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: Pivot

We seem to be living in pivotal times. It’s not that these days are necessarily more dangerous than in the past but judging by headlines, bylines and frown lines there is a lot of distress washing up on our shores. Canadians can be thankful the turmoil hasn’t been violent in our country. Perhaps gratitude comes easily when there is food on the table and a roof over the head.

Chaos and catastrophe aren’t necessary for a shift in direction. Change in leadership can bring about a country’s world view, or maybe it’s the other way around. I will ever be puzzled by the strength of Trump’s following in the United States. I breathed a sigh of relief back in 2020 and now here we are on the cusp of the unthinkable: another four years of head shaking pivots of policy.

Times like these make me even more introspective, if that’s possible. There have been moments in my life where I have pivoted. Sometimes I have strayed from a self-prescribed course of action. At those moments it feels like I’m making a personal choice but now, looking back, I wonder how much free will I really had. On several occasions I have had change inflicted on me and I’ve had to react, adapt or just resign myself to go down that lazy river. We are all soldiers in our own way; sometimes confined to barracks, sometimes told to carry an extra pack, in the rain, through the mud. And sometimes we get to do an about-face and go elsewhere.

In 1954 I was brought to Canada at age two (obviously very little choice with this pivotal event). In 1974 I chose to marry the woman with whom I created a beautiful family. In 1994 my life took a turn for the worse as I fell ill with depression. Returning to health, assisted by excellent medication and an accompanying shift in attitude, I set out to steer my ship into more enjoyable ports of call. In 2004 there came a miracle that felt like a second lifetime: A lovely woman danced me into a new relationship, with new possibilities and a future filled with dream-come-true moments. It’s now 2024. I don’t have the full value of hindsight here, but I do know that thinking of myself as an author has created a pivot in my daily activities. There are many labels I could use to describe me. This new one of ‘Author’ has a pivotal feel.

When I wrote these dates down I was struck that they occurred every twenty years. I score!  Amusingly, I had a vision of my life carrying me another score of years, befitting the pattern. In this positive frame of mind I confidently forecast that I shall survive until 2044. For the next two decades I shall dedicate my life to the things that bring me joy. It’s like a New Year’s Resolution but only over twenty years of daily happiness, pivoting as needs be, to bring an equal dose of joy to those I love.

Re: Choice

I’ve just finished a provocative book by Robert Sapolski called Determined: A Science of Life Without Free Will. Its main point is that there is no such thing as independent choice. The author gives many examples and even scientific data to show that the act of choosing is not possible, even if we are determined to believe it to be true. Choice comes with so much baggage; personal, genetic, historical, cultural and generational. He argues that these patterns in our lives determine our characteristics and behaviour.

When I was in university the common-area lounge debate was often Nature vs Nurture. Looking back on those times it seems the imperative was to take a side. One fellow, I recall clearly, telling us all that he had a right Not to choose. He gave the example of the election held the week before our discussion. He shocked us by declaring he didn’t vote, and probably never would, as his form of protest against the system. I thought at the time that he was an example of anarchy, which was a side without a side I suppose.

If I choose to believe I have no choice I guess I join those who figure that Fate determines our lives. My 95 year old special mom likes to use the phrase, “What will be will be!” That dismissive comment might work for small burps in our existence but I’d hate to use that notion when it comes to global issues like climate change, inequity, famine, or war. Those who argue that something, as serious as humanity’s deterioration, is inevitable get me angry. When I can’t logically explain that choice is inherent to my being, then I’ll get emotional. And emotion will get me nowhere in a debate regarding my freedom of choice.

We can excuse our actions by complaining that we had no choice. To some that is a cop-out, to others who have less advantage, even from the moment of birth, it is a reason to connect A to B. That great David Lean film Lawrence of Arabia contains a narrative arc that illustrates this point dramatically. Lawrence saves a traveller in his caravan apparently destined to die and boasts that choice changes the outcome. In a following scene, that same man commits a deadly act ordained by the instructions of his god. Lawrence must then execute the very man he saved by his own hand.

Sometimes it’s enough to shrug your shoulders at the conundrum of the decision making process. My sister used to ignore the warning signs of a bad situation while I tend to masticate over every detail before picking the ‘best’ course of action. I’m guilty of shaming others by thinking “Well it’s your own damn fault.” I suspect that might be one of the rationals behind bombing Gaza into oblivion, because of the events of October 7, 2023. Choosing to rebel is considered less holy a crusade than an act of retribution. Therein lies the crime against humanity. Alternatively, when we choose something as important as peace we can make good on the promise of creation.

