Category: change

Re: Revelation

“Caw!” Quoth the raven Evermore. He was joined in harmony by his siblings Always, Persistently, and Perpetually. These four trickster birds congregate around our townhouse, pecking at the seams of the concrete parking area, searching for grubs in the exposed cracks. Their presence is measured, methodical, and eerily portentous. My fearless 96 year old special mom does not see the poet Poe in the bird’s beady black eyes. She arrived back from her walk yesterday as I was opening the front door. Around her ankles, like excited little children, were five crows trick-or-treating for more peanuts. “Caw! Who’s the smart one eh?”

Seers, prophets, and soothsayers have always held a fascination for me. Especially in times of high anxiety I will be on the lookout for signs of someone knowing. Knowledge brings me comfort and if news can come in the guise of a forecast then all the better to ease my tension. Even getting a hint of warning will give me some direction since I like to plan for the worst, while maintaining a hope for the best.

These days it’s hard to avoid news of the rise of fascism. In many parts of the world politicians are no longer hiding their true colours. Trumpism is the latest version of autocratic rule. POTUS 45 may have been the clown we liked to mock but POTUS 47 is on the attack, denying every valid criticism, and claiming victory where no praise is warranted. The Donald’s craziness is no longer funny (even the comedians at SNL are appearing to be having a hard time satirizing his global-threatening behaviour). Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Octavio-Cortez are teaming up at many NO-KINGS rallies in an effort to reveal the danger faced in the USA, and throughout the world. I was buoyed at the support provided to Zohran Mamdani in the race for the mayoralty of New York City. Here is a politician with a vision for a metropolis that puts working people first, not wealthy speculators.

Revelation can be a light bulb, eureka-shouting moment. Or it can be a quiet dawning. However the truth gets to us we have to do our part by keeping the blinds open. In order for something to be revealed to us we must be alert to the messaging. I’m reading from many sources as I try to wrap my head around what’s going on. Some just trust FoxNews, Rachel Maddow, or John Oliver. I also seek valued counsel in the many Canadian journalists named Mark (as in ‘mark -my-words’). Investigative reporters like Heather Cox Richardson, Chris Hedges, and Abilio James Acosta have earned my respect for their remarkable precognition. Knowing things are bad can be depressing. Of course I will try to put a shine on the news, as is my nature to balance the good with the bad. I will listen to musical prophets like Alanis Morrisette, who artistically place ideas in their lyrics that give me guidance. I’ll keep one hand in my pocket while the other is giving the peace sign. Then everything will be fine, fine, fine.

Re: Phonebook

My 96 year old blind mother-in-law asked if I was whispering something. We were sitting together in the living room and I was channel surfing on the smart TV using a remote control that I could direct with by voice. When I told her what I was doing she asked for more information. I thought to myself afterwards that my discussion with her about this new-fangled technology must have made her amazed. The fact that I can talk to my television awes me too.

If I were to describe a phonebook to my grandkids they would call me a silly old grandpa. I don’t know how I could convey to them that it was an old form of data filing, sorting, and acquisition; just for phone numbers! I think you got a new volume every year. It came in the mail. In large centres like Toronto, where I used to live, you’d get two books, one for phone numbers and one, called the Yellow Pages, for all the stores and services. These were thick soft-cover books listing thousands of names of people who you could talk to, just by dialling their number. Some homes had a special piece of furniture called a telephone table, that would have a seat attached and a special drawer or shelf for the phonebook. For some reason this curio-table would go right by the front door, where the phone guy would hook up your rotary phone to sit all stylish-like on the table’s top. As a teenager I got no privacy sitting on that telephone table in the front hallway of my parent’s duplex.

If I wanted privacy I would go to our strip mall down the street where folks could make their phone calls from a phone booth. These booths were on most street corners back in the day. They typically measured 32X32X90 inches with a funny folding door. Believe it or not, inside those closet-like compartments you would find a well-used phonebook. Smart-ass folks would sometimes tear pages from the phonebooks for all manner of reasons, leaving you puzzled when you were almost at last names starting with Y, only to find the Ys were missing.

Thinking about technology, systems, and industries of the past can get you time tripping. Inventions propel the human animal in directions only limited by our imagination. The Dr. Who television phone booth is called a Tardis, where you can time travel. And, believe it or not, magicians and guys with large biceps once made money proving that they could rip a phonebook in half. Today you can get pointers on how to do that on Youtube.

Smartphones carry far more data than a single phonebook ever did. Imagine being able to scroll to find your contact person. Gee Whiz! The other day while walking in a local park my wife made a phone call, and using that same device she took pictures of flowers that were then identified for her instantaneously. She then looked up a restaurant where we dined later following the route provided by her phone! Dial phones used to receive random wrong numbers. That hasn’t changed.

