Category: satisfaction

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: Puzzle

Those items of furniture that look great on the small screen of your phone device arrive at your door in a single cardboard box. They could be from Ikea or a host of other quick and easy delivery companies. One of these arrived at my door the other day. My wife had been tracking it so I wasn’t unaware, just a bit fretful. The source of my anxiety was the basic puzzle of what we would have to go through if we didn’t like it. We would then have to send it back and what would that mean? These ancillary costs to my mental health are always on my mind.

I like puzzles generally. I feel smart when I can solve them. I love doing crosswords. My mind seems to expand in different directions when I work on a jigsaw puzzle (as long as there is a tidy place to put the assembly and I can keep my worry of lost pieces under control). One of my favourite things to build is a custom made cardboard box for the delivery of presents to my family far away. I measure and cut carefully to avoid wasted space in the parcel. The postal workers at my local depot always smile as they measure my package and report the payment due. Supporting these old systems and pastimes pleases me.

My former father-in-law loved the three dimensional wooden puzzles you can get at farmers’ markets of in craft stores. Being an engineer, he liked playing Jenga and pick-up-sticks. He tried to show me how to play Tetris on his computer once which made me nervous for a whole day afterward. I got revenge by buying him a Christmas present of magic metal rings that were supposed to detach and separate but never did in his lifetime. Pay back can be pleasing.

I think of myself as a puzzler. I enjoy having an enquiring personality. As I age I try to keep my two cranial hemispheres firing on all synapses. I tone my left side by writing daily; using language is the key here. My right hemisphere enjoys the spatial dimensions of thought so this comes in really handy when I have to put things together, like the bureau in that box by the door, that was waiting to be opened. ‘I have a project.’ I said to my self with encouragement.

Space was made and time was allowed for the task at hand. Out of the box came all the assorted pieces. Tools were assessed. I gazed at the instructions that were numbered for clarity.  I was building this piece of furniture in front of my 95 year old special mom. She saw my puzzlement over the parts displayed before her and said, “I know you can do it.” I asked how she was sounding so sure. She answered, “ Because you are good at crossword puzzles.”

I appreciated her puzzling connection yet heart felt encouragement. I began fitting the pieces together. It pleased me that her presence gave truth to the saying; Two heads are better than one.

Re: Clearance

Sometimes medical tests take a while to schedule in the province where I live so I felt like I had won the lottery recently, when I got my lab booking sooner than anticipated. It reminded me of the pleasure that can be felt when you approach some congestion on the roadway and an authoritative person is there to wave you through.

If you’ve had to wait for your plane to take off then you’ll know that getting clearance is a delight. In kindergarten we are all taught about lining up and waiting our turn. It comes easy for those with good manners to be patient yet when I get sped through a line I feel so very special. That day at the hospital diagnostic centre everything seemed so streamlined: I arrived on time, my credentials were acknowledged, my appointment was confirmed, I was ushered to the correct wing, my medical technician knew what she was doing, the machines were fully functional, all tests were performed without hiccup, and done. I was cleared to leave.

I’ve enjoyed the feeling of hiking through deep woods. After stepping over fallen trunks and thrashing through tangles of underbrush it is an awesome experience to reach a clearing. Your walking pace can become more even, your balance is more assured, your weight seems lighter, your way is unimpeded and your view is uncluttered. It must feel liberating like this when you have had to be in court, your case has been examined from both sides and the judgement is that you are cleared of all charges. Imagine the relief! You are truly out of the woods and can now go about your life.

When I was a kid, I could see my parents tighten up whenever we approached the border separating Canada from the United States. Guards peered from their tiny huts with serious looks. Questions were asked and answered. The moment our car was waved through the check point, everyone exhaled. I’m no different as an adult when approaching a port of entry. As I surrender my passport I tense, hoping my documentation will measure up. My bride and I have been on many adventures to other countries. In every case I have shown gratitude along with nervousness to those who are authorized to provide clearance.

