Category: life

Re: Menu

I have an aversion to menus. My feeling is not pathological, but some people might want to declare that I’m nuts after reading this blog page entry. In the book of phobias (there probably is one) fear of menus comes closest to Decidophobia: The irrational fear of making a decision. Anyway, I resent being called irrational.

I don’t like Drive-Thru restaurants but the other day I had a craving for KFC. My wife encouraged me to have the bucket handed to me through the car window. I nervously complied. But first I had to contend with an eight foot tall menu printed with more types of fried chicken than I thought existed. The voice on the speaker asked what I wanted. I froze. The voice asked again and I blurted out that I wanted a ten piece bucket, original recipe. I breathed while my bride coached me to be calm. The voice said, “It’ll be mostly dark meat.” I mumbled something about ‘I hope it’s not all drumsticks’ as I considered the logistics of aborting this mission. “Drive to the window,” commanded the tinny speaker voice. I meekly obeyed.

Confusion over, I merged with the highway stream of traffic. My wife cradled the warm container of ready-to-eat chicken in her lap as I concentrated on the job of driving home safely. I tried to laugh at myself about being rattled but it wasn’t the first time I’ve expressed a reluctance to deal with the ordinary task of ordering from a menu. I’m nervous enough, while on a date, to ask my partner to order for me. The big overhead boards at fast food restaurants are the worst, especially when I don’t have my glasses on. The food choices are arranged in weird categories too; like Breakfast, Lunch or Dinner and then you have Combo Meals or even Vegetarian. At a table service restaurant I get stressed by the multi-folded plasticized menu maps, like those offered at the diner in the award winning Canadian television series ‘Schitts Creek’.

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

The origin of word Menu is French for ‘detailed list’ and the Latin for ‘very small’. I prefer simplicity when it comes to menu choices. If it is beef stew I don’t need to know the details of how the beef was raised/braised or that there were three kinds of potatoes hand peeled and marinated in organic vegetable stock. A dining out option is a time to treat my guests to the social aspect of breaking bread, not to go overboard about the type of flour that might have been used for the loaf.

A large amount of choice brings me stress. If someone asks me where I like to eat out, I say I don’t. My preference being to look in my own refrigerator and picking something with minimal preparation time. That way I can spend more of my leisure writing reflections like this one. My writing program has a drop down menu of only six headings; That’s not scary at all!

Re: Wish

When I was younger, personal agendas were important. I would call them dreams and most days I had a plan. I’m not for tilting at windmills. Objectives must to be met. My mother was a task master. She taught me discipline. In that kind of environment there wasn’t much room for wishing. That didn’t make me cynical or even unimaginative. If I wanted something, then I would resolutely put a plan in place to reach my goal.

Wishing starts the quest process towards achievement. I see the act of making a wish like some people might view praying. I don’t believe there is a god to answer prayers anymore than I count on others to make my dreams come true. Sometimes I’ve been the lucky recipient of a gift or advice that gets me closer to realizing a dream but generally the achievement has been mine. I like to believe in my own ability. It is important for me to consider possibilities, identify the probabilities then make a decision to act on the most likely scenario. A while back that strategy was called ‘getting to yes’, then it morphed into The Secret (a sort of mystical plan involving seeing your future). Now people are talking about the science behind using your mind to get to the heart of the matter. No matter what language you use the idea is the same: Wish fulfillment.

Everybody has wishes. It makes no difference who you are. And no request is too extreme. I love the Washington/Harline song When You Wish Upon a Star. Here is a beautiful version sung by Sara Bareilles that may help you towards a new understanding of how desires are met.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhwT2jn9qHQ

This song articulates such a beautiful philosophy. It speaks of the mystery of life as well as suggest how things might be resolved. Some might toss a coin into a fountain or find a wishing well. Some might climb a mountain, write a letter to Santa, pull on a turkey wishbone or lie down on warm grass and gaze at clouds. We must never fear a little wishful thinking.

My wife and I love potato chips for a snack. Whoever finds a chip that is folded onto itself has discovered a wish chip. This special morsel must be shared with a kiss while both lovers are making a wish. When we went on an extensive trip to New Zealand, my bride made a manifestation journal of pictures cut from magazines while I created an agenda/itinerary/map. The forethought we put into this trip of a lifetime opened doors to famous places and roads less travelled.

I’m not embarrassed to admit I’m planner. I’m very careful about what I wish for. I normally resist waiting to see what might happen. For me, what starts as a wish will progress through idea/research/consultation/blueprint/rethinking/commitment to execution. I’ve kissed many a wish goodbye. I’ve also revelled in the challenge of getting to that pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

Re: Flight

When my thoughts take flight I am lifted above clouds of doubt. My thinking sets me free to soar above conflicting emotions. I can see more clearly the path ahead.

