Author: catchmydrift.blog

I've had a career as an elementary school teacher. During that time I wrote for newspapers and magazines. Writing is a part of my daily life: It's a way to understand my thoughts, reach out to the world, offer an opinion and record my passage. I take joy in words as other artists express themselves through dance, acting, sculpture or paint. A single word can evoke powerful visions. I see life as a celebration. Like all humans I am complex and curious even while some have called me conventional. I follow my father's belief that everything can be awesome, if you choose it to be. I'm a work in progress, just like this blog, now with 300 postings of thought and ideas. Social media, like pen palling or ham radio connections of yore, can be a positive way to build that great, vast realm that is human consciousness. Leave me a comment if you are so moved or Substack https://mrrobertthompson.substack.com/ or on Bluesky @wh0n0z.bsky.social

Re: Intent

Intention is not everything, but it’s a start. It has been said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I don’t believe in an afterlife so I prefer to do what I can while I have breath in me. Heaven can be found by following through. There are shelves filled with self help books that show examples of how we can move from the idea to execution. The best advise I’ve read is pick a method to accomplish your goals then stick with it until you fail. Then try again.

I remember a clever comic strip that showed a boy scout helping an elder across a busy street. When he got her to the other side she said, “Thanks sonny but I didn’t want to cross”. I’ve been that scout, trying to do the right thing but unintentionally screwing up. Having good intent will not mitigate a misguided decision. Sometimes all it takes is asking first, acting next. Resolving to do the right thing by others takes practise. As a parent I bought all of the books by Barbara Coloroso, a well known child behaviour expert. She came to visit our community on a promotional tour for her work, my wife and I sat in the audience taking notes. I am still guided in everyday life by her quote; “Say what you mean, Mean what you say, and Do what you say you will do.”

I can relate to finding the right mood/moment/headspace to start or complete a task. Certain inexplicable things sometimes have to be just right before I can proceed with an intention. It is hard to create a balance between the aphorisms, ‘He who hesitates is lost’ and ‘Look before you leap’. Sometimes I relish a day spent procrastinating. Other days I will rejoice that I have tackled those things that have nagged at me. I often start the day with intention, in the form of a list on paper or in my head. If I don’t always accomplish what I set out to do, I forgive myself.

A child may react to being caught in a misdeed by saying that they didn’t mean it or they didn’t know any harm would come. Parents may allow some wiggle room in the name of learning. However, intention in a courtroom setting must be critically judged. Murders are classified as to the level of intentionality. If the accused is found to have malicious intent then judgement will be harsh.

Jean Talon is a character in early French Canadian history who may hold a key to viewing intent in a positive light. His title was as the first Intendant of New France; a CAO of the colonies. The translation of Intendant to English is Steward. I love the thought that an intention can be something we have a responsibility to see to fruition. If our intent is worthwhile it must not be squandered but put on the first available To Do list. A hopeful idea has little meaning without practical application. We must do what we intend.

Re: Compromise

I can look at the word Compromise from a negative or a positive perspective. When I’m feeling personally compromised I can feel defensive. I’m backed into a corner. My values, principles, even my character is being tested. Someone, (maybe me) has drawn a line in the sand and won’t back down from their position. Chances are this will end badly, unless a middle ground can be found.

Compromise is sometimes making the best of a bad situation. But the work must continue: One must not be resigned to one’s fate. Plans can be made to rectify hurt feelings and reconcile past wrongs. This is true on a personal scale as well as in the public arena. Leanne B. Simpson writes in her book ‘As We Have Always Done’ that relationships (of any kind) are based on consent, reciprocity, respect, and empathy. To my way of thinking reciprocity contains opportunities for finding a non-compromising solution.

