Re: Art

Re: Comfort

Discomfort is what I abhor. Some carry a cross believing that what pains us, gives us gain. Not me. Comfort and Joy could be a hymn I’d sing all year. I might get nasty looks though, which would make me feel uncomfortable.

I take medication to reduce persistent childhood anxiety. Back then I was more resilient, but now life is easier if I can access calm inner-harmony before blaming another. Yes, I know all about the ways to reduce stress without resorting to a prescription. I can often get out of a panic by using my breath training, or finding a place to meditate. However, when the wheel of fear keeps spinning in my head it’s hard to make a rational decision. My medication keeps me on an even keel. Sailing straight is actually a normal part of my personality, but into everyone’s life a little rain must fall, or even heavy seas, where we might find ourselves marooned. Avoidance is a good strategy, but not always possible.

My anxiety can prevent access to the better part of me. When we have pleasant thoughts, un-muddied by hamster-harried misgivings, we experience comfort. Sometimes I find comfort in music. I use the Youtube channel to let the melodies sooth my savage beast. Even a Super Being needs some creature-comforts.

Some people swear by a daily cup of coffee. That liquid medication can set the chemistry straight for a productive day of work or recreation. Meaningful relationships, even with pets, can make us feel comforted. I depend on my bride to be there for me when I need a comforting touch. When we bring comfort to another it feels mighty good. I admire the folks in my community who give their time volunteering in various ways. I’ve contributed that way through my lifetime reaping the quiet rewards of knowing I’ve made a difference to another. I also know it’s important not to override your own comfort in a good-samaritan way. Once, I took the overnight shift on a Help-Phone service. My involvement in this altruistic activity contributed to a sustained bought of anxiety that led to depression. Neither comfortable, nor healthy!

In my neighbourhood there is often the smell of cannabis in the air, which might also explain the abundance of food trucks. I’m neither a foodie nor a pot-user so I have find other sources to help me wind-down from upset. I have empathy for those who are without a place to feel safe. Being unhoused is the ultimate in discomfort. It bothers me that folks-of-means feel the answer to getting vagrants off the streets is though police action. I support the position that drug dependency is a health issue. I relate to policies of harm reduction because I know that addiction evolves exponentially, when comfort needs have not been met.

When I’m feeling cozy, my world is less scary. I don’t wish to take cold-comfort from knowing I have it better than others. As a global citizen, contributing to the well-being of all is a worthy aspiration.

Re: ID

I think this will be the first time I’ve written about an acronym. When this two letter anomaly is pronounced Eye-Dee it would suggest two words. To some I.D. is short for an Identity Document, to others it’s simply representative of Identification. I wouldn’t argue these points with a law enforcement officer, if I were ever stopped and asked to produce my ID, in the USA. After all, we live in the time of ICE.

In psychology the Id is something different again. According to Freud, the famous father of psychoanalysis, we have an Id in all of us. Whenever our animalistic nature surfaces, we are presenting our Id. When I see a news video of someone being chased by a cop, I can tell they are instinctively running away from threat. When I’m licking an ice cream cone I can identify the Pleasure Principle. Babies are all Id, searching to fill their basic immediate needs every hour they’re awake. This search is always with us and it can become a challenge to temper these urges while fitting in with society.

Moving about in my world, I’ve had to show my identity papers a few times. I have a Canadian passport that I produce at border crossings. I also book flights using my passport. I have ID for driving and hospital/clinic visits. Stores love my payment & loyalty cards. I love my library card which gives me access to information about worlds that I will never visit in person. I can’t imagine living in a country where leaving your house without your ID would be a big mistake. In Canada I feel an aspect of freedom when I walk out my door, out and about in my friendly neighbourhood, with nothing to identify me but my persona. I never wish to present as a fellow to be feared or suspected.

In the last few years of my teaching career I was required to wear an employee card that had my picture on it. This ID hung on a lanyard looped around my neck. It was annoying as it swung there, so I tucked it into my breast pocket, or sometimes I jammed the whole contraption into a pant pocket. This reaction of mine would bother Principals at times, since their job was to police the school, keeping us safe from outsiders. In thirty years of teaching, I never faced an intruder. Lucky me, I guess.