The other day I saw a vehicle marked with red licence plates being led by a police escort. I wonder what it feels like to have that level of access to the roadway? Or to anything for that matter. I can’t imagine a diplomat or any high level decision maker being troubled if they needed something ASAP.  Fortune 500 folk send their people to get stuff and price is no obstacle. Heck, I don’t normally go shopping unless there is a clearance sale that removes my inhibitions. I need the enticement of ‘the lowest price of the season’ before I feel good to go.

Giving myself permission is the first gateway I must pass through before making my way in this world. It sure is nice to find helpful people at intersections.

Re: Know

Once upon a time a friend came to visit. She was known to be a bit flakey in a good way; prone to creative spurts and mystical pronouncements. She had met my wife several years before and now she wanted to meet me. I think she wanted to affirm that my bride was headed in the right direction before she decided to tie the knot, so to speak. I remember feeling I was being mildly tested. On departing she gave presents of poems to her old friend and a stone to me. I looked at what she had printed on the rock: Know.

To know, is very central to my personality and behaviour. My wife’s friend provided that affirmation having barely experienced me. I seek knowledge, knowing I will never know all that I wish to know. I’m not after omniscience, merely a competent level of understanding. My quest can be funny, pathetic and infuriating at times. For example when I am trying to sort something out I will check for multiple confirmations that I have got the message. This applies to sales receipts as well as important contracts. I wish to know that everyone involved in a decision is on the same page.

We need assurances that we have been heard, felt, or seen. No one deserves to fall through the cracks. Seeking information is the beginning of all knowledge acquisition. I used to sing in a church choir. One of my favourite hymns began like this: ‘Ask and it shall be given you/Seek and ye shall find/ Knock and it shall be opened/Be opened unto you’. Knowledge is empowering, enabling, ennobling and encouraging. Having the know-how allows me the confidence to stride forth and accomplish things.

I go about all this as quietly and unobtrusively as possible so as not to freak my people out. Say I’ve been told that I am on a wait list for a doctor, which happened to me recently when my previous physician retired. I wasn’t willing to leave things to chance so I checked with an online registry in my province. When they could confirm I was on a list I next called the local clinic to see if I was on their duplicate list. Time passed so I set out to affirm that the wheels were still in motion: I wanted to confirm the confirmation. The squeaky wheel theory very much applies in my philosophy of life. However, I like to think that my approach is more dogged, than annoying. I try to appeal to people’s innate desire to be of help to their fellow humans. I never want to get ahead in the line: Just knowing I am IN the line is satisfaction enough.

Know-it-all TV host Johnny Carson used to admit that he did not know things. Likewise I’m fine with ignorance because it allows me to get excited when I’m late to discover that Marni Nixon sung big songs in movie musicals while others lip synced her gorgeous voice. Let’s call that a ‘getting to know you’ experience.

Re: This

My bride and I were sitting side by side one morning, nothing unusual there. We were talking quietly, sharing confidences and sipping coffee from our favourite mugs. When the conversation turned to plans for the day she asked me, “What do you want to do today?” I answered, “This.”

Retirement gives me the luxury of choosing things to do based on THIS right here, right now. I love the simplicity of making decisions based on my present needs, wants and realities. No longer do I factor in thoughts of advancing my career, or even whether or not I have to go to work the next day. I’m also old enough to be free from the demands of parenting. As a society we talk a lot about time; the absence of it or the management of it. I’m learning that being away from a working day means I can better appreciate this moment.

This is a simple word to describe the present moment. That, by comparison, is a word suggesting the space and time over there, out of reach. Those, Them or even ‘Them Thar’ describe stuff that is beyond the present. I can get to those places if I want to. I can attend to them later or when the mood strikes. Them thar chores (if I’m pretending to imitate stereotypic hillbilly talk) can wait until another day. When I ponder the idea of these things I’m reflecting on a current desire to be here. Just here. Not there.

‘And now this’ is a lovely side segment on John Oliver’s television show, Last Week Tonight

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjSgBGD0Zw4

I love the way this comic host skewers convention and mocks the status quo. Sarcasm is difficult for me but I love to watch it done well by others. Under his guidance I can laugh at absurdities while letting him be the judge of stupidity.

