Category: communication

Re: Communication

In grade six I was a prolific penpal writer. The best teacher I had had so far in my schooling, a Mr. Stroud, thought he could teach almost any subject through the craft of writing. I wanted to make him proud so I churned out all sorts of correspondence, mailing letters to a record high number of countries. When I graduated to junior high my dad’s friend introduced me to the wonders of international ham radio, so I got to talk to a new batch of people through that medium. Towards the end of high school and on into university, I was an eager letter writer for Amnesty International. This desire to communicate with the global society continued as I became a teacher, encouraging my students to use the power of their pen, or keyboard, or their voice to reach out to the world. Like my grade six teacher before me, I carried his instructional technique to stretch the conventional three Rs.

When it came to social media, I didn’t register with Facebook on account of questions about privacy. At the suggestion of an artist friend I started a Twitter account. I soon grew to love communing with like-minded souls who wished to amplify good vibes, while sharing their tastes in various art forms. Those were good years until the messaging on that platform became darker, less inclusive, and ultimately soul-sucking. When Elon Musk took over I joined the Xodus, closing my account, and switched to another of Jack Dorsey’s creations: Bluesky.

These on-line communities have been disparaged by some. The central joke seems to be that if you spend too much time with computer messaging, then you forget how to talk to a real person. Nah! During the Covid years I found my social media buddies to be a life-line. I’m naturally an introvert so I didn’t mind sheltering in place. I was not one of those who baked endless loaves of bread. I continued to use my favourite artistic skill, writing, to broaden my days of regulated isolation amidst the continually updated health advisories. I used my laptop as a bridge to friends in other countries, connecting me with stories of other governments’ approaches to quarantine, vaccines, and the public protests that followed.

When we all got back to face-to-face socializing I confess I did feel rusty. The eyes of another real person can make anyone feel a tad off-balance. Slowly I remembered my instincts/training to listen, digest, then speak my point-of-view in the politically correct order. I’m enjoying learning how my grandchildren are sharing their messages of discovery and hope. Their ways of communicating will be very different from my personal history. Yet the common thread will be to send out a signal, “Is anyone out there?” When a child shouts, ‘Grandpa look at me!’ I know they really mean ‘Can you see that I exist!’ It’s not that they need validation. Acceptance is really all that’s required. Then we can make a confident leap to ‘Let’s play together.’

Re: Imagination

Imagine for a moment you are enthralled by a young mind telling you a story from their imagination. In this context facts are unimportant, only the drama and wonder of thinking how this idea could possibly have begun in the first place.

There I was one afternoon relating the story of the big bad wolf and the three little pigs to my three year old imaginative friend. He was rapt as I told him that some versions of this fairytale had the wolf EAT the pigs (my listener has a vegetarian mother). He stopped me several times to repeat sections. A couple of times I had to assure him that every character was doing what came naturally. At the end of my tale I asked what he thought of eating meat from pigs (we had had sausage for lunch) or chicken (he concluded that birds don’t count). He said he didn’t care about fish.

Any teacher will tell you it’s a perk of the job to listen to examples of imaginary thought from their students. I remember my mom always saying the phrase “out of the mouths of babes” whenever she concluded a story about my sister or me to her friends. Back then there was a television program Kid’s Say The Darndest Things hosted by Art Linkletter. Later the program was rebooted with Bill Cosby posing as the questioner of the kids. Imagine!

My young friend ruminated on my fairytale for a moment (bathroom break). The house continued to buzz with kitchen clean-up and quiet adult conversation when he came back and sat beside me on the couch. I thought he was going to ask for another fairy tale but no, he began to tell me something that sounded like a recipe for baked horse. Allow me to provide a condensed version of his culinary how-to: You have to put on gloves and get all the poop out. Next (he instructed) you cut off the tail and chop the horse into pieces that will fit into the oven. Keep everything clean (he emphasized). When it’s all very hot then you spread on some mayonnaise (at this point he smacked his lips!)

