Category: accomodation

Re: Half

I pondered the ‘Glass half full/half empty’ idiom as I woke yesterday. I usually awake feeling optimistic and this day was no exception. I scanned my memory for all the things that fill my spirit. My thoughts warmed my heart. And ‘warmed’ was key here: The situation was neither hot nor cold. My feeling was neither elation nor dreary. I concluded that I like my proverbial glass always at the halfway mark. Most of the time, I find satisfaction living without the stress of extremes.

Come to think of it, when I’m in my car, if the gas tank needle indicates HALF, I’m good with that too. Running on empty is stressful and being full-up means the vehicle is carrying more weight than it needs to carry. Besides I’m never more than half a world away from the important people or places in my life. In my memory I recall my mom advising me before going on a teenage adventure in my used Volkswagen Beetle, “Don’t go off half-cocked” which made me shudder over the sexual implications. I didn’t help if she added as I was backing out of the driveway, “And what ever you do, don’t do it half-assed.”

Contrarily, half of an idea can suggest a conflict. I could be jealous of someone and have the thought, “I’m not half the man he is.” Or I can have a debate in my head over what I might say, thinking, “I’ve got half a mind to tell her she’s wrong.” The halfway point of anything is betwixt and between, and that can be confusing. When my sons were smaller treats were portioned so that each of us felt satisfied with their share. To avoid squabbles, the son showing the greatest desire was given the job of cutting the cake/pie/chocolate bar into equal pieces. It became a math lesson of fractions requiring a good eye and a steady hand on the knife. When something is split in half, we say it’s been halved. I find the verb form hard to pronounce since I want to put too much emphasis on the letter L. Try saying, “You may have a half portion but you must have halved the cookie accurately.” This could be a fun kid’s party phrase in the manner of the tongue twister, ‘She sells sea shells…’

My 96 year old special mom is hard of sight so she appreciates being handed a cup half full of her favourite coffee. Less spillage that way. I’m learning about other things related to eldercare as I tend to her needs. She’s not shy about sharing her preferences; Half and half cream is best in her hot chocolate for example. Perhaps more than me, she enjoys routine because it helps her ‘keep on top of things’. But I can relate to her desire to avoid the hills and valleys that can occur unexpectedly. Keeping things half-way there, means you can still look back when you want, while keeping an eye on what might be just up ahead.

Re: Sanity

I took a break from media for three days and found that I could translate the world news with a bit more detachment. I wanted to find out how to be sane in an insane world. Making sense of things for me is mathematical. I take my experience, add the ideas of trusted experts, blend in what feels like intuitive common sense, and I might end up with some clarity. Actually that reads more like a recipe, so go ahead and take a bite out of ‘Clarity’, and let me know how it tastes.

Freud comes to mind when I think of the search for sanity. Most people attach his genius to sexual things, especially motivations. He certainly has been maligned by that one aspect of his research. I consult Freud, in my imagination (WWFD?), when I’ve had a dream. In that subconscious state I am more relaxed and that is often key to embracing sanity. I can’t think well when I’m in an emotion state of craziness. During the softness of a dream, in day or night, I can fit puzzle pieces together in a more caretaking way. It’s no mystery to me that I can do better at a New York Times crossword when I am just a little tired. Performance anxiety is not a good partner when I can’t get that darn three letter answer to the clue.

Insanity has long been an excuse for bad behaviour. Sometimes an aggressor can get off in court for a ‘crime of passion’. We want to explain away a mass murderer because he couldn’t possibly be in his right mind. Wars are justified because the other side is mad, or worse still, not-human. In my book, any act of violence is an act of insanity because in moments of anger we have truly lost connection with ourselves. Insanity is a sign that we must check to see if we are still plugged in to our psyche. As far as punishment goes then maybe, in computer terms, we need a re-boot (not a boot in the butt, as violence begets more of the same).

I’ve been insanely in love. During those almost panic moments I have been of such singular mind that I’ve been a danger to myself. I once manically peddled my bike along unlit country roads, to deliver a rose, dark rain splashing around my clinging clothes. I was in a mental fever. Losing one’s sanity is not funny, but it does contribute to artistic expression. We have all had moments where we have snapped. Hopefully there has been someone around to safely guide us back to finding reason where we thought there was none to be found.

Admittance to an insane asylum used to be an answer to the fear that folks had of letting lost souls run amok in society. Visions of torture-like treatments, padded rooms, and straight jackets can still be found as reality in some parts of the world. Compassionate care remains a hallmark of a healthy society’s approach to times when citizens lose their way.

