Category: communication

Re: Command

At a hockey game in February, 2025, a singer named Chantal Kreviazuk chose to change the lyrics to Canada’s national anthem. It was a lyric heard around the world as a sign of protest over U.S. trumpian trade tariffs placed on their neighbour in the true north, strong and free. That last bit isn’t the lyric change, just a bit of cheekiness from me. What Ms.K. did was switch “in all of us command” to “that only us command” making the point that Canada will never become the 51st state, and we intend to stand on guard for us.

The word Command has a military sound. An order is given by a Commander, who is at the top of a Chain of Command. Those in military regalia have a Commanding Presence. I get a shiver when I reread those three sentences because I picture a pointed gun, directed at me to obey ASAP! Command rhymes with Demand which is what you are making if you are inviting someone to toe-the-line. That idea may be acceptable for training a dog on a leash. But people are not pets. We have agency. Humans are not meant to be commanded. We make our own rules. At least in a democratic society we do.

We can direct ourselves, if we agree on the commandments. If we can decide on a principle then we can try to live by it. This is sometimes easier said than done, but before you dismiss the idea consider that the use of commandments is not without precedent. Think about Moses. He was the guy in the Bible who asked his god for direction when the masses became unruly and started worshipping golden things. Since his god was the Commander of that time, Moses probably thought if he had some rules carved in stone his people wouldn’t mock his efforts to be leader of the pack, or flock, or whatever society was destined to become when the promised land was discovered. Luckily Moses got his tablets or all hell might have broken loose.

My summary of these biblical ten commandments break down this way: Love THE deity (3 mentions), Love your parents, Don’t steal (3 mentions), Don’t covet (2 mentions), and my favourite, Don’t lie about your neighbour. This is not a bad list, as lists go, but similar lists in other religions haven’t stopped war, ended poverty or made our planet any more congenial for their observance, strict or otherwise. I guess all commandments are meant to be broken. Such is the way of the human flesh. I would be sounding facetious if I wasn’t so flippant. I had only four basic rules as a young father, gently commanding my three sons to: Prioritize, Speak Truth, Be Brave, Show Kindness. As their commander for a time, I think our family ship sailed pretty well.

That hockey game between USA/Canada? The record will show that we won 3-2. While that wasn’t a commanding score, the victory felt like it proved the point of our self-determination.

Re: Comedy

My mom used to tease. My sister, father and I found her intentionally mean jokes discomforting. Consequently I learned that having a laugh at someone else’s expense was not comedy. John Cleese, of Monty Python fame, posted a message on Substack regarding the difference between affectionate teasing vs nasty teasing. I took exception to his exceptionalism because I’d seen the devastating results of my mom ‘taking the mickey’ out on innocent angels. It’s no surprise that her favourite comedians were Don Rickles, Joan Rivers, and Rodney Dangerfield. Mom was dead before Ricky Gervais made a name for himself through insults, but I’m sure she would have liked his style. Teasing, Insults, Swearing, and Sarcasm can be found in my Book of Humour under the chapter titled: Cheap Shots.

Humour is subjective. Art is required to be judged by the individual. It’s how we figure out that our mouth is not the only place where taste can be discerned. And, of course, it’s impossible for all to agree on what comedy means, anymore than we can be uniform in our response to the flavour of olives. My love of humour tends toward the silly and the slapstick. I don’t understand how my bride absolutely hates silly comedy yet she loves scatological humour. To me, the silliness found in Monty Python sketches is innocent and wise at the same moment. The Three Stooges enthralled me as a child with their antics of mayhem. Later, I laughed at the absurd body language of Jerry Lewis, Dick Van Dyke, Rowan Atkinson, and Jim Carrey.