After the first narration my young friend was clearly impressed by the attention he was getting (by now his parents had joined in, listening with a measure of shock & awe). The show must go on! He raised his arms and asked if I would remember his horsey story (I assured him that I would never forget it). He then stepped onto the floor and performed an interpretive dance version of The Baked Horse Recipe. His hands got rid of all the poop, the snipped tail miraculously flew into the air on sprouted wings, the horse bits were pushed into the oven, and the spreading of the mayonnaise was the piece de resistance! He could have bowed because we all wanted to give him a standing ovation. I suggested to his parents that he must be enrolled in acting classes immediately, or at least chef school.

Re: Concept

The question of how one conceives things is on my mind a lot these days. When I filter the daily news through my life experiences I find myself feeling very curious about how others reached a certain conclusion. It’s my teacher training at work here as I’ve tried in the past to find common ground with my students, but in this present-day case I’m searching for a way to conceptualize my internal struggle to understand myself.

Self-concept is the beginning. It’s not about ego. In architecture it’s important to have an initial design concept, which sets out the parameters for a project to grow. Imagine yourself as that project, and imagine how you want to build the best version of yourself. One’s self-concept is critical to fending off manipulation by others. I was once accused of being an island unto myself, but I don’t mean to suggest that our self-concept has to be a fortress set up to prevent invasion. Even if we intend to have a philosophical moat around us, we still need to design a drawbridge for the occasional interaction with roving troupes of minstrels and other artisans, thereby bringing joy into our cloistered lives. The walls do not a castle make.

I’m familiar with the concepts of life as espoused beautifully by the fictional coach Ted Lasso. Much has been said about the creative collection of characters in this award winning television series. Lasso seems a fish out of water as he navigates his job in a perpetual cultural clash with owners, players, and football fans. Amusingly, a goldfish is used as an example of winning behaviour as part of Coach Lasso’s concept of team solidarity. His intention is not to win, but to build. He wants the sportsmen in his charge to be better individuals first, only then can they become champions. I exulted in the revelation that a key to satisfaction in life is to be curious, rather than judgmental.

Concept is a forest-sized idea. Big picture views are my cup-of-tea. Whenever I’m planning something, it’s the outcome I wish to grasp. That may start with a question like, “Why am I doing this?” I believe if we can conceive something in its finished form then it can become a reality. Luck can factor into the final result but we must consider those initial conceptual ‘what ifs’. Some currently held concepts defeat me because they are not logic-driven but faith-driven. A manifestation board is cute, and even affirming, but it won’t work unless you find the keys to your dreams of a better life.

Religion is merely a concept, based on fear more than faith. I’ve been in congregations where action has been a way to fulfill the big concept. Bringing a healthy concept into reality is like conceiving of a child in your life and making that happen. The Idea of creating a new human is so awesome it deserves regular decision making, revisions, accounting, and celebrating of milestones along the way. Biology is only the beginning.

Re: Segue

I’m glad it’s not considered cultural appropriation if you use a word from another language when you are talking or writing. To give credit where credit is due then I must say thanks to the Italians for inventing the word segue, which translates into English as ‘to follow’. Segue is a beautiful word I tend to use often in conversation when I want to steer the dialogue in a different direction.

The first time this word came to my attention I was an adult at a youth symphony orchestra performance in my community. During the introduction to the second piece of music in the programme, the conductor said that he wanted to lighten the mood by inviting us to segue our thoughts to our favourite natural environment as we listened. He was making a joke that I didn’t figure out until I learned that segue is also a musical term directing instrumentalists to follow on with the music and turn the page without a pause in the beat. So there I sat in the auditorium, lost in my thoughts of languages intersecting while the music flowed about me like a lazy river.

Words flow, rivers flow, and segue sounds poetic, romantic, and utilitarian all at once. If I think about it, almost every essay I’ve ever written could be described as a segue to the next one. I like it when I am in a lateral thinking mode. My son once gave the comment that he thought a single blog posting of mine was as far ranging as the plot of an episode of The Simpsons on television. At the keyboard, as I type the letters collect into words, and I find a zone of clarity (at least to me) when converging and diverging thoughts seem part of the same stream of consciousness. I am a communicator! have segued, therefore I am.