Times change. Now I can turn on my computer by using face recognition software. I can open my car door with fingerprint ID. I can ask my television to go to my favourite series using voice command identification. Yet when I do my taxes, I have to use multi-stage passwords that I forget, have to replace, reload, and verify with an AI functionary and then again with a human representative. During this lengthy ‘for my own security’ process I am sometimes asked if my computer can serve as a ‘trusted device’. At that point, I feel like asking my MacBookAir to show me their badge..

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: Con

My 97 year old special mom is reading some of the classics of English literature through her audiobook player. Last up on her list was Great Expectations, a story of a boy who helps an escaped convict. My mother-in-law is not always ready to say good things (perhaps because she fears someone may misuse her statement of conviction), so it was pleasing to me when she showed she had gained knowledge of the plights of others. She translated the Dickensian fiction into the inequalities of modern day U.S.A. by asking, “Has Trump done anything for the poor?”

That got me thinking about what might be called the greatest cons of capitalism. Baby formula was the first that came to mind: The corrupt advertising that went into selling this product as better than breast milk constitutes a distortion of human nature. Likewise the marketing of bottled water shows a disregard for the value of fresh water at the same time as promoting the overuse of plastics, furthering the pollution of our planet. I find it hard to stop this tirade, so I will also mention diamonds. Males of marrying age were conned to believe that it was appropriate to give their bride-to-be, a costly token of their esteem to the tune of 3 months wages. Talk about blood from a stone! Tipping is a con, lottery buying is a con, the requirement to drink 8 litres of water a day is a con. We are told by corporations that our life will be better if we just purchase this product or another. Somehow the prevailing culture buys-in to these promotions. Peer pressure takes over. There is usually nothing Pro about these societal manipulations, only Con.

It strikes me as ironic that the biggest con artist right now, might someday be a con. At least that’s what many hope for. The Donald has so far avoided incarceration in spite of being convicted of numerous offences (34 convictions and counting). Many American citizens were conned into believing that a vote for POTUS 45or47 would bring them prosperity in a ‘trickle-down’ fashion (another con). Election time is rife with promises that are really cons in disguise. The ad/con game has always been about teaching others what to think, how to feel, who to vote for, and how to spend. 

Wisdom is sometimes found in Elders, but not always. My special mom’s first response to my writing about the word Con was, “I knew someone who went to prison.” When I asked who that might be, she said she had forgotten but he was definitely a bad man. Prejudice thrives when we hold too tightly to notions that were taught to us. Parents don’t know everything, neither do CEOs, our neighbours, nor those we elect to, hopefully, do the right thing. Pip, from that novel by Dickens, learned much from his charity to Magwitch. Examining the good/bad of things is the first step toward understanding the wider world.

Re: It

“This is IT!” Can be a eureka shout of discovery: An Aha Moment where clarity is finally observed. It is a small word that can pack a punch when viewed in this context. By this measure, it’s easy to define because it becomes more than a third person personal pronoun. Grammar has rules (sometimes annoyingly) but sometimes IT-is-fun, just to play around.

My father was not a chauvinist in his practise of being male. He acknowledged and supported feminist actions and causes. He led me by example, to not objectify women. However, he did get enamoured by the It-Girls of his day. You don’t see/hear of that designation now but I did come across it recently. It sounded archaic when someone on television called rising Hollywood star Zendaya an “Evolving It-Girl”. This hyphenated pair of words could be viewed as a compliment; suggestive of how much the comment shows admiration of the person being labelled. But.

The soda pop Dr.Pepper is perfect to my taste because the 23 ingredients make a perfect blend of flavours. Tina Turner is ‘simply the best’ to my ears because of her energy and perfect pitch. The Sound of Music is a near perfect film because it contains more than a few of my favourite things. In generations before my father it would be common to describe excellence as ‘the bee’s knees’ or ‘the cat’s pyjamas’. Finding the ‘it’ in your life could be a mission, much like when we want to find happiness. “I’ve got it!” Can be more than a personal conclusion to a puzzle. It’s certainly a more inspiring phrase than someone sadly shrugging, “That’s not it.”

