|
| |||
|
If possible, take the stairs.
|
| |||
| |||
|
Set time limits for your apps. Just go to the settings on your smartphone and add a limit – for example, if you have an iPhone turn on Screen Time.
|
| |||
| |||
|
Look closely.
|
| |||
| |||
|
Start a Saturday morning with some classical music – it sets the tone for a calm weekend.
|
| |||
| |||
| |||
|
It might sound obvious, but a pint of water before bed after a big night avoids a clanger of a hanger.
|
| |||
| |||
| |||
|
Laugh shamelessly at your own jokes.
|
| |||
| |||
|
FROM "Vice World Part 1: Speed"
Tony t-boned another car, smashing out the Epic’s right headlight. I parked the car in our backyard. Dad discovered the damage the following morning. My dad used his mechanical skills to hook up a one-hundred-watt trouble light from the housing to the battery. Laying in front of the Epic became an excellent place to read a book. Two weeks later, I thrust the gearbox into second gear while cornering hard. I reached for the steering wheel. I had the gearshift in my hand. We looked down to where the gearshift used to be; the road was blasting by under the car. When dad discovered the damage, he replaced the gearshift with a silver clamp; that just so fittingly happens to have another name, vice-grip. The girls at school began taking numbers!
|
|
Add the milk at least one minute after the tea has brewed.
|
| |||
| |||
|
FROM "Vice World Part 1: Speed"
The best thing about the Booze + Drugs Vice is they often land you in the bed of the Sex Vice, always fulfilling and meaningful. Keep perusing the menu until you find selections that suit your needs. We’ve got Booze, weed, trips into the world of after-hours, ecstasy, speed, GHB, heroin, lick-able toads (only in season), and many more. Try one of our hallucinatory vice bowls, and watch your mother and father reunite in the new realm you most certainly will discover. Here at Vice-World, we provide the safest experience. We have experienced users waiting in the wings to act as your mentors and ensure you continue chasing your right to alter. Try any Vice pan-fried.
|
|
Can’t sleep? Try a relaxing soak with lavender bath oil before bed.
|
| |||
| |||
|
FROM "Vice World Part 1: Speed"
Alright, step right up. Vices for everyone. If you crave an alternative form of excitement, you have come to the right place. Vices, vices, vices! Come on in, Vice lovers. Here at Vice-World, we’re slashing Vice prices in half! Whatever you crave, we can satisfy your needs. Sugar Highs + Travel Addictions + Lost Innocence + Passion + Love We can mix and match whatever you want and find the right combination to whisk you away to a better place. Give us an offer on our massive selection of Vices, and we’ll blow it up. Ala’ carte and combinations are available. Ask your provider for details!
|
|
Take a photo of the tag you are given when leaving your coat in a cloakroom.
|
| |||||
|
FROM "The Bionic Woman"
I was now entering Grade 10. I still took it upon myself to lecture smokers. In 1978 my advocacy took on a new bent. The Bionic Woman starring Lindsay Wagner filled the small screen. Being named Lindsay began to pose a new challenge. "Hey Billy, smoking is dumb. Do you want to die young?" "I'll tell you what, Lindsay Wagner, I am going to beat you senseless. Right after I finish my smoke." "Great, at least you won't be smoking while you beat me."
|
|
Reuse all plastic bags – even bread bags. Much of the packaging you can’t reuse can be taken to larger branches of supermarkets for recycling.
|
| |||||
|
FROM "Driving Lessons"
Dad drove for three more miles, turned right, and between two signposts decorated in barbed wire, crows perching on the top, Dad finessed the beast into an unknown land. Then, another mile later, he hammered on the brakes grinding the Epic to a stop in the middle of a well-rutted field. Dad barked at me, “Get out, get into the driver’s seat. It is your turn to drive.” Eager for my first lesson, I fastened my seatbelt, threw the gearbox into first and finessed the gas pedal and clutch. Then, we lurched forward, sputtering out in a few feet. Dad screamed at me again, “Not forward.” I gave him a stunned look. “Reverse, I learned how-to drive-in reverse; you will do the same. Unless, of course, you want to whine all the way home sitting in the passenger seat.” .
|
|
Don’t be weird about how to stack the dishwasher.