Come to think of it, Segue would be a great name for a human. Or at least a pet––Segue the cat! How about that? Some folk might like its nickname; Seggy. Which really isn’t a short form since it has the same number of letters. But while I’m segueing let me tell you about one of my best birthday surprises ever! When I turned 65, my bride advised me to get in the car as she was taking me to lunch. That’s fun, I thought to myself, thinking that was going to be my birthday gift. Well I had to guess again as we took off, after our meal, down some roads I had not travelled before. We eventually pulled into a driveway beside this truck that had an adventuring type word on the side. Still puzzled, and with my wife leading me to the door of a suburban house, she knocked.

A lady came out with helmets, opened a side door on the truck and pulled out two Segways. I had seen one in operation months ago and my loving partner had remembered how I had exclaimed in excitement. I learned a new skill that happy day. A new way to be in the now, and go with the flow.

Re: Encounter

I enjoy the encounters I have when I am out and about in my community. A simple stroll to my village to renew my prescriptions, a stop for an ice cream cone, or finding a sale in a grocery store will bring a smile to my face especially when I have a moment with a real person.

Abraham is his name. We met at an afterparty at a local theatre. He acted in the play that night, and I was an audience member. I started the conversation as he was choosing some cheese and paté, from a tray on a pedestal. I gushed with enthusiasm over the dynamic representation of a fight scene involving athletic coordination that was the climax of the plot. On stage, Abraham and his acting partner had just parried in a violent dance, each thrusting a blade with death being the intended outcome. All this action happened in remarkable slo-motion choreography, while I watched a mere three metres from the stage apron. Now I was standing near Abraham, at the meet and greet, trying to speak without crackers spilling out of my mouth.

Encounters can be exhilarating, sometimes messy, and rarely planned. A chance encounter can stay with us for a long time, if not forever. I remember as a teen being brave enough to ask if I could have an old lobster pot that seemed discarded by a house near where I was camping with my parents. I was with a friend at the time, and as he waited a few yards back at the top of the driveway, I negotiated with the owner. I said I had long wanted a suitable keepsake for my many years as a child coming to this beachside campground in Maine. I was going off to university and imagined the rectangular lobster trap would make an excellent coffee table. The owner handed his artifact to me as a gift, the look on his face was one of pure benevolence. I still remember my friend appearing equally stunned by the exchange saying, “You got it just by talking to him!”

I’m still feeling the isolating effects of Covid19. Back then we were encouraged not to have encounters due to risk of exposure to the virus. Even though I tend to introversion on the social spectrum I missed those times when I regularly attended mass cultural events. During those covid years I got used to encountering others over social media where exchanges didn’t involve the risk of a stray sneeze. In the longer term, Covid19 made us all a bit insecure about approaching others.

Now that I’m back attending the arts events that I love, engaging other humans will return in fits and starts. My social muscle memory emboldens me to initiate confidently. The actor Abraham seemed pleased that I had dared to approach that night at the theatre. He said, “And what about you?” Which raised my praise to dialogue level. Oh my, what to say next!

I’m going to need more practise at this conversation game.

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: Announcement

Bugles once announced the arrival of invited guests to a fairytale ball. A red carpet is still occasionally used to indicate the presence of VIPs at a notable function. I’m a cinephile so I like the grand entrance of Hollywood movie stars as they strut their stuff and take their places before the year’s winners of an Oscar are revealed. The envelope please!

Folks love to be the first to tell the Big News. Others love to be the first to hear an announcement of importance. I haven’t been to a wedding in a while so I wonder if the tapping of the drinking glass is still the start to delivering a toast; to the bride, to the groom, or later whoever happens to be still in the banquet room. Parties are times of announcements, pronouncements, or opportunities to gossip. We all love hearing the latest news, especially when it makes us happy.

Recently I published my first collection of newspaper columns. I sent a copy of the beautifully bound book to the library in my old hometown. They accepted it with grace and sent me a picture of it sitting on a shelf, where book lovers might see it. A bit of me is in general circulation! I felt like trumpeting my accomplishment from the highest hilltop. Perhaps I was a Town Crier in another lifetime, reading from the scroll provided by the palace; ‘Hear ye, Hear ye! Gather round all who wish to be enlightened, informed, or otherwise amused.’ Newspaper boys used to shout, ‘Read all about it!’ Most news comes online now but you can still find artistic cards that are decorated to announce a birth, death, wedding, illness, or achievement. With the Canadian postal situation being in a state of disarray, one wonders how long the tradition of handwritten messaging will continue. Yet it still holds that even a word of condolence can feel like a gift when delivered to the mailbox right outside your door.

