I Drink Alone

   Is that a weird way to open a blog post? 

  Admitting that I drink alone?

  Well, it is the truth and I wanted to write about my life more this year, even if it seems a little uncomfortable or difficult. My greatest success and growth has come from laying it all out for the world to see and releasing whatever is inside me that tries to bring me down into the darkness again, silence is my own worst enemy.

  I think what I mean to say, without trying to downplay my lack of a social life outside my going to work or online, is that I enjoy my own company when I want to relax. After almost 4 decades in working retail, food service and general public facing jobs, I do feel worn down just a tad, the last 4 years have proven even more difficult with the rise of the selfish class, a special breed of hell mongers all their own. It has bled into almost every part of my day, the inward facing, sole spotlight seekers, to whom everyone must revolve for their existence to mean anything to them. It is exhausting sometimes and while there are some bright spots, I have not really engaged with anyone (with a few rare diamonds shining brightly) who I wanted to carry out friendships beyond the superficial stage in quite some time. Now that isn't to say I haven't met some wonderful people, but none with whom I could consider a daily friend, someone I could hang out with on a whim, without planning everything in advance and hoping something doesn't come up in between. All my best relationships seem to be online, quietly waiting for engagement when I have the mental capacity to do so...not so intrusive, yet lacking in spontaneity and time to forge close bonds that last longer than a text. 

  I did at one time, have a large circle of close pals, hangers on and assorted characters who would flit in and out, depending on the time of year, party theme or drinking indulgence. We hosted get togethers almost weekly, sometimes a raucous house full of poker players, karaoke singers and drunkards, other times just a couple close friends for dinner and games, maybe heading out on the town for a night out of nonsense and liquid fun. It was a glorious time, we were all relatively young, with little in the way of outside responsibilities and life seemed a grand stage for us to strut about, happily glowing in drunken revelry. Time marches on though, and as I tumbled down the rabbit whole of career interuptus, losing what I thought was my life, I began separating from everyone I knew, pushing them away because I could not understand how anyone would want to hang out with such a loser. Self pity turned into dark and deep depression, it took years to climb out of that particular hole, clawing my way up through thoughts of not wanting to be alive anymore to falling into a morass of self medicating to keep the demons at bay. When I finally came up from the depths, life had moved on and I was exactly where I thought I deserved to be.

  The last few years have been decent, I've grown a little better as a person, albeit one who still isn't certain of himself from time to time. I do not know if I can ever recapture who I was or at least, the part that I think I was, the happy go lucky kind of person I hope to project to the world when I leave the house. I turned down opportunities to go to beer fests, judge a beer competition, hang out with the few people who still reach out every once in awhile. It's not that I don't want to, it's that I don't know I know how to anymore. My ability to spend time alone has become a shield in defense of nothing, a tilting at windmills that only exist in my mind. But what used to be a heavy indulgence in clouded thinking and over indulgence has changed into a more quiet pursuit of peace and opportunity to try to understand who I really am underneath the layers I've painted on this life I tried to walk away from so many times. I am trying to appreciate my own time so that I can give it to others with the joy I used to. I cannot recreate the past, nor should I want to, that guy doesn't exist anymore...but I do.

  Finding myself hanging out with the Boys, I was happy, I do miss the camaraderie of The Lodge, the not so subtle jabs we would toss at each other when we discussed sports and played poker. It could get deep too, some nights we would delve below the surface, not too far, but enough that we felt loved and bonded, maybe not family, but something deeper. I salute those folks, true gems they were.

  Good times, hazy memories and an entirely different person...

  I drink alone. But I do not wallow in solitude, I have found myself slowly rising again, perhaps the road ahead is long and will not be easy, but it does not seem so insurmountable as it once did. I raise my glass to the days gone by, to the ones ahead and to the simple life I seek. Perhaps I shall find it, and you, one day.

Polk

February 26th, 2024

Santa Claus and Santa Polk - Love and Christmas magic.

 

The Christmas season used to my my favourite. The parties and gatherings spread out over the month meant getting together with friends and family to spend a little time celebrating another year and looking forward to the next one. The last couple of years have taken a bit of a toll on my love for the holidays and I'll be honest, without my having the Polk persona to help lift me up, it would be likely no decorations, movies or Christmas music would be seen or heard in my home. It just isn't there anymore. Be it not having children, the unending struggle of keeping things going financially and feeling emotionally drained as our lives have changed so much in the last 6 years. There is little doubt that my path to Christmas is littered with self imposed obstacles to getting back to where I once was.

Enter Santa Polk, courtesy of my Aunt Karen and Uncle Tom.