Re: Diversity

Diversity is our strength, uniformity leaves us open to disease. The backtracking currently underway in the USA regarding diversity support is creating a poisonous environment for all but the 1%. DEI is frowned upon by those who already have everything they want and need. Diversity/Equity/Inclusion policies are designed as an acknowledgement of differences within our work environment, and in our communities.

In university I learned how monocultures are unnatural in the environment. Agricultural mega companies like Monsanto bring the message that uni-crops create more yield, thereby increasing profits for farmers. This artificial system requires massive amounts of round-up chemicals and GMO seeds to produce sustainable results. This isn’t the way of Nature. In natural systems, diversity rules because every species has value, a place, and a function. Insisting on a uniform culture is damaging to a society and to global progress. I dream of world Nations being United in the common cause of Humanity. That requires all of us to foster a belief that inclusion matters. Every human has value, a place, and a function.

Social media flows by opinion and algorithms. The AI process prefers to look for commonalities. Artificial intelligence loves similarity, like a young child trying to make connections and learn what it’s like to be an adult, the child wants to see who is like who. The tricky part is that most folks don’t like being labelled. Yes there is safety in numbers, yes birds of a feather like to flock together, yes a herd can survive better when they travel as one unit, but a herd can be decimated by a single viral infection. Conformity can be dangerous.

Recent Pride parades offer up an observable example of a society’s diversity. These events encourage everyone to respect differences, while promoting the things we have in common. We have to get over our innate, natural fear of difference. We can belong to a clan without making war on the other clans. I have been happy to live in places where diversity is encouraged because options are important to me. The greater the diversification within a city or nation, the healthier the population. Citizens can decide to march to the tune of a different drummer, even decide to play their own drum, when they feel safe to do so.

Tyranny is supported by unified, singularly focussed individuals. MAGA policies are designed to exclude any outliers. Followers of trumpism have confused the need for consistency with a desire for uniformity. Communities can be consistent in their approach to any issue without being coerced into wearing a uniform that identifies intolerance towards non-believers. During these times of WWIII proportions, I am grateful for those who stand up for the values of equity and fairer treatment for the 99%. Folks like Bernie Sanders, Charlie Angus, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Beto O’Rourke, and Naomi Klein have a national and global impact. These folks speak for me.

If Humanity is to survive it will be because diversity shows the way. In Nature and in Politics variety of perspective offers a balance to the challenges of reality.

Re: Cult

Some words contain words. Cult is part of culture in more than just structure. There are elements of cultism in every culture. Citizens of a culture make the decision to embrace what is practised, or not. The essence of a country’s culture is demonstrated by how resources are allocated to promote the larger values of the collective. Sometimes these tribal desires to belong can conflict with our individual wants, wishes, or needs.

When folks agree to do similar things together a connective thread is created. I like to think of that as the art of living. Defining a culture is how societal groups are formed. Individuals in families may often repeat to each other “This is the way we do things.” Teams often bond over the wish to be united so that literal goals can be achieved. After a tragedy, a city might suggest that the way forward would be by recognizing common values. I remember, after the bombing of marathon runners in 2013, newspapers promoted solidarity by printing headlines; Boston Strong! What fascinates me is the border between a healthy culture and a restrictive cult.

Throughout history people have collected into groups for protection, efficiency, or the pursuit of a shared experience. Religions are built on this desire to belong to something greater. Few of us want to be alone in our beliefs or occupations. Unions, fraternities, and sororities have been an essential part of the workplace so we can feel like comrades of industry. Military institutions have aspects of cult conditioning within their training. When you belong to any group you have to give up a bit of yourself for the greater good.

With the fracturing of our understanding of cultural mainstays comes doubt over what is important. Factions, sects, and brotherhoods become more important when traditional ideas of the common good are muddled. Cults begin to grow, fracturing the confidence populations once had for their society’s documents of legality, equality, and fraternity. When I read of organizations having a crisis of culture it worries me that fundamental values have been twisted to suit the needs of the powerful. Most people will think of cults with a capital C as those practising life on the fringe of religiosity. The rules of belonging in a cult-like setting are very oppressive of individual freedoms. In some cases you are coerced to deny your own history in order to begin life under a new set of guidelines. Life in some 60s communes was like this, and I have concluded that being involved with any religion is cultish.

Communal systems can get complicated when group and personal needs conflict. To some degree educational institutions are designed to indoctrinate our children to the ways of the national interest. In Canada, our ten provinces and three territories have their own policies, procedures, and legislation within the framework of the larger federation. All regions have their own priorities and practises (especially Quebec, and lately Alberta) yet we all call ourselves Canadian.