Re: Claudia

In any journey to understand words, in whatever language you use, I feel that emotion often supersedes meaning. For instance, some of us might have trouble even saying a word like Love, let alone trying to define it. The word Love is rich with meaning within the context of a sentence and exquisitely profound when used to understand the depth of a relationship. Let’s face it, some words are utile only. Other words are magical enough to carry a spirit.

Proper nouns are amazing in that regard. The naming of someone immediately makes the qualities of that person unique. Claudia is a Spirit Grandma to three beautiful grandchildren who were born after she died. I love the way her being is honoured with this evocative title. Claudia was once my best friend, my wife and a mother to three precious sons. She and I shared a quarter of a century together before she succumbed to a quickly spreading cancer. To the very end, Claudia was resolute that she had had a good life; one filled with activities, challenges and people who mattered.

Claudia is an uncommon name, befitting a woman unusual for her time. She loved things that resonated with the past. In a time when being a homemaker was losing its efficacy, even looked down upon as a career choice, Claudia enrolled in a University program focussing on Home Economics subjects. In the early seventies, the Macdonald Institute at Guelph University was often derided as leading to a Mrs. Degree. One of the first things that fascinated me about this woman with an old fashioned name was that she made her own clothes. She had been doing it since elementary school, won several contests, entered many fashion shows and was now specializing in the textile arts. I met her at a party, hosted by her friends, where she told me all this as I fell in love with her. Later, when we were planning our marriage, she stated emphatically that she aspired to being a homemaker. I couldn’t have asked for a better mate in that regard. Our house was a very, very, very fine house.

I wonder when a word becomes more than a word. A person’s name is an extraordinary use of a single word. It’s when a noun becomes a proper noun, almost giving it more value. When parents struggle over what word to use to describe their child no wonder there is much to debate and decide. Claudia is indistinguishable to me. Probably because I loved the person attached to that name. I’m sure there are other folks with the name Claudia, but none come to mind when I think of that word.

On paper, in text, Claudia is just a word. It is hard for me to type this word without all sorts of sights, sounds and feelings tumbling out of my brain. Before her death at age fifty, Claudia told me that she had lived the life she wanted, however short. Others, who knew of this particular Claudia, could tell you their own marvellous stories.

Re: Loyalty

There are some values I not only don’t trust but actually shun. I’d go so far as to declare that loyalty is a moral principle that I reject. Loyalty does more harm than good, especially if it is a priority on your list of creeds to live by. The wrongness of this credo is evident to me in so many aspects of life. Yet in most people’s account book, Loyalty figures highly as worthy of respect. I put Love high on my value list so, please, let’s agree to disagree.

I’m binge-watching the television series Billions. In nearly every episode the notion of loyalty comes up. Shall I be faithful in my marriage, shall I honour my business partner, shall I be loyal to my clients whose money I am using to make myself more money? These are questions we see the cast pondering as they try to live fulfilling and exciting lives. To say their morals are non-existent is not being fair. The lesson the drama is teaching me is that being disloyal is the ultimate crime. Any consequence that comes from being disloyal is acceptable. Revenge is usually delivered on a cold plate, without a warm beverage. It’s a dog eat dog world when it comes to the power of money.

In my book of engaging in the social arrangement, allegiance might change from day to day. I figure that loyalty must not be blind, therefore it must be proven worthy by consistency, not history. It doesn’t matter to me that we ‘go way back’ if your current attitude or circumstance runs counter to my association. It’s not good for either of us to support a principle that undermines the common good. I can bend but not be tied in knots. Integrity, Health, Compassion, Courage, and Adaptability all trump Loyalty in my card game of values.

And speaking of Trump. This untrustworthy fellow is my Exhibit Number One in my assertion that loyalty is suspect in the court of human experience. Consider who the former president of the U.S.A expressed his fealty to! Not the American people, no siree! Despite being advised by some to avoid the likes of Putin, Assad, and Un, Trump courted these nasty individuals and fired those who opposed him for disloyalty. Trump is an example of what goes wrong in politics when loyalty is more important than honour.

If you define being loyal as having a commitment to another person then I have no disagreement. Once I have determined that a person is dependable I will have patience for most of their idiosyncrasies. However, I am not faithful to a fault because there is a limit in my loyalty bank and accounts are observed daily. To continue with the pet analogy; I guess I’m like a choosy cat rather than a devoted dog. A domesticated dog seems designed for unflinching devotion and we humans are all too often charmed by this misguided loyalty.

No wonder this four legged creature is referred to as Man’s Best Friend. He doesn’t know any better.