Re: Outcome

I don’t remember when I first learned about compound words. Every word has a certain power when used effectively. A hyphenated word brings an idea together quite nicely while two or more words that are smashed together can be particularly enlightening. For a planner like me there is something very satisfying when all my organizing, mapmaking, list-making and future gazing creates an outcome that fits the contents of my imagination.

Our personal stories are often crafted to have outcomes that put us centerstage. In our vision of life, past or future, we tell our tales of adventure, defeat, disappointment, shame, honour etc. within the context of how we wish To Be in the world. I went on a much needed four-day holiday with my partner to an island retreat. I hadn’t anticipated getting lost in this fairly remote place, but I did, get lost. But it was temporary. A stranger appeared, literally driving out of the nowhere woods. I leapt from my car, waving my arms to stop him from going further along the dirt track. He smiled, led us to our destination only five minutes away, then vanished in a shower of small stones. The outcome, besides my embarrassment, was a good story of my fallibility.

At the Pearly Gates of Heaven, so it is said, you will discover the outcome of your existence. Someone will have kept a notebook of your transgressions and accomplishments. You will be judged. Of course you will likely disagree with the assessment. You will have kept your own ledger of regrets, misdemeanours, sacrifices, and awards of distinction. This island paradise I visited was Eden-esque; it certainly felt like heaven. While there, I talked with a young fellow about the importance of family. He was determined to tell me about how his life changed after becoming a father. He said he couldn’t have anticipated such a marvellous outcome as his crying fragile baby, turning into the boy that he so dearly loved.

For business types, the outcome is only read as the bottom line. The great Hudson’s Bay Company, established as a cornerstone for Canadian commerce back in 1670, recently died. From my point of view it was a case of neglect by rich folks less interested in history and more in profit. The outcome: Bankruptcy. I pushed my mother-in-law around our local HBC in a wheelchair. She commented on the bare aisles and naked mannequins. We both thought that the space felt like a garage sale. Our outcome: A feeling of loss.

On this temporary island of welcomed respite, my wife and I watched the tides filling and emptying a lagoon twice daily. We could gaze out our shorefront window and intentionally develop a new rhythm; one defined by more natural needs and intentions. Time felt less important here, we tended to ignore our digital handcuffs. The inbox and outbox of our manufactured world lost meaning. Our existence in this curious world felt familiar. The outcome of this experience has yet to be fully determined, but there can be no limit to our imagination.

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: Photo

My bride has a new found passion. She’s been loving her cell phone and its photographical features. She goes to a photo club once a week to share her work and gain knowledge about the art form. I love it when she shares her homework with me; discussing the theme for the week’s assignments, showing me her latest on-screen captures, scrolling through the dozens of shots of charmingly photographable subjects while deciding which one has just the right composition.

I love the Kodachrome Song by Paul Simon; “makes you feel all the world’s a sunny day!” The lyrics conjure a picture of happy times. Times of the past seen through the lens of a camera. But before we get too sentimental let’s remember that those cameras, not the ones now compressed into our digital devices, used to be lugged around by a shoulder strap that dug a groove in your neck. I’ve owned all kinds of photographic devices. I started with one of those little brown boxes called Brownies. The film was expensive and therefore precious. I remember counting down the twelve shots, one by one until I turned the roll in to a developer who would give me single photos, on magical paper, that would remind me of how much fun I had at the beach. Back then, I kept the scalloped edge photos in a biscuit tin just like my mom had once kept her sepia coloured treasures of ancient family poses.

Photofinishing is not just what horses do in a close race. My former father-in-law used to have his own darkroom, thereby expressing his creativity while saving film processing fees. He died before the digital age but he would have had all the photoshop style software and apps to go with his hobby for sure. As I got older I was happy to transfer all the heritage slides onto a flash drive as a Christmas gift for my now grown three sons. Memories they can share over social media platforms. Pictures that are now part of The Cloud; that awesome computer photo and data bank that makes my head spin: “it’s a wonder I can think at all.”

Along with my first child I purchased a second-hand SLR Canon camera. I became the Family Photographer, with all the honours and responsibilities that came with that title. The device itself weighed several pounds and as I collected lenses and filters I needed a small suitcase to carry all the equipment. I call this time My Slide Period since I felt I was becoming a true artist of film. Mounds of slides required a filing system. A projector and screen were purchased for family fun. I entertained guests who would always seem polite and interested. Not!