One of my favourite magazines is called THIS. I relish its currency: Topics are topical. Each issue encapsulates the importance of being current, edgy and relevant to the Now of Life. THIS Magazine explores in an uninhibited way the importance of our present reality. An article may make me want to look in another direction but the authors’ points of view keep my thoughts clearly on this, not that, so for the length of time I’m reading I’m clearly in the here and now, not somewhere else.

‘This is it’ (Make no mistake where you are.) is a great song by Kenny Loggins. The songwriter wants us to be aware, “It’s here, the moment is now, about to decide/No one can tell what the future holds.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VS52sEUqxMo

It’s a carpe diem sort of song. Make no mistake, the lyrics invite you to choose the current situation to electrify yourself. No time for second guessing. No time to search for the illusiveness of that. It may keep the menu of your life simple if you declare your choice for what is right beside you.

Re: Scooter

I sold my scooter last week. It had been sitting idle while I helped attend to the needs of a dying elder relative. My mechanical steed looked resentful as I passed it, on my way to the front door, my suitcase wheels clacking behind me on the pavement. I had been travelling, but my faithful personal transportation device had been left uncared for through seasons of rain, wind and snow.

I found freedom in the saddle of that scooter. I could jump on in a moment of motivation; scoot to the beach, scoot to the market or just go for a scoot along the seashore near my house, filling my lungs full of revitalizing cool air. I had bought my smallish motorcycle more than ten years ago to look after another elder. I could avoid traffic and be at my mother’s nursing home bed in the blink of an eye. My vehicle gave me immediate access. My favourite activity was a quick drive to the beach. I would pack a lunch, a towel and maybe a crossword puzzle. Returning home after such an adventure as that would leave me feeling restored.

My first grandchild was a scooter. She didn’t toddle, she scooted. From room to room she would navigate through her toys with one foot providing the power while the other leg, bent like a partially opened jackknife blade, picked up dust beside her. She would eventually grow a more practical gait, running, dancing and shrieking with delight over newfound discoveries. The nickname ‘Scooter’ flows naturally from my lips. It’s a fitting moniker for this little artistic rascal of a human being.

Scooting is such a great description for going off on a whim no matter how old you might be. I’m not as spontaneous as I would wish and I’m not getting any younger either. My age is telling me that moving slower might limit my call to action. Thank goodness there are more and more options to helping us get around our environment. I helped my mother-in-law pick out a wheelchair recently. She asked me to sit in it and I felt a bit squeamish. I want to continue to explore my world. Mobility scooters might maintain my joy of discovery.

I bought my 50cc scooter solely for me. My eldest son reminded me that self indulgence is a rare thing for me so he was happy when I bought it. It expanded my horizons of time, space and opportunity, I felt bigger inside. Now it is gone. Sold to a man named Tom. He is a retired mechanic/hobbyist who restores older scooters to sell to folks who will continue to love them. Today as I waved a sentimental goodbye I had two dominant thoughts: It was the best THING I ever purchased just for myself & how I could relate to horse owners who someday have to turn their steeds out to pasture. Time abides all.

As I discovered from my grand daughter; scooting is fun for a while, then it’s on to new adventures.

Re: Risk

When I was younger I took way more risks than I do now. The riskiest things I have done include: Diving headfirst off a cliff into a small pool of water, Driving a car after not sleeping the night before, Having unprotected sex, Saying no to my mother, Writing a review of a concert that I didn’t attend, Turning down a job offer, Rejoining the dating scene at age fifty, Seeking a life of no-fixed-address after retirement.

It is wise to at least look before you leap. Sensible folk will tell us that a little planning goes a long way. There are many phrases that can begin a cautionary tale, which we can share at a dinner party or submit to our children as a lesson on how to avoid daddy’s questionable behaviour. I find it fascinating how our languages have sayings that we can use to keep us safe from harm; if only we would take a moment to listen. Our inner voice may exclaim excitedly, ‘He who hesitates is lost.’ Then concurrently counsel, ‘Good things come to those who wait.’

