Re: Art

Re: Music

I like movies that contain music, subtle or overt. I once rented a VHS tape called Evita starring Madonna and the desk clerk asked me if I was aware that the film was a musical. My look of surprise made her ask, “Do you still want it?” Apparently the tape had been returned many times because folks were put off by the fact that all the actors sang something. Apparently taste can be found in ears as well as on the tongue.

I get hijacked by music. I don’t choose to have music playing while I work or fuss around the house. Music finds me when I’m going about my business though. In a store it will follow me as I look for blue jeans. I’ll chew my food in rhythm to a restaurant’s playlist. I get the music in me despite having no musical training. My musician friends are amazed when I answer their skill testing questions. Instrumentalists are artists I admire enough to pay money to watch them perform. I’ll sometimes linger by a street performer because the air itself seems somewhat different as it blends with the melody. It sparkles!

Imagine the first gasps of wonder as ancestors in caves created vocalizations or tapping sounds on bones and stuff! My perfect world has people singing or humming all the time. Paul Simon was once asked his greatest thrill at being famous. He said he is always delighted when he passes someone on the street murmuring one of his songs. Music has been described as a soundtrack to our lives and that’s probably why I get earworms of melodies that imbed themselves in my head and just won’t shake loose until I hear another tune. Who doesn’t find themselves joining in when they hear a familiar lyric from a car radio: Home where my thought’s escapin’. Home where my music’s playin’. Home, where my love lies waitin’. Silently for me.

Music is said to soothe a savage beast or breast. Speaking of which, our inner child remembers a mother’s lullaby while being fed and cradled, so we naturally associate sound with comfort and joy. But sometimes music incites when it’s linked to parades and protest. I’ll never forget marching behind a bagpipe with my teacher colleagues during strike action against our government. Anarchy can have a soundtrack too.

I may not have a cultured musicality or practised musicianship. My only music lesson was a month of violin. I’ve winced when hearing snobbish comments at a concert venue: Being a wine connoisseur is one thing but music is for everyone. Ranking of a musical piece is not a requirement for me, appreciation is key. I have trouble with some genres like Rap and my easy listening preference tends towards Folk but I love being surprised by sound. The long retired television series ‘Glee’ enthralled me. Opera may be tedious at times but it gets my respect for being the origin of the staged musical. Music in any form is to be lived.

I got rhythm. I got music. I got my gal. Who could ask for anything more!

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: Balance

Riding a two wheel bicycle takes balance. The spinning wheels help you keep on your determined path by creating centripetal and centrifugal forces. This feeling of being in motion while creating the power of locomotion is exhilarating and never gets emotionally tiring even if your aging body gets physically zonked.

Many self help books provide guidance about life balance. Keeping your body active is on the list of must dos to reach that daily goal of mixing your life up enough for maximal fulfillment. The sugar laden cereals of my childhood pronounced similar advice on the box’s colourful sides. “Part of a balanced breakfast” was a common nutritional slogan that merged with “Prize inside!” All promises designed to create an illusion of a better you. Buy our product, use your willpower and add a healthy dose of good fortune. In this regard Lucky Charms was a well named cereal even if most of the nutrition came from the milk you sloshed into the bowl.

Everybody has an opinion about a proper work/life balance these days. In reality that goal is about as easy to achieve as getting plates spinning on sticks (current record 108) like performers used to do on the Ed Sullivan Show. Many entertaining acts from the big top days were all about balancing skills: Jugglers, trapeze artists, tightrope walkers and horseback riders all had to have a finely tuned and trained sense of balance. We don’t work in a circus, although we may wish to run away to one sometimes.

Checking my bank balance can make me dizzy, especially if the news of the day has set my mind spinning. I’ll start to worry over the future and the state of imbalance on our planet. The one percent and the poorer 99 percent statistics show clearly how we are a Have and Have-not World. Then I suppose our Earth has never been scaled to justice. To mix the metaphor, the great pendulum of human history always keeps swinging and by virtue of momentum never stays at the mid point of the arc long enough for the common working folk to take a healthy breath before we have to get our bearings set on the next big thing.