My passionate wife is learning new skills and experiencing the world in a creative way, all because of a device that lets her send a message plus photos to people anywhere in the world. There’s always a new improved IPhone, promising astounding photo features.

“I can read the writing on the wall.”

Re: Worst

I had an incident involving insurance and it made me spiral to thoughts of worst case scenarios. As clouds of worsening doubt gathered about, I found surprising comfort in ranking the worst moments in my life in one paragraph. The effort convinced me that my current situation was not that bad. I just had to get a grip.

Making a list of tragedies and traumas sounds depressing but it did offer me a sense of control. Control can sometimes bring a certain calmness. If you like order in your life then putting things down on paper offers perspective. The list I made that day was revised several times. That’s a cool thing about judgement; our sense of a moment’s impact more or less changes as we gain the wisdom of hindsight. I call it My Best Worst List. This summary list became a therapeutic accounting of the crappy moments that I wish hadn’t happened, but did.

My first wife died of cancer when we were both only 50 years old. That was entered as the worst on my self-therapy list. I suffered clinical depression 7 years before that, making it second on my collection of lifetime worst events. A simple surgery went wrong so I had a hellish night in an emergency room. A family trip was once aborted due to a flat tire that nearly killed us all (I was driving and I still have chest pains from the memory of that experience). My sister ending her life prematurely is on my list. I had a best friend who bailed on a European hitchhiking trip AND being my best man at my wedding, which was a total bummer. In grade nine I got the one/two punch of my parents separating then we moved to a city AND I had to go to a new high school. Too cruel!

Bad things don’t have to happen before we know what the good times feel like. Pain is pain in the moment. Time heals if we don’t focus on our suffering. Feeling low is normal and it doesn’t have to be linked to one happening. Identifying something on a scale of bad to worse is the first step to understanding the bigger picture of your life. For me, sometimes it was a matter of encouraging myself to hang on for-one-more-day. On the worst days I felt lucky to have someone provide the guidance to see the way ahead, out of the gloom. Humour helps at the right time, delivered in a positive way. Silliness tends to lift me up before things get worser.

A ruined birthday party can be the worst thing in the whole world for a four year old. You grow older. Tragedies mount. You learn from the school of hard knocks. It helps to share your story, comparing war wounds over a beer and liverwurst lunch. You can laugh with a soul mate while discussing the value of worsted wool over synthetic fibre. Always remember; things could be worse! I’m resolved to leave the past where it belongs.

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: Wallet

I’ve never lost my wallet, but I’ve thought I had lost it many times. I check for the presence of my wallet frequently, sometimes obsessively. When I’m on holiday it is always on my mind. I’ll pat my back pocket and check the drawers or shelf of the room I’m staying in. When I am secure in knowing its presence I’m calmer. On occasion, I may even kiss it for luck to ward off evil spirits.

My son lost his wallet while moving his belongings to a new apartment. In the busy-ness of loading and packing he put it gingerly on the car’s rooftop. The obvious happened when he got behind the wheel and merged with other traffic. The shock of picturing what he had done wrong must have been numbing. He went back through his trip, in a futile attempt to rescue his wallet from the road where it must have fallen but to no avail. His credit cards had to be cancelled but luckily he had only $40 in cash. A couple of week’s later he got a call from his local police department saying the wallet had been turned in! Much to his amazement the wallet’s contents were intact! When he shared this story with me, we both commented on how our faith in humanity had been enhanced by this simple act of unselfishness.

Some folk say the cell phone has become their most highly valued object to carry everywhere. When I told others of my son’s mishap they related by saying how they had lost their phones and had been bereft as to what to do when a record of their identity had gone AWOL. Indeed, when you consider what is loaded onto our devices they become a veritable code to who we are in this world. Comparatively, the wallet with its old timey paper access cards, wrinkled photos, bills, receipts, bus passes, loyalty IDs & embossed business cards becomes a relic you might see on display at a museum of not so modern culture.

I made my first wallet when I was nine from a craft kit I got for Christmas. It came with pre-cut leather and strands of gimp plastic lace. When constructed it looked a bit like a folding moccasin with a side gash for paper cash (I never had any of that), a snap pouch for coins and a cool slit for bus tickets. There was a single clear plastic window under which I put my library card and my swimming pool registration card. With this wallet, fully loaded, I could get access anywhere.

Throughout my life other wallets have not lived up to the level of self confidence given to me by that first homemade beauty. However I still choose each new wallet by giving it a smell test. The leather scent knocks me out. A wallet has always given me a sense of importance. It contains a bit of my past and present and some assurance that my future is secured. A cell phone seems cold in comparison.