My favourite actors are also comedians. Sometimes the line between pathos and buffoonery can seem gauze-like. Robin Williams mastered this dichotomy as did Jack Lemmon before him. Humour is perhaps the most provocative art form. The double entendre found in most witticisms sets up a conflict in the mind, making it difficult to decide the truth. Stand-up comedy is challenging in this way as it reminds me of the court jesters of centuries ago trying to please the royal master while playing to the impoverished masses. Editorial cartoonists like Michael deAdder perform a similar function of pillorying political figures to make an inconvenient truth apparent. In these cases we might join in mocking laughter; “The joke’s on you!”

Comedy has to catch you at the right moment. This year is the 50th anniversary of that comedic phenomenon Saturday Night Live. Lorne Michaels deserves credit for creating this iconic television show and nurturing hundreds of comics in the process. Dark, silly, political, sexual, racial, religious and physical humour are blended like a box of specialty chocolates. The spontaneous nature of the sketches, the improvisations, can land with a bang or a plop. Something coming off funny can depend on the mood of the audience as much as the skill of the performer.

What strikes your funny-bone may be arbitrary, yet comedy is necessary to our mental health. It’s no accident that situational comedies on television have been a staple of that medium. We need to laugh most when the situation seems most dire.

Re: Mystery

One of my favourite lines from a film is delivered by the owner of a theatre in early London. The movie is Shakespeare in Love and this character (played beautifully by Geoffrey Rush) is asked how the play he has sponsored can possibly go on. His reply is simple, “I don’t know. It’s a mystery!” Life is indeed mysterious and the wonder of it can flabbergast me.

Social media, as an art form, is an extension of theatre throughout the history of humanity. It is  a communication medium writ large and I’m loving the feelings of connection I get from the internet of things. I wanted to use the handle WhoNoz when I first opened an account on Twitter in recognition of this curiosity of our internet age. How I can have a relationship (even a virtual one) with someone in Australia by tweeting something on my computer and getting a follow back is a mystery to me. I like to think of myself as someone who knows some things. I acknowledge at the same time that I can’t know everything. It’s confusing and a bit contradictory, while thinking that I have an opinion, even though I’m no expert. I could just as easily lift my shoulders in a moment of exasperation declaring, “Who Knows?”

Many of my elders confess to loving mystery stories. Some pulp fiction writing is all about who did what and where. Even though I love the enduring character of Sherlock Holmes, I’ve never been a fan of the mystery genre of story telling. In a real life conversation I am often dismissive of the idea that getting to the why of things is an important objective. The mystery to me is discovering the how of making something happen. That is why I am thrilled by stories of quests. I want my characters, real or fictional, to boldly go forth on a mission of discovery. The question of how moves you into the future of stuff. I wonder what mysteries these adventurers will uncover. What truth will lay exposed after the search is complete? What lessons will be learned by the characters? Will I have found, by being a witness, that my life is more understandable?

Life deserves to be examined; each day awaits discovery. Even in a life that seems easy to describe there is mystery to be enjoyed. I’ve been taking medication for a heart dysfunction called Atrial Fibrillation. Recently I got an opportunity to have a surgeon try to correct the irregular misfiring of my heart muscles so that my beat is constant and predictable. Call me crazy, but I awaited the procedure with gleeful anticipation: Here was something new, that I could embrace, that just might make my health and my life better! I suppose one can accept mystery if one can be trusting in the process, just as Philipe Henslowe believed that the show must go on, back in 16th century England.

In my life I’d say that knowing, even when it’s hard to, gives me a positive bearing for my next step.

Re: Booth

If words had scent, I suspect Booth would have the aroma of grandpa’s sweater, soft leather, or maybe pipe tobacco. This word popped into my head one morning as I was waking. Booth is not a versatile word like bandage, beverage, or even British. You can replace it with box, or kiosk perhaps but the word Booth has a vintage character.

