Category: accomodation

Re: Raise

While providing eldercare, I find myself reflecting on memories of raising three sons. The age difference is obvious, but the similarities are there in terms of care needs: food, shelter, encouragement, stimulation, mobility, medicine, and companionship. With children we say we are raising them, to assist in their growth to adulthood. With an elder (in my case my mother-in-law is 97) I wonder what outcome I’m working towards. What’s the end game?

My wife and I have shared our small home with her mother for three years. I really play a small role in her daily care so these reflections are not meant to inflate my responsibility. Next door in our townhouse complex, parents of two young girls are working hard to provide needs for health and happiness. As neighbours we often talk in the carpark about the trials of raising kids. My comparisons to working with my special mom seem the same to me, since I want to help make her life rewarding, enjoyable, even educational. But I’m very aware she will die sooner rather than later. Unlike my neighbours’ two lovely children, the objective is clear, while my special mom doesn’t need to be raised (per se).

The family is the first unit of social life and I’m glad for institutions like schools for the support provided to teach children. Similar supports for eldercare are hard to find however, often hard to access, and, when I’ve gone looking, come with commentary (even judgement). Sometimes body language suggests that caregivers for elders are on their own. There is a dismissive attitude amongst some professionals in the care field that hints that no help will be forthcoming. My wife and I have been told some respite is available but it will cost. We have placed our mother on a wait-list for a room in a local nursing home. The wait time makes me feel like raising Cain!

As a community when we feel a need, we join hands and volunteer to raise awareness and money for a good cause. When we feel our work is under appreciated we seek out the boss and ask for a raise in salary. Raising your standard of living as a working class person is a constant struggle. That effort seems contrary to the goal of raising us up so we can stand on mountains. We look for a little help from our friends, just to get by sometimes. Heck, even the wind can give us a welcome if we’re on a boat with sail raised, searching the horizon, looking for safe travel to friendly shores. I’m not looking to soar like an eagle, but I’d appreciate some birds of a feather to flock together with in my time of need.

It’s easy to get sidetracked. We live in a time that baffles me regarding the plethora of issues that are raised on a daily basis. Solutions are proposed and then decisions are stalled due to all the subsequent whataboutism talk. This posting allowed me to raise a little howl over eldercare deficiencies in our country. Thanks for reading. I feel better already.

Re: Philanthropy

Words that automatically show both sides of the coined value intrigue me. Examples of someone’s act of altruism bring warmth: Someone risked their life to safe a moose calf caught in the melting ice of spring. This was a real story I read in my local newspaper when I lived in Timmins, Ontario. I also feel hope for humanity when I read of benevolence: like the time residents of Gander Newfoundland helped airline passengers stranded due to the 9/11 tragedy.

Yet the practise of philanthropy gives me mixed feeling. On the one hand I appreciate whenever I hear the wealthy are intent on sharing their money. On the other hand I question a millionaire’s motive. I want to know if there is a catch to their generosity. “No strings attached.” is a phrase that comes from the 18th century practise of tailors asking for fabric that was not marked with strings (ie flawed). Hence ‘no strings attached’ has become synonymous with no additional requirements or ‘catches’ in a contract.

Our community has honoured the artist David Foster as a favoured son. His portfolio for musical composition, managing other artists, and producing memorable recordings is amazing. A recent free concert in Victoria proved to me his talent at the piano. The music in the open air shared with tens of thousands of citizens was exhilarating! Foster made a joke about it being free, not once but twice, which made me wince. Is this a price to be paid when a philanthropist offers a gift? How low must we bow?

In the news, L. DiCapprio and J. Bezos  are involved with other rich folk in a 200 million dollar project to save endangered species. W.Buffet has urged other moneyed people to give away a portion of their fortunes while they live, or when they die, to “address real societal needs.” These well meaning folk have made a Giving Pledge in order to establish a charitable social norm. But my mind twists to think of the working class as an endangered group within humanity. I smirk at that thought, wondering what strings are attached. Perhaps the rich will stay benevolent only as long as the minimum wage doesn’t rise to a living wage.

In Victoria we can boast of the second oldest charitable foundation in Canada. Wage disparity is easy to spot in this beautiful part of the world. In olden days poor folk gathered at the castle gates to beg for alms, here in my city those without homes line Pandora Avenue. The Elon Musks of the world could solve our homeless crisis, but I don’t wish them to. I don’t enjoy being at the whim of an entrepreneur, regardless of their talents, who has forgotten that wealth is created by all of us. The trouble with normalizing philanthropy is that charity is not really a gift if those presents are basic human needs. Society as a whole is responsible for addressing essential life issues. The United Nations has identified 6 core elements that must be present for well being. That’s where we must begin.