Announcements, good or bad, generate a buzz that we human bees transmit with glee. There was talk for weeks after Queen Elizabeth died. The recent meeting between our new PM Mark Carney and that Donald fellow had all Canadians feverish with expectation. People leaned in, metaphorically at least, to catch any body mannerisms or speech inflections that might reveal the truth behind the politics. Honestly though, it’s often hard to collect the courage to make a personal announcement.

Spreading the news can be premature. No one wants to let the proverbial cat out of the bag. Something may change between the time you choose to share your thoughts and what you’re anticipating will come true. There have been many times when I’ve said, “Guess what?” Then finding myself regretting giving the message. No one wants to jinx the future, even if we understand that we have no power over what comes next. The new world order, our personal world order, will evolve regardless of our excitement to be the herald of happiness or the bringer of bad tidings. It comes down to sharing what matters to us. That’s what counts.

Re: Talk

When a boss says, “Let’s have a chat.”, you know there is trouble ahead. I would prefer a request like, “I’d like to talk something over with you.” The latter suggests a mutual desire to solve a problem. Too many times the person wanting to have a discussion has already mapped out the attack strategy so that you’ll eventually hear, “There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.” The situation, talk-wise, has come to a dead end.

That seems to be where we are in the world right now: At a dead end. The UN is a global talk opportunity between nations. There are many words spoken at many meetings with many reams of paper, and many talking points are recorded during discussion after discussion. This is where the phrase, ‘talk is cheap’ comes to mind. As I review the records of politicians there seems to be only a few who actually walk their talk. One exception is Manitoba Premier Wab Kinew. Since taking office he has shown that election promises can be kept. If he were talked about within the pages of The New Yorker magazine I bet he would be in the profile called Talk of the Town.

Bonnie Raitt sings a great version of Shirley Eikhard’s song, ‘Let’s Give Them Something to Talk About’. It’s a catchy hit primarily about gossip, which is a somewhat seedy form of talk that gets people into trouble sometimes. I like being talked about in a way, because it makes me feel folks are thinking about me. But I wouldn’t want to be slandered or have people think I’m different from what I may pretend to be. When TEDtalks first became a thing, I fancied myself giving a lecture where everyone would take notes and discuss the finer points in a coffee shop afterwards. Then I had a dream imagining that very scenario with the audience talking while I was speaking and I woke with a sweat, and a radio voice in my head moaning “Talk, Talk, Talk, all you do is Talk!”

A debate is high level talking where ideas are proposed and a ‘Winner’ is chosen for their eloquence and astuteness while in the hot seat (or a hot podium). In a panel discussion I usually find myself nodding off after the opening remarks. Political debates are the same snore-fests. I know I’m supposed to be paying attention but I’m wishing all the time that if I just had a pamphlet I could figure it out for myself.

I wouldn’t call myself a talkative person. After a stimulant I might get excited enough to run-on. There was this time I met someone I admired and I rallied many coherent thoughts and blasted them in a non-stop fashion leaving me sort of breathless and sadly with nothing left to say. I’ll never forget the look on the face of the person who absorbed all that enthusiasm. I reminded myself later to be more careful with my words. That said; I love talking happy-talk.

Re: Post

My dad loved writing letters. In a desk drawer by his apartment door he kept a bunch of stamps, notepaper, envelopes, and cards for when he felt inclined to send something off in the post. He was raised on the value of the British Royal Mail Service. Often he initiated the correspondence to family or friends with a quick one-page newsy hello. When a letter came for him he would always write back the same day.