It seems quite clear that our planet has been dominated, harvested, polluted and abused to the point where compromising is futile. Leaders gather at multi country conferences like COP26, held in Glasgow, Scotland last year, to attempt a negotiated consensus. It is maddening that while the intent to address climate change seems honest, financial interests time and time  again trump the agenda. The health of all humanity seems beyond our collective will. There is no room for compromise if it means our planet will continue to die. There is no middle ground here, not when that very ground is drying up, flooding and burning. It is really a time for action, not words.

In my life I’ve had to let go of notions that no longer served a purpose. For example, when I was twenty I wanted to be a husband and father within a strong family dynamic. I also wanted to sail the seven seas with Jacques Cousteau. Surprisingly, that great ocean explorer managed both and had two separate, secret concurrent families. I can only imagine the concessions involved for Papa Jacques. My choice was a compromise in the best way possible; I had a successful career, teaching many elementary students the wonders of life, along with abundant time to fill my cup with warm, expansive family memories.

I’ve learned that sometimes it’s ok to let others lead, while I provide a response as a supporting partner. It’s also ok to test out newness, owning the change that comes, making it less about compromising your character and more about celebrating your evolution. My growth as an individual has not been perfect, yet I’ve tried to find something close to perfection in all that I have done. Even my mediocrity has had its moments of splendour. In short, I don’t believe you have to lower your standards to make the concessions that are necessary in life. Maybe you adjust your expectations a bit. Marvel at the way others have found success, rather than feeling gypped about your existence. It’s more about finding the best way forward, seeking the best possible answer to the present question.

Re: Skirt

I’ve wanted a kilt, made in my family tartan for a while now. I won’t skirt the issue regarding why I haven’t bought one: I predict I will feel shy wearing it. There are some ways that I wish I were more daring. Wearing a plaid skirt would certainly be bold for me. I just don’t think I could pull it off yet I continue to fantasize. The thing is I don’t think I present as a manly man like Sean Connery or even Jamie, The Outlander dude. I’m not a man of fashion either; sweats, T-shirts, blue jeans suit me just fine. I prefer to blend in rather than stand out.

The kilt was banned in Scotland for a long time because it was seen by the dominating Brits as a sign of dissent. The word Skirt itself carries much baggage: Not kindly for females. Skirt was a derisive term for women of weak morals. Boys who cried got called Skirts. Canadian girls weren’t allowed to wear pants while at public school even into the early 1970s. Looking at the issue of gender identity, the role of the skirt as a definition of femininity is obvious: Most restrooms still use the skirted woman. I’m thinking spontaneously and perhaps outrageously that the skirt is likely a clothing item seen as an example of male oppression of women.

Part of me wants to raise my Jacobite sword in defence of this free type of covering for all people. By wearing a kilt, or an izaar, I could join other males in discovering the benefits of a breezeway. Or perhaps, in the smallest of ways, I can get a step closer to understanding a woman’s experience. For example, I wonder what it would feel like to stand over a subway grate like Marilyn Monroe once did. Wearing a kilted skirt, I would not be trying to make a statement, just find out how it feels to be so easily accessible and vulnerable.

Exceptions have been made to my normally drab wardrobe. There has been occasions where what I have worn has made me feel on the outskirts of reality. I have been called classy while wearing a crested blue blazer at juvenile team sport banquets. One full year in high school I wore only white pants with corduroy shirts (a different colour for each day of the week). I had a brief fling with the Sonny Crockett ’T-shirt and dinner jacket look’ in my fifties. I can rock a wool turtleneck while practising my seafaring brogue. Once, for a wedding on a paddle wheel boat, I purchased a dark blue, double breasted jacket to go with grey pants and a light grey mock turtleneck. A guest told me I looked familiar, sincerely asking if I had served on a ship out of Whitehorse. I was flattered and wished I could have continued the deception.

Perhaps I’ll buy a kilt for my granddaughter’s wedding. Dinna fash, I’ll ask her first. It’s probably two decades from now so I’ll have plenty of linear time to dither.

