Category: relationships

Re: Entertain

The first time I asked a girl on a date was to see Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. When we got to the theatre, I discovered I hadn’t brought enough money. I bought a ticket for my date, got her seated, then I raced home to find some more cash. I missed the first 15 minutes before I was next to my teenaged crush. She smiled at me to reassure me that I wasn’t a complete goof, and even slipped her hand in mine when the ‘Raindrops’ scene came on. After the movie was over, my date said I looked a bit like Robert Redford. Lucky are the actors, for they will live on through the flickering pixellations of film.

A big part of a community’s culture is the way its citizens choose to be entertained. Whether it’s a sporting event, a gala fund raising concert, or a meet-up with a friend for a game of chess in the park, we have options for our amusement. Currently, I admit to more passive pursuits like watching television or taking my bride out for dinner and a movie but we’re lucky to have choices when it comes to incorporating enjoyment into our lives.

My 97 year old special mom can’t be without her Daisy Player (an audio book machine she purchased through CNIB). Many folk I know enjoy podcasts. My late wife tried to get me into audio tapes for road trips between Timmins and Thunder Bay but I can’t be entertained that way. Besides, in the case of those long distance travels, I already felt like a captive audience with 3 antsy kids fighting for territory in the back seat of the car. Give me a book and a comfy chair and I can be happily occupied for hours.

Things we find amusing can be entertaining, particularly if we are involved in the project. My dad would spend hours carving a face into a tree stump. I’ve enjoyed building things from large (a garage), to smaller folk art projects (a seagull named Webster). When I wrote for an arts magazine, people told me how important their hobbies were to them. Everyone works to pay the bills, but the things we choose to entertain ourselves with, are often the things that most reveal our character. Outside of our nine-to-five existence we become dancers, bridge players, club leaders, amateur thespians, collectors, choir members, and volunteers of all sorts.

The small screen (as in the smart phone) may be responsible for reducing our outreach into the cornucopia of entertainment choices. This is a pity, and a pit, in my view. My mother-in-law has fewer choices because of declining ability. When I see teens exclusively being entertained by their cell phones I think of wasted opportunities presented by numerous pursuits. It’s harder to find out what’s out there when you’re bent on measuring time by endless TikTok videos.

By exploring and nurturing the variety of recreational choices within our communities we get to meet others and learn more about ourselves in the process. Now that’s entertainment!

Re: First

I love the surge of energy I feel from being first. I fully accept it when it happens by accident because the achievement of first place, or being first in line, is often overshadowed by the thought that someone else has to be second. That schoolyard memory of being picked for a team at recess weighs heavily on any empathic person’s heart. Being chosen first carries great responsibility. Being overlooked is crushing to the spirit.

In any planning session, as a kid or adult, I appreciated doing first-things-first, because I’m a first and foremost sort of guy. It’s structure that is important to me, not necessarily the idea that my thoughts or opinions have to come first. Everybody’s definition, as a feeling of First, may be amusing. For example my 97 year old special mom places high importance on the first of every month. She tells me that it keeps her mind on track for what the month will bring. She will count down the days, building routine, visualizing the little squares on a calendar, remembering birthdays, holidays, and appointments until number 30 or 31 occurs. She takes special delight in February because it’s her birthday month. 

This elder in my life told me that she can’t remember if she’s ever won an award. I recited my list: two firsts in elementary school public speaking and a gold ribbon in breast stroke. I asked my bride if she remembered if I’d ever won anything during our time together and she said, “You won me!” (It’s no wonder why this woman must always come first in my life). Schoolchildren often shout “No budging!” as they monitor their order in a line waiting for their turn. They learn early that being first is great but it’s not nice to elbow your way into prominence. That’s what bugs me most about rich folk thinking they earned their way to the top.  In my record book, FLOTUS is not real. I think you need a certain kind of ambition to be first at something. I love the experience of claiming the gold medal, but I’ll admit I’m kind of lazy trying to achieve a trophy of any sort. Coming in first is great in the Olympics, or the Academy Awards. The reality is that most of us have to settle for being among-the-pack, embracing the joy of participation.

The truth is that we are all first-editions. We get a chance to write our unique story and claim any award we wish for our efforts. For example, I love being the first to show up at a party (it means I can be the first to leave). It’s exhilarating to think I’m the first to greet a sunrise (even though I’m not a morning person). After a snowfall, it is so refreshing to be the first to make a boot imprint in the cold winter powder. Sometimes, in the quiet of a beachside sunset, I want to shout ownership by announcing, “I claim this land in the name of Berto the Explorer!”