|
| |||||
|
FROM "High School"
GYM CLASS NUMBER ONE Coach Knoll, my gym teacher and the head football coach barked out the roll call. “Lindsay Wincherauk.” “Here.” “Great, is Don Wincherauk, your older brother? “Yes.” “Coach Mooney, it looks like we have a prospective star in our presence.” With Coach Knoll dropping that lofty expectation onto my shoulders, it became abundantly clear, high school was going to be a bitch. I had just turned fourteen, we were living on the wrong side of the tracks; I was the brother of a god-like athlete, + I was the son of a sick, aged father. And I would soon be sharing my name with the Bionic Woman. Could it be any other way? With Coach Knoll’s words, I instantly became petrified I would never be able to live up to the expectations left behind by Donald’s white cleats. I cowered.
|
| |||||
| |||
|
FROM "Money Fights - Year 7"
I needed to escape from the toxic nightly turmoil. I needed to avoid being an unwilling participant in the fights. Sports became my freedom. I wanted to live up to Don. I wanted a taste of what it was like to be a golden child. Intuitively, other than the knife event, I knew Dad worshipped Don and golden for me was nothing more than a fantasy. First, I pursued baseball. I excelled. I became an All-Star Second Baseman on a City Championship Team. I would look up into the stands; my family was always vacant. I’d beam with joy when I returned home from games. Nobody appeared to care.
|
|
Keep your children’s drawings and paintings. Put the best ones in frames.
|
| |||
|
FROM "Puppy Love"
I dropped and performed ten push-ups, flexed my scrawny body in front of the mirror and rehearsed. I shook in anticipation during each rehearsal. Hello um, Kim, pretty, hair, like, do you wash it? It’s shiny. Do you like doing stuff? My dad watches Stampede Wrestling on Saturdays and eats sardines. I fetched you a present… pretty… hair… (I peed a little in my pants). If we have a cat, we can call it Scooter. You love--
|
|
Buy a cheap blender and use it to finely chop onions (it saves on time and tears).
|
| |||
|
FROM "My Father's Family"
“Lindsay, we’ve set up your bed in the basement. Right next to the furnace, water heater, pantry and Mitten’s litter box.” “Auntie, the steps are so steep and narrow—” The steps were nothing more than planks, angled at twenty-five degrees, less than two inches wide, climbing about two feet apart. “--I’m terrified to go up and down them. I don’t want to fall.” “Don’t be a sissy. You will be fine.” I’d slide down on my butt + climb up on my belly. There was no railing. Aunt Mary relished in my fear. She’d send me down the perilous flight of stairs several times per day to pick up ingredients for dinner. Laughing at me during each trip. Every night we’d eat out. When we’d returned to their home after dinner, Mary would bark at me to take the dinner ingredients back to the pantry.
|
| |||
Happy Birthday, Jack!
|
FROM SPAGHETTI
“Get out,” he screamed. “Get out now.” The veins of his forehead pulsed. Before I could utter a word, the door on my side of the car violently swung open. Dad yanked me from the vehicle, jumped back into the driver’s seat and sped away. We lived five miles from Five Corners. I walked home. On this day, I developed an abhorrence for spaghetti. You suck at guessing.
|
|
Sharpen your knives.
|
| |||
You suck at guessing.
|
|
Get the lighting right: turn off the overhead one, turn on lots of lamps (but turn off when you leave the room).
|
| |||
|
Lindsay Wincherauk is a record-holding (Saskatoon Sports Hall of Fame) one-eyed quarterback, author, freelance opinion-editorial columnist, and (was) a marketing + human resources guru for the No. 1 Labour Agency in Vancouver for over fourteen-years. Frequently, he’s been mistaken for Vin Diesel and the Domino Pizza Noid.
Most of that was true, except, of course, for the Noid. He knows his memoirs (Meta) are breathtakingly interesting, filled with unsettling twists and turns, amusing + disturbing family moments, giddiness, and gripping painful moments that morph quickly into brightness. With every page turned, he invites readers to take part in his life's ride. If the prose falters, he was told to add gratuitous high-speed nudity, naked nudity. Here are the straight goods: Lindsay Wincherauk writes about what he sees; life, and a world filled with the seemingly unrelenting noise spinning around us daily. And damn it, he sees a lot of life with his one working eye. Occasionally, he leaves normal and trips into atmospheric—a pleasant break from the mundane. |
|
Always bring ice to house parties (there’s never enough).
|
| |||
Happy Birthday William C
|
Dinner time. Mum is spent from work. Dad’s nightly tirade is complete. Turn on the tube. “Boy, can you break out the TV Trays?
