Category: protocol

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: Gracious

Grace is the highest form of being human. If I were tasked with choosing a single goal for living I would select the act of being gracious. I believe graciousness to be a key element of societal connection. Seeing an act of grace, and being gracious ourselves, creates a peaceful worldview.

Being kind to another is an act of grace. My 96 year old special mom recently required professional emergency service. When ambulance crew came to our door I witnessed first responders providing healthcare concurrently with abundant grace. In an intense situation, if you are the caregiver, it’s an expectation that you put yourself last. In a selfish world that can be seen as saintly, but it is very human to give and very rewarding too.

I went downtown to do some errands. My first stop was at the licensing bureau so I could renew my health card and driver’s ID. The line-up at the agency was a long one. As I waited my turn, I heard a service clerk make one customer after another feel heard and valued. When my number was called and I was shown the same respect and attention, I complimented the employee for his gracious manner under pressure. He smiled in gratitude and said, “When I help people I feel better about myself.” The old axiom that a customer is always right is not lost on this fellow. On hearing this awesome response, I wanted to exclaim, “Goodness gracious!”

Art in all its forms can remind us of our humanity. In the television series The Tattooist of Auschwitz many acts of grace under fire are depicted. In one profound scene a prisoner takes the place of another in full knowledge that the gas chambers will be the consequence of their gesture. On the spectrum of unselfish-ness, this type of self-sacrifice is the ultimate expression of graciousness. “You live while I die”

I can only imagine what strength of character this moment would require. I may come close when I say; “Here, you go first.” Or “You take this last seat.” Or “I will wait.” Showing or telling someone that they matter more than you, may be an anomaly in our time. In the 21st century selfishness is sexy: We get told in advertising that we are worth it. That we count. That we’ve earned it. After that messaging we can conclude that being gracious is for suckers, losers, or saints. Showing grace isn’t carrying a cross. It isn’t a burden at all—merely an offering of help.

If grace is the highest level of being human, then by acting gracefully you have found a way to connect with your own soul. The body is then secondary and you fully recognize the infinite within all humans. Helping to provide eldercare has taught me much about letting myself be a smaller part of the Big Equation. I can feel of value, by giving value. As in childcare, the needs of an elder may never be quenched yet I’ve come to know that giving has a higher priority than getting.

Re: Blame

A young woman surprised me while sharing a story, saying she solved problems by finding someone to blame. There have been times when I’ve played the Blame Game so I wasn’t judging. However, I was shocked that pointing-the-finger would be her first choice for getting out of a difficult spot.

I believe it’s true that a finger, when pointed, will eventually turn back in your direction. Finding fault only stalls the effort to find a solution. In British Columbia we have no-fault auto insurance for that reason. When a traffic accident occurs, let’s conclude that what is needed is a resolve: fix the bumper, comfort the injured, and otherwise repair the damage. In all but the most unusual cases, if we drag each other to court then more problems will arise. I like that policy. Wouldn’t it be great if we went about resolving all our human woes by recognizing that we all play a part in the great dynamic of human existence.

It’s not always easy to concede though. Reconciliation takes time and cooperation. Sometimes we have to show humility even when we are bursting with self righteous indignation. I’ve been practicing putting myself to one side when I feel the upwelling of emotion. It’s not fence-sitting; more like going to a safe corner during a boxing match. In my mental time-out position, while I calm down, I can watch my imaginary, alternative self give some unnecessary blows. At the ring of the bell, ending this imaginary sparring, I can take stock, knowing I haven’t done any real damage by wanting my Point (jab, uppercut) to come first. Going for a knock-out punch is rarely necessary.

Victim impact statements are a bit like blaming, at least on the surface. Stating how another’s actions have altered your sense of security have value for the victim in getting feelings aired. The perpetrator of the offence may even learn something, or change their life-path. In a justice sense, finding fault is only really helpful if it changes the way we operate society’s systems. In other words, if we can truly find out the why of things, then maybe the answer will point the way to eliminating the origin of the problem.