I happened to be in our parking lot when our neighbour, I now call him Captain, was just coming home from work. I learned that he was accumulating hours for a commercial pilot’s licence that would get him an elite job back in his home country. We got talking about my time with the Dept. of Fish & Wildlife in Ontario, since that was the last time that I was a passenger in a small aircraft. I told him I had never been in the co-pilot’s seat and he said, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

He rapped on my door at 10:30 the next morning. At the airport, the Captain had to check-in so I filled in time with a look around a part of our airport dedicated to pilots and the Victoria Flight Club. I gazed out to the tarmac curiously wondering which of the planes parked there would be ours to fly.

All the paper work done, we walked to our plane and I took pictures while he did a circle check. Finally I got strapped into my seat, headset on, engine started, then more checklist items. I was beginning to wonder if we would ever lift off! As we taxied down the runway there was a lot of incomprehensible chatter from the tower and other pilots: “Delta, Victor, 3, Bravo, Romeo this and Alfa, 4, Sierra, something, something”. I just counted backwards from ten slowly and silently until we were off the ground. I wasn’t really nervous just in awe that such a tiny bit of chattering metal could hold two people aloft. I commented after gaining altitude that it didn’t seem like we were going very fast and my Captain laughed and showed me the airspeed indicator. We were cruising at 110kph.

I thought of my dad, who had once invested a chunk of his hard earned money to take flight lessons, only long enough to take one solo flight. Being in the air, feeling how fragile that existence is, sparked a memory of watching him land at Buttonville Airport, near Toronto. I was probably about 8 or 9 years old, and can recall his beaming face as he shook hands with his instructor. He spread his wings again at 70, while parachuting, ticking another box. When I see a solitary cloud in the sky I think of him sitting on it, grinning at me.

As the Captain and I dropped altitude for our runway approach I felt surreal. In our three dimensional world we hovered as a falling leaf awaiting touchdown. I was aware of my two dimensional existence as we drove home yet the feeling of being transported to another world has never left me. Flight gives you a vantage point unlike any other. Seeing my world from another perspective boosted my understanding of my place in it.

Re: Uncle

I make a point of talking to my uncle every month. I use my computer so I can see him and because it is a free way to connect since he lives way across the Atlantic Ocean. He’s the only uncle I have left, so I feel a certain responsibility. He is my auntie’s husband after all. But that doesn’t really explain things.

As kids we sometimes cry out “Uncle” when we are in a wrestling hold. It might be a universal safe word that tells our playmate/opponent that we’ve had enough and we give in before further damage is done. Once during an overnight adventure with my scout pack I got into a bear cub like scuffle with another boy. Saying Uncle to his aggression made me feel ashamed. I remember leaving the scene shouting that he would be sorry, “Just you wait! I’ll be famous one day!” I screamed.

I showed him.

Parents who had children in the fifties would advise their kids to call family friends Uncle or Aunt to somehow distinguish them from untrustworthy strangers. Even as a kid this creeped me out that I had an Uncle Frank even though he wasn’t a REAL uncle. From my parent’s point of view I suppose this might be an innocent bit of labelling in the name of ranking a friendship. Such confusion of terms and association has led to child abuse all in the effort to show familiarity. Sticks and stones eh.

My authentic uncle in England has been an important addition to my life even though we have only been together about a half dozen times. He was a buddy to me when I had a brief solo adventure in Europe that went bust in my late teens. I learned how to sail under his tutelage. Once he travelled to Canada while I was raising a young family of my own. I took him on his first fishing trip, we travelled together with my dad and eldest son on a northern train trip. During this time, I hosted a backyard salmon bake with gallons and gallons of wine and we talked about Shakespeare’s impact on the world until the stars above our heads astounded us with their brilliance.

And now I watch him getting old on Skype. I want him to remain as he was but he gets forgetful even amidst a short conversation. I’m not getting any younger either and my uncle is a reminder that life is finite. Covid has shown us that no one lasts forever. As long as we have a present we don’t have to rely on memories to buoy us up. So I call him to remind him of the fun we had together and to thank him for being the elder in my life. I wonder to myself how the past can invade the present, grasping us, like in a wrestling match.

I’ll say Uncle to death’s embrace at some point. For now, I’ll surrender to the joy that is mine, today. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaCDXcXnpVI

Re: Yes

The YES/NO binary fascinates me. When I went to university computers were a becoming thing. Beginning science students at my college had to take a basic programming course. We used punch cards, stacks of them. We talked Fortran to a whirligig machine the size of a classroom. The best thing I got out of the course was learning Flow Chart methodology. I still use this principle to make personal decisions.