Re: First

I love the surge of energy I feel from being first. I fully accept it when it happens by accident because the achievement of first place, or being first in line, is often overshadowed by the thought that someone else has to be second. That schoolyard memory of being picked for a team at recess weighs heavily on any empathic person’s heart. Being chosen first carries great responsibility. Being overlooked is crushing to the spirit.

In any planning session, as a kid or adult, I appreciated doing first-things-first, because I’m a first and foremost sort of guy. It’s structure that is important to me, not necessarily the idea that my thoughts or opinions have to come first. Everybody’s definition, as a feeling of First, may be amusing. For example my 97 year old special mom places high importance on the first of every month. She tells me that it keeps her mind on track for what the month will bring. She will count down the days, building routine, visualizing the little squares on a calendar, remembering birthdays, holidays, and appointments until number 30 or 31 occurs. She takes special delight in February because it’s her birthday month. 

This elder in my life told me that she can’t remember if she’s ever won an award. I recited my list: two firsts in elementary school public speaking and a gold ribbon in breast stroke. I asked my bride if she remembered if I’d ever won anything during our time together and she said, “You won me!” (It’s no wonder why this woman must always come first in my life). Schoolchildren often shout “No budging!” as they monitor their order in a line waiting for their turn. They learn early that being first is great but it’s not nice to elbow your way into prominence. That’s what bugs me most about rich folk thinking they earned their way to the top.  In my record book, FLOTUS is not real. I think you need a certain kind of ambition to be first at something. I love the experience of claiming the gold medal, but I’ll admit I’m kind of lazy trying to achieve a trophy of any sort. Coming in first is great in the Olympics, or the Academy Awards. The reality is that most of us have to settle for being among-the-pack, embracing the joy of participation.

The truth is that we are all first-editions. We get a chance to write our unique story and claim any award we wish for our efforts. For example, I love being the first to show up at a party (it means I can be the first to leave). It’s exhilarating to think I’m the first to greet a sunrise (even though I’m not a morning person). After a snowfall, it is so refreshing to be the first to make a boot imprint in the cold winter powder. Sometimes, in the quiet of a beachside sunset, I want to shout ownership by announcing, “I claim this land in the name of Berto the Explorer!”

Re: Routine

This month my wife and I will celebrate her mom’s 97th birthday. Since July of 2023 she has been part of our home-life. After her husband of 68 years died we couldn’t, in our hearts & minds, consign her to a nursing home so we brought her from Ontario, across the country to B.C. Since then I have been amazed at how similar the reality of her intimate presence has been to nurturing a child. There is wonder in this great responsibility. There is also struggle.

Because she is an intimate addition to our household, the routine of our lives must revolve around someone who relies on routine to give her a sense of place and pace. Like a child, anything out of the ordinary shakes her understanding. Complicating things is her poor vision, unpredictable hearing, and lapses in thinking. A regular routine of napping helps, as does keeping her appraised of appointments. We know things are working well when she sees her habits blending in with the daily household schedule.

This arrangement makes me question things like predictability, regimen, and system. I never did like rote-learning as a student, so I didn’t use it when I became a teacher. Drills, cycles, and patterns can soon become a treadmill existence. For some, like my special mom, there is comfort in customs: The usual formula brings a rhythm that is familiar to her. However, when I watch her eat a form of porridge, every single day, I cringe at the thought of ever being in such a rut. Mind you, I’m not so adventurous that I want to tread on every unbeaten path, but I like to think that my routines are flexible enough to be unafraid of novelty. 

I can be a creature of habit. It may seem ironic that in the midst of the methodical, sometimes ritual can be a chosen way-out of the mundane. For example, my wife and I love film so we carve-out time at the end of our busy day to watch a video. Our mom has to be set up with earphones that tap her into a much-loved audio book. The three of us can share the living room this way, without the constant demands of interaction. When I want to pursue ‘just me’ time I enjoy a book, a crossword, or writing an essay like this. My wife may take a solo walk on the breakwater near our home to recapture the extraordinariness of nature.

There is a daily grind to eldercare. My wife knows this fact all too well. From my somewhat removed perch I can more easily see a few upsides. I am getting to practise some values that I hold dear: Patience, Truth, Compassion, Empathy, Humour, Sacrifice. When my very dependent special mom ponders what I have read to her from the newspaper, then pauses to take a breath, and gives me a relatable story from her long-ago past, then, in that moment, I marvel at the value of Connection, and I am grateful for it in my life.

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.