Re: Estrangement

Estrangement is one of those awesome words that can spice up a discussion. It’s a pretty deep conversation starter but I’d bet that it’s a more common topic than you would think. Most people set boundaries when it comes to who they let into their lives. If the relationship goes south, it’s often best to cut the tie that binds before further problems arise. It could take a drastic measure like a restraining order, or it can be a more mild form of restricted access like refusing to text back. Our modern phones are set up to show the incoming call giving us the opportunity to decide if we want to engage. That helps with robo-calls but it can also provide a buffer for when we just can’t handle an engagement at that particular moment. Anyone who has gone through a break-up can understand the conflicting needs of desire and distance. A parting of the ways is often required for the heart to mend.

Estrangement is no stranger to me. From my adolescence onward, I watched the back and forth between my sister and our mother. Wicked, at times, it was. Sometimes there was humour, even beauty in the ugliness. I learned early to separate myself from the ongoing  dissections of motive, anger, resentment, and expectational failure that unfolded from our childhood home, into adult directions. Several times (more than I can count) I cheered from the sidelines as seeds of reconciliation appeared to germinate. More often than not it was merely an armistice declared from the exhaustion of it all. My young sister might proclaim, “I never want to speak to you again!” While my mom would search for support to prove that she was in the right. My dad was ineffectual as he tried endlessly to calm the waters. I was often asked to be an ally to either side but my signature on that memorandum of understanding had to be avoided for my own sanity.

Estrangement came too late for the first two women in my life. My sister felt shunned, berated, or both in equal measure. I watched her try harder to patch things up when she got older, but to no avail. She turned to alcohol to ease the pain of rejection and died early, being unable to reconcile with our mother who had died before her. Their’s was a toxic relationship to be sure! In the later years of my mom’s life I tended to her needs, just barely. I was able to bring her across the country to a nursing home, hoping to give my sister a break from our mom’s endless criticism. Tragically, that wasn’t enough. I have regrets that I couldn’t have found a way to intervene earlier. I was never on the front lines of fire during these family wars, but I still suffer from shell-shock.

Close to the end of my mom’s life she asked me to hold her hand. I could not grasp that strange five-fingered thing because the mother-in-it had disappeared long ago.

Re: Quaint

I used this word in a recent game of Scrabble. I got a score of 66 because I had the Q tile on a triple letter score where an I tile was exposed at a corner intersection, so I could get two words for a single play! I felt that Qi circulating as a life force of victory. My wife later captured a coveted seven letter word besting me and raising the ceremonial cup. Scrabble is a quaint game.

Quaint is the kind of word that, if used more often, has the potential to change the mood of a nation. I’m not talking MAGA, move back in time, dump progress, that sort of thing. No! Quaint is a beautiful old English word, rich with various meanings and applications. Quaint could be used in the context of a cleverly devised construction such as: “What a quaint looking chair!” Most people might use the Q word as a reflection on cuteness, which is OK but limiting. I wouldn’t put quaintness in the realm of a picture of a puppy, for example.

Currently my wife and I are providing eldercare to her 96 year old mother. This aged lady lives in our home and provides many moments of enjoyable exchanges. She says she loves a good conversation but will rarely start one; that’s quaint to me. Once I bring up a topic however, she will contribute some fascinatingly obscure points of view. When she uses words like Tarvia, or trousers, I feel a connection to another time while still being grounded in her present moment.

The other day a sales clerk in a store I was visiting gave me helpful feedback on where to find what I was looking for. We had a friendly dialogue which seemed to amuse her enough to say that she thought me charming. This remark made me suggest she had an old-fashioned way of speaking, to which she giggled, “People say I have an old soul.” The conversation that day, on reflection, could have been held in an old-timey London milliners shop, a scene in a play, or part of a serial book written by Charles Dickens. I would consider that master of the English language to be a Quaint-essential author.

Some words evoke a feeling rather than a fact. Quaint feels cozy, like a country cottage with a wood burning fireplace. Quaint exudes hearth and home. It is a timeless word, yet of-a-time. I wonder if a person could quaintly go about their business. I picture the character Geppetto doing just that as he pieces together the wooden parts that will become his Pinocchio, a puppet desiring to be a real boy. When I think of any sort of home-made craft my head spins with all the quaint aspects of bringing art to life.