In days gone by it was a place to find a phone. It was a communications site, a depot, a word station if you like. The last time I used a phone booth was in New Zealand, where I almost lost a phone card. Were it not for a scrounged safety pin I wouldn’t have been able to retrieve my pay card from the slot.  My earliest recollection of a proper phone booth was in England where my mom took my 2 year old sister to change her nappy. Much later, in Canada when I was a teen, I would go to a local mini-mall to make calls to girlfriends. We would exchange confidences and plan run-a-ways. Despite my avoidance of small spaces, these outmoded cabinets of conversation enabled me to escape from the prying ears of my mother who would tease me mercilessly if I used the home phone line.

On those dates I might have prearranged with a favourite restaurant to reserve a cozy booth in the corner, near the back, where my date and I could have more privacy. I believe there was a television game show about setting up a date night. It involved a sound proof booth where contestants had to wait in seclusion while the audience got the scoop on what would happen next, who would choose who, or if the answers matched the questions enough for compatibility or prize money. Strangely, some of these features can be found in the interrogation one gets when having a hearing test.

A phone booth has been featured often in television and film. The scene of Hitchcock mayhem comes to mind in The Birds. Why Clark Kent chooses to transform into Superman while inside one, I’ll never understand! I’ve never been a fan of Doctor Who, yet the concept of the Tardis fascinates me. It was designed after a commonly seen police box on London streets. It’s small in size but as expansive as time & space once you step inside. This long running British series is an expensive long distance call indeed! Joel Schumacher directed a superb suspense thriller titled Phone Booth. It nicely captured two of my worst fears whenever I made use of one of these curious glassed cubicles: claustrophobia, and paranoia of not having enough change.

And speaking of tense scenarios, I always thought it was curious that John Wilkes Booth managed to assassinate Lincoln while the President sat in a theatre booth. Death by booth squared! There now; I’ve given the word Booth a boost. Now I’ll consider ordering an old-timey British phone box on eBay and installing it in my back yard as a sentimental gesture.

“In for a penny, in for a pound.”eh?

Re: Most

“You’re the most!” Is a declaration that someone once said to me after I delivered on a promise. This cliched phrase (a relative of ‘you’re too much’) was delivered as a thank you when I held up my end of a bargain. It was one of those humbling moments because I didn’t think I had done all that much. Apparently I went beyond much, into the superlative Most!

The word Most is related to the word Best and can be used to describe all the things you really like. Extreme yet simple words like these appeal to the novice wordsmith and to aged writers who can still relate to the wonders of life. My grandson recently learned this word and wants to use it in his daily speech. He wants to know all the Most things; like who had the most fun, the most dessert, who got the most candies. I tell him I love him the most.

If I were to list the times in my life when I did my utmost, those events would be few. I tend to be a lazy guy, lacking what some might call ambition. The time I had to travel across the Atlantic Ocean to my very ill father comes to mind quickly as an example of superior effort. When I had to respond to a leaking hot water tank required a lot of quick thinking. Sometimes I find large gatherings rather taxing, but I wouldn’t describe my efforts to show patience on those occasions as herculean. In other words, it is probably true that my life is mostly moderate instead of extreme. While I try to get the most out of any circumstance I wouldn’t say that I go overboard to create drama or intrigue. That doesn’t mean I lack enthusiasm. For example, if I say “That’s the most fun I ever had!” someone is bound to point out that I said the very same thing last week. I sometimes, usually, regularly, and predictably live as a character in the film Groundhog Day.

My 95 year old special mom just filled out her MOST form. Medical Orders for Scope of Treatment is a document that directs others to respect her wishes in the event of a life threatening medical situation. Some jurisdictions use DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) paperwork. MOST sounds more positive somehow. The majority of us would like our last moments to be peaceful, I suspect. Most of all my mom wanted to make her medical wishes clear to anyone who might wonder how to proceed on her behalf. She tells her daughter that she has had a satisfactory life and doesn’t want to be anyone’s bother when it comes right down to it.

When Ella Fitzgerald sang the great Cole porter song ’You’re the top!’ she’s giving the highest accolade while feeling joy in the moment. and to my ears she is the mostest. I hope the best I can say, when I reach my special mom’s age, is that I did the most with what I had been given.