And don’t get me started on the notion of balanced reporting when those of evil intent define that to mean that the hate mongers of the world get equal time with the peacemakers. It is being irresponsible to equate freedom of speech to equality of divisive rhetoric. Three minutes of misinformation does not balance three minutes of scientific fact. I try to consider the messenger when a news item comes up. Journalists have an important job to do, without them we would be at the mercy of the most powerful.

There is no balance to be found in pain and pleasure, regardless of whether you opt into S&M role playing as a hobby. And you don’t need to experience hurt before joy has meaning. Looking for a balance in our world can be frustrating because few things are as simple as those moments when we find ourselves coasting without effort.  That’s finding your bliss!

Re: Pill

The pills in my medicine cabinet give me a sense of control even when I don’t use them. Everybody has pain in their lives and sometimes a pill makes it better. Like it or not I belong to a culture that finds it acceptable for people to modify their brains. You can choose tobacco, coffee, alcohol prescription or illicit drugs depending on your situation. Whatever method you choose, the common goal is the same: To feel better.

My mom would often have mood swings. When she was exasperated with me or my sister she would snarl, “You’re such a pill!” When we got older she would lose patience with us if we were doing typical adolescent things causing her to say, “Take a pill, why don’t you!” Such was the nature of her language use that the word Pill could be so haphazardly used to show feelings or give abstract advice. In truth she had a substance abuse problem herself, that varied according to economics and availability.

News headlines often refer to a ‘war on drugs’ as overdose deaths rise or police report drug den discoveries. Law abiding folks wring their hands saying they fear to walk on downtown streets. Statistics regarding substance abuse should make us scared. Any population must raise an alarm when death by overdose/poisoning becomes the main cause of death. In Victoria, BC a university student died in Jan.2024 of fentanyl poisoning. She was one of 200 in the province who died that month! For six years BC has been in a state of declared emergency over this dilemma.

I don’t take street drugs, but I have been prescribed medication that has helped me through tough times, both physical and mental. I try not to judge others; looking down my nose at other people’s choices is not helpful especially when it comes to the topic of addiction, which should be a health concern, not a criminal offence. I am a car driver. I expect my government to help me if I get into an accident. I expect there to be government regulations that will keep the car and the roads I drive on as safe as possible. I will continue to drive my car even though I’m aware that my car can be an instrument of death; accidental or intentional. Drugs and cars are a fact of life in my culture. The risks and rewards are great when using either. Maybe someday I will see the wisdom of not owning/operating a car but in the meantime I want systems in place that will mitigate any harm I may cause to myself or others. The same goes for drugs.

It’s a given that people may choose to take a pill, or any substance that helps to relieve the pain of life. The student I mentioned was given pills laced with fentanyl by a ‘trusted source’. Her mother is grieving. Harm reduction is advocated by groups like Mothers Stop The Harm.  Our drug supplies must be regulated. No one deserves to suffer. No one needs to die.

Re: Dad

Some words stand for a lot of stuff. To me, Dad is exclusive. Well, he was also a dad to my sister but they’re both dead now. In my memory he is the man who led the way. My dad was my elder: The one who made me ponder, made me proud, made me bashful, made me silly, made me ashamed. He patterned me in ways I’m still trying to figure out.

Like sons everywhere, I looked to my dad first as a protector. My first recollection of him is when he came looking for me because I was late for dinner. I believe I was still in diapers, at least I remember my pants were very wet from playing in a puddle, where he found me. He wasn’t angry. He took me by the hand and led me back to the house where my mom would surely give me a talking to. I don’t remember her lecture only that Dad changed my clothes and sat me down at the table in front of something hot to eat.

I rarely think of my dad as a father. There are many words in many languages for the patriarch of the family. Others may call out Pere, Papa, Papi, Apa, Vader, Tati, Baba or other words unrecognizable to my English speaking ears. My Polish born daughter-in-law sometimes calls me Tato. My own son is called Po by his son. My niece used to call my dad Popop when she was little. The word father is very generic sounding to me; as in everyone has a father. It is also religious sounding; as in ‘Our Father’. That father is always in heaven, far away and out of sight.