Re: Trouble

Trouble is one of those words that pops up frequently. We don’t go looking for it, but it has a way of finding us. “You’re in big trouble mister!” was a sentence I was afraid of hearing as a young boy. Luckily I didn’t hear it very often. I got caught swearing. I once told a kid with big ears that he had big ears. I stole a magnet. That’s about all the trouble I put my parents through. Troublesome, I was not. That was my little sister’s job.

There is a lot of trouble in the world. I don’t know for certain if present times are more troubling than times of yore, but it sure feels like it (make your own list of woes here). I wonder if much of it is our own making. We can look for others to blame or consider ourselves as victims of circumstance I suppose. We can be conned into a fearful state. Here, The Music Man quickly convinces the townsfolk that trouble was just around the corner, all because of a Pool Hall in River City. Well, I’ll be hornswoggled!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LI_Oe-jtgdI

Laughing through our times of trouble can be helpful when the fix is easy. Authors create characters who might conjure trouble over a bubbling pot or use television comedy to resolve the conflict on screen. Laugh tracks can help assure us that problems won’t last and, really, everything is all in good fun. Captain Kirk tried to be serious during his trouble with Tribbles but in the end even Spock feigned amusement. Song writers can use melody to bring us out of our funk or they may convince us with words that we need not worry, just be happy. One of the films of my childhood starred an actor named Norman Wisdom. ‘Trouble in Store’ was about a charming goof of a man who’s heart was always in the right place even when his brain wasn’t fully engaged.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpMRnN5-Bpw

Sometimes the difference between pain and suffering is a matter of time as much as perspective. The Troubles of Northern Ireland lasted decades before there was any sort of peaceful resolution. Children grew up in this God forsaken corner of the world knowing all measure of hostility. Religion as a cause would be any easy excuse while to me, watching from the outside, it seemed more about bitterness, intractable positions, poverty and blind stupidity.

Trouble Shooting sounds like an oxymoron yet it can be helpful to gather as a group to solve a problem or set a new direction. I normally like to keep to myself, yet put me in a room with some newsprint on a flip chart and I can lead a bunch of willing wanderers out of their confusion. “Remember folks, there are no wrong answers.” I’ll announce as I clutch my set of non toxic coloured markers. Word to the wise: I’ve learned to set up the ‘breakout’ groups before workshop participants consider a mutiny.

Re: Kite

Kite flying is an analog pastime. As an activity it fits in a category with old timey games involving hoops, skittles, wooden balls or pegs. It’s been a long time since I felt like I wanted to play a game of croquet, yet when I found out that my son had bought a kite for his son, I wanted one too. My wife encouraged me to follow my desire. She has the sweetest heart.

My memories of kites are fulsome and fun. When I was a kid we would get a new kite every summer, while camping on the coast of Maine. There was a tiny store next to the shore that sold beachy things and they always stocked the latest kite designs. My sister would get an inflatable mattress or colourful beachball while the kite was my thing. It pleased me that my kite took a bit of assembly, some skill to get it aloft all the while staying tethered and in my control. Long after my little sister’s newly purchased toys had blown away or been punctured, my kite remained airborne.

A kite can be a collectible as well as a momentary source of pleasure. Throughout Canada I have witnessed several festivals where kites have been a prominent feature. An enthusiastic citizen named John Vickers organized community gatherings where these aerodynamic toys took centre stage in Victoria, British Columbia. It was fun to wander down to Clover Point at the end of the day’s kite building to see what everyone had accomplished. Dozens of kites made of paper, plastic, foil, garbage bags, even hair nets were tossed into the air with wild delight. I once attended a kite battle at the CNE grounds in Toronto. Razor blades were attached to a part of the kite string. Handlers aimed their kites so as to cross paths with someone else’s line, slicing their opponent’s mooring to obtain victory. This Youtube clip is way more dramatic than what I saw but it gives you an idea. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTL6B9PbqIU

Variations of kite technology can be found everywhere these days. Along Victoria’s Juan De Fuca shoreline on most windy days you will find kitesurfing or kiteboarding taking place. Using the forces of nature to leap and skim over the ocean waves, athletes hold on to large plumes of silk or poly, their feet attached to a surfboard. In my day I used a sailboard, not really kite-like but a much quieter ride for my liking. Along this same coast and often on the same day you can see paragliders suspended twenty or thirty feet overhead, following the bluff line, imitating the soaring seagulls. It’s quite a sight, watching all these kites, and so pollution free!