Re: Stories

While talking to my 95 year old special mom about a newspaper story of a neighbour who is lost, I became lost myself, in the flimsy gauze between truth and fiction. The report of the missing man has details that beg to be filled in with only my conjecture. My mom asks questions that I can’t objectively answer, yet a conclusion to the story had to be reached before we could move on with our day. Thus, the story in our community becomes wedded to our own story, even while the resolution to the story is pending. Even with her advanced age and experience, my mom found this hard to bear.

Bedtime stories are precious in the way they invite imagination. The child being read to goes on fantastical journeys with only a few words of script. Sometimes only a picture is enough to provoke multiple questions of why, how and where. The stories live on after the sleepy-head has been tucked in and the reader has left the room. Stories are meant to persist just as the witness to a life event takes in information and transforms the data into something relevant and understandable. In that way, life itself is a never ending story containing multitudes of chapters and possibilities.

A building starts with a foundation. Stories are added to this physical structure to accommodate people and things. Sometimes in poorer countries the extra floors take time to build. I remember asking a tour-guide, while on a bus trip in Peru, about some buildings having rebar sticking out at the top of rows of cinder block. She told me it was a sign of hope in her community that one day enough money would be available to add a second floor onto the house, to make space for expanding families. A case of another story creating room for more stories.

Recently Andrea Skinner, a daughter of Alice Munro, made public her story of abuse at the hands of her step-father. Readers of Munro’s work talked and wrote about the revelation as though it was their story. Some couldn’t see themselves ever reading this Nobel Prize winning author’s stories ever again because of this new, real life chapter insertion into the Munro bibliography. Ms.Skinner’s misfortune reminded me when I was a toddler and being admonished never to tell tales on the family. I took that to mean; Don’t lie. Yet when I saw my mom talking with others she would often start a conversation with another adult by asking for gossip. I still find the difference between privacy and secrets confusing.

Any bit of fact can be turned into a story. I believe conspiracy theories are an attempt to make our imaginations come to life. We want to understand things so desperately that we join in the story making with other like-minded folk to explain the unfathomable. Every culture is built on stories. Sometimes the truth is hidden to get on with other things we think are more important.

My story is not like yours but we have chapters in common, let’s build on that.

Re: Break

Break and its homonym Brake can give me trouble when I am writing. I can imagine ESL teachers using this pair of words as examples in a humorous writing assignment. And sometimes the meaning within the sentence can give me pause to wonder why a third word hasn’t been invented to provide a better illustration.

Take Breakneck Speed for example. These two words clearly describe a perilous situation requiring brakes to be applied before physical damage occurs. “Gimme a break!” Is something shouted in exasperation, but is the person asking for time out or for someone to halt the forward momentum of the monologue as in “Shut up!” A work stoppage is not a break from routine but an effective strike action to put brakes on unfair labour practises. If someone  breaks a dish while cleaning up there is no R&R involved, just more work. Why does destroying something and taking a vacation get described by using the same word, same spelling: Break!

When you have broken a promise damage has been done and emotional repairs are needed. Perhaps your lifestyle, when it comes to your relationships, has been too fast and loose and you need to apply the brakes before more trouble comes your way. When it comes to romantic friendships we all know that breaking up is hard to do. In that case, maybe taking a break from normal routine is the best course of action before it’s forced upon you.

I’ve shared this conundrum of two spellings, too many meanings with others and they think I’m rather overreacting. When I was working on the details of this blog page I asked my 95 year old special mom what she thought. She is a whiz at spelling so wasn’t challenged by my ideas, just a bit exasperated by the reason behind my niggling point. She chewed on it, literally working through the rest of her breakfast, put down her utensils and calmly said, “That’s just the way it is.”