I do. Gone were the days of sitting at the table and eating together. On this day, we ate off mountain vistas. Yesterday, it was flowers. Tomorrow, it will be a combination. “What’s for dinner, Mum?” Swanson, delicious. Please remember to keep the foil covering the desert.
|
|
Keep a bird feeder by a window, ideally the kitchen. It’ll pass the time when you’re washing up.
|
|
|
| |||
|
NO CURFEW
Mum was on the verge of collapse. Dad’s injury caused him to become more angry + bitter. He was quickly turning into a jaded old man. Eventually, he returned to work. He could no longer handle the grind of being a mechanic. Instead, he took a position as a commissionaire at Saskatoon’s airport. A job reserved for those who’d served in the military. Despite returning to work, his scotch drinking and chain-smoking were inflicting a heavy toll, dad’s health began a steady decline. I feared home. I tried to avoid it as much as possible. Instead, I continued organizing games for neighbourhood kids. Each night, the porch lights of Sturby Place started flashing in a seemingly choreographed dance, announcing it was time to retreat home. Our porch light never flashed.
|
Send a voice note instead of a text; they sound like personal mini podcasts.
|
|
| |||
|
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES
I ran to the door. The door was locked. I frantically banged on the door. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “LET ME IN.” I began to shake in fear. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Thirty minutes passed. A light standard at the entrance to the gas station began hissing and crackling as if it were about to expire. Insects buzzed around its dim glow. The only other lights around were the city lights miles away. My shivering intensified as thirty minutes turned into eternity as pitch black had arrived. In the distance, I could hear a dog howl, or it could have been a hungry coyote. I slammed my fists on the door with every ounce of might in one last frantic attempt for salvation. Finally, I heard the clack of the lock again. The door opened, I rushed inside, trembling; the house was draped in blackness. I dove under the chesterfield hiding from my brothers’ who were chanting in unison in a continuous loop. “Lindsay, you are not one of us. We are going to get you. You are not one of us.”
|
|
Plant spring bulbs, even if they’re just in a pot.
|
| |||
|
HOME SWEET HOME
“We will take him until he’s adopted. Thank you for your time. But one thing, I want to make clear, we shall never breathe a word, to anyone, about where he came from. He can never know. Nor can the people in our lives. We all must take this sordid secret with us until the end of our days.”
|
|
LIFE TIP 6
Everyone has an emotional blind spot when they fight. Work out what yours is, and remember it. |
| |||
Happy Birthday Morely
|
FROM NAME DAY
Bernice took Saturday into her arms and walked him to her car. And they, too, drove into the city. Then, one hour later, Bernice pulled her wheels to the corner of Jasper Avenue + 97th Street, parked, and sauntered the few blocks to the Vital Stats Office. Today, Saturday would be given a name, a final act of defiance by Bernice, to hurt her father. It was becoming abundantly clear Saturday would likely remain un-adopted or un-sold, so Bernice wanted to give him permanence. Perhaps, her kindest moment. She filled out the last name: Wincherauk, Middle Name: Left Blank, First Name: Lindsay. Whether intentional or not, Bernice’s truth to never be told selected a girl’s name for Rebekah’s seventh child. Bernice knew the name would twist the knife deeper into Nicholas’s soul.
|
Happy Birthday Karen + Kathleen
|
|
|
|
FROM SHAME
As for the babies, in this case, the bouncing baby boy was labelled Saturday. Saturday was to be a temporary name until the family decided on the outcome of this unwanted child. The newborns were often ripped out of their mother’s arms a few moments after birth so the healing process could begin for the straying woman. The church decided it was for the best. They were, of course, acting on behalf of their interpretations of God’s will. As for the babies, they were nothing more than painful reminders of failing. In simpler terms: who the fuck cares. Christianity was too busy patting itself on its back, believing these harsh steps and reality were for the betterment of the broken families and their wayward girls who had fallen from grace. Christianity thought the world would be a better place if the demon seeds were removed from their origins—to be spoken of no more. The Beulah Home staff and donors advertised aggressively for adoption, including advertisements in the Edmonton Journal. An ad was immediately placed, highlighting a trio of children for adoption or purchase.