I’m looking forward to spring and another opportunity to build and/or fly kites with my grandchildren. When I’m holding my kite, there is a reset going on. It feels healthy. “With tuppence for paper and strings/You can have your own set of wings.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNSler7jBWs

Re: Watch

Long ago, in a land far away, some shepherds stood watch over their flocks by night. Others watched for a light in the distance. Some are watching still; for a saviour, an answer, a way out, a bit of truth at least. We all get comfort from a good story. We watch for ways that the story can help us in our fragile existence.

Many years ago I watched over my wife who was dying of cancer. I wasn’t the only one. Palliative care is a draining exercise. During the hours that I set off to work I had asked several friends to spend some time caring for my bride’s needs. One member of this collective took charge and organized a weekly calendar of visitations. I dubbed the 12 member group, ‘The Watchers’. A month after her death, we all gathered to reflect on our experience. We ate cake and posed for pictures. Many voiced that the job of being an active witness during a chapter of life was profoundly moving. 

Yesterday I was standing outside a store waiting for it to open. Two others of my age were also watching to see if anyone was coming to open the door. I commented, “It must be close to ten.” “Sorry, I don’t have a watch,” came a synchronous, stereophonic reply. We three wise men chuckled. We collectively wondered if anyone owned a timepiece anymore. I haven’t worn a wristwatch for years. I have a fake Rolex that my wife found for me in a rummage box. I’ve worn it a few times feeling expansive. I took it on a cruise holiday once and I felt overly watchful of it. Regardless of my attention, I dropped it, cracking the crystal dial. It became a heavy burden on my wrist and my mind. I resigned myself to fixing it, now I keep it in a bedside drawer. I don’t want to watch the watch any longer.

Today I talked to my son who reported he had just bought a Fitbit. He wears it on his wrist so he can monitor his health. He can program the device to watch his heart rate, his REM sleep patterns, his daily steps and to remind him when it is time to get up from his chair. He feels it’s helping him to be more active. I felt comforted by the news of this purchase. Perhaps I was pleased that the digital device was watching over him, since I no longer can with such regularity.

Watching signs of the passage of time is a very watchable activity. I like looking out windows. I can be transfixed by the slow lengthening of shadows as time moves towards dusk. The sight of logs bobbing in rounded waves, then getting beached by the receding tide can tell me it is time to go home. The slow rise of an orange moon makes me wonder how many times I have witnessed the fullness of a complete day with someone I love.

Re: Understand

I took a two hour road trip with someone several years ago. Please understand that I zone out after a few minutes as a passenger in any vehicle. I’m not much better at conversation if I’m driving the car. Then I put myself on auto pilot as my mind numbs to anything but safety on the highway. On this particular trip though, the time sped by because we were dissecting the phrase, “I can dig it.” 

We both got the reference to the sixties, back when the phrase was popularized. We were of a similar age to appreciate the context behind ‘getting it’ but wondered if there was a difference between relating and understanding. Today when we say,”I can relate” after a friend has told us a story we want to convey that we understand as well as feel empathy. While in the car, that division between mind and heart kept us alert as we gave examples of understanding someone’s point of view while not necessarily relating to their situation.

For example, I understand why a person may choose to own a pet. I confess that I don’t prefer animals in the home, even though I have shared space with dogs, cats, a rabbit, a lizard and tropical fish at various times in my life. My sister and her daughter have both been pet lovers. When my niece said goodbye to her latest dog I asked if she would get another animal. She knows I would have a hard time relating to her decision if she did. Perhaps we can relate to our next of kin or loved ones because it is easier to empathize. They are relatives after all, so understanding their behaviour is not always conditional for our love. 