In Thunder Bay, Ontario the residents celebrate Spring Break, not by travelling to Florida or Mexico but by gathering in around Port Arthur to watch the winter ice break. The floes come apart making a noisy, metallic, crackling sound: Like a cross between pinewood in a fire and a waste metal recycling plant crushing cars. It’s big news every year since many container ships have had to put the brakes on their movement up the St.Lawrence River.

“Hold your horses!” I suddenly imitated a grumpy Abe Simpson bellowing to his son Homer. In my imagination I’m saying this to myself to put the brakes on this hamster wheel of thought. I then see a donkey, stubbornly taking a break and braying about his plight carrying loads so heavy he might suffer a broken bone. I picture this cartoon mule with his scrawny neck extended, and a speech bubble above his head, not saying HeeHaw but “Braaayyk!”

‘Brayk’, a new all-purpose word, meaning; ‘I’m tired please stop’. Take that, Spell Check!

Re: Book

Publishing is going through massive change. Books, magazines and newspapers used to be the norm since Johannes Gutenberg invented the press machine. In my lifetime there has been a decline in print sources delivering news and information. Text and picture can arrive by digital means but for most people my age that mode of delivery comes up short. Words on paper (I miss handwritten letters delivered by postal carriers) have a tactile benefit that cannot be understated. Words are meant to make us feel.

The old Hawaii Five-O television series had an oft quoted catchy line, “Book ‘em Danno” when referring to crooks being arrested. Books on the other hand must never be judged harshly, by their cover or otherwise. My special mom, who can’t even see the covers of her audio books, would agree. She reports that a good book is like comfort food. Her CD player is provided by CNIB (bless them) and when her discs arrive in the mail box she exclaims with delight. It’s a treat to see her smile when she is immersed in her world of words. She shows similar interest when my wife reads to her from my published work on this site.

I’m in the process of gathering columns I once wrote for a daily newspaper into a book. It’s a self publishing effort and I don’t intend to make any money from it. I had made photocopies of the individual columns which I kept in a three ring binder. First the pages had to be recopied and the data stored on a digital file. Then I had to bring it to experts to have it paginated. I next had to book an appointment at my local printing house. Other writers can relate to a similar process as everyone has a story to tell it seems. Every person is literally a walking book. Those who write are usually ravenous readers. I am unreservedly pro books, never want them to be banned, never want them to be burned (ironically the books in the story Fahrenheit 451 ARE burned). Both banning and burning still occur around the world which to me is a shocking example of misdirected anger.

If those who love food are ‘Foodies’, then I guess you could call fans of reading, ‘Bookies’. Too bad that label is attached to shady old-school gambling agents of the underworld sort. As an aside, I wish all gambling ‘pushers’ were arrested and booked for damage to society, but that’s for another blog page. In other WordPress postings, I’ve written about my love of libraries where words and other forms of artistic expression and information can be shared. I love the continuing impression that a source of books is central to any healthy community.

When I book my final passage to the great cosmic beyond, I’ll mix my life essence with countless others in the ether. I can imagine that blend of quantum particulate matter lodging in the head of some future writer who might wonder where that idea came from for another story.

Re: Sex

I never had a birds and the bees discussion with my father, perhaps consequently I was averse to having ‘the talk’ with my three sons. To even write about sex makes my typing fingers go all jittery. Thank goodness for auto correct while I try to navigate the politically incorrect. I may be timid about the topic of sex but I champion its inclusion in classrooms.

Currently North Americans are getting all hot and bothered about how sexuality, sexual orientation, sexual preference, and sexual identity can be taught in schools. Children’s rights are being trampled as we claw at each other over who is the responsible distributor of sex information. When it comes to sex curricula we all share the book, even though there is no single definitive volume on the subject. Parents, teachers, administrators, politicians are all probably a bit shy when it comes right down to how to approach sex.