A recent headline read, ‘Canada Post in Crisis’. The article suggested letter writing was dead. The popularity of Amazon free shipping, and the rise of labour costs were all reasons for our crown corporation to be in existential trouble. A world without some form of communication across borders would be isolating. Connections of the global sort stoke my imagination. To me the message will always be key, regardless of how it is delivered. I can get amused by thoughts of carrier pigeons, Pony Express riders, ham radio broadcasts, or telegraph typers sending my notes of love or encouragement. I’ve enjoyed my online relationships, especially flourishing through Covid times. Social media platforms can contribute to feelings of togetherness in times of alienation.

Postal service has changed greatly since my relatives in England counted on their daily mail. Traditional bright red post-boxes, looking a bit like vertical cannons, can still be seen on British street corners for tourists to mail a postcard home. Now it’s more likely that a smart phone photo will be snapped of the same sight and sent digitally and instantaneously to curious relations abroad. I have a decorative mailbox on the wall outside my front door. I’m always hopeful for the clanky sound of the lid when a letter is dropped by a postal worker. Some housing areas have community mailboxes that encourage a bit of neighbourly banter. I once lived in a mining town that had a village postoffice. My mail had a postbox number, which I thought was very rural and romantic. On my daily visits I was happy to say hello to either the postmaster or postmistress behind the service counter. How quaint!

Dad set a high bar for postage stuff. For a while in my adulthood I felt I met his standard. Then came email. I lost my pen-to-paper skills, however I kept my joy of wrapping a parcel for delivery by Canada Post. I still take pride in building my own cardboard containers for packages; wrapping them in craft paper with a neat address. Handing parcels to my local postal clerk gives me a special feeling of reaching out. Recently I felt saddened when one of my mailings to Germany was returned to me, undamaged but stamped ‘Undeliverable’. I got my money back but the sense of a disconnect in the universal link of global communication left me slightly shaken.

In grade school I communicated with several pen pals. I loved receiving mail envelopes with foreign stamps on them. The letters inside felt magical. These messages helped create a bridge of understanding between cultures, breaking stereotypes and prejudices. Now I type this for you.

Re: Relationship

My bride and I have great conversations. This truth was key to our relationship from the get-go. Over the years we have developed a nice back and forth rhythm that rarely sees turbulence. Sometimes though, one of us may take exception to the words of the other. It’s hard to backtrack and trace where the intellectual response changed to an emotional one. The trigger is usually released when one of us feels threatened.

We watched an intriguing movie called Companion. It’s advertised as a scary film but the story has deeper elements about the way in which folks view relationships. Key to the film’s plot is that the lead character is a robot (this is clear in the trailer so I’m not giving anything away). I found it fascinating how the film slowly revealed what the characters needed from each other. We find that all the lead boyfriend wants is sex (even though he’s shy to admit that fact to his friends). He doesn’t like the term ‘fuck-bot’ but that is really as far as the relationship with Iris (his rental robot) goes. He wants to use her to attain his goals. This one-way relationship is more common than we wish.

Which got me thinking about how we can have a bond with things; humans, ideas, other species, and almost anything. I can have a fondness for a coffee mug. I may cherish a memory or a comfy sweater. Some people are fine with their prime relationship being with a pet. I’m growing to love Time itself. Once when I was sitting by an ocean shoreline I thought everything about that moment was relatable. The people passing by, the birds in the air, the sound of the ocean swells connected to my heartbeat and breathing. It felt like I was part of the mysterious continuum. I didn’t want the relationship I was having with this singular moment to stop. Likewise, while reading a book, I can feel this dialogue between me and the author is as strong as if we were sharing a coffee together, at the same bistro table, on a beautiful day. I’ll finish the book not wanting to say goodbye. That’s a temporal relationship!

Comics make jokes about over-age children staying in their parents’ basement unable to face the ‘real world’ due to having formed limiting, constricting attachments to their video games. Back in my day my stamp collections sometimes kept me from exploring the wider population of folks who were different than me. In maturity, I believe finding a mutual connection is the most exhilarating thing one can experience. Paramount to the experience is a sense that you are giving as much as you are getting. That balance is tricky, sticky, messy, and confusing. When it comes to humans being together in the present, their separate pasts must be welcomed guests. A shared, interesting story of what happened, might infect or enhance the stories we’ll tell at some point in our future.

That’s where conversation creates a comfortable feedback loop. It’s better when things stay curious rather than turning chaotic.