Category: change

Re: Cause

There was another shooting headline from gunplay in the USA. Also in my newspaper that day were stories of wildfires causing POTUS47 to complain of air quality. Both stories got me thinking of how people process what to do next, after bad things happen. Some folk search for an immediate cause, so that they can put disturbing notions in a box to be filed away. It’s always easier to blame someone or something than get to the real reason for the event that just happened.

When my father-in-law was approaching death, my wife and I tried to figure out how we could help each other through this pivotal moment. An apartment in the same building as her parents was rented so we could just be an elevator ride away. This was one of several details to work out over a two year span of time. It was complicated, messy, and draining on our emotional health. Blaming someone for dying borders on stupidity, yet my father-in-law was the reason we were gathered. I remember assuring my wife at one stressful moment that I was present for her, not for her father: I was present because of the man I called Will.

Finding a cause of something can be as difficult as determining a motive. The difference between reason and cause is not only a question of semantics but one of approach. Will had not earned my desire to be helpful in his palliative care, yet the fact of his lack of planning for his death at 93 was one of the reasons for my wife (his only child) to be in such a dilemma. As support structures were slowly put in place for Will’s care the burden on his daughter became less onerous. Others looking in on the situation showed varying degrees of sympathy. They might see a solution to the crisis by identifying the cause without measuring the impact of potentially creating further problems. Deciding what paths to take that are reasonable requires a deep dive into the needs and wants of many, not just the few. Ultimately priorities will be set.

Tumbler Ridge, British Columbia went through a heart wrenching experience recently, proving that death by gunfire is a global tragedy. Many politicians scurried around giving solace while trying to pin the blame on the various sources. The need to know what went wrong, had to be tempered with the needs of the survivors, responders, witnesses, and citizens. Responsible folk had to step up, regardless of how they felt about the multiple players in this real-life drama. Supporting the grief had to come first while everyone gathered because of something that repulsed their idea of a safe society.

Those wildfires seem to be beyond reason, yet suggesting that a boreal forest floor needs to be  swept regularly is blatantly unreasonable. We can be blinded by rage, or even discomfort, when asked to help in taking steps toward finding a solution to a problem. In this case the why of a heating planet is not as important as finding a way to save humanity.

Re: Date

In elementary school in the 1960s in Ontario, learning important dates was still a required part of the curriculum. Memorization as a skill was still admired. We learned poems by rote for crying out loud! Some dates in history of the world I have remembered from that time in the one-room schoolhouse in rural Markham. A person of a certain age can never forget 1066, 1216, 1492, 1776, 1867, 1917, or 1945, even if we weren’t alive then. Now I keep a journal so I can remember personal dates of significance to me: 1952, 1974, 1977, 1979, 1982, 1994, 2001, 2004, 2006, 2008. These are just numbers to some but when I look at them I see stories.

With search engines like Google we have the answer to questions about dates of origin, or any specific fact for that matter, right at our fingertips. If I want to know when television was invented I can ask Siri, Alexa, ChatGPT, or a growing number of reference robots who can provide the answer. I am aware of typing ‘who’ in that last sentence, as if to personify these technological tools. A recent film that humanizes robotics is M3GAN. The title character is a toy that gains sentience by bonding emotionally to a child. The movie over-stresses the fear factor when the underlying thoughts of questioning the value and control of artificial intelligence may be the key to humanity’s survival.

I wouldn’t want to date a robot. Yet sexbots, griefbots & robocops are apparently going to be the first AI helpers to be in mass production. The act of dating, in my human experience, has been problematic enough that I wouldn’t consider asking Amazon to send me a Companion (another movie I’d recommend). Film fantasies are one thing but expressing real life affections can be tricky. I was in an emotional dilemma when I found myself at fifty years of age trying to understand new rules about relationships, My first wife had died of cancer and I could have used a manual with an easy access index to navigate my life. There were stormy seas until I found my balance. It was smooth sailing once I found an amazing empathic soul. Lucky me as she has cruised with me these past twenty years. And we continue to feel like we are dating!

Currently, my bride and I go on dates as a respite from eldercare. We share our home with my wife’s 97 year old mother. She was born in 1929. Imagine that! When we talk of things she has a whole different perspective on time. In my view she hasn’t passed her best-before date seen as a warning on packages regarding freshness. She’s nearly blind so I bought her a pushbutton clock that speaks the time out loud to her. Her secret to success has nothing to do with eating dates (pitted or otherwise) but in recognizing important dates on the calendar and sticking to a schedule.

To think that in a few short years my special mom may reach the century mark. Speaking of which, the ever creative Mel Brooks just made that milestone. His films are never dated, but I’m feeling that way.

Re: Tray

About three years ago I looked in a bathroom mirror and shrieked like a deranged lemur. For some reason, and apparently almost overnight, my lower middle incisors had crowded together like those crossed cement barriers on WWII’s Juno Beach. That moment was a decisive turning point in my dithering campaign to solve my peg-tooth issue. This ‘dental action’ rivals some military ops and will involve modern prosthetics at some point, so brace yourself.

A tray was once, only something I would get at a cafeteria to load plates onto as I selected my food in high school. A trey in cards doesn’t count because of spelling. I had considered no other use for the word until I discovered trays are the new braces used to realign teeth. When he was barely a teenager, my eldest son had such a painful experience with those old-timey metal devices he actually tried to cut them off with kitchen scissors. The poor lad also had something called a Neo-blastoma that is still being talked about at dental conferences throughout North America. His history was my history so I was a bit squeamish about ‘braces’. But hooray for technology! I was glad when I saw these clear plastic form-fitting trays so I relaxed a bit. But first I had to get an extraction (cue ominous music).

I had never visited a dentist until I was 18. I learned two things back then: I had a strangeIy angled molar which the dentist at the time wanted to pull-out. I said no thanks, but was grateful he had pointed out I had strong enamel. So time passed and I found myself a career as a teacher, which came with a dandy dental plan. With my champion enamel (I kept being told), I have had only three cavities, so I never viewed going to the dental offices with trepidation. 

But now I had to sacrifice one of my pearly-whites so the rest of my teeth could stand at attention properly. I had a 360 degree head scan that captured an amazing view of my jaw, making me look like my head had been found in an archeological dig, and carbon dated to sometime in the BC years. These neanderthal features showed the tooth-that-must-be-pulled, along with my tipping over band of soldiers. I chose to be anesthetized to minimize the trauma. It was done in a second! My bride drove me home while I floated beside her on roads made of marshmallows. 

Why was I making such a fuss, I had to ask myself when I came back to full consciousness. Weeks later I had a better attitude when I was fitted for my trays which would continue the realignment of my smile. I was pumped for the novelty of being in my seventies and wearing invisible braces. Wearing them 22 hours a day made for a readjusted eating schedule. Each time I graduate to a new set of trays I suffer growing-pains but it’s bearable. I like the thought that I have some control over my body as it returns to dust. After all, we’re just part of a celestial wind.

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.