While watching the film ‘Longing’ I was struck by the number of intersections we arrive at in life. These fictional characters discover some extremely challenging facts requiring them to choose: Do I go forward, back, or a multitude of sideways paths? Hopping on a Blame Train might have made their ride easier in the short run, but I liked the way restitution was found when apologies were given and allowances made, even in the face of trauma. This was the road less travelled. This was how to find truth and reconciliation.

In real life, we are all responsible for the wider picture. Most times the best thing to do is consult yourself first, without guilt. Blaming yourself is as bad as blaming others! Seeing the ultimate goal as being a learning experience will calm your urge to say, “Why me?”

Re: Wed

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the abbreviation of Wednesday is Wed., especially when you think how the mid-week day is affectionately called Hump Day. I’m being cheeky of course, because there is more to being wed than having sex, or whatever day you choose to enjoy that activity. To be wedded implies a union like no other, a bond that is more than just the sum of its parts.

My 95 year old special mom got me thinking about this word when she commented how the flavours of the stew my bride was making needed to take time to marry. “It’s always better the next day.” She stated. I thought about my marriage in that context and made her laugh by suggesting that her daughter and I, after twenty years together, must be very tasty indeed. Our conversation went to tales of marriages of convenience, shotgun weddings and also fairy tale romances, like in the film Princess Bride. I told her about a neighbour of mine who once had a delightfully amusing remarriage on the front lawn of their suburban home. They dressed in hillbilly clothes and, instead of kissing his renewed wife, the aging groom was encouraged to throw his bride over his shoulder and “Git!”

In some religions, marriage is a sacrament. To me, it’s a loving attachment that is mutually beneficial. I don’t believe that deciding to live together with others in a shared experience can be any less holy simply because of a lack of paperwork or an official stamp of approval. Being unwed used to carry a stigma and usually women suffered the disparaging remarks associated with shacking-up with someone or, gods forbid, not finding a mate and thus becoming a spinster! Society can be cruel when judgement defines its culture. My own children have taken marital arrangements in the broad sense of finding someone with whom they wish to share life.

I’ve had two different marriages: One was traditional with church service and reception followed by a honeymoon. A wedding so old fashioned in ceremony that my best man even read out telegrams we received from far away lands. We had a tiered cake. We lit two candles for ourselves, then used that light for a single candle to represent our union. The singing of hymns proclaimed our love. My second marriage was an elopement to a distant island where days were spent holding hands while strolling barefoot on the beach. Just the two of us, the music in our hearts. Some of our friends and family sent candles in our luggage as a beautiful form of blessing which added historical connection. Idyllic. Eden-like. A twinning experience. We faced the future together.

I’m wedded to the idea of the possible. Aspects of cultural formality in the eyes of society and church may have their place yet I prefer to think that structures are often arbitrary. I enjoy stories of humans who overcome convention in their work, recreation, and love lives. I still feel newly-wed. Learning about another soul takes a lifetime of Wednesdays.

Re: Plan

At one point in my sister’s life she was offered a job as an assistant city planner. I was surprised until I realized it was part of my mother’s plans for her. My sister and I were opposites in the ways of organizing one’s life: she was ever the spontaneous type, while I was very careful about every step I took. My mother, on the other hand, loved to create objectives for others. When my sis declined the offer of the city job my mom behaved like the Big Bang had just occurred. I watched the fireworks and vowed never to organize another soul’s life.

Perhaps it is a sign of the times when we let professionals plan our life events. Travel Advisors, Tour Guides, Fitness Trainers, Personal Shoppers and Menu Planners are some of the helping professions that suggest many are opting away from self care. Wedding planners have been around for a while but the occupation Life Coach suggests some of us have lost the skill to manage our own lives. My sister may have benefitted from a Personal Manager. She associated setting goals with a lack of freedom. I am amazed when others don’t prepare for their own future. My recently deceased father-in-law had no notion of planning for his declining years. At 94, on his deathbed, he said, “I didn’t see this coming.” Leaving his daughter and wife to sort out what he had left behind.

To plan is a part of my DNA so I like to be the one having a plan of action. I don’t want to be some piece of krill or bit of biota floating on the breeze or drifting in the sea spray. I may not always know where I want to go, but I like having a system that tells me I’m headed somewhere with purpose. Recently I was flustered by a friend who came to spend time with my wife. The visit had a next door neighbour drop-in feel but she came with her husband and flew across three provinces. With flimsy aspirations for a whole week, they had left it up to us to create a game plan. My lover rose to their expectations in spectacular fashion, leaving me feeling like a caught fish helplessly gasping for air in the bottom of a boat.