Cultures must evolve to survive. I would celebrate a global culture of peace as a priority.

Re: Annex

I once pictured myself living like the TV character Fonz in a room above the garage of my friend’s house. My days would be happy, without my parents, yet close to a friendly group. I’d have my own key. Life in this annex would allow me to be me, without worrying if anyone was watching. This is sort of why I like relating to folks on television rather than real people.

When I had enough money to actually consider building a house I wanted the blueprints to show an annex that would enable me to welcome guests while keeping them at arm’s length. This auxiliary structure would be in the back garden like a granny house, or maybe in the basement with a separate door to the outside. I recall a TV detective named Baretta who had an extension built on his home allowing him to park his car in his living room. Now that would be cool.

What is not cool is when countries decide that annexing a neighbour country is acceptable. Throughout history powerful folks; Attila, Genghis, Alexander, Elizabeth, Polk, Hitler, Putin, and Netanyahu to name a few, showed that annexation through aggression was possible, whether in the name of The Doctrine of Discovery, colonialism, nation building, eminent domain, manifest destiny, or other justifications. To build an annex in an international context is not pretty; lives are lost, livelihoods are destroyed, cultures are melded, maps are redrawn with evermore confining borders where further abuse can be committed.

Russia’s leader has been pursuing his plans to annex Ukraine and absorb that piece of geography since 2014. Putin has said that Ukraine is not a country. The world has been watching with fear and loathing at this lack of global diplomacy. Israel’s leader has found excuses to exterminate Palestinians in what is clearly a genocide to many. Netanyahu has said that Gaza is not a country. The world has been watching.

Canadians are angry with POTUS 47. Trump keeps joking about making our country of 40+ million people into a 51st state of the U.S.of A. The President of the United States says that Canada is “not viable as a country”. So far it is a trade war, but we above the 49th parallel are not holding our breath because we have come to experience the insanity found in that oval office to the south during the reign of POTUS 45. Canadians live next to a country with abundant metaphorical annexes where their own cultural differences are rarely acknowledged. Trump’s dis-united states are bickering amongst themselves, in some ways similar to the time when many jurisdictions wanted to secede from that bygone Union, so it’s hard to believe they would buy into their president’s plans to add to the family farm. Fun Fact: The USA already has 5 territories that have expressed a wish to be fully under the stars and stripes.

In my imaginings I can’t picture myself, or many Canadians, wanting to live above the space currently occupied by USA. Even if I had my own key.

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: 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: Dominion

The bible tells me so: Gen. 1 Verses 26 to 31 “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.” But what if I don’t want to!

To have dominion is to control stuff and I believe it is wrong to dominate other living things. For some folk their god is all powerful, so we can be too. But really, as a hominid, I’m just another creeping thing that creepeth over the earth. The state of the planet right now only proves my point: If we had been put in charge of this place we’ve sure enough done a terrible job of it. If we were made in an image of god then we haven’t been creative enough in return. We haven’t been good stewards.

During the controlling phase of my life; when I felt things worked better by imposing order and good government, I had a small bonsai tree. Its roots were constricted like the feet of Chinese girls of ages past. Its limbs were shaped by twists of wire. Its growth was restricted by judicious use of fertilizer. I wasn’t a good pet keeper and this plant did not flourish. In the film Trees, And Other Entanglements, director Irene Taylor tells us of a famous Bonsai artist and others who attempt to represent their views of how plants should be shaped to serve our needs. It left me feeling a bit creepy.

Let’s face it, as a species we didn’t think through the whole industrial revolution period. Our machines have laid waste to the eden from whence we came. Now we find we must manage other species before the tipping point of their extinction. In university I studied for a degree in Fish and Wildlife Biology. Many of the courses described methods of farming multiple species so that these living resources could be effectively used to feed, clothe and house the ever growing and expanding human population. We were being trained to be efficient dominators of the environment’s flora and fauna. We studied how deer ate, so they could be fed better and then be hunted. We studied the salmon’s cycles so they would grow prosperous before they were netted. We studied forest growth so that we could improve tree yield before it could be harvested. We were given the licence to dominate every creature, animal or vegetable, to serve our own needs. We still fell short. We failed to be taught how to live with, rather than lord over, the Earth Garden.

Our colonizers, The British aristocracy, once ruled this land calling it The Dominion of Canada. The Crown still holds power in our affairs. The label has fallen out of favour but citizens may still proclaim allegiance during formal community events. I hope the age of possession is over. I don’t want us to be the master of all that we survey.

