It’s as if the adult world has been rendered small, simple and fun, and as we boarded the ferry for the three minute journey to the airport, we felt like children getting on a ride at the CNE. It was first thing in the morning and a dense fog hung mysteriously around us, covering everything.

We could not see where we were going, and this created an atmosphere of adventure and whimsy, and in this context all the businessmen looked particularly ridiculous. Each one of them in a suit that suggested the distance between the corporate status to which they aspired and the disappointing status that they’d actually been assigned, they sat in isolated, self-important concentration. Brows furrowed over spread sheets and columns of data, their too-large fingers hunted-and-pecked on miniature keypads, and it was all a little heart-breaking. Like kids pretending at being adults, they attempted to project that what they were doing was of vital importance, but you could tell that inside they all knew better.

Inside they still wanted to discover a waterfall.
Swim with a knife clenched between their teeth.
Find the hidden treasure.

To our son Jones, who is nearly two, everything is a wonder. He is on the edge of language, and his words, mysterious and uncontainable, are still holier than ours. Excited, almost breathless, he exploded onto the ferry with bright, astonished eyes. He ran around pointing, naming everything he saw. The businessmen all kept their heads down—there was important work to be done—but an older couple watched, smiling as this new world broke into day around our son, aware they were in the midst of a tiny God now bringing his universe into being.

There’s always one just-past-middle-aged man– usually with long grey hair pulled back into a pony tail or up into a samurai knot– executing some interpretation of a martial art using a huge wooden stick or some such. Whenever I see one of these men I am forced to imagine their apartment, and I do not like that. I do not like the fabrics and odours and screensavers

that puts in my head, and so I’ve always kept a kind of hostile distance from them.

Our park, the park where we take our son Jones to play every day, has one of these guys. He is pudgy, dresses all in black, and looks like somebody whose life had been taken over by Columbine ninja fantasies a long time ago.

As such, I have not yet chatted with him, and have chosen instead to make fun of him behind his back. However, since my completion of pulmonary rehabilitation I have hired a personal trainer and I now work-out in this park, which brings me in direct competition with the Columbine ninja for the creepiest man in the park. Yesterday, he was stationed, with his collection of magic sticks, by the bench where I now work out.

This is the conversation that took place:

Me: Hey there, what are you up to!?

Columbine Ninja: ( Continues his maneuvers without saying a word.)

Me: I’m about to work-out. Here. By this bench. This one here. Is that okay with you?

Columbine Ninja: (Raises one hand to shush me)

Me: (Begins to pull out resistance bands from a Shopper’s Drug Mart bag)

Columbine Ninja: You must never disturb a warrior when he is training.

Me: Are you a warrior?

Columbine Ninja: ( Does a maneuver with his big stick, strikes the branch of a tree)

Me: Nice.

Columbine Ninja: The true warrior is invisible to those who cannot see.

Me: Yes, of course, I should have known that.

Columbine Ninja: Not all who wander are lost.

Me: Are you a part-time life coach or something?

Columbine Ninja: I am a student, not the master.

Me: Uber driver?

Columbine Ninja: I am a student of Kenjutsu!

Me: I think you work at a weed dispensary.

Columbine Ninja: Anata wa seik? shite imasu.

Me: What was that, Klingon? That doesn’t impress me in the least.

Columbine Ninja: I wonder why it is that you have trouble breathing? Is it because you fear life? I think you are a scared man. In Kenjutsu they teach you how to control your breathing, how to master your fear before it masters you!

Me: I only have one lung.

Columbine Ninja: And all you need in order to live a failed life is one excuse.

And then the Columbine Ninja just walked away and I commenced the most melancholy work-out in history.

Excellent form, though.

These are the texts messages I sent my wife in a recent conversation:

*****************************

Me: Just watered my plant.

Me: No.

Me: No, you’re wrong. The plant is doing great.

Me: I’m really going to look after it.

Me: I am going to be a money tree ninja.

Me: One hundred dollar bills are going to be growing on that fucker!

Me: And each bill will blossom into the exact change for the laundry!

Me: Really?

Me: Well, why do they call it a money tree if it doesn’t grow money?

Me: Marketing?

Me: The fuckers.

Me: Fake news is everywhere! It’s getting hard to know how to navigate this world!

Me: Oh, you think a job would help?