My father was a busy fellow during my growing up years. He was a shift worker at a factory so I rarely saw him until dinnertime. On weekends he often had another job which brought our family of four enough money to make ends meet. Those ends came together for me during our annual camping trip to the ocean. Dad became a different character altogether during these adventures: More playful. More thoughtful. With up to two weeks to play, my dad would not de-stress so much as re-create. Here at beach side I would learn more of his past life, his dreams, and his wonderings. He had a life before me? As I got older, I discovered I was only part of the timeline for this man I called Dad.

I’m still puzzling over the meaning of my dad in my life. Biologically, I believe there may be a genetic connection when it comes to my curiosity and creativity. I’ve been told I have a calm disposition and that comes from my father too. He demonstrated a love of nature, art and an optimism regarding his fellow humans. I can’t say he actually taught me much other than to be careful who I chose to be my wife.

My dad died alone, on a distant shore. I hope his final thoughts were happy ones.

Re: Pace

I have a sort of pace maker for my heart. I’ve been diagnosed with Atrial Fibrillation, which means that my heart has irregular rapid beats. I currently take medication to regulate the intensity and to cut down on the randomness of my heart’s pace. I’ll live to see another day.

The pace of my life has changed. There are things I have adapted to, out of respect for my age. I’m neither unfit, nor unwell. My body is giving me reminders to slow down to accommodate the realities of my 8th decade. Joints are becoming arthritic. I can’t turn my head without hearing a crackly sound. I turn to pain medication more often. My skin flakes off constantly. I think it’s a question of ongoing maintenance, that, and good hygiene. My former mother-in-law used to say that after seventy life becomes a matter of ‘patch, patch, patch’. She was a vigorous mall walker into her late eighties then she just stopped and died. Talk about a change of pace!

One fretful moving day years ago I rented a car; an AMC Pacer to follow the movers to our new home and a new job. From there we were to go on to a wedding but alas, our pace for the Pacer was too much for that machine to bear. Repairs were made but we arrived late to the nuptials. It got worse; our rental wouldn’t start when it was time to leave. Towing and more repairs were made. I called the rental company & they said no worries, they’d sort it out when we returned the vehicle. I kept all receipts & affidavits but still had a hassle. Conclusion: AMC Pacer must be on pace to be the worst car ever.

‘On your mark, get set, go!’ Comes a shout from the timekeeper, while the racers are off at their running pace towards a manmade finish line. Olympic sponsors are currently revving their corporate engines, meanwhile nature sets its own pace. Certainly the seasons, by way of the rotation of our planet around the sun, tell us that everything will unfold in its natural way. I must consider the phases of the moon the next time I think it’s imperative that my pace is more important than my peace.

Since retirement I’m no longer in the rat race so I practise stillness, even value it. I’ve been a pacer; in the sense of anxiety keeping me moving. Waiting for something to happen was often an unhealthy preoccupation of mine. Picture the old time father pacing in the hospital expecting his child to arrive any minute now. In those days of expectancy I wore a watch to monitor the pace of my day; counting the minutes until the working was done, timing the roast in the oven, looking to see if I still had time before my appointment.

My 95 year old special mom uses a large nuclear style push button audio device by her bed to tell her the time. Its automated voice tells her to get up and greet another day.

Re: Manners

What might be considered offensive to some is quite acceptable to others. Simply put; that is what the word Manners means to me. I don’t need a dictionary to soften the edges of my definition so please don’t be offended by my bluntness. Words can offend, behaviour can offend, one’s choice of hair style may offend. All this because a culture is defined by its manner of existence.

Societies are built on acceptable performance. Etiquette is taught early, and often by shaming. Parents dole out these initial nuggets of advice/discipline. Junior will be admonished for picking his nose, or pulling down his pants. The little one must learn that certain gaseous noises will not be tolerated. Kids learn that we are not amused when children make too much noise or run too fast. There is always a measure of respectability that must be adhered to or an elder will make us blush with regret. Youth are not off the hook outside the home either. School and church confirm or contradict the comportment required while a person is functioning as a member of the community. Adults can get quick tutorials too: Government officials are coached in proper manners when they assume an ambassador’s responsibilities. Those of lower socioeconomic status or non white skin colour often end up in jail.