Re: Pace

I have a sort of pace maker for my heart. I’ve been diagnosed with Atrial Fibrillation, which means that my heart has irregular rapid beats. I currently take medication to regulate the intensity and to cut down on the randomness of my heart’s pace. I’ll live to see another day.

The pace of my life has changed. There are things I have adapted to, out of respect for my age. I’m neither unfit, nor unwell. My body is giving me reminders to slow down to accommodate the realities of my 8th decade. Joints are becoming arthritic. I can’t turn my head without hearing a crackly sound. I turn to pain medication more often. My skin flakes off constantly. I think it’s a question of ongoing maintenance, that, and good hygiene. My former mother-in-law used to say that after seventy life becomes a matter of ‘patch, patch, patch’. She was a vigorous mall walker into her late eighties then she just stopped and died. Talk about a change of pace!

One fretful moving day years ago I rented a car; an AMC Pacer to follow the movers to our new home and a new job. From there we were to go on to a wedding but alas, our pace for the Pacer was too much for that machine to bear. Repairs were made but we arrived late to the nuptials. It got worse; our rental wouldn’t start when it was time to leave. Towing and more repairs were made. I called the rental company & they said no worries, they’d sort it out when we returned the vehicle. I kept all receipts & affidavits but still had a hassle. Conclusion: AMC Pacer must be on pace to be the worst car ever.

‘On your mark, get set, go!’ Comes a shout from the timekeeper, while the racers are off at their running pace towards a manmade finish line. Olympic sponsors are currently revving their corporate engines, meanwhile nature sets its own pace. Certainly the seasons, by way of the rotation of our planet around the sun, tell us that everything will unfold in its natural way. I must consider the phases of the moon the next time I think it’s imperative that my pace is more important than my peace.

Since retirement I’m no longer in the rat race so I practise stillness, even value it. I’ve been a pacer; in the sense of anxiety keeping me moving. Waiting for something to happen was often an unhealthy preoccupation of mine. Picture the old time father pacing in the hospital expecting his child to arrive any minute now. In those days of expectancy I wore a watch to monitor the pace of my day; counting the minutes until the working was done, timing the roast in the oven, looking to see if I still had time before my appointment.

My 95 year old special mom uses a large nuclear style push button audio device by her bed to tell her the time. Its automated voice tells her to get up and greet another day.

Re: Kept

I don’t have any well kept secrets because I’ve never been good at hiding things. I don’t enjoy keeping people guessing if there is news to tell. I can keep to my own thoughts though, and I’ve sometimes kept a diary. I’m reasonably good at keeping up with a conversation. I’ve kept going to work when it was the last thing I wanted to do just to keep up appearances. I have reluctantly worn a silly hat in keeping with the situation.

Julia is a television series created by Daniel Goldfarb. In the second season, episode two Stockard Channing has a guest role as Frances Field. While at a dinner gathering, her character makes a short speech. Frances says” “We’re all kept…I know I’ve been kept. I was kept by my late husband…I assume you’re kept…good fortune comes and goes. Here’s to sharing everything you have. Here’s to being kept.” There is a long pause as people leave the table saying goodnight. Frances turns to her date and says, “Was it something I said?”

I wondered about that speech. I tried to trace examples in my life of being kept. I asked my 95 year old special mom for an opinion. She said immediately “I am kept” and then “but I don’t feel hard done by.” My mother-in-law is such a realist when it comes to figuring out life. Being almost blind and hard of hearing means she is very dependent on others for her care. So in that way she is kept, but content and grateful to be so, we mutually concluded. Her response has kept me thinking.

The phrase ‘kept woman’ flashed through my mind as I reviewed that conversation. I started to realize that Ms.Field was perhaps feeling equally blessed when she gave that dinner toast. She felt her needs were being looked after and she didn’t mind suggesting that some of her autonomy had been lost as a result of being kept. She was being realistic however, in implying that getting along in life requires exchanges and compromises that don’t necessarily have to diminish one’s character.

Yet where do we draw a line for ourselves? I don’t wish to be someone’s puppet; kept on strings in a case, in a corner. Neither do I wish to be in the driver’s seat for someone else. I respect that everyone has a right to their own life and to live it as they please. For a number of years in my youth I was often left in charge of my sister. Our mother made it clear that she didn’t want us to look unkempt, lest neighbours grow suspicious of her shirking her parental responsibilities. I was expected to get my sister to and from school, sometimes also making her lunches and dinners. I was told to look after her until mom or dad came home from work. I was my sister’s keeper.

My parents kept me in line. I became responsible as a result (perhaps neurotically so). I’ll continue to share parts of me. And I’ll show gratitude whenever someone chooses to look after my needs.