Life is not always a matter of a yes or no decision. A yes answer to a question can mean you agree, and when it comes to a contractual understanding I believe it shows strong character to commit to the outcome. On the other hand, saying yes can also be a process to finding out. I always told my young sons when they were out with others that if things went south and they started to feel uncomfortable, they could always call me for a pick up. Deciding yes doesn’t mean there is no turning back, yes doesn’t mean you are stuck. There is always something else you can do; it’s quite fine to change your mind.

When we are in autopilot we probably don’t think too much about our Yes/No response rate. Most of our lives we just flow along. I’ve said a resounding Yes to marriage twice in my life. Choosing teaching as a career was a fateful Yes. I’ve chosen affirmative responses to life changing questions when folks have shown confidence in me even when I have doubted my own ability. I once chose to question the YES of life in the midst of some dark days.

Back when I was coding those punch cards, the computer could only determine between one and zero. Like an On/Off switch the pathway to an answer flowed like an electrical current until a solution was found. As we move closer to AI robotics I wonder if we’ll be able to program something like a shrug into a SimBot. A simple yes or no is restrictive to creativity. A Maybe thrown in, once in a while, can stimulate imagination.

I love saying Yes. But it’s not always a practical answer. My wife says I’m a very emphatic person. I joke with her sometimes that life would be more fun if there was a limit to the negatives; Don’t, Not now, Not really, Never! M’Eh is the worst: That response combines a dismissive attitude with an apathetic outlook. Nothing is ever accomplished with a M’Eh. Unfortunately my reflex response, whenever we are out shopping, is No! I hate being a spoilsport. I can make firm and relatively quick decisions because I know myself well but my mind is not suited for a black or white rigid existence either.

My mother-in-law showed me her wedding pictures yesterday. She’s been saying her final goodbyes to her husband of 68 years. It took him nine years before he agreed to the union. I watched her smile like Mona Lisa as these memories played about in her head. Her lifetime started with a Yes.

Re: Be

I woke from a dream in which I was playing the role of Romeo, and I had forgotten my lines. I substituted massively funny ad-libs. No one in the imaginary audience was laughing, neither were my acting colleagues. I had acted shamefully on this subconscious stage but my ego felt healthy as I chuckled myself awake. I got up and shaved humming the Gillette ad; “Be the best a man can be.” These quirky thoughts sent me into the day wondering what it means; To Be.

In some ways we become a being through our doing. Our actions, behaviours and creations enable us to define ourselves in a world filled with other individuals. The person we are, starts with our organic self, but when you factor in our ability to think and feel we open a spiritual plane. These soul thoughts will help us to become our true self. Being a human being carries a responsibility beyond our biological nature.

In another play by William Shakespeare, Hamlet mused; “To be or not to be, that is the question.” In my interpretation the titular character is filled with existential angst. On the surface he is trying to choose between life or death but I hear, “Who am I anyway?” Hamlet may profess to know Yorick very well yet he struggles to know himself. Just what is the essence of being, is the better question. Much to my sadness, my sister had a hard time being satisfied with a meaning behind life. To her, life was simply hard with intervals of manic pleasure. When those pleasures dried up she ceased to have a reason to carry on. Being requires meaning.

Books are part of my being to be sure. I have not always been a reader, boys tend to come to the joys of reading late. I truly have become better through reading. My library keeps a record of the books I’ve checked out. The list astonishes me in its quantity and variety. It’s a reading rainbow of authors’ views on ways to be a person. Life is a journey to discover who we are, where we fit in and what we stand for. In the film ‘Against the Ice’ the main character, an arctic explorer, is asked why he continues to put himself at risk. He confides that it is because he is good at it, that he plays the part well.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players” is a line from Shakespeare’s ‘As You Like It’ Many people, men particularly, define themselves by their job. Military life is toasted as the be all and end all of purposeful employment: Become a man while seeing the world. I’m all for travel as a learning tool, but there’s that expectation of killing/dying for your country that puts me off.

Here’s a toast to your future, to our future:

Be still and know that I am everywhere

Be still and know that I am

Be still and know

Be still

BE

Re: Miracle

The miracle of birth is a wonder of creation. There have been many circumstances labelled miraculous throughout world history. We don’t need to be religious thinkers to put weight on things that amaze us. Awe is everywhere.