I’ve never been impressed by high society. Ann Landers, Dear Abby or Martha Stewart types aren’t about to change my mind if they think something is a ‘good thing’. I shall not follow that lead. I have low tolerance for self appointed protocol police. If something is publicly regulated I will consider the reasoning behind the statute before I buy into it. If conduct is judged just because it’s considered ‘Proper’ then I’ll give it the royal wave or the middle finger salute, in a manner of speaking.

Those touting good manners are often guilty of pointing the finger: ‘How could you!’ quickly becomes, ‘How dare you!’ which then degrades to, ‘Shame on you!’ Artists and entertainers are often unfairly judged by those who look down their noses. A recent documentary about Sinead O’Connor was a case in point. Her talent and valid protests became secondary considerations in the face of impolite demeanour. Here was a beautiful singer and sexual activist, unfairly beaten down, shunned even, by those holier than thou elements of the music industry and the religious community. She dared to be different.

Manners are a human construct. Modern civilizations don’t tend to embrace differences. We are wary of the odd man out. We worry what’s behind a questioner of authority. That may be why politicians so rarely suggest outside the box solutions, because any non-conformity to traditional mannerly thinking is threatening to order and good government.

Isn’t it a wonder then, how we can ever get to addressing the big issues without making offence. It’s easier to say, ‘But that’s not how we do things here!’ Revolutionary thinking is bad manners. So there! Let’s just accept it, then let’s get on with the important stuff in life.

Re: Kept

I don’t have any well kept secrets because I’ve never been good at hiding things. I don’t enjoy keeping people guessing if there is news to tell. I can keep to my own thoughts though, and I’ve sometimes kept a diary. I’m reasonably good at keeping up with a conversation. I’ve kept going to work when it was the last thing I wanted to do just to keep up appearances. I have reluctantly worn a silly hat in keeping with the situation.

Julia is a television series created by Daniel Goldfarb. In the second season, episode two Stockard Channing has a guest role as Frances Field. While at a dinner gathering, her character makes a short speech. Frances says” “We’re all kept…I know I’ve been kept. I was kept by my late husband…I assume you’re kept…good fortune comes and goes. Here’s to sharing everything you have. Here’s to being kept.” There is a long pause as people leave the table saying goodnight. Frances turns to her date and says, “Was it something I said?”

I wondered about that speech. I tried to trace examples in my life of being kept. I asked my 95 year old special mom for an opinion. She said immediately “I am kept” and then “but I don’t feel hard done by.” My mother-in-law is such a realist when it comes to figuring out life. Being almost blind and hard of hearing means she is very dependent on others for her care. So in that way she is kept, but content and grateful to be so, we mutually concluded. Her response has kept me thinking.

The phrase ‘kept woman’ flashed through my mind as I reviewed that conversation. I started to realize that Ms.Field was perhaps feeling equally blessed when she gave that dinner toast. She felt her needs were being looked after and she didn’t mind suggesting that some of her autonomy had been lost as a result of being kept. She was being realistic however, in implying that getting along in life requires exchanges and compromises that don’t necessarily have to diminish one’s character.

Yet where do we draw a line for ourselves? I don’t wish to be someone’s puppet; kept on strings in a case, in a corner. Neither do I wish to be in the driver’s seat for someone else. I respect that everyone has a right to their own life and to live it as they please. For a number of years in my youth I was often left in charge of my sister. Our mother made it clear that she didn’t want us to look unkempt, lest neighbours grow suspicious of her shirking her parental responsibilities. I was expected to get my sister to and from school, sometimes also making her lunches and dinners. I was told to look after her until mom or dad came home from work. I was my sister’s keeper.

My parents kept me in line. I became responsible as a result (perhaps neurotically so). I’ll continue to share parts of me. And I’ll show gratitude whenever someone chooses to look after my needs.

Re: Wallet

I’ve never lost my wallet, but I’ve thought I had lost it many times. I check for the presence of my wallet frequently, sometimes obsessively. When I’m on holiday it is always on my mind. I’ll pat my back pocket and check the drawers or shelf of the room I’m staying in. When I am secure in knowing its presence I’m calmer. On occasion, I may even kiss it for luck to ward off evil spirits.

My son lost his wallet while moving his belongings to a new apartment. In the busy-ness of loading and packing he put it gingerly on the car’s rooftop. The obvious happened when he got behind the wheel and merged with other traffic. The shock of picturing what he had done wrong must have