Category: change

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.

Re: Scooter

I sold my scooter last week. It had been sitting idle while I helped attend to the needs of a dying elder relative. My mechanical steed looked resentful as I passed it, on my way to the front door, my suitcase wheels clacking behind me on the pavement. I had been travelling, but my faithful personal transportation device had been left uncared for through seasons of rain, wind and snow.

I found freedom in the saddle of that scooter. I could jump on in a moment of motivation; scoot to the beach, scoot to the market or just go for a scoot along the seashore near my house, filling my lungs full of revitalizing cool air. I had bought my smallish motorcycle more than ten years ago to look after another elder. I could avoid traffic and be at my mother’s nursing home bed in the blink of an eye. My vehicle gave me immediate access. My favourite activity was a quick drive to the beach. I would pack a lunch, a towel and maybe a crossword puzzle. Returning home after such an adventure as that would leave me feeling restored.

My first grandchild was a scooter. She didn’t toddle, she scooted. From room to room she would navigate through her toys with one foot providing the power while the other leg, bent like a partially opened jackknife blade, picked up dust beside her. She would eventually grow a more practical gait, running, dancing and shrieking with delight over newfound discoveries. The nickname ‘Scooter’ flows naturally from my lips. It’s a fitting moniker for this little artistic rascal of a human being.

Scooting is such a great description for going off on a whim no matter how old you might be. I’m not as spontaneous as I would wish and I’m not getting any younger either. My age is telling me that moving slower might limit my call to action. Thank goodness there are more and more options to helping us get around our environment. I helped my mother-in-law pick out a wheelchair recently. She asked me to sit in it and I felt a bit squeamish. I want to continue to explore my world. Mobility scooters might maintain my joy of discovery.

I bought my 50cc scooter solely for me. My eldest son reminded me that self indulgence is a rare thing for me so he was happy when I bought it. It expanded my horizons of time, space and opportunity, I felt bigger inside. Now it is gone. Sold to a man named Tom. He is a retired mechanic/hobbyist who restores older scooters to sell to folks who will continue to love them. Today as I waved a sentimental goodbye I had two dominant thoughts: It was the best THING I ever purchased just for myself & how I could relate to horse owners who someday have to turn their steeds out to pasture. Time abides all.

As I discovered from my grand daughter; scooting is fun for a while, then it’s on to new adventures.

Re: Evacuate

I’ve recently had a moving experience. It seemed like a move on the surface: There were boxes to pack, items to sort, donations to be made, a yard sale, and relocation planning. This was all accomplished with the usual amount of fuss, tears and goodbyes. Things get emotional with a move.

I’ve been involved in several moves in my lifetime yet this was like no other. I tried to wrap my head around the experience by using different descriptors like Leaving, Escaping, Evacuating, Purging, Departing, Fleeing, Vacating. This seemed most like an evacuation. We left behind things. We knew we weren’t likely to ever come back. Fortunately, we weren’t joining a long line of similar evacuees, fleeing a war zone, but we did have a sense of loss, a sense of leaving a homeland. We felt these feelings vicariously. My wife and I saw them, in the eyes of our 94 year old dependent elder.

My mother-in-law had just witnessed the death of her husband after a protracted illness. The reality of what to do next lay ahead and we three decided that a relocation was necessary. My wife and I wanted to take our mother home with us to the place that we had loved before all this turmoil had begun. That meant our elder had to leave the apartment she had existed in for 44 years. Not an easy thing to accomplish; physically or emotionally. She was good humoured and forward thinking, telling her life long friends that she was excited about the prospect of a fresh beginning. She described how she felt grateful we had the resources for a successful transition.

When my wife and I first fell in love the notion of running away from it all was a frequent item of conversation. We thought that life would be freer and simpler if we just owned a backpack to carry a few necessities. We wanted to hit the road, be of no fixed address. Moving away from circumstances that have made us feel trapped felt liberating. One of the reasons we originally made a home in British Columbia was because we wanted to start life anew. 