Saturday, wasn’t even a day old, and his destiny in the eyes of the lord dripped in deception + if he could be swept under the carpet—it would be for the best. Saturday (me) had been ripped from my mother’s arms and immediately placed in a glass crib in a dimly lit room, equipped with nothing more than the crib and a rocking chair.
|
|
|
|
BEULAH HOUSE
A group of cottages + the main house run by mortals interpreting the words of God. Beulah House sat in seclusion on a plot of land, a few miles north of Edmonton’s city center—hidden from the prying eyes and the often-disparaging minds of Christianity. Its sole purpose was to fix young girls and women deemed unfortunate, fallen, needy, erring, wandering, women who had stepped aside from society’s norms or women who allowed themselves to be raped. Young women who continued to fall, becoming repeat visitors, were often sent to the sterilization room for further treatment. Men and women acting on behalf of God dubbed these women as feeble-minded, unable to control carnal urges. The home’s prime directive was to scrub the shattered women’s minds of sinful ways, erasing flawed morals, and finally, preparing the floundering women to be cleansed and available for marriage. Beulah House’s counsellors provided these women Interdenominational Christian Guidance to help them recover to a healthy, moral, and spiritual life.
|
|
|
DAY 1
16 JULY 1960
16 JULY 1960
|
My arms are littered with goosebumps; I’m freezing—I’m new—I’m alone. I’m lying in a glass-walled container in an empty room peeking out into a darkened world. This must be my beginning. It is not a place of celebration. The sun is blasting through the windows, but somehow inside this less than sterile room, the bitterness of long winters to come is swallowing me. I’m not wanted; I don’t know that yet. My family is burdened; my birth is bringing them despair. I don’t know that yet. I’m never supposed to find out.
I will write about my discoveries and the unrelenting pain they will bring one day. Today is not the day. Today, my only responsibility is to breathe, cry, and scream out, I’M HERE—you brought me here—all I did, was be born.
|
IT STARTED WITH A LIE
|
"Sir, come back. You can't store your baggage here."
"I don't want it. It's not mine. It is filled with deception. It is swarming with solitude. I'm not strong enough to endure. Keep it." "Sir, that's not how life works. You must take it with you. It will haunt you forever, but; I can see in your eyes that you are meant to survive, find understanding, and thrive. Now, go, go forth, become who you are meant to be. Your voice, your narrative, belongs to many. You have been blessed with the gift of individuality and, you must be the voice for those who struggle to speak up for themselves. Your pain and heartache will never leave you; embrace the lessons they will bless you with."
|
Happy Birthday, Marcin!
|
FROM PREFACE
I believe that we arrive at two doors with every step-in life. The door on the left leads down into misery. The door on the right leads to happiness. Maybe we are destined to pick the doors we select. I don’t believe that. My life lessons have taught me I have a choice. I could have chosen to continue spiralling downward, losing myself in misery, dragging everyone in my path down with me. But I chose the door on the right. We all have the choice as to the path we decide to take. The way I see things now, I was fortunate. I got a chance to find out the truth about who I am and make a fresh start in life, a second chance.
|
|
FROM DEDICATIONS
At work, one day, an employee named Jody approached me. He asked me what he believed to be a poignant thought-provoking question. Lindsay, have you ever noticed how many white guys are dating Asians? To which I replied. No, Jody, I haven’t. But have you ever noticed how many white guys are dating Germans?
|
A boy is born in a secret place. A dark place. A sad place.
His Mother is his Sister. Making her his Sister + his Mother.
His Father is his Grandfather.
His Grandmother is just his Grandmother.
His Brothers used to be just Brothers. But then it is discovered they might be Uncles as well.
That turned them into Brunkles.
His Sisters used to be just Sisters. But then it is discovered they might be Aunts as well.
That turned them into Sisaunts.
The boy is never meant to know the truth because his birth brings with it, shame.
How could any of them be, okay?
Especially, the boy and his Grandmother?
My Life on the Slush Pile (Lindsay Wincherauk)
His Mother is his Sister. Making her his Sister + his Mother.
His Father is his Grandfather.
His Grandmother is just his Grandmother.
His Brothers used to be just Brothers. But then it is discovered they might be Uncles as well.
That turned them into Brunkles.
His Sisters used to be just Sisters. But then it is discovered they might be Aunts as well.
That turned them into Sisaunts.
The boy is never meant to know the truth because his birth brings with it, shame.
How could any of them be, okay?
Especially, the boy and his Grandmother?
My Life on the Slush Pile (Lindsay Wincherauk)