Me: You’d be wrong! Just like you are about my plant’s chances for survival!

Me: It’s way better than 15%!

Me: That plant has at least a 50-50 shot. Easily.

Me: I bought a spray bottle for that plant! It’s getting the five star Murray treatment!

Me: That’s what you’re worried about. Ha-ha.

Me: So very clever.

Me: But listen, not everybody needs a job in order to be fulfilled.

Me: Criminals, for instance.

Me: Oh.

Me: Yeah, I guess they do make license plates and stuff.

Me: Okay.

Me: Deer.

Me: Deer don’t have jobs. They don’t even respect the law, man!

Me: Crush the system!

Me: Look, I will eventually get a job.

Me: I will.

Me: I just need to finish the designs for my cryptozoology tarot cards and then I can open up shop and start reading fortunes!!

Me: I was told I could set up a table at Snakes and Lattes.

Me: Well, yes.

Me: I would have to pay a small rental, but that would come out of my fantasy baseball investment portfolio.

Me: Are you serious???

Me: Really???

Me: Fuck!

Me: I can’t believe somebody else already came up with the idea for cryptozoology tarot cards!

Me: Damn it!

Me: I was really looking forward to going on Dragon’s Den, too.

Me: Oh well, back to the drawing board! Fall six times, get up seven, that’s my motto.

Me: “More like fall six million times?”

Me: Good one, Petal.

Me: It’s true, you are a very funny and talented woman who doesn’t drink too much!

Me: No, I don’t know what you’re doing with me either.

Me: Really does seem an uneven match.

Me: Jones?

Me: Yeah, I think he’s around somewhere.

Me: Oh there he is! Standing up on the wobbly chair right by the window and a bunch of dangerous ledges!

Me: He’s fine, having some quality dad time!

Me: Oh you and your elite mothering!

Me: Fine!

Me: He’s down now, playing with a little brown ball on the floor.

Me: Oh.

Me: It’s actually a peeled apple.

Me: Gross.

Me: Listen I’m going to tell you something.

Me: When he hides, I ALWAYS see him.

Me: He’s just not as smart as he thinks he is.

Me: Fine.

Me: Fine. I will perpetuate the peek-a-boo myth if you insist, and throw out the dirt apple, but I am sure as hell not going back to that job at the Box Factory!

Me: Okay, see you at 5:30! xox

******************************

Rachelle: Pickle, I’m afraid we’re going to have to make some sacrifices in order to afford some help looking after Jones.

Rachelle: Well, I’ll be going back to work in the fall, and unless you think you can look after Jones on your own, we’re going to need somebody to help.

Rachelle: No.

Rachelle: No, I’m positive.

Rachelle: I can’t take Jones in to work with me.

Rachelle: For a million fucking reasons, okay?

Rachelle: Look, I’ve crunched some numbers and you’re going to have to get rid of your subscription to the Baseball Channel

and stop ordering lunch from Uber Eats each day.

Rachelle: Sigh.

Rachelle: I am not “busting your balls.”

Rachelle: Yes, you probably will starve.

Rachelle: It will be tragic, especially after all you’ve gone through, but at least there will be Jones to carry on.

Rachelle: I’ll make sure he knows of his father’s sacrifice, how you stopped watching baseball 8 hours a day and eating restaurant lunches so that you could afford to pay somebody else to look after him.

Rachelle: Look, I’m not harsh, just a truth teller. You knew that when you married me.

Rachelle: I don’t understand.

Rachelle: What’s a “side hustle?”

Rachelle: Oh, so it’s like a job, but it’s usually illegal, and you only do it when you want?

Rachelle: Why yes, that does sound like a perfect solution to our problems! What will your side hustle be?

Rachelle: Ikea Furniture Builder???

Rachelle: So, you would go to homes and personally assemble their furniture??

Rachelle: That is my favourite thing ever.

Rachelle: Yes, it’s even better than naming a ship Boaty McBoat Face.

Rachelle: So, just curious, how would you get to these homes?

Rachelle: Uber, of course.

Rachelle: Imagine, if you had a driver’s license you could actually be an Uber driver!

Rachelle: Yes, if you passed the security screening.

Rachelle: I know you have a “past,” ran with a tough crowd in junior high. It’s that edge I love, Pickle.

Rachelle: But let’s get back to your side hustle. Once you get to your “client,” how would you assemble the furniture?

