job. I couldn’t afford rent. I ended up on the street and then out in the country in a tent by a lake.

The street was not fun. I was in a big city and there were a lot of homeless. It was very competitive. Guys would spend all day waiting in line at the soup...

Me and the missus managed to sneak away for a couple days last week, up to Canada’s biggest city- Toronto. We smuggled a couple kids up with us too. Yeah, they kids belong to me.

I used to live in Toronto and I don’t miss it at all. I was born in a small town. I’ll live and die in a small town. Hey, that would make a great song!

There’s just too much concrete in the big city. I guess I feel some kind of a connection to grass and trees and growing things- and in the cement city everything feels wrong. Where’s the natural energy?

Also where did all those people come from? And where are they going? Can there actually be homes for them all, and beds and sinks and kitchen tables? It boggles my mind.

We did some touristy things- visited the zoo, the aquarium and saw a demented puppet show. The aquarium was rather stunning but it all seemed mysteriously familiar- I experienced a pretty strong deja vu. And then I realized...

Head transplants have been in the news lately. There have been face transplants and all sorts of organ transplants, so why not heads?

It’s kind of a creepy thought- having your head cut off and your brain kept alive while it gets hooked up to another body. I guess a few things have to happen- they have to find a way to keep the brain alive and also the new body before they stitch them together. It seems to me that frigid temperatures would help. Cell death is greatly lessened when the base body temperature is lower.

Have you ever read about those people who fell in icy ponds and were pulled out thirty minutes later and revived with no ill effects? (except wet underwear) That’s the kind of idea I’m thinking of.

It makes sense to keep the brain- it has the accumulated knowledge and experience of a life time. But should the head itself be kept? Couldn’t they just do a brain transplant? I guess the head is a handy case for the brain and...

My friend found a girl. Not a new girl friend, but a young woman in a ditch.
He said to me “I found a girl.”
I answered by raising my eyebrows- I like his wife and I know he likes his wife. They’ve been together for twenty years and are a happy couple still.
“Not like that.” He said.
I snorted, disgusted.
“I found a girl in a ditch.” He explained. “She was nineteen years old, in one of those little black dresses.”
By this time I was scratching my head, confused. “What were you doing in the ditch?”

Let me tell you a little bit about my friend. He is a gentle giant. He’s the same size wide as tall. When he was younger he looked terrifying. Now that he’s getting older though he looks a bit chubby. He has massive arms and hands. He shaves his head, which makes him look scary. But he’s a really nice guy.

He has a passion for minis and is the best mini painter I’ve ever seen. He likes dwarves too, so we have...