Survival stories of car crashes, natural disasters or medical recoveries are often cited as miracles. My mom was a local track star in her early teens, following the sport into her adulthood. In August, 1954, a ‘Miracle Mile’ was run by Roger Bannister, beating the unimaginable time of four minutes. Stories of that Vancouver, Commonwealth Games record event were still being printed in Canadian newspapers when I immigrated to Canada later that fall.

I believe in miracles when I feel deserving or hopeful, yet everyday miracles may be just happenstance that end up making a great story that we can tell others as we age. I can’t quite get my head around the idea of finding a life long romantic partner. Mutual love is unfathomable. Is it fated when we find a soulmate? Couples will gasp, “It’s a miracle that we found each other!” Even that character Rick of Casablanca seemed awestruck,”Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” Barry Manilow wrote a song about the wonder of it all. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wc-2F3VDs2w

On the day my mother died I lost my wedding ring. The death had been coming for a while, the loss made a bad day worse. After my wife and I got the call from the nursing home, we raced there to watch as she took her last breath. The nurse was notified, procedures ensued. The attendants couldn’t get her ring off, so I managed the job with a dab of cream. It was then I noticed that my ring wasn’t on my finger. A search began that alerted all staff, covering the whole building, including refuse bins, and outside all around the parking lot. I had to come back the next day to sign certificates and such and the search continued. I checked the car, my house, my clothing: No luck. Was this a weird cosmic thing where rings are traded in an alternate universe? Was there something here requiring a return to psychotherapy? Was it a lesson in grief? Was this someone’s idea of a joke? About a week later I went to pick up my mom’s ashes. I put the container on a shelf in my shed and decided to do a small clean-up. I repositioned things and moved my recycling boxes so I could sweep the floor. The broom made its swishing sound as it found leaves, bits of string, plastic bottle tops, then something heavier. I knew instantly what it was. I picked up my lost wedding ring and held it tightly in total disbelief. I called my wife. We cried with the miracle of it all.

Sometimes it’s a struggle to get up in the morning: Bones creak, muscles are stiff, phlegm must be cleared. Life is a miracle.

Re: Stress

Trump is back in the regular news cycle and that has me stressed. I’m not alone. That man! Even his name produces stress in many folk. When the 45th President of the United States was on the last election hunt, I asked my doctor for some psychiatric help. The specialist he referred me to asked why I felt anxious. He looked stunned when I named The Donald at the top of my list. History has born me out. Meanwhile I’ve now got the mental health support I need to weather the next storm.

We humans are elastic for the most part. We like to think that we can accommodate, collaborate or compensate but there are times when it becomes mighty hard to even tolerate a person, a group or a situation. Our capacity for stretching can be based on individual temperament which may be grounded by our genes, our upbringing or our experiences. It’s complicated. So complicated that we must never suggest to another to “Just get over it.” People, like cars, have been known to have breakdowns. Even steel bridges snap under pressure.

I was a career elementary school teacher; a profession often ranked high among stressful occupations. My colleagues and I were taught how to see challenges as eustress: a sunny, positive label that encouraged us to master our own fate. Natural body chemicals like adrenaline or dopamine can help. Caffeine helps others. Many turn to jogging, yoga, alcohol or drugs. Back then we didn’t talk much about mental health. Stress leave was stigmatized but prevalent. Going to the psychiatrist was considered a failure in character.

Studies in animal behaviour have suggested that stress produces a fight or flight response in almost all creatures. I’ve discovered that I can mimic those two reactions very quickly in my head, however society frowns on me acting out with a punch, push, slap, or a hasty flight down the stairs and out the back door while shouting obscenities. (Ahem) Besides that, I have found that other F responses have worked for me in tense situations. For example, I’ve been known to faint. My favourite bird example, in stress management, is a Killdeer, who fakes a broken wing to save her nestlings. Sometimes I will ingratiate myself by fawning. Flailing about saying nonsensical things  can confuse an aggressor. I may distract my opponent by fucking, flaunting or feigning my way through a predicament. Or, I can put on a brave front, but it may not last long before I beg for forgiveness.

Identifying my stressors has taken me a while to pin down, yet it has been an essential starting point to create a sense of inner peace. To most people I appear calm and obliging (It’s magic!). However, I’ve become aware and confident enough that I can say to myself and/or others; “This is stressing me out.” I try to avoid the triggers that make me want to shout those words. I’m not afraid to ask for professional help. My brain, after all, is just another body part that needs love and attention.