Re: Robot

I read last month that a robot crushed a man to death. No reporter asked if it regretted its actions. One would hope that this is not the first scene of the latest instalment in The Terminator series of films. Danger Will Robinson!

Stories of robotic inventions fill media sources as we lurch from one computer/techno advancement to another. Such speed of development would alarm any Luddite. While I am not against the notion of progress I have felt daunted by examples of increasing robot dominance in my environment. Take self check-out lines for example. I try to avoid these ‘help yourself’ zones in stores because: A. I’m a fumbler, often taking too much time fiddling with wallet, keys, coupons, cards & such. B. I don’t respond well to screen choices and get flustered that I will press the wrong menu icon and C. I’d rather talk genially to someone I recognize as another human being trying to have a nice day.

I’m currently typing this blog entry on a new MacBook Air. An older version kept giving me alarm messages to upgrade. (heck it was only 6 years ago when I bought that one, which the IT guy at the store said was ancient, even old fogey-ish, in computer terms). Fortunately, I could transfer some of my ‘ancient’ apps over to the new format which brought me some solace. I can guarantee that what you are reading is coming out of my own head, not some version of ChatGPT. (That word processing application is apparently the wave of the future and will revolutionize the process of reading/writing/editing/publishing). Oh dear!

AI can be used to imagine different scenarios so that test runs can proceed much faster than normal human-driven research. Imagine medical checks of potential life saving drugs (maybe a several year trial can be compressed safely into a few months). Automated labs, robotic taxi cabs. Auto-reader books, and home central info kiosks like Siri or Google Assistant have made a set of encyclopedias seem quaint.  Forgotten in all this artificial intelligence discussion is that we still need to instruct the humanoid device. Back before the turn of this century IBM invented a computer called Deep Blue, a computer force-fed all the known chess moves. It beat the reigning grand master of the game because of superior input, not creative thinking.

Robot Thinking is a form of intelligence that relies on data. Machines are designed to do our bidding, not think for themselves. If there are hints of foreknowledge it is due to the content of the programming not a clairvoyant attitude of the microchips. A moral robot is more in the realm of science fiction. An automaton named Hal or Data must continue to perform at a human’s behest, keeping prime directives active in its operating systems. A robot must always defer by essentially asking ‘What Next?’ then choosing from a defined menu. They/It/Bx can’t refuse to comply unless the information is unavailable.

If robots start apologizing then we will have something to worry about.

Re: Retire

I’ve been retired from a career in teaching for seventeen years. I’m not tired of it. Back in 2006 I had reached the magic formula that gave me a full pension so I embraced the moment to call it quits. I told my friends, family, students, whoever would listen. During one of my last recess duties a six year old came up to me with her friends in tow. “You’re not going to be a teacher anymore?” asked one kid. I nodded. “I told you he’s retarded.” stated another little scamp. I reminded them all that the R word wasn’t polite and that I would be retired after Christmas. “See!” one student shouted as they scattered through the playground. I still miss the children, but not the job.

I wonder what the word retire really means. After a working life in education, I took a job with my wife in joint resident management of a condominium. During those five years in a new community I also did a lot of volunteering. I wasn’t as idle as the designation of Retired might suggest. I wasn’t even technically a senior citizen yet. I had relocated, reconnected, reestablished, renewed, reconsidered and revamped my life. Those labels don’t appear on drop down menus from online surveys of employment status. My life didn’t end when I halted my career. Some of my most active years were still ahead.

Workers are being slammed/shamed by some employers these days for being selective about how they see work after Covid19. There is a workers’ revolution underway and it’s about a quality labour environment. Union membership is on the rise again as a reflection of employees wanting a greater stake in their workplace choices. Consideration of preservation and equality of retirement benefits is part of the negotiation demands. We are currently living in an age of record profits for companies and share holders and yet workers, who create the wealth, are being scorned for wanting better employment conditions. Labour must be honoured.

Life long learning is a banner slogan and a quest that I take seriously. It used to be that some folk might be called ‘retiring’ in attitude or behaviour. I’m not someone who is reticent about revealing my feelings. I consider myself to be an introvert in general, yet I will never retire from standing up for a just cause. Education is key to my continuing to feel that I have a place in my community and my society. Right now I am doing lots of reading; a great activity during one’s retirement years!

There were times during my full time working days when I wanted to sing out and declare to my boss ‘Take this Job and Shove it!’. When I was on the countdown to my last day of teaching I cut out a large ad from a local furniture store; Don’t Pay Until 2006. I pinned the reminder to my cork board behind my desk. Children in my classroom may have had trouble with the concept of being retired, but I sure didn’t.