Rachelle: Yes, I’m sure you would figure it out. Lots of evidence to support that.

Rachelle: You have a very good mind for all things mechanical.

Rachelle: You did a beautiful job on the crib, for instance.

Rachelle: Yes, it was as much a sculpture as anything else. As you say, Living Art.

Rachelle: But look, you could just get a job, a job could be your “side-hustle.”

Rachelle: You could work in a food court or maybe a discount shoe store.

Rachelle: The Bulk Barn, maybe? You might get a deal on nuts, that would be a bonus!

Rachelle: I don’t think Blockbuster exists anymore, dear.

Rachelle: I know those were good times for you at “The Block.”
Rachelle: Everybody came for the Pickle Picks, I know. You were practically a star!

Rachelle: Yes my love, times have changed.

She was young and pretty, a student studying to become a dietician, and her youth, cast amidst the somewhat resigned and much older counterculture of porters, seemed to make everybody a little giddy. Her innocence and simple optimism was a narcotic, and all the men stood a little straighter and attempted to make charming remarks around her. She cheerfully pushed me about in my wheelchair as if it was some high school game and not life on the slippery slope, and it made me want to be outside, in the sun of some past, leaning back and resting my head against her and the limitless smell of her hair… but no, no– there is much work to do.

We pass so many people in the hospital corridors. The always smiling Happy Cancer Ladies, who’ve either discovered their bliss through illness or are frozen in panic, unable to move their focus from the positive for one second lest they shatter into a million pieces. Gratitude radiates from them, and they smile at me as if I’m a precocious child, making gentle, almost holy room for my slender passage. And then suddenly, I was part of a long procession of wheelchairs passing by—bald and pale cancer patients, a girl burned with acid from an honour attack and an elderly man with skin so thin you could almost see into his past. The Happy Cancer Ladies stand aside and beam, practically applauding, they’re so sincerely proud of us.

Men who wear brown coveralls run the elevators. All day they live in these boxes, these boxes that open and close like respiration. They sit there, flipping through the Toronto Sun and wondering what else the world might have to offer them, and when the new porter wheels me in, something happens. It’s like everybody has had three drinks and is now wearing their favourite shirt. Conversation pipes up, and everybody is talking and laughing and flirting, dispensing wisdom and jokes about the myriad complications of negotiating the underground tunnels.

“I was her mission, “ I say, “I am the treasure she has returned with.”

The young girl laughed because that is what she does, but the elevator man seemed intrigued, “You are a treasure?” “Yes,” I said mystically, “I can grant you a wish. You tell me what you want and I will make sure you get it.” I expected a joke, but I could see in his face that he would not let this happen. He looked at me, stating plainly, “I want my mother to be here with me.”

I put my hand on his forearm, ” You have to close your eyes and imagine her, thinking of the best, safest times you spent together, and through this you will summon her, and you will feel her touch upon your skin, her scent returning…”

It cast a little spell, this, and the girl made the sound of a small animal that wanted to be hugged, while the man stared off at a distant horizon. As I was being wheeled out, the elevator man wanted to tell me something, a message from a song by King Crimson that his language inhibited him from pronouncing, and as he leaned toward me trying to spell the title out, the doors closed, the potential of this information lingering between us for a moment, and then falling away.

It hasn’t been going particularly well, as I’m not really qualified for much, but recently I came upon a truly interesting and exciting possibility. A new company called Cudlers is opening up in Toronto, and they offer—for a price of $80 an hour—a platonic snuggling service for its clients, and are currently looking for a diverse array of Cuddlers to make house calls throughout the Greater Toronto Area.

I think I could do this.

I wrote the agency expressing my interest and they requested that I send them a photograph of myself, including my age and height, and a short essay on why I’d like to be a Cuddler.

This is what I sent:

Marcus Agincourt

Age: Younger than Tom Cruise

Height: Taller than Tom Cruise

I have been told that I have an extremely warm and reassuring manner. In fact, during group, I was once told, “Marcus, holding you is like stepping inside of a calming, Brian Eno composition.” I have participated in extensive Hug Therapy (HT) for my PTSD over the years, and the result of this training is that I am a very, very empathetic, sensitive and patient person.