Life can be scary, yet sometimes we make it scarier when we don’t do a risk analysis. We must not forget that fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Most perils can be avoided or at least ameliorated with a little thought before hand. And not all risks are physical. It took me a while to stop fearing imminent financial collapse even though I’ve been fortunate to have regular employment. I’ve felt the anxiety at the end of a monthly pay cycle but I’ve never known the riskiness of living on the street. I’ve weighed options of a benign sort when it comes to the emotional risk of relationships. The risk of a broken heart has been my Everest to conquer in life; something I have chosen with excitement, as a mountaineer might prepare for a risky climb. In this analogy, practice has brought the experience necessary to help me be safely awestruck by love.

Some may see risk taking as creating a fuller life, however, living on the edge is not in my comfort zone. I prefer to watch the thrill seekers, cheer them on even, rather than join in the mass revelry. There are some risks I will not take. I will not jump from an airplane, even with a parachute. I refrain from watching horror films. I am not a recreational drug user. I will not gamble with my money. I will not drink and drive. I will remain faithful to my lover. I will not let anger get the better of me. I will chew my food carefully.

There is reward in taking a risk. Staying in bed or not leaving your apartment will get you nowhere. Life is neither to be squandered nor played like a game of Risk. Situations are inevitable, occasionally dangerous, yet a moment or two of evaluation before proceeding with the next step is a valid price to pay. Steady on, take a breath, pause, be still and listen.

Re: When

I hate waiting in line. It takes patience to wait for anything. The child in me wants to ask, “When?” Hell for me is the same as stasis. I’m not an antsy person, most people think of me as calm. I can be calm, tranquil even. I’ve been known to bask in the serenity that comes from doing absolutely nothing.  When I have a choice, being still is an easy option, yet I do not like to feel becalmed, beached or otherwise adrift in the Sargasso Sea waiting for a satisfactory trade wind. Under constricting circumstances, the Then part of my life story seems to never come, so I’m stuck crying out, “When!”

There are six great journalistic questions: Who, what, when, where, why, and how. The third in the list was the question I most asked as a kid. Learning patience is hard for anyone, especially when you are four or 94. As a kid whining to my mother I would hear, “If you ask again we won’t be going!” I wouldn’t be getting, having, or knowing either, depending upon the context. When my elderly mother-in-law asks ‘When’ I stay quiet, figuring I’ll have a while before she asks again. She may even forget the whole thing as she listens to her radio. When my own children asked ‘When’ I would say, ‘In twenty minutes.’ This arbitrary amount of time never satisfied them since it could end up meaning sometime next week for all they knew. Sometimes I’m not very helpful.

One of my grandkids loves watching for the garbage truck coming down the street. In his city, the sanitation drivers/workers are very predictable. I saw my little DNA carrier run to the window one morning for no apparent reason. Moments later I realized his little ears had picked up the characteristic screechy sound of the vehicle because there was the workman lifting the cans into the back hopper. My grandchild turned back to his living room play looking satisfied that his world was in order. He was learning to trust that sometimes the Whens of life fit into a schedule that can be planned for and predicted.

I don’t think we can blame technology on our lack of patience. Even as grown-ups we want our stuff now, not tomorrow. Putting in a call to get service for a broken appliance or delivery information can be problematic. We are usually given a window of time when an agent will arrive. Recently for me that ‘window’ was “Between 9am and 5pm on Tuesday” and I paced the day away.

Perhaps adults’ patience level has been eroded lately with all our systems, simply because we are frustrated by the slow approach of getting to that question of when. Confidence in necessary change is enhanced if the public can have a predictable timeline of action. As a citizen I don’t want to be told it will take a metaphorical twenty minutes if it really isn’t going to happen during this business/tourist/health/government cycle.

Then my trust goes in the garbage

Re: Free

I was born into a white British family, so I kind of had priority boarding from my very first breath. Coming from that place of privilege makes it hard for me to write about freedom because I’ve never felt unfree. There has been only a few times in my life where access has been denied. I’ve never had to struggle for my freedom. Lucky me!