I like to be ready for a rainy day, yet I won’t go so far as to have an earthquake/tsunami emergency kit in my pantry. I feel comfort when my savings account is at a certain self-imposed amount. I don’t jump in the car and head off without an idea of my itinerary and an old fashioned foldable road map is in my glove box. To plan is to have peace of mind, it’s a way to corral the unknowables of time and place. Planning is the guide book of life. A character in the book Shark Heart by Emily Habeck used this logic when describing the value of making plans: A Plan leads to Control which leads to Peace.

Re: Sunday

Of all the days of the week, I have the most mixed feelings when it comes to Sunday; the first day of a calendar row. In the early days of our relationship my bride and I would discuss why this day began the week rather than ended it. Hence the cause for confusion because Sunday is part of the week-end. Biblically, Sunday is the day when god rested because he had been busy creating everything on the six days previous.

Speaking of tradition; the reason behind the old names of days are so old. Maybe they just deserve to be forgotten. Just who cares anymore eh? Monday is everyone’s moody day but we don’t call it that. Well moon’s day sounds kind of sweet actually. Tuesday? Relates to war, so I’ll pass. Wednesday? Just who is this Woden dude anyway & why does he deserve a day? Thursday? hmm? If I had a hammer. Not bad, kinda folky. Friday? Frig? I’m getting frustrated enough to swear. Saturday? Woden (again with the norse god)? Washing day! Really? Sunday? Here’s comes the sun, finally a reference to The Beatles!

If we can’t rename the days then how about putting them on a spectrum. How about a colour to represent each day? Monday is moody blue for sure. Tuesday maybe purple, Wednesday is taupe, definitely a soul sucking military brown. Thursday is freshened with mint green. Friday might work as tangerine. Saturday is anything neon. So that leaves Sunday maybe a greyish yellow. We could name the days based on a flavour or the taste it leaves in our mouths. Monday leaves a bitter taste but it’s a necessary day so maybe spinach works. Tuesday has more promise but it’s still boring so maybe a liver paté. I’d say Wednesday is perfect for Spam or lima beans. Thursday is a pastry day. Friday tastes like toffee. Saturday is salty or spicy and Sunday reminds me of soup.

I suspect most people think Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are pretty ordinary days. The thought of a weekend ahead gets us looking forward with anticipation so when Thursday comes around we are feeling the downward slope on the hill of labour. When I was working, I liked thinking of Thursday with excitement. I found time to fantasize and distort the realm of time so I broke the four following days down into seasons. Follow my reasoning here: Friday equals Spring, full of promise & anticipation, Saturday encapsulates Summer filled with stuff to do, Sunday has elements of Autumn melancholy yet still colourful and then Monday hits like Winter chills. Neither the mamas nor the papas like Mondays.

My favourite day, in conclusion, is the sunny sounding one. I like the name Sun Day as it evokes warmth and smiley faces. I’ve started posting my essays in honour of this day to make it part of yours. I would advocate for a revolution to labelling our calendars. Gone are my busy Sundays. My newspaper brings me a crossword which passes the time. Sometimes there is a biblical clue or two. It pleases me that I can answer them.

Re: Tax

“This job is taxing me.” My mom used to say that I was taxing her patience, leading me to believe that the verb to tax was a negative thing. My wife and I have just been through a taxing experience; the slow death of her father. It’s not easy saying goodbye especially when you have a duty to care for another.

Most folk use the word Taxes in the context of paying them to their governments. There is a tax on most things in a modern society. When we buy stuff there is an expectation that some of what we pay will go to a municipal, regional or federal coffer. Many of us resent the fact that a government always has a hand in our pocket. Most of the time I can get my head around the need for group participation in financing needed services. Collectively we have to have a way to pay for the roads we drive on, the hospitals we go to in emergencies, the schools where we find enlightenment, the infrastructure elements that provide for the continuation of our culture. The importance of being taxed in this way must be viewed as a positive thing if we are to consider ourselves members of a caring society.