You should know that I am an excellent listener and a natural conversationalist whom people feel very comfortable confiding in. I am, as they say, an old soul, and even if I have a slightly jittery manner and often knock things over, such as drinks, ashtrays and lamps, I’ve been told that I really know how to put people at ease. (I am a Pisces, and although many of this star sign are drinkers, I swore off the hard stuff years ago and now restrict myself to just wine in the evening.)

I dress well, in soft and reliable fabrics, and as I have very little muscle tone, my build, although slim, is very soft to the touch. I am proud to say that I have been compared favourably to Wagyu beef. Also, I do not sweat, so I emit no body odour whatsoever, and out of respect for others, have always kept my nails trim.

The truth is that I just want to help. I understand that in this modern world it’s sometimes easy to feel isolated and disconnected, and that people yearn for some simple, platonic human contact. It may sound corny, but I just want to help people heal, and if I can do that by wrapping myself around them in a non-sexual way for an hour, then I would consider it a privilege to do so.

Hugs,

Marcus Agincourt

PS: I prefer to cuddle to the music of Blondie but would defer to the wishes of the client.

PPS: A short list of dream clients:

Vintage Raquel Welch

An Asian

Jennifer Love Hewitt

Salma Hayek

Tom Hardy

Madonna (I would snuggle the mean right out of her)

Natalie Portman

Janet Gretzky

Paulina Gretzky (I would like to cuddle the three Gretzky’s all at once)

Wayne Gretzky

Stephen Hawking (I think it would be interesting and a possible learning experience, understanding that the cuddler will learn as much from the cuddlee, as the other way around!)

R: My hockey game just ended and I should be there in about 10!

R: No fights.

R: There are never any fights.

R: Well, thank you, I guess.

R: I appreciate that you think I would be good in fight.

R: It’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.

R: Very romantic.

R: Oh, you got the best seat in the house!

R: Well done, Pickle!

R: Yes, your charm is considerable.

R: I bet the hostess didn’t stand a chance.

R: Those new sneakers really give you a lot of confidence, don’t they?

R: Imagine how you’d feel if you had a driver’s license and a job, too??

R: You’d be made of confidence! You’d probably take over a country or something!

R: I’m not being sarcastic.

R: I’m being cute, playful and funny.

R: Hockey doesn’t make me mean.

R: Oh, Pickle, you know I love you, and I do appreciate that you got there early and used your charm to get us the best table in the place.

R: Yes, you do have a commanding presence. It’s clear from the way that animals always obey you.

R: Our dog, for instance, she really listens!

R: And remember when the squirrel knocked you over and gave you a bloody nose when it stole a lozenge from you?

R: No? Well, you did hit your head pretty hard, it’s possible you got a concussion.

R: Yes, you just keep up with the online brain games and I’m sure you’ll be fine.

R: I know you skipped grade three, but honey, that was a very, very long time ago.

R: WHAT????

R: REALLY??? HOLY FUCK!!

R: For the love of Christ, DO NOT SAY A WORD TO HIM!!

R: I CANNOT BELIEVE JIM CUDDY IS IN THE RESTAURANT!! OMG!

R: NO!!! Do not tell him that you really admired his work in the Bare Naked Ladies!

R: You know damn well he was in Blue Rodeo.

R: But it’s true, I would be a bare naked lady for him!

R: How does he look?

R: Yes, it is interesting that you got the best seat in the house and not him. HOW DOES HE LOOK?

R: Oh, he’s wearing ugly sneakers, is he?

R: I still love him. I would love him in any weather.

R: Whatever you do, pleasepleaseplease don’t speak to him.

R: Please, promise me that.

R: Look, I’m allowed celebrity crushes.

R: I know you’ve been looking at the nudes of Jennifer Lawrence.

R: I know you say you’d never violate her and that it’s a sex crime to look at stolen photos, but your Internet history tells a different story.

R: Look, let’s cut the bullshit, just make sure I’m sitting where I have a clear sight line to him, I’ll be there in 30 seconds.

Good afternoon, everybody, happy Wednesday! I hope you all enjoyed the poem I posted on Facebook today. It’s about an Amish girl and snow, really sweet. I thought I’d take some questions, but first I want to address something that’s being weighing heavily on my mind.

I have done some things that are contrary to my values. I tortured some folks. I understand why it happened, and I think it’s important that we all remember how lonely, frightened and angry I was feeling after the Twin Towers fell. I was really furious, drinking pretty heavily at the time and the truth is that I wanted nothing more than to lash out. I think many of us were feeling that way, and I know that my partner-in-torturing-folks, Vera, certainly was.