My aging mother-in-law enjoys listening to her house mates play Scrabble. Even in her blindness she seems to gather warmth from the kitchen as my wife prepares a meal. She probably doesn’t realize that she is adding to the quaintness of our existence.

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.

Re: Us

I have a good sense of who I am. I’m also curious how other people go about life. Sharing and learning with another individual allows for something new to happen. No not another fleshy thing! I’m referring to a concept: The idea of Us. It’s such a small word yet packed with meaning. When two or more people (or tribes, or communities, or nations even) find a commonality, then an Us is born.

A new relationship has to make room for the individual differences. Eden-like is that first blush of association when souls recognize they are better together than alone. Hopefully the Me and You part is already well established. A union will be a work in progress. We’ve all seen power couples who feed off each other’s energy. They appear united in spirit, I think because they value the We that they have become. Yet complications arise testing the concept of Us: Perhaps a baby enters the picture, or an elder needs to join the expanding collective. In-laws can mess with the dynamic. Long surviving marriages can be a testament to the importance of Us, but with a caveat; Both partners must contribute to the success. One, providing nothing to the bond, undermines the structure. One, doing all the heavy lifting, will sacrifice themself irrevocably.

My Garden of Us will sound as naive as advocating for world peace. Which really is just another way of saying the same thing. Regarding this word Us, I could be talking about the U.S. of America. Right now, those fifty states are very disunited. Their union is in jeopardy. Some historians might point out that this particular republic has been floundering since 1776. I have a hard time getting around the fact the U.S. waged civil war over who had the right to own slaves! If the current 340 million population were considered a family then I’d recommend counselling, a divorce might be in order, or at least a call to Children’s Aid. Every U.S. election in my memory has created more of a gulf between parties than the election before (oops, did I mention Gulf!). The world has a lot to lose if trumpism is allowed to flourish. Really now. What will become of us?

One of my favourite memories of family time was gathering around a campfire. We listened to individual stories while we poked at the flaming logs. Others might join us to add diversity to our collective. When the fire went out, things got cold so we retreated to our separate places, but I believe we kept the fire that symbolized us, inside us. Our gratitude for being together was a form of cement. Through science we have learned that atoms can form bonds, creating molecular clusters of astounding resilience, flexibility, and utility. Love, Grace, or Joy are not factual things like scientific principles, yet I believe they are among the elemental units that enable us to experience things together. Our DNA confirms that we are one humanity. Our systems of congress must respect that reality, or we may perish as a species.

Re: Dominion

The bible tells me so: Gen. 1 Verses 26 to 31 “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.” But what if I don’t want to!

To have dominion is to control stuff and I believe it is wrong to dominate other living things. For some folk their god is all powerful, so we can be too. But really, as a hominid, I’m just another creeping thing that creepeth over the earth. The state of the planet right now only proves my point: If we had been put in charge of this place we’ve sure enough done a terrible job of it. If we were made in an image of god then we haven’t been creative enough in return. We haven’t been good stewards.

During the controlling phase of my life; when I felt things worked better by imposing order and good government, I had a small bonsai tree. Its roots were constricted like the feet of Chinese girls of ages past. Its limbs were shaped by twists of wire. Its growth was restricted by judicious use of fertilizer. I wasn’t a good pet keeper and this plant did not flourish. In the film Trees, And Other Entanglements, director Irene Taylor tells us of a famous Bonsai artist and others who attempt to represent their views of how plants should be shaped to serve our needs. It left me feeling a bit creepy.

Let’s face it, as a species we didn’t think through the whole industrial revolution period. Our machines have laid waste to the eden from whence we came. Now we find we must manage other species before the tipping point of their extinction. In university I studied for a degree in Fish and Wildlife Biology. Many of the courses described methods of farming multiple species so that these living resources could be effectively used to feed, clothe and house the ever growing and expanding human population. We were being trained to be efficient dominators of the environment’s flora and fauna. We studied how deer ate, so they could be fed better and then be hunted. We studied the salmon’s cycles so they would grow prosperous before they were netted. We studied forest growth so that we could improve tree yield before it could be harvested. We were given the licence to dominate every creature, animal or vegetable, to serve our own needs. We still fell short. We failed to be taught how to live with, rather than lord over, the Earth Garden.

Our colonizers, The British aristocracy, once ruled this land calling it The Dominion of Canada. The Crown still holds power in our affairs. The label has fallen out of favour but citizens may still proclaim allegiance during formal community events. I hope the age of possession is over. I don’t want us to be the master of all that we survey.