  My beer advent calenders have helped to make the season a bit brighter and I have included myself in every holiday beer picture as kind of a 'proof of life' moment for myself. I'm still here, I'm still standing . The inclusion of the Santa suit, however, is a little more meaningful than most people know. It belonged to my late Uncle Tom, who played the most loving of Santa's you would ever know. Every year he would do events and malls, donating the proceeds to Camp Trillium, a camp for children with cancer to go to so they might enjoy some time in the great outdoors. He didn't so much play Santa as become him, embodying the role with a verve and gusto I would watch in amazement every year. We were close, I remember sitting with him the night before my wedding to Kat, quietly talking about life as the beer flowed, things like that stick with you a long time.

  After he passed away, my aunt Karen asked if I would like the suit, a symbol of something bigger than myself or the season to me. I was hesitant, but relented and hung it with care in the spare room until it finally became clear to me a use for this piece of magic. The Advent Calendar and my quasi fictional character of the Drunk Polkaroo come together each December to try and spark a little joy in a dark and dreary world. The suit has powers I cannot describe, but when I finally hit the halfway mark and don the jacket, beard and glasses, it starts to feel a little more festive, a little more love and a little more hope. I will never capture it completely, it hovers just ahead of me, but I feel the glow and love that it contains and feel peaceful and serene.

  This year I will be taking another step as I take Santa Polk out in public for the first time ever. I've always confined it to my house, pictures and videos, having a little fun and celebrating the memory of a good friend and mentor. When my friend Jeremy from Clifford Brewing here in Hamilton asked if I would be able to help raise some funds and gather toys for some kids who need a little help this year, I couldn't say no, despite that little voice inside that seems to win more times than not when it comes to doing anything other than work and sitting here at home. I felt something give me the strength to say yes and while I am filled with apprehension, the shoes I step into, literally, have been walked in by a legend in red.
  So this Saturday, December 14th at 4 p.m., I'm gonna take Santa Polk out to Clifford Brewing, give my Christmas blues the boot and take up the chair of Santa to try and bring some good to the world with a little laugh and a lot of leaning on the man who came before me. Join us if you can, an unwrapped, new toy gets you a free beer and a chance to take a pic with this jolly fat guy, bring your dogs, kids and friends and help spread the love a little further this year.
  Scared? Yeah, a little, but I think I have a secret weapon and Uncle Tom's legacy, memory and love of us and the season is very much alive every time I put on that suit of Santa Claus...because I knew the real one.

Cheers and Merry Christmas!

Polk

Photographs

My favourite kind of photograph.



The older I get the more important photographs become. Most of my memories of events come from those photos themselves as opposed to actually remembering them. Its odd, but the further away I get from my childhood, the more I cling to those pictures as evidence of my life before now. Grainy 70's shots look odd and while I know intellectually that is me in the photo, I can't remember that particular moment or how I felt. I'm not sure when that started to happen to me but it seems to be the norm as I get older.

My childhood is commemorated by a lot of photos, especially when we are little. Captured moments of unscripted joy, unhurried lives and a bright future. At play, formal for those family events when we'd be dressed up and looking our best or just hanging around the house; we have documentation that we were there, we existed and those things happened. Moving into my teenage years, they become less frequent because I wasn't around as much and we had started the inevitable moves into our own orbits with friends, lovers and lives. There are many years where there are just a handful of photos with me in them because I was off on my own journey and that did not include a lot of pictures. I wish I could find more from when I was 17 to 25 but I am not certain that many exist.

The advent of an affordable digital camera and subsequent improvements in cell phone technology has led to an explosion of pictures, good and bad, and it has made accessing those memories easier because we are always snapping shots.

I love to peruse Facebook or Instagram and see the pictures of my extended family and friends' and their ever growing brood. Time and distance has made it difficult to actually spend time with some of those people, so those cute shots on the Internet are my window into their lives. I have become a fan of taking a few shots myself with all my craft beer pictures, but it's become far more than beer that has captured my eye. I see the world in a new light because I am always looking for a unique way to show off the bottles in my collection and that in turn has led to my seeing things I've never noticed before and my camera finds them too.

. The digital revolution means my life in the last 10 years has far surpassed its documentation through photos than in the previous 30. I can look at my memories with the click of a button and there are times when I get lost for hours going through the albums on my computer reminiscing about days gone by. It's easier to catch a whisp in time now because we have such easy access to a way to do it and I am thankful for that. These pictures tell a story and the more we have, the better that story gets.

Copying Papa at Christmas time



Remembering Wingnut, our pet chicken

Not many photos exist from these days.

Mall Santa in the early 80's...a little creepy...

I got nothin'

 

My brothers and I, 1996

One of the best days.

Grampa and I would never get to share a beer, but I have this moment forever.