If I want to understand something or someone I take steps to evaluate the information provided. I’ll listen, observe, compare and contrast in a genuine effort to see the facts. This is head space work, scientific even. I don’t relate to the desire to go jogging. I understand the joy of fresh air, wind in my hair and using physical, not fossilized, energy. But would I make going for a daily run a lifestyle choice? Nope!

Back in the Trump days it was understandable to me how his brand could be seen as commercially appealing. I also ‘got’ the hatred for Hillary. And yet I could not relate to those who chose to vote for someone with so many obvious flaws. The division I see amongst the population of the United States today is a result of one side ignoring the work that is required to understand. In interviews these folks will actually be heard saying, “I don’t need to know.” 

Understanding certainly helps you to ‘get’ another person. When I am in conversation with someone, I like it when they check in with a phrase or comment which suggests they want to confirm what they just heard. They may not ‘dig’ my point of view but it’s wonderful to find out that they want to understand me.

Re: Enough

“Enough!” Is a cry of exasperation. I’ve shouted ‘Stop’ using the same emotion. There is so much discord, trauma and catastrophe in the world right now that I’m surprised someone hasn’t used Enough as a label for a social activist, environmental justice or political reform movement. I picture vast numbers of people all wearing red Enough! T-shirts, faces boiling mad, voices yelling through loud speakers. That will fix things.

Enough is a word with a selfish root. We say it when things aren’t going our way. We say it to make bad things go away. We ask it when we are questioning our worthiness or competence: “Am I doing enough?” Or “Have I done enough?” Or “Am I enough for you?” In discussions we have with ourselves or with others we hopefully can reach a point to acknowledge our understanding by saying, “Fair Enough.”

I’ve rarely felt ambitious. A peaceful life of satisfying activity shared with others feels enough for me. I’ll admit there has been a few times when I have hung on tenaciously to a goal. The grasp of that brass ring might have been the only thing sufficient to get me off the scent. And yet I rarely have found myself so fixated that I refused to listen to another person’s counsel. I’ve met people who are always wondering if they will ever have enough material things, enough space or time or even enough peace of mind. The accumulation of things, medals, memories has never been an aim of mine. The journey is what counts. But some must continue to strive, to master, even to conquer, while missing out on what’s right in front of them. 

I usually feel uncomfortable in times when abundance is the focus: Decadence diminishes delight. Christmas particularly is a conflict of interest, especially being part of a collective family scene where wrapping paper is strewn about the floor as participants tear into their gifts with wild abandon. There is stress related to the value of the gift in the context of the giver. Thoughts of fairness, have I spent enough, or will the recipient feel the presents were adequate to the occasion, all do a balancing act in my mind. It’s a display of consumption that messes with the joy of giving and receiving for me and each time I hope that I can muster enough patience and grace to be present.

We do many things hoping they will be enough. On retirement, many wonder if they have left a legacy, if they accomplished what they had set out to do. My wife feels this everyday as she cares for her aging parents. I feel her actions are a reminder of the importance of sacrifice; ‘a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done before’. Charles Dickens often described his characters, young or old, as being in a state of grace when they put another’s needs ahead of their own. Oliver was clearly needy, while Scrooge was greedy.

Re: Access

I feel like a spoiled child when I am denied access. I want to kick and scream until I’m sent to my bedroom without any tv or supper. I scream, “I Don’t Care. It’s Not Fair!” I’ve got conflicted emotions while I’m holding my selfish ground. Thx Icona Pop.

When the child in me quiets down I can be rational. I can better see my place in the grand scheme of things when temper has cooled. I might still complain about the many gatekeepers at work to keep order in society. I might still rail against those who make money by keeping essential commodities inaccessible for the many in need, but I can put my selfish desires aside when I’m calm because my adult mind can remind me that I can’t always get what I want. I can believe for a moment that all good things will come to those who wait. Thx Rolling Stones. 