Re: Commit

There is a line or script reference in most romantic comedies or dramas that includes the word commitment. The plot usually goes like this: One partner or the other (usually the male) has shown no sign of moving to the next stage of the relationship. This person is stereotypically said to have ‘cold feet’ or maybe they are afraid of the deep end of the dating pool. Or maybe their outfits just don’t match. Anyway the text makes it clear that some people are just terrified to commit to saying the words; I Love You.

In the surprisingly good film, Gran Turismo, the word commit is used by the coach to urge the driver to make a choice and then put all his energy into it for ultimate success. This is a motor sport film so the drivers in training are being encouraged to be brave about their steering and speed decisions when it comes to risking life and limb while hurtling around the track at break-a-neck torque. There is a small romantic side bar in this movie but compared to the life or death decisions in the race cars, whether or not you can say Ti Amo seems too easy.

When it comes down to it, the essence of life is choice. We all have had times when we’ve had to commit to a decision. If you can feel your priorities clearly in the moment of yes/no, left/right, in or out, then you can commit with confidence. Mistakes will be made but at least you can say you are resolved to see things through to a conclusion. And maybe it’s being afraid of mistakes that inhibits us from committing. Yet we must make the attempt. As the wise character in a space film once said; “Do or do not, There is no try.”

The word Commit is often used in negative connotations. At some points in human history it was not uncommon to be ‘committed’ to an insane asylum. These places were like prisons for folks who didn’t fit into society. It was the culture of the times and an example of a fear response that people have towards others who don’t behave normally (whatever normal is deemed to mean). Another dark use of the word is in the context of some misdeeds. People ‘commit’ crimes, even rash ones that show no sign of commitment or forethought.

I have decided twice in my life to commit to another person in terms of a life long partnership. I actually enjoy the daily work required to keep a relationship healthy. Of course some days there could be a clash or two when I questioned myself, ‘Should I stay or should I go’. But those thoughts pass quickly because I truly believed the women I chose to share my life with also felt the joy and value of a shared life. It’s easier to walk a path together, hanging on tightly for assurance, letting go lightly around obstacles, committing to the shared experience of figuring out the next steps in the journey.

Re: Contract

After watching the film ‘An Affair To Remember’ with my 94 year old special mom, she engaged my wife and I in a discussion about marriage. “Why would anyone get married these days?” Our conversation covered the idea of a union being a contract between two people desiring to show a public commitment to each other. “But why?” She still wanted to know. We didn’t have a scientific explanation.

The business case for a marriage contract is pretty straight forward. There is money involved. Bank accounts. Valued possessions. Pets even! Most jurisdictions contend that after a certain amount of time in cohabitation two people are seen as having an agreement as a couple. I’m no divorce lawyer but the argument seems to go that a 50/50 split is required if your differences become irreconcilable. Now this can change if you both had the forethought to sign a prenuptial contract. To me that is just cold comfort because a prenup seems calculated to find failure. But prudence can be a red flag. I don’t believe love can be found anywhere near a judge. Justice maybe, but no love baby.

Getting a new phone contract was very stressful. So many decisions to make. Multiple offers were presented regarding data plans, equipment, insurance, privacy. I was glad my bride was there to help me not feel manipulated by a Glengarry Glen Ross style salesmen. Our guy Michael seemed trustworthy. I only used a signature once at the mall kiosk and that was on an iPad using my finger. Looking over the fine print of my new communications econtract that was sent digitally to my email account, I see that there are stiff penalties if I don’t return the upgraded equipment. Hopefully my anxiety will dissipate over time.

I do like the security of a contract when it comes to major purchases. This is the language of a black and white world. I’m old enough to still understand the respect shared with a handshake. An understanding is arrived at that I will provide payment for services clearly spelled out in writing. Yes, there are grey areas indicated in the fine print even in the most iron clad agreement (it’s almost a given that no one reads this part of the contract). Perhaps this is where the social contract overlaps with business contracts: Perhaps trust is the ink in the pen, fluid until it sets.

When I chose to marry, my intent was to make a promise to myself as much as to my wife. Our vows were on a beach. We didn’t have a signing ceremony, although we did receive an official certificate of participation. We began the business of living together not in a contractual sense but as a memorandum of understanding. We recognized there may be grey areas, yet we would make space for amendments. We never wanted to let ourselves down during our association.

I’m a romantically formal guy in one sense: On that beach we signed our Magna Carta: A loving charter of rights and privileges between two souls.