We all have a duty to care for our neighbour. Sometimes it is on a personal and intimate level. Sometimes it is anonymously through paying taxes. I find it difficult to place a coin in the hat of a soliciting homeless person who regularly frequents a corner in our downtown. I don’t resent his presence, I feel sad for his predicament. I gain some solace knowing that I pay taxes to a city government that has a progressive housing initiative. I don’t mind paying my fair share. The fact that our tax system is unfair bugs me though.

#Taxtherich is a well used hashtag on Twitter for good reason. Taxation policies in my country and other developed areas lack equity. Records, research and anecdotal stories abound of the one percent of us who find exemptions to paying taxes in proportion to their income. Employees of big companies often pay more taxes than the CEOs who run the corporations. Governments are reluctant to close the tax loopholes or institute a wealth tax for fear of investment going elsewhere. Consequently social programs are run through raffles and bake sales, while the super rich play with their money buying yachts and building spaceships. This imbalance taxes my patience for an equitable resolution.

The game of Monopoly depicts an unbalanced corporate world, but at least there is a luxury tax card. Several among the millionaire/billionaire class have boasted that they will give their fortunes away. I don’t believe that philanthropy is the answer to such a persistent societal need. Citizens have a responsibility to vote for fair tax laws. Once upon a time in the Americas the notion of Taxation/Representation was enough to cause a war. It’s one thing to be independent from tyranny, it’s another to find ways to support each other’s needs.

Re: Umpire

I like the game of baseball for many reasons. Top of the list is because baseball tells a story and umpires are important players in that story. Collectively they are a third team on the field. Their decisions regarding the pace, adjudication and conclusion of any particular contest is a factor in the drama that unfolds through a standard nine innings. The position of Umpire is not exclusive to baseball but the title has a more judgemental ring to it than Referee. And the oft used short form Ump sounds perfect when describing my mixed feelings towards the game’s ultimate decision makers.

In some sports like Ice Hockey, violence is shruggingly accepted as part of the game, but physical aggression against another player is extremely rare in Baseball. I think that’s because of the gentlemanly code of conduct enforced by the team of umpires. They are quick to reproach players and coaches if they cross a line of contact or conduct. Anything considered bad behaviour, particularly disrespect for the ump, is not tolerated. Punishment is swift. Opposing team members are given minimal warning. It is not unusual for players, coaches or even the managers to be thrown out of the game. I like a game where the umpires’ involvement is frequent. The entertainment value is enhanced for me when a player and ump argue. It can get heated if a manager intercedes on his player’s behalf. Spittle can fly as combatants engage face to face, sometimes within inches of each other, yet there is no laying on of hands. Television viewers are left to read the lips of the throwers of obscenities. “You’re outta Here” can be the final ruling by the Ump who has had enough of the oral aggression. Such marvellous theatre! A courtroom without a gavel, just a conspicuous demonstrative flourish of an arm!

Strike calls at home plate and tag outs on base can be controversial so there is room for appeal through a replay analysis. This adds to the importance of umpiring I feel. It is revealing that the sport recognizes the humanity of the participants that way. It is also notable how umps have discretion as to the timing of the game when one of the players gets hurt during the interaction. Batters routinely question the home plate umpire to see if he is okay, if he gets in the way of a foul ball, even if he previously made a bad call on a pitch. Morals are on display. Kindness is found here.

I feel sports fans must never bad mouth an umpire. Go ahead and groan at a call but don’t throw your crackerjacks. Umps try their best. They know that adherence to the rules makes for a fairer game. They are dressed in black, like judges, for a reason; to make them stand out as the voice of reason in an otherwise emotional game. Respect must be shown, not only for their role but for the sanctity of the game itself. Baseball would change forever if rulings became fully automated: Bots and Baseball would simply not work!

Re: Servant

There is a distinction between being a servant or a slave. A friend of my son once surprised those gathered for a back yard BBQ by stating, “I ain’t nobody’s bitch.” Someone had just asked him how he liked his new job and he was telling us that already he wasn’t getting along with the boss. He worked at a grocery store. He was tasked to keep the floors swept so that customers wouldn’t slip on entry. When he wasn’t doing that he was assigned to bringing in the carts from the parking lot. Basic service work, minimum wage.