I have given access a priority whenever I have made a move in my life. I want to be near the things I need for satisfaction. As much as my budget will allow, I figure closer is better; to beautiful spaces, to artistic opportunities, to healthy communities. There is nothing quite like caring for an elder to remind me of how lucky I am to be able bodied. Chaperoning someone in a wheelchair shows me how accessibility issues prevail. A simple grocery run is more difficult. A nature outing stops short when trails are not fit for wheels. Access points need to be evaluated for navigation hazards. And mobility concerns are not the least of the worries when dealing with sight or hearing deficits. 

“Sorry, your request to be verified has been denied.” A Twitter message I received recently. It bothered me for a while. It was a cold ‘Access Denied’ sign that made me feel less than. I had not wanted the blue checkmark for status, but for clarity of identification: There are a lot of people with my name in this world. I soothed my sour grapes mood by realizing that I am among the many nearly anonymous, hardly influential and unheralded folk in this world.

It’s true that status often defines access. Consider William Shatner who was able, at 90, to take his Star Trek persona on a space joy ride. I have enjoyed the perks of going to events in my home towns as a result of a Press pass or Board membership. I may not be rich or powerful,  yet I have felt the joys of entitlement enough to wish that everyone could be so blessed. So many humans on this Earth are denied the most essential of items: fresh water, food, housing, education, health care. My baby rants of ‘poor me’ make me feel embarrassed. For the vast majority there is a gate (virtual or otherwise) keeping them out of pleasures and processes that I too often take for granted. I must work harder to champion equity.

Re: Cable

The first transatlantic communications cable was completed in 1858. It was telegraph back then; dots and dashes pulsing under the waves. Now we have similar cables of fibre optic material. I’m sometimes not sure if we have come very far when is comes to cable technology. Full disclosure: I’m going to sound old-timey in this blog so laugh away if you could use some chuckle therapy. I wish I could laugh, and maybe I’ll get there but the wounds are still fresh. I’ve had two chats with two different cable companies in the space of a month and “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.” (Network 1976) 

Incident #1: My WIFI receiver was getting hotter than usual. I went to Shaw Cable’s website and initiated a Live Chat. 37 minutes of soul sucking chatting later, it dawned on me (chuckle here) that I was discussing my problem with an algorithm (new word meaning Robot). I finally asked the robot if I could have a technician come and replace the old device. I got an appointment booked and was told they would mail me the equipment. Two deliveries of tech stuff arrive. The cable guy arrives. He shakes his head as I relate the story. 

Incident #2: After setting up cable & WIFI in a rental in Ontario I was contacted on the phone by Bell Communications, at dinner and on weekends, for a total of five calls. They wanted to know if I was pleased with the service and if I wanted to upgrade any features. I said it was too early to say, but I would call them if I needed any help and please don’t interrupt me again. When I did call them (at least this time I got a real service agent) about a question regarding service irregularities due to jet flight over the building, I was told they could do nothing. When I pointed out my parents-in-law, five floors up, didn’t have the problem, the fellow got defensive. When I asked for a cable guy to come check the installation he said that everything looks good from his end and he couldn’t authorize it. I asked to speak to a manager and was told I would receive a follow-up chat (again with the chatting). All I got was an email telling me I might want to change the location of my connection.

There was a lot of chattering going on. I should mention that I’m triggered by the word Chat. I used to work with a school Principal who used the phrase, “Let’s have a chat,” whenever he wanted to stress a point of discipline. Every time I Skype I see dozens of avatars who just can’t wait to have a live chat with me. On the one hand I’m grateful we have cables (chuckle again, as you do your Wireless Age type thinking). On the other hand I sometimes feel the cable community is manipulating me. Chipmunk chatter, is what this is. Forgive me for being such a chatterbox.

I’m only human.