We rarely open up about our sexual body parts. In the art world, some dare to showcase those things that are obvious whenever we step from the shower. The penis rarely gets talked about or even seen unless it’s associated with a crime scene. It is taboo in film to show a penis unless it’s a rubber one. I remember seeing an ad for a bunch of male performers who would play with their organs like a puppet (originated in Australia called Puppetry of the Penis, I never went, too embarrassed, but very curious in an innocent way). I’ve been to a performance of Vagina Monologues and remember being stunned by the bravery of the cast to talk about such intimate things. As a lover of language, I am amused by the variety of descriptions for our sex bits: A hot dog bun, a mussel, an acorn, a mushroom, a zucchini, a kiwi. Funny how we use items in the grocery store to help define what lies unexposed in our underwear. The pseudonyms for penis and vagina, even breasts, can fill a book or at least the length of a comic’s stand-up routine. Over sexualizing our body parts is part of the communication problem. An abundance of puritanical privacy and secrecy makes any issue of sexuality ripe for problematic intercourse or discourse.

Sex is an activity, an orientation, an identity or a bad word depending who is doing the talking

Much of what I thought I learned as a child about sexiness came from Playboy magazines that my friend and I would find in our apartment building’s basement storage lockers. We’d show each other pictures, giggling nervously while wondering if we’d get caught. When I taught students of that same age in sexual health classes, I was professional enough to engage them seriously. Many parents sat in on my tutorials, telling me how discussion continued with their children after going home. The recent British television drama Sex Education does an excellent job breaking down stereotypes and common misconceptions.

Conquering our bashfulness will be a first step toward talking to each other about who we are meant to be.

Re: Kill

In exploring my world through individual words, I’m often surprised when I come across a word that I haven’t examined in this blog. Kill is part of everyone’s vocabulary yet it’s one of those basement words that we might leave boxed up, unattended.

Maybe our fascination with killing comes packaged in our minds with the broader mystery of death. In the art world, we can love murder mysteries, film noir is fascinating and slasher movies are popular for date nights amongst teenagers. We are repulsed but intrigued by serial killers; we want to know details, the reasons behind the murder. When I hear an ambulance I’m curious if the siren stops close to our neighbourhood. If there is an accident on the highway, we rubber neck to see if there’s been some road kill. The dark side of our imagination isn’t pleasant. Yet it is present. Stephen King is a popular author for reasons beyond his skill with words.

I’ve known one person in my life who has gone to prison because he killed someone in a bar fight. This fellow was a run-of-the-mill boyhood friend. It’s curious to me why authority figures want to convince us that murderers are all insane. That’s usually the approach taken to try to dismiss the incessant gun play and resulting carnage that goes on in the United States. Some cases just don’t fit the madman stereotype. I’ve read of mercy killings for example, and have considered the more frequent accidental deaths involving highway collisions. I don’t believe that the Alberta truck driver who missed a stop sign causing the death of many members of the Humboldt Broncos can be called a crazed killer.

When we want to avoid the word Kill we invent a substitute like Slay, Slaughter, Smoke, Terminate, Disappear, Blow Away, Liquidate, Crush, Bump Off or Hit. Wordlessly, a mafia gangster might signal a death sentence with a kiss. Likewise, someone who wants you gone might make a slashing movement across his throat to show evil intent, even if he is ‘only joking’. Professionally, a director could yell “Cut!” while making a fierce chopping motion to signal her desire to kill the action in a scene.

We can’t fool ourselves by thinking normal God Fearing Folk don’t kill when it says in the Bible that there is a time for it. Our spoken word endorses the emotion behind the thought: “I’m going to kill you!” (we might cry out in rage). “We killed them!” (we might declare after a sporting victory). “I’m going to kill it!” (we boast after cramming for an exam). “He’s killing me softly…” (we might sigh/sing while bringing news of a lover to a friend). We feel proud when we kill two birds efficiently using only one stone. Hunters still find it necessary to pose while smiling beside their dead prey.

I try to avoid using the K word but I don’t want to be a killjoy when it comes to encouraging reflection. Words colour our perception of the world; it’s ignorance that kills.