Recently deceased Queen Elizabeth II, expressed in speeches and in her actions that she saw her life as service. Her servant salary was quite different to that of a grocery cart boy. As a society, I think most of us place a high value on service to others, even while we underpay the majority. A housewife is a role we take for granted in most of the world. Putting aside the sexual discrimination elements inherent in the title, the job description of a person who makes a home for others is a lengthy list which can cover a number of well paid professions: Cook, Laundry Worker, Psychologist, Teacher, Early Childhood Educator, Personal Care Worker, Financial Planner, Management Coordinator etc. If these services were contracted out separately the monthly expenses for a family of four would be prohibitive. The important role of Homemaker could be supported with a government cheque. A guaranteed wage might resolve this issue, as well as other cases where service goes unsung.

Ironically perhaps, the nobility of being a servant was sensitively portrayed in an episode of the television series The Crown. Sydney Johnson, a real life character who was valet to the abdicated King Edward VIII, was shown as a graciously giving fellow, even though he was only a notch above a slave to every royal whim. I cringed when I saw the Duke make a request for his silver cigarette case. I felt like yelling at the screen, “Get it yourself!”

Full service gas stations used to have lots of employees dashing about checking oil, pumping fuel and washing windshields. DIY is now the language norm in more than just filling up your tank. But I must admit to feeling let down when I can’t find someone to help me when I’m looking for a product in a store I don’t frequent. I get royally indignant wondering why the customer is no longer always right. I can relate to the symbolic Karen in these moments.

My father served with distinction in North Africa during the second world war. Later, through his work in community he taught me by example the value of volunteering. My mother was a Public Servant in the manner of an elected official in her region. Growing up with them, I witnessed how giving service to others is an essential part of being human. Everyone wants to feel a part of something, giving of yourself honours your life as well as those who receive your offerings. Volunteerism builds humanity and humility.

Re: Accessible

I’ve wondered what it means to be personally accessible. Throughout my varied relationships with others I have striven to provide access even though I have a reticent personality. I resist the pronouncement, “My door is always open.” Because in truth it isn’t. Just because I consider myself a good listener doesn’t mean I’ll always hear what you say. My spirit has access points. I’ve discovered I’m more open to someone who poses thoughtful questions. The way to my heart is not through my stomach but by accessing my sensitivity to truth, justice and inclusivity.

When my wife and I were looking for a place to live after retirement I thought up an ABC list for a potential location. The A stood for Access, the B for Beauty and the C for Cost (an obvious bottom line in any list). At the time, our accessibility needs were few since we were both retired and healthy. So there was no need to be near work, a hospital or a school since our family days were well behind us. We desired to be near to city services, cultural amenities and community gathering spots all preferably accessed by foot. Victoria B.C. provided on the first two so we had to adjust our budget and expectations to fulfill our dream. I stuffed my desire to curse the cost.

Like other white middle class males I have felt the urge to get huffy when my access is denied. As a teen, at a beach resort I once fumed for several minutes after I showed up bare chested to a ‘No Shirt/No Service’ restaurant and was turned away. “How dare they!” I railed against the authorities. My friends covered me, literally, by finding me a Tee to wear. When you get used to doors opening for you, it’s easier to be shocked when access is denied. We all get a little testy when internet service goes down or water gets shut off in our apartment. I can make myself feel outrage when something appears unjust. I’ll go to lengths to advocate for myself and those I love. The squeaky wheel does get greased.

Some folk strive for access: to the executive washroom, to the halls of power, to the information highway, to the happening concert, to the next big thing. I’ve never been ambitious enough to barge in front of people, yet I have coveted what others have excluded from me. The child in me wants to point and shout, “But how come she has one and I don’t?” In my perfect world no one needs to fight an urge to bud in line, because there is no line. In this world we shape laws that focus on inclusivity. Technology is used to further the goals of accessibility rather than being commodified for the rich. Here, we are taught that our resources are plentiful and not restricted to a pie shape. As a matter of justice, we all have equal access to food, shelter, education, healthcare, employment and recreation. Here, truth opens all doors.