My whiteness sometimes makes me feel hypocritical when I gather with others to protest. My maleness, my skin colour and my affluence have made me shy about saying, in one way or another, “Life is not equitable!” It’s a moral conundrum, yet I delight in being free to join others to speak against injustice. Just because I have it good doesn’t absolve me from defending the rights of others. I believe we have a collective responsibility to make freedom ring true for all.

Freedom isn’t limited to what you can get out of life: It’s about how you can be. I enjoyed listening to an album called ‘Free To Be’ with my kids when they were young.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_26FOHoaC78

We would sing along and talk about what made us feel free to be ourselves. The LP promoted inclusion, acceptance and compassion for others. We discussed how freedom and responsibility must be linked if we cherish being together in community. Without a mutual understanding of freedom, souls do not flourish and life can feel like a cage. Our world is literally a zoo of our own making: It can be Eden or Hell. Our current climate crisis can attest to how humans have squandered their heritage through selfishness. When our individual freedoms become exclusive to our collective interests, we risk our ultimate freedom: To live.

The strangely titled Freedom Convoy that took over the downtown streets of Ottawa in 2022 has puzzled me. The very ability to protest is an indication that we live in a free society yet these truck weaponizing individuals promoted the notion that we were giving over our freedoms by wearing Covid masks. Nightly news showed folks bathing in a hot tub on a city street, police passing by, letting them off scot-free. That was amusing, but for me, they abused their right to free speech by screaming and cursing at their fellow Canadians. Our government created an inquiry into this whole sordid event to answer questions about its use of the Emergency Measures Act. My hope is not so much for retribution on these rowdy protesters but that Justice Paul Rouleau will outline a definition of freedom that we can all file for future reference.

Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 27 years. The society he lived in had deadly ideas about what it means to be free. The white folk of South Africa enforced the rule of birth entitlement as the key to freedom. Mr. Mandela felt differently: ”For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.”

Re: Eight

I think the number 8 is great. It has awesome rhyming potential. I love its shape. There are no loose ends with eight, nothing sticks out. Just like the number 0 there is a beautiful continuity to its design; where you start is where you finish. I have a two digit number that I have called my lucky number since I was a kid but now that I am in my 80th decade I think I’m due for an update so I pick 8. It’s never too late to change your fate.

Apparently I’m not alone in liking this numeral. It is called the luckiest of numbers by the Chinese. This Canadian feels in good company since 1.4 billion souls can’t be wrong eh? I was born on the eighth so I don’t know why I didn’t choose it as my lucky number sooner, but I shall have no regrets. More significantly, when 8 is tipped over it assumes a horizontal position. The symbol for infinity, which in death I believe I am bound for: To the endlessness of time and space with infinite possibilities go I.

When I am lying on my back in my bed I find comfort in assuming a figure eight posture. I place my hands above my head and link my fingers. My knees come up, spreading my hips and I place the soles of my feet together. It’s the closest kind of yoga pose I can manage and it feels great to open my chest and pelvis at the same time. When I taught Brain Gym to my elementary school students one of the exercises was using chalk to make giant flowing infinity symbols on the chalkboard, smoothly arcing and connecting then arcing again, opening up cross cranial connectivity, joining left brain to right.

The reason we call Figure Skating what we do is because of the Figure 8, which was part of the compulsory program in competitive skating until 1990. I miss the almost scientific precision demonstrated by that practise, skate edges switching while curves were carved on the slippery ice surface. Nowadays you can create heat while learning to do a Figure Eight Workout to strengthen core muscles. Very watchable. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJgBYvGZeN4

Choosing the number eight as my next life stage talisman bodes well. According to Angel Numbers, 8 signifies a sign of things to come, which is awesome because I’ve always been future oriented. It is also a potent source of energy, which I could really use in my declining years. When it comes to Numerology I’m not an eight, but that’s ok since my name adds to number 1 which comes with a very accurate description of my personality type: pioneering, leading, independent, attaining and individualist. This is a terrific offset to my introverted nature, so I can remain humble whilst in a crowd. I took an Enneagram Personality test and it matches perfectly: I’m 5&8 dominant so being born May 8th is a match made in heaven.

I think they’re going to like me up there.