Re: Tree

During the time I have spent in a fifth floor apartment in the midst of suburbia, I have come to appreciate a maple tree outside my window. From my balcony perspective I am living at the level of the tree’s canopy. I have now gone an annual cycle with this tree; through the four seasons of change. My time began here as leaves turned colourful, then brittle enough to escape with the breeze. Winter branches crackled with frost and sleet. I was close enough to watch the buds burst in spring, while birds built their nests. As summer leaves widened, branches moaned in the wind. Now the tree and I have come full circle. I mourn a little as my tree returns to its dormant state. I have more waiting to do.

It’s hard not to be a forest activist when your permanent home is in British Columbia. While I’m away from the towering firs and cedars I’ve been reading about trees. There are some wonderful recent books on the subject. I’ve joined several authors in their revery of dendrology. I devoured the description of the passionate arboreal warriors in The Overstory by Richard Powers. I found a kinship concerning the science behind The Arbornaut by Meg Lowman and Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard. Call me sappy, but I rewatched the film Avatar for its tree hugging sentimentality.

Canadians are blessed with opportunities to experience trees in nature. Cutting down your own Christmas tree is part of our culture. Most folks know how to use an axe to chop wood into fire sized chunks. I’d be surprised if I met someone who hadn’t climbed up into a tree’s branches as a child, testing themselves while finding a fresh perspective. My son often carries a hammock in his hiker’s bag so he can rest between two trees, gently swinging. His brothers and I have planted many a tree sapling while sharing hopes for future groves, bringing environmental health and integrity.

Trees are great metaphors for many aspects of life. My first wife was a genealogist. She spent much time researching family trees, revealing fascinating ancestral connections. She traced some branches back to early North American colonial settlements. She discovered heroes, black sheep, soldiers and farmers and many quirky characters who enlivened our understanding of our genetic predispositions. During my church years, my Sunday school students would move in close when I told them about the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Life. They all agreed that Eve did the right thing to show Adam the wonders of that Apple of Knowledge. “How else would we learn!” Exclaimed one girl.

I’ve been lucky to see trees from several continents. I’ve watched my Mississauga maple for four seasons now. From its canopy to its strong trunk, I have gazed the middle distance into its structure searching for the meaning to my present uprootedness. There is more knowledge yet to be imparted These branches wave back to me offering reassurance that another season is yet to come. Time to be patient.

Re: Dream

Rare is the night that I don’t dream while I’m asleep. Lately, I’m absorbing the world’s troubles and processing them somehow while in bed. Problem is, come morning, the result of all this subconscious mind spin is not resolution but exhaustion.

Dreaming holds a fascination. In my twenties I picked up lots of books on dream interpretation. Anything by Sigmund Freud I leapt on. Horoscopes held an amusing fascination. Texts didn’t have to be scientific in their approach to questions of a neural nature. I had the classic youthful dreams: going to school in underwear, being chased, escaping a locked room, peeking into a closet, running up an endless inclined plane, flying amongst the clouds. A recurring nightmare through my grade ten year had me staring at a dot in the distance, it got bigger as it approached, gained texture and, just before I identified it as a massive Brillo pad dripping with sticky honey, I woke shouting and in a sweat. I disturbed the household often enough that my mom considered taking me for therapy. To this day if someone asks me how I think I might die, I answer reflexively, “With a blow to my head.”

More positively, I believe I am a dreamer by nature. I love the way the word Dream appears in the songs I’m most fond of humming: Imagine, Dream Weaver, Rainbow Connection, I Dreamed a Dream. In this regard, here’s Rita Wilson singing one of my favourites.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Cm7U9SCFPk

I love to project my thoughts of a better future while daydreaming. I’m looking forward to spending long stretches of time with my grandkids exploring clouds and watching dragonflies. Dream Boards were popular for a while. Cutouts arranged in a collage for the wall or a private journal are made with intention, while dreaming of better days ahead. Wishing is a close cousin to Dreaming; it’s a projection of all that stuff going on in your headspace. Hopefully the wish can be made manifest in order to keep hope alive.

Our grey matter is a marvel. At times I feel may brain is like a massive parabolic antenna , picking up ideas, messages, multiple conscious musings from countless souls. I long to be tuned to the right channel. It could be a super power like Charles Xavier has as Professor X. I could tap into others’ thoughts not to interlope but to understand my own convoluted self just a little bit better.

During my first year of university I went on a date to see a student production of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. On the walk back to residence, the girl commented that I seemed like the main character to her.  I thought she was teasing, but I recognized that I had a brooding sort of personality. When we parted at her dormitory door, as if to make up for a potential slight, she kissed me on the cheek and called me a dreamboat. What a night! I strolled off to my room reviewing the words of the Danish Prince; “To sleep, perchance to dream!”