Re: Most

“You’re the most!” Is a declaration that someone once said to me after I delivered on a promise. This cliched phrase (a relative of ‘you’re too much’) was delivered as a thank you when I held up my end of a bargain. It was one of those humbling moments because I didn’t think I had done all that much. Apparently I went beyond much, into the superlative Most!

The word Most is related to the word Best and can be used to describe all the things you really like. Extreme yet simple words like these appeal to the novice wordsmith and to aged writers who can still relate to the wonders of life. My grandson recently learned this word and wants to use it in his daily speech. He wants to know all the Most things; like who had the most fun, the most dessert, who got the most candies. I tell him I love him the most.

If I were to list the times in my life when I did my utmost, those events would be few. I tend to be a lazy guy, lacking what some might call ambition. The time I had to travel across the Atlantic Ocean to my very ill father comes to mind quickly as an example of superior effort. When I had to respond to a leaking hot water tank required a lot of quick thinking. Sometimes I find large gatherings rather taxing, but I wouldn’t describe my efforts to show patience on those occasions as herculean. In other words, it is probably true that my life is mostly moderate instead of extreme. While I try to get the most out of any circumstance I wouldn’t say that I go overboard to create drama or intrigue. That doesn’t mean I lack enthusiasm. For example, if I say “That’s the most fun I ever had!” someone is bound to point out that I said the very same thing last week. I sometimes, usually, regularly, and predictably live as a character in the film Groundhog Day.

My 95 year old special mom just filled out her MOST form. Medical Orders for Scope of Treatment is a document that directs others to respect her wishes in the event of a life threatening medical situation. Some jurisdictions use DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) paperwork. MOST sounds more positive somehow. The majority of us would like our last moments to be peaceful, I suspect. Most of all my mom wanted to make her medical wishes clear to anyone who might wonder how to proceed on her behalf. She tells her daughter that she has had a satisfactory life and doesn’t want to be anyone’s bother when it comes right down to it.

When Ella Fitzgerald sang the great Cole porter song ’You’re the top!’ she’s giving the highest accolade while feeling joy in the moment. and to my ears she is the mostest. I hope the best I can say, when I reach my special mom’s age, is that I did the most with what I had been given.

Re: Empty

Emptiness can be both positive and negative. For example an empty calendar can be refreshing: There is no responsibility or must-do event waiting to corral your attention. Under those blank circumstances you can empty your thoughts if you wish or cram them with long denied pleasures. The negative part of emptiness suggests a void: A vast expanse of nothingness. I’ve had that feeling after a relationship break-up or a sudden loss. I felt so empty of ambition in those moments, my head seemed vacant of all ideas except a nagging question, “What am I going to do now?”

Generally speaking, I’ve been a ‘Glass half full’ sort of fellow, so if my vessel empties it’s because I need a rest, not because I’ve adopted a negative vibe. A soul can be depleted, that’s for sure, so it’s important to always check your levels to see if a top-up is required. I’m a guy who likes to keep the gas tank above the half-full line. I remember being highly anxious over a song that showed exultation over driving a car while ‘running on empty’. I imagine that scenario casting me into a void of no return. Not my kind of fun.

In my teens my mom admitted to being numb, emptied of emotion, because her relationship with my dad had been depleted. It was a sad time for all of us in the family that had once enjoyed relative abundance within the restrictions of a low-budget existence. Looking back on those depressing months before reconciliation, we all could have been described as walking wounded, barren of possibilities, grasping for mere survival. Board games had once been our favourite group activity. Now, in real life, we were playing a zero-sum game.

Most will run away from emptiness because we equate it to loneliness.  But an empty space or even a brief expanse of time can beckon. An empty container is often pictured on a still-life visual art canvas. It has beauty in form and structure all on its own. Being empty means the light can shine through and around in fascinating ways. A container can be full-some, in and of itself. Forms of yoga or meditation allow us to realize that an empty mind can be a starting point to new ideas. Going blank can lead to a refreshed way of thinking and understanding. There is a new car freshness to having a clean slate. An empty vessel can also suggest an expectation of forthcoming change or the approach of being filled with a hopeful breath of new life. Metaphors abound!

When I pass a hotel or apartment complex and see a No Vacancy sign I usually feel sad. I wonder why there is no more room to shelter someone in need. I feel badly for those missing out on a chance to stay, even for a little while, and experience what that place has to offer. But a flashing Vacancy is invitational. This place is Open for Business! Those in-between spaces, neither full nor empty, need our attention.