But remember, Vera, who is a patriot, was under tremendous pressure at that time. She was working really hard at two kitchen jobs, unsure about whether to get back with her ex and had just had her bike stolen.

That’s quite a bit to handle, and she was simply doing the best she could under difficult circumstances. However, having said all that, the simple truth is that we did some things that were wrong.

Waterboarding violates my ideals and values.

Nothing, not even finding out where Vera’s stolen bicycle was, and if it was her ex who stole it, is worth violating our values for. Vera and I crossed a line, and this needs to be understood and accepted, and we, as drinking buddies, need to take responsibility so that hopefully we don’t torture any more folks in the future.

Kids, let me say to you, torturing folks is wrong. It’s not what Michael Murray stands for, and it’s my hope that this sad series of incidents over the summers of 2011 and 2012 and 2013, remind us once again, that our character has to be measured not by what we do when things are easy, but what we do when things are hard.

The girl working the cash was young and seemed excited by her job, exuding a manner that suggested she brought a great rush of enthusiasm and competence to everything she did. Cheery, even encouraging, she practically told me the story of each item I was buying, health and optimism radiating from her like sunlight.

On Dupont, a lovely, young Indian woman in Lycra yoga gear was doing some modest stretches against the steps near a restaurant. It wasn’t accidentally beautiful, there was some intent to her actions, but it was close. However, every time a man walked down the sidewalk she tensed up and became anxious, just waiting for something unpleasant to happen, for some guy to say something that was going to ruin her fragile day.

And as she did some calf stretches, a young woman proudly walked past her. She was swinging her arms and there was a spring in her step. She was feeling good, like a world-beater, and she was wearing a vivid, bright red t-shirt that said, “This is my Jesus year,” animated by her faith, an unknowable courage seemed to be guiding her through the day.

****************************

Colder than an owl claw outside! Salt burn paws like Nazi torture and Heidi always shivering! Awful!! Heidi live an eternity in this stupid den. Been so long since Heidi go out that her nails now all long like reclusive billionaire. Life Heidi lead no life at all, just lie around with four-eyed, two-legged treat giver and listen to him breathe. Such shallow breath! Always smell of fear, too. Weak, four-eyed, two-legged treat giver, very weak.

Heidi so bored ready to kill other pack members, but that make Heidi BAD DOG, so Heidi no kill pack. Heidi GOOD DOG, Heidi, PRETTY DOG. Heidi decide that right thing to do to stave off winter fever to get job. Heidi take test on-line to get prepared.

1. Would you rather have world peace or have a treat?

Tough question for Heidi. Have to think long time. Decide treat.

2. Are your instincts to lead or to follow in a crisis situation?

Heidi born pack leader! Heidi always first to stick her head in hole or eat thing on street!

3. Would you rather chase a squirrel or would you rather save a dying child?

Heidi think world without squirrels safer for the children. Heidi chase squirrel. For the children. Heidi always think of children.

4. Would you rather dig a hole in the garden or be an Olympic champion?

Not enough information in question. Heidi need to know what sport. Is digging hole in garden Olympic sport?

5. Would you rather kill a cat or kill a squirrel?

Heidi think about this question long time. Think about this whole life. Cat very deserving of being killed, no doubt, but as squirrel live in sky most of time, more of challenge to kill squirrel, so Heidi have to choose squirrel. Heidi ambitious leader, very good employee!! Not scared of a challenge! (But truth is Heidi really like to kill both squirrel and cat at same time. Heidi think poison.)

6. Would you rather lick a bowl or learn to fly an airplane?

Lick bowl.

7. Describe the work environment or culture in which you are most happy.

Heidi at her best on fetch field! Very fast dog! Hate other dogs, though. Dogs come to steal Heidi ball! Very bad situation! If no fetch field Heidi like to work on grey blanket or red blanket in den. Play with squeak toy there, never get boring! Heidi very versatile dog.

8. What role does your manager or supervisor play in your personal motivation at work?

Give treats to Heidi, take her walks, get her things and collect poo.

9. Would you rather have a nap or read a good book?

Nap.

10. In the news story of your life, what would the headline say?

Heidi good dog.