In the computer world an IT person is one with specific knowledge on how to manage modern day systems management. Computers are still new enough that we are driven to anger when something goes wrong. I’m used to working out small bugs when I’m writing, but there have been times when I’ve pulled at my hair in a frustrated ‘I’ve Had It.” over a malfunctioning copy/paste maneuver. A handy Information Technologist at work is often the go-to person in the office when data goes missing, or when your device crashes. Calling these employees Eye Tees, would be appropriate in the context of having what it takes to get things running smoothly. 

The It-Girls of yore, had what it took to get my dad’s heart racing. Those icons of what counts merely had to be born beautiful. Yes these pin-up women were objectified and manipulated. Sad to say that The Patriarchy hasn’t changed much in my generation of men. We need to talk about this. It’s one thing to admit you are attracted to a certain body-type but it’s another to make that the ideal that all must aspire to. I feel empathy for anyone who is labelled. I bet Zendaya and others are tempted to snap during an interview with someone so judgemental as to comment on their looks alone. It matters how we think of it.

Re: Channel

A past recording comes to mind from the likes of Firesign Theatre. A roommate at University played this LP for me on our first introduction. It’s a line from an absurdist album called, ‘How Can You Be in Two Places at Once When You’re Not Anywhere at All.’ that has stuck in my mind. “And swim the English Channel?”  

This was a big deal (swimming the English Channel) at one time. Canadian Marilyn Bell has done it. I was surprised to discover that folks are still trying to beat the record crossing (6hr 45min 25sec, in 2023). 

Channeling creativity is a big thing for artists. Channeling spirits was once a big thing for séance leaders until magicians like Houdini and Randi debunked these psychic practitioners. These days, I like to channel my thoughts away from bad news by playing music from Youtube (an internet music channel) or doing a web search thru Wikipedia (a computer information channel not unlike a dictionary). Using a smart TV it has become easy to find out stuff by channel-surfing, even though it might be frowned upon as a waste of time. 

Changing the channel on a television wasn’t always an easy thing for a couch potato like me, in the days before a remote control. At the end of a program the viewer had to get up, walk to the TV Set and turn the dial to a desired number. If the signal wasn’t coming in well, a few minutes adjusting the aerial was required. In my childhood there were only a few channels. With the invention of cable transmission, the multi-channel universe was available. Now with streaming, a person could never be without entertainment. Ah comfortably numb!

Yesterday, I channeled something in the nature of the film A Beautiful Mind. During sleep I saw clearly a host of numbers, geometry, and formulae that might create a map to the theory of everything. I had to get up and write it all down on a piece of paper before the vision passed. Naked, I worked on all-fours, on the floor, near a night light. With pencil and paper I feverishly scribbled, trying to be quiet in my excitement, lest I wake the sleepers in the house. So sure was I, that I had ‘heard’ a eureka moment, I sent my discovery to my local university. The Physics faculty, the Astronomy department, and the Mathematics college were contacted, yet not one representative even acknowledged my inspiration. I can’t get no respect!

People might think, from time to time, that my observations come from another dimension. It can be deflating when it seems I’m not being heard. At least my 97 year old special mom generally finds my revelations fascinating. She likes to be tuned in to these modern technology things that I share with her. I feel proud, like a teacher would, of a student, when she incorporates these ideas into useful language. For example, the other day she didn’t like the way a conversation was headed so she asked, “Can we change the channel?”

Re: Executor

I enjoy referencing words that amuse me. The champ at this pursuit I would list as Susie Dent who is a famous Lexicographer (maker of dictionaries) and Etymologist (word historian). Compared to her I am a chimp attempting to make my first tool to extract ants from a log. However I am not a chump, because I am curious enough to apply myself to the task of sharing myself with others through the wonders I find in the words of the English language. Intuitively, I believe that process is more important than the product, execution more interesting than outcome.

At this stage in our lives, my wife and I have decided it is time to prepare a will. A Last Will and Testament is pretty serious stuff, not to be left to the unvarnished. We’ve tried to start one of those on-line packages. I even have an old copy of a half-completed office supply brand of DIY ‘final notes to family and friends’. In review, these documents only served as reminders of failure to identify just what we want to leave behind. And who wants to feel left behind! So we engaged a lawyer to do the nasty work for us. Which meant we had to get used to some controversial language.

We needed to name someone to execute our will. That sounds pretty harsh. That person, so named, will be the executor (or, even more shocking, executrix). When I asked my eldest if he would be willing (I see a pun there) to serve this legal function, he said he’d be honoured but didn’t wish me to be executed just yet. Funny boy! I was beginning to realize why lawyers were needed at the end of one’s life, because you never know how all the assorted relatives are going to react to your demise. My former father-in-law (now there was a guy with an odd sense of humour) once gave out some bequeaths early because he didn’t want to imagine his progeny reaching their grasping hands into his coffin. “While I still have lungs to breathe.” He would announce. “I want you to have this to remember me by.” A reasonable sentiment.

That man was an executive engineer of some note, but cool to the touch. I wish to cultivate a broader notion of what my legacy might be, hopefully less focussed on the bottom line of a ledger sheet. My birth mom had written her own will by hand on a scrap of paper. I learned the value of shared accounts from being her executor and eldercare provider during her final years. By Mom’s death, we had divided up her meagre collections. It would be cruel to say there were moments when either my sister or I would have seriously served as her executioner, but there’s some truth to using that word, in that context. 

What becomes apparent from the outcome of death is a review of the moments, lost or gained, that words fail to adequately describe. Which suggests that practising life, while we still have it, is preferable.

Re: Dent

Going to a dentist can put a dent in your bank account, especially if you don’t have insurance. I’ve never understood why teeth, eyes, and feet are not considered body parts worthy of Canada’s excellent health care system. I arranged a meeting with my Member of Parliament regarding the fact that my pension was considered too high for me to be included in the new free-access dental plan. Nothing was done about my complaint. That put a dent in my ego.

A teen-aged friend of mine once shocked me by purposefully kicking his car’s body, creating a noticeable dent on the surface. He had just brought it home from a used-car lot. I was congratulating him for being able to afford wheels. He explained that he didn’t want to drive around feeling worried all the time about that inevitable first fender-bender. This way he could make his mark before someone else did. Maybe in his mind he felt one good dent did not deserve another. He drove that car for a long time. It collected lots of scars. He called it a ‘Beater’, claiming it still worked, wouldn’t get stolen, and was easy to spot in a parking lot. A car with character!

Dents don’t need to be viewed as negative, or so I learned from that friend. A mar on something doesn’t means the object is close to being discarded. Taken to the extreme, we may look at others, spot their imperfections, and pass them off as abnormal. This fact of human nature makes me applaud plastic surgeons who enable children born with cleft pallets to appear normal. I would normally see these procedures as an act of vanity when it comes to rich folk maintaining their youthful looks (to me that’s a dent in character). But judgement is a slippery slope when it comes to defining Need, or Perfection. That’s why there are Art critics.

Sometimes aberrations in the flow while looking at an object can be pleasing to the eye. Furniture can be purposefully distressed to add to its design features. Raw edge shelving is hot right now, because I think it speaks to the variety found in nature; a smooth shoreline can be eroded by tidal action, wave action can make dents of all shapes and sizes in sandstone, just as the drip-drip-drip of raindrops in a temperate rain forest can sculpt the hardest rock. My definition of Beauty is not Perfection. Age creates its own sort of beauty; wrinkles can be the most intriguing make-up in my opinion. 

Growing older creates dents in our physical selves. The other day I scratched off a hard denticle-like thing on my skin, which resolved into a small crater. I wondered if I was moving into a shark-like phase of development. Mentally, I like beginning a project, or making a dent in it, before I run out of energy or motivation. There are increasing dents in my memory, but I think that just makes me a funny old grandpa. Hopefully not one who needs dentures.

Re: Skin

A quick wikipedia search reveals that the skin on our bodies is the largest human organ; about 15% of the total boy weight. That fact is amazing considering the lack of attention it gets in campaigns for better health. Most likely we consider the heart first. Perhaps this is valid since, once it stops beating, we are dead. But other organs come before skin in discussions too: “Did you hear, she’s got lung cancer!” “He drank so much and his liver is shot.” “I told you over and over that smoking pot would addle your brain.”

Of course we are warned to cover-up in the summer time. I’ve always loved the freedom I feel on a sandy beach. I can lay for hours basking on a towel and absorbing all that beautiful sunny warmth. The last time I went to my dermatologist for a check-up he asked if I would consider using sunscreen. He just smiled when I said, “Nah.” I have my reasons, none of them satisfactory excuses: I don’t like the feel of the SPF cream on my skin. I’ve heard that all those doses, washing off in the water, are killing the coral reefs. It’s just another cosmetic industry scam to make us buy product to line shareholders’ pockets. Anyway, I love sporting a tanned body.

In another lifetime, I must have been starved of touch, because there are days when I yearn for physical contact. In university, I learned about a study done on baby monkeys, involving two fake monkey mothers, one made of wire and holding a baby bottle of liquid nourishment, and another model without the bottle but covered in soft cloth. The study showed that the babies would prefer time on the cloth model, even at the expense of growing hungry. Modern maternity nurses are well aware of the value of skin-to-skin contact from the moment of birth. Skin hunger is a real, documented phenomenon. To crave skin is not a sin, but society has made it suggestively sexual, or perverted, no thanks to stories of flaying, like in Silence of the Lambs.

I would not describe myself as a ‘touchy-feely’ sort of guy. I’m too private a person for inclusion in a Naturist Resort, although I respect the idea that we can be free to be in our Birthday Suit. I don’t walk around with a sign printed, ‘Free Hugs’ at street corners. But I do like to hold hands, shake hands, and other wise use my hands to make contact with another. I’m happy to have found this sort of skin-ship with my life-mate. I still remember the first time she touched me, after asking permission, on my thigh. I’ve talked to others who recall their first hand-hold while walking, which awakened their longing to belong. 

Skin can be a barrier, a germ protector, or a first line of defence against disease. Skin also allows us to feel a oneness with others, even with another species. There’s a reason why pet ownership is so popular. Stroking is part of a healthy lifestyle.

Re: Monster

We are in a period of history where monsters appear around every corner. I like reading the newspaper to my blind 97 year old special mom but lately I’m finding myself censoring the content because the reports trouble her so much. Even mild-mannered folks like me are peppering our conversations with tales of monstrous behaviour. A recent New York Times crossword had a single word clue: Boogeyman. The correct answer was a four letter word: Fear.

There are monsters that reside within us and monsters we fear from without. A powerful new film of the fictional character Frankenstein focuses on The Bride! (his). The director skillfully helped me think of Franky resulting from the cruelty of humanity: A product of society patching together the pieces that create deviant behaviour. Therefore there is no blaming him when he seeks some companionship after 100 years alone. Being a fan of film, I’ve watched many representations of the evil that lies within. One of my regrets is calling my sister, in a moment of rage, a Bad Seed, after the movie of the same name. Who’s the monster now eh?

News media tends to label killers, ‘monsters’. I wonder how that human got to the place where committing murder is a valid option. I don’t believe in Damien-like individuals being born evil. Somewhere along the maturity spectrum the individual has morphed into a manipulator of horrid proportions. Obsession may lie at the root of anti-social behaviours. We’ve given The Donald a chance to be in charge of the world’s most powerful nation. How? He’s not a quietly calculating Norman Bates, yet he is just as creepy, and more deadly. 

As far as I know, there isn’t a DNA marker for evil. Despite all the work from psychologists there isn’t a definitive profile, or stereotypical pattern that would help a civilization unmask a monster, before an awful event. Parents often get blamed for abhorrent behaviour in their children. A mass shooting, by a late-adolescent in British Columbia, created a demand for a political enquiry into how such a thing could happen in peaceful, gun-regulated Canada. Government neglect, miscommunication, internet abuse, an intolerant community, and even Artificially Intelligent programming are being labelled as the monsters of the day in quiet Tumbler Ridge.

People like to watch horror movies to feel a fear reaction. Halloween continues to be a popular North American holiday for children to dress up as monsters (or their do-good adversaries). A current costume favourite for my granddaughter is to dress-up as one of the Kpop Demon Hunters, an update from my niece’s favourite Buffy the Vampire Slayer. My long dead mother used to love greasing her hair back, donning a cape, and placing fake fangs in her mouth, to scare children knocking on our door for treats. I never saw the attraction of fear and pleasure coinciding.

Monsters continue to be an imaginary fascination for young and old alike, so it puzzles me why we are so surprised when real monsters show up at our doorstep.