Re: Cars

I took a mental inventory of all the cars I’ve ever owned: a VW Beetle, a Honda Civic, a Chevy Blazer, a Toyota Previa, a Toyota Camry, a Dodge Ram Roadtrek and finally a Toyota Yaris. I also enjoyed a decade riding a 50cc SYM Fiddle II. Each vehicle matched the times/needs of my life: youth, parenthood, facilitating, or adventuring. At one point I had the camper van, the Yaris and the scooter parked simultaneously in my carport. Coincidentally all modes of transport were coloured white. My youngest son was impressed, commenting, “You’ve got a fleet!”

My Beetle was second hand & red. It cost me $750. I drove to Maine and back home to Whitby. I outfoxed a policeman while driving it back from a barn-party. The Civic was my first brand new car, costing around $1500. I drove it to Timmins with my first wife by my side, excited about my first job. A new Blazer truck seemed the right thing to get for a growing family. It cost me $8,000 but it lasted me ten years and, one memorable summer, it took a family of five camping all over the East Coast of Canada. When I bought my Previa it was all the buzz in 1991. I took a test drive and I called it a shuttlecraft because it reminded me of StarTrek-TNG. My teenaged boys absolutely loved it. I checked the bank account and squeezed out the $21,000 MSRP. I shared the cost of two Camrys during a transitional stage in my life (one black and one gold which symbolically illustrated my emotional flow from darkness to heavenly days). My new bride encouraged me to get a used Roadtrek I had coveted for decades. Together we took to the road, enjoying the feeling of no-fixed-address.

Cars give us freedom and independence. My bride loves using the Yaris to get away, even if it is just an autonomous ride into the city. Being older, I notice I am becoming more tense while driving or in the passenger seat. I’m weighing the odds of having an accident (I’ve had 4). I’m finally realizing the impact automobiles have on our health and the environment. When I was in high school you could get away with drinking while driving. It took decades before groups like MADD convinced us of the folly of mixing alcohol and gasoline. Now we have climate change.

It’s still a car culture, big ass truck sales are on the rise. Joy rides are still a thing even though they may be shorter. In our community there’s a growing interest in making roads safer with designated lanes for cars, busses, and bicycles. Car owners are not happy about sharing the road that they have dominated for decades. With modern realities, we are all going to need to create a new culture, less dependent on fossil fuels.

Die-cast Dinky cars, easily imagined in the chubby hands of a kid in a sandbox, may soon be a sight only in story books. The environment must come first.

Re: Opposite

War is the opposite of art. In the midst of compelling, heart-wrenching photos of the current wars in Gaza and Ukraine, art is being dimmed just as surely as lives are being extinguished. Art creates, while war is nothing but destruction. Art defines the best in humanity, while war denigrates mankind with every rocket launched, with every bullet fired, and with every anti-personal device exploded.

To be opposite is to be opposed. Opposition plays a key role in incidents of unfairness. When one side dominates it is right for the minority to speak up in rebellion. A call to arms is required if dialogue is downplayed, demonized, dismissed or otherwise disparaged. Everyone has a right to be heard and understood. Systems must be in place to protect the vulnerable, not trample over them. I get upset when I have to take a side: Life is nuanced, not black and white. Looking within the fold and shades of an issue, I see promise in the act of negotiation. Capitulation isn’t necessary when the shared goal is accommodating humanity.

War rhetoric is divisive. People on the opposite side of the line drawn in the sand are referred to as Nonpersons; humans devoid of respect or legal protection. They are “human animals”, as described by current Israeli Prime Minister B. Netanyahu when he speaks of the enemy Hamas. All sorts of words have been used through the ages to delineate the opposite side, whether in war or debate. The opposing team is the foe, the work of the devil, the pagan, the unwashed, or the undeserving. The pronouncement is made, thus the enemy is not requiring compassion. The slaughter can begin.

Some say that the opposite of war is peace. Others know that the only thing you need for the seed of war is indifference. I will play devil’s advocate by suggesting that intolerance begins the process of creating The Other. Making a contrary statement, even if it’s a lie, will get the argument going. Currently on social media sites, those who wish to incite disharmony are using AI Bots to spread discord. One small distortion, strategically used by Influencers, can cause havoc. Consider the folks in Springfield, Ohio who had to battle the abuse from folks who believed that its residents were stealing cats & dogs for food, after Trump said he had heard this on TV.

Debates are often seen as being an example of opposites not attracting. The recent Trump/Harris debacle showcased clearly for me that you can’t have a debate when one party is unwilling to discuss issues. Solving the issue of the day is looking at the double edged sword and trying to minimize the damage done to a course of action. Having a respectful debate, in my mind, is about seeing two sides of the same coin, then figuring out what to do when things flip heads or tails. Often the two sides can be complementary, even if we can’t be complimentary of that person on the other side of the arbitrary fence.

Re: Stories

While talking to my 95 year old special mom about a newspaper story of a neighbour who is lost, I became lost myself, in the flimsy gauze between truth and fiction. The report of the missing man has details that beg to be filled in with only my conjecture. My mom asks questions that I can’t objectively answer, yet a conclusion to the story had to be reached before we could move on with our day. Thus, the story in our community becomes wedded to our own story, even while the resolution to the story is pending. Even with her advanced age and experience, my mom found this hard to bear.

Bedtime stories are precious in the way they invite imagination. The child being read to goes on fantastical journeys with only a few words of script. Sometimes only a picture is enough to provoke multiple questions of why, how and where. The stories live on after the sleepy-head has been tucked in and the reader has left the room. Stories are meant to persist just as the witness to a life event takes in information and transforms the data into something relevant and understandable. In that way, life itself is a never ending story containing multitudes of chapters and possibilities.

A building starts with a foundation. Stories are added to this physical structure to accommodate people and things. Sometimes in poorer countries the extra floors take time to build. I remember asking a tour-guide, while on a bus trip in Peru, about some buildings having rebar sticking out at the top of rows of cinder block. She told me it was a sign of hope in her community that one day enough money would be available to add a second floor onto the house, to make space for expanding families. A case of another story creating room for more stories.

Recently Andrea Skinner, a daughter of Alice Munro, made public her story of abuse at the hands of her step-father. Readers of Munro’s work talked and wrote about the revelation as though it was their story. Some couldn’t see themselves ever reading this Nobel Prize winning author’s stories ever again because of this new, real life chapter insertion into the Munro bibliography. Ms.Skinner’s misfortune reminded me when I was a toddler and being admonished never to tell tales on the family. I took that to mean; Don’t lie. Yet when I saw my mom talking with others she would often start a conversation with another adult by asking for gossip. I still find the difference between privacy and secrets confusing.

Any bit of fact can be turned into a story. I believe conspiracy theories are an attempt to make our imaginations come to life. We want to understand things so desperately that we join in the story making with other like-minded folk to explain the unfathomable. Every culture is built on stories. Sometimes the truth is hidden to get on with other things we think are more important.

My story is not like yours but we have chapters in common, let’s build on that.

Re: Anxiety

A week ago, I had an episode of high anxiety. It woke me up; A feeling of dread. There was nothing imminently dangerous. I lay still, controlling my breathing until I fell back to sleep. And now, just last night, my bride comforted me in the dark when I woke her with a vocal exclamation loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. I had had a feeling of someone, a body, falling on me. My voice gave a “Huh!”grunt. It was an affront!

When does worry merge with the high traffic lane of anxiety? I can be fretful but I’m not necessarily anxious. With all the stressors in this present time it is easy to be filled with angst. Yet that is what makes a feeling of panic so confounding: When there is no real monster at the door it feels stupid for being fearful. Feeling threatened is different from being threatened. I have no reticence to talk about the fear within because feeling scared is real. Any counsellor will tell you that if you feel it then it exists. Trouble is you can’t grab this particular monster and wrestle it to the ground.

There is debate in our community over a school program allowing police to be present, within the halls of learning, serving as liaison officers. Such programs have been in existence before and are still active in other municipalities. The trouble is that many students are learning from other sources that police officers are not to be trusted. Media continually has news of armed forces going beyond the notion of serving and protecting. The appearance of an authoritative state makes me and others nervous. Thus, the anxiety in the school community is justified. We all have a role to play in educating children how to interact confidently with strangers. It’s not the job of someone wearing a badge, a protective vest and carrying a gun. That’s not a comforting presence, it’s intimidating.

Protesters and police. Liberals and Conservatives. Workers and Rich Folk. We are a class society and school has been cancelled. We have trouble getting useful information because we are bombarded with manufactured truth. Science and Education are no longer respected. Everyone is choosing a slogan and getting it tattooed on their skin or printed on an item of clothing. Our self labelling lowers the anxiety level because now we feel defined and less alone with our thoughts of impending doom. Still, trying to decide which side you’re on or who to vote for or where to shop creates tension that we may be taking for granted.

There are valid reasons to be a nervous Nellie or Norman in our stratified culture. Our technology puts us all up close and personal to global struggles. On a good day, a day when all things seem smoothly running, that’s sometimes the day when I suddenly feel surrounded by doubt, then doubt feeds worry and worry brings anxiety. I’m internalizing a vast amount of shared grief.

Good thing I have someone to lean on, when I’m not strong.