My special mom has a great sense of humour. We equated our seemingly sudden departure to an ‘Elvis has left the building’ sort of moment. There were momentary hilarious thoughts of the whole exercise being like a bowel movement: All sorts of memories and possessions being expelled and flushed away. She hadn’t been evicted but there was real sadness in the eyes of the superintendent when the lease on the apartment had to be terminated. Along with her sunshiny attitude Mom had moments of darker comedy when she asked me jokingly if we were going to set her on an ice floe and push her out to sea. Reassurance was provided.

We are now settled together, we three. Our elder is busy exploring her new neighbourhood. The trauma of the move is over and a new chapter in our lives awaits to be written.

Re: Missing

The thing about saying you miss something is not about the ‘something’ so much as missing the collective stuff that came with it. The smell, sound or visual may remind us that we are missing a moment in time: Being OF that time. But, just like realizing you can’t be in two places at once, you also can’t be in multiple time frames at once. Freaky but true.

When someone asks me what I will enjoy first after a ‘time away’ I have many answers. The cliché for people being on holiday and returning is the Dorothy statement; ‘There’s no place like home’. In that sense home can be a catch-all term to describe aspects of what makes our life unique. I can imagine that prisoners or soldiers love satisfying cravings upon release from their duties. I haven’t often felt that I wished I were somewhere else. I don’t think I’ve ever wished for another reality either, so maybe that’s why I can’t say I’m missing something or someone. That makes me lucky I guess. I can appreciate stuff while simultaneously minimizing the big picture importance, if that makes sense. Hang on tightly, let go lightly.

Looking forward to something might suggest what I have missed.  Luxuriating in a long hot shower certainly delights me.  Walking in the summer rain makes me wonder why I don’t do it more often. Slowly licking an ice cream cone must never be a rare treat. When I’ve been away from the touch of my bride my heart doesn’t quite beat to the same rhythm. I guess when we can conjure up a sense of longing, which is a projection into the future, we know better of those things that have left us gasping for joy in the past.

I’ve sometimes been missing in action in a metaphorical sense when I have not paid close enough attention to the delights of the present. Shame on me! Regret comes from this place when I should have known better to capitalize on the moment. Carpe Diem must begin each thought that leads to action. Indeed, being remiss is not a good fall back position. A healthy dose of forethought might reduce feelings of FOMO.

I’ve been having some illuminating conversations with my special 94 year old mother-in-law. She’s missing things that she hasn’t used in forty years. There are tears. And then she surprises me with a question like, “What have we discovered today?” I’m on a mission to find out how it might be for me if I get a chance to look back on my life after so many decades. We both keep talking about the importance of staying grounded in the now of life, not necessarily the know of it. There is no point in being upset when you can’t recapture something from your past. Politically or otherwise we can’t make the past great again.

I’m learning that time has its own plan. We won’t miss out on anything if we tend what is before us. Plant the seeds. Watch your garden grow.

Re:Sale

Imagine the things you might find in an apartment that’s been occupied for half a century. Now picture what a yard sale for all those possessions might look like. For Sale: TVs, sets of dishes, fancy crystal stemware, so many china teapots that Alice would shake her head in wonderment, silverware, tables, chairs, dressers, desks and Curios for every type of collector. We called it a closing out sale to celebrate the end of life at this location. A move across country required a ruthless attitude to paring down. Stuff was given away, or tossed. We were determined to take nothing but memories.

I’ve known some folks who love to cruise the neighbourhood on the weekend looking for signs posted for yard/garage/driveway sales. Everyone loves a bargain. I’m always surprised what sells well at these events. One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure they say. My experience with selling/buying at a resale level has had mixed results. As a seller, I can never fully get the price I originally paid out of my head, so resentment builds as bargain hunters try to wheedle the cost down. As a buyer my primary concern is not to feel like a chump for getting something for more that it’s worth.

Value is the key to these negotiated transactions. Both the buyer and seller can feel respected for their choice if they can agree on a value. Many times this is less about the money and more about the wonder of the bargain. Sentimentality plays a role. One customer looked dreamily at a fine china tea set for four. She admitted she didn’t have much money. She called her mom. We talked price. I was happy to let the set go for one low, low price seeing how much it meant. Another young boy asked me to price a large family bible. I said I couldn’t because it was free. They both got a dose of wish fulfillment.

I think of the character Ebenezer Scrooge and how he learned that the dogged pursuit of a sale  did not make him happy. I’m thinking of the Grinch; how he puzzled and puzzled about just Who could determine the worth of things. At my yard sale I went from thinking I’d never have another again in my life, to thinking a marketplace is one invention we humans make special due to the connectivity that is found in people gathering to fill needs and wants. Some of my younger customers left literally hugging their purchase.

I’m a reluctant salesman. Even when I enter negotiations as a buyer, I don’t like the back and forth of bargaining. In my perfect world, items are created and services provided in a free exchange. Ask and it shall be given you, seek and you shall find. Before this apartment liquidation sale my wise eldest son calmed my jitters by remarking how it was an opportunity for me to play Santa. Great idea! I added some carnival/gangster style salesmanship: “Step right up and make me an offer that I can’t refuse!”

Re: Transition

Death is a transition. I’m not about to suggest what might be found on the other side of life, but I do feel that anyone’s death causes a ripple in the cosmic fabric. My father-in-law died. His death caused his immediate family to pause and consider; “What comes next?” While he is in transit, who knows where, we living souls must decide how and where to continue our existence.

My wife’s mother, after 68 years with the same fella, after living almost 40 plus years in the same place, has decided she wants to come home with us to Victoria, BC. There will be many stages to this transition. As my special mom comes to terms with no longer being a wife she appears to be open to the probability of forming new relationships. There may be time for assisted living. Some of her friends have said they are enjoying the experience. Another scenario might be a new home to accommodate the three of us. We will have to tread slowly as we respectfully navigate each other’s preferences while adapting to any new possibilities. Decisions will have to be made with sometimes conflicting emotional interests: sentimentality, practicality, comfort, personalities, individual abilities and disabilities will all have to be balanced to find a new normal.

A physical move is often difficult: packing, a relocation road trip and unpacking! There’s an endless need to analyze information to determine the best course of action. Everyone has a moving story that fits somewhere on a spectrum of Hell to Mildly Annoying. Time can modify the worst of these experiences so they can eventually become humorous. The mental and emotional toll is never easy to cleanse. The psychological transition may require metaphorical bandaids to patch over ruffled feathers. Dismissive words that belittle real worries can add to the trauma of transit from point A to point B.

It is in this regard that I can find empathy with Transexual individuals. Their journey requires a movement of realms beyond my comprehension. It is a monumental transition, not entered into lightly. I have taken my sexuality for granted, yet I can empathize with the journey required to find peace within your own body. Elders, like me, can certainly relate to a body that changes with age. As our parts deteriorate we moan that we don’t like what we see. Those wealthy enough will choose surgery to pull their saggy bits back into place. We’ve all looked in the mirror and been judgemental: Society’s gaze can be crippling especially as you transition into a new you.

From birth to death we are constantly in a transitory state. There are times when we feel stagnant. In all the times of my life, I have hated stasis the most. Whether we are moving through time or space we can make our experience easier or harder. I’ve learned to seek people and advice like I would opening a book. Information assists me in making better decisions. Other’s stories can enable a smoother transition regardless of the nature of the change.

Re: Risk

When I was younger I took way more risks than I do now. The riskiest things I have done include: Diving headfirst off a cliff into a small pool of water, Driving a car after not sleeping the night before, Having unprotected sex, Saying no to my mother, Writing a review of a concert that I didn’t attend, Turning down a job offer, Rejoining the dating scene at age fifty, Seeking a life of no-fixed-address after retirement.

It is wise to at least look before you leap. Sensible folk will tell us that a little planning goes a long way. There are many phrases that can begin a cautionary tale, which we can share at a dinner party or submit to our children as a lesson on how to avoid daddy’s questionable behaviour. I find it fascinating how our languages have sayings that we can use to keep us safe from harm; if only we would take a moment to listen. Our inner voice may exclaim excitedly, ‘He who hesitates is lost.’ Then concurrently counsel, ‘Good things come to those who wait.’

Life can be scary, yet sometimes we make it scarier when we don’t do a risk analysis. We must not forget that fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Most perils can be avoided or at least ameliorated with a little thought before hand. And not all risks are physical. It took me a while to stop fearing imminent financial collapse even though I’ve been fortunate to have regular employment. I’ve felt the anxiety at the end of a monthly pay cycle but I’ve never known the riskiness of living on the street. I’ve weighed options of a benign sort when it comes to the emotional risk of relationships. The risk of a broken heart has been my Everest to conquer in life; something I have chosen with excitement, as a mountaineer might prepare for a risky climb. In this analogy, practice has brought the experience necessary to help me be safely awestruck by love.

Some may see risk taking as creating a fuller life, however, living on the edge is not in my comfort zone. I prefer to watch the thrill seekers, cheer them on even, rather than join in the mass revelry. There are some risks I will not take. I will not jump from an airplane, even with a parachute. I refrain from watching horror films. I am not a recreational drug user. I will not gamble with my money. I will not drink and drive. I will remain faithful to my lover. I will not let anger get the better of me. I will chew my food carefully.

There is reward in taking a risk. Staying in bed or not leaving your apartment will get you nowhere. Life is neither to be squandered nor played like a game of Risk. Situations are inevitable, occasionally dangerous, yet a moment or two of evaluation before proceeding with the next step is a valid price to pay. Steady on, take a breath, pause, be still and listen.

Re: Web

When I was a teacher, one of my students’ favourite outdoor chase/tag games was based on the food chain. Carnivores ran after herbivores who ran after the plants who had to wait within the boundary marked by a Hula hoop. A game for every personality type in a classroom. I never liked the predator/prey aspect to the activity but at least it started a discussion later in the classroom on the weblike nature of the environment.

The way that all species interact in a complex manner of energy transfer is becoming evident to all of us as we share information about climate change consequences. We are becoming educated to terms like keystone species. We are learning through shocking experience of the close knit connections along the web of life. We are not the top of some theoretical pyramid. All creatures, great and small, are important to sustaining a healthy planet. We have for too long viewed out earthly presence as if we were entitled to be lord and master of all we survey. We have tricked ourselves and lied to others about the interconnectedness of our existence.

“Oh what a what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive.” Was a quote from a poem by Sir Walter Scott that my mom used on me whenever she suspected I was lying to her, then I had to be careful not ‘to protest too much’ hence she would definitely know I was lying about something. I remember having a guilty conscience a lot of the time. My mother had a stout heart yet she was deathly afraid of bugs in general and ‘creepy crawly’ spiders in particular.  If webbing ever contacted her face she would shriek for mercy. My mom was not alone; Arachnophobia is on many people’s fear list. Me? I’m an Athazagoraphobe.

In my early adulthood I related to the existential wanderer, Silver Surfer, but my childhood comic book favourite was Spiderman. I liked the way he didn’t use a weapon that hurt, just an unbreakable passive/aggressive net. As a teen I was drawn to the cartoon Spidey, from the popular television series by Grantray-Lawrence Animation. The catchy theme song; “Spins a web, any size/catches thieves, just like flies” was by Paul Francis Webster and Bob Harris.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wl90tt4newk

What’s not to like about the World Wide Web (best invention in my lifetime). I depend on it for communication and researching, I spend a lot of time crawling/scrolling through digital threads. It can be a time suck but mostly it works like a mental butler. I definitely see the benefits to the  hammock-like inner world of pixillated Web Design. I might volunteer to be a test subject for the first WWW cranial implant.That way I wouldn’t be bound to my computer, I’d become one! I can see the ads for the procedure: “Enhance your memory! Win Debates! Be a trivia Titan! Get a prothesis to pontificate!”

Cyber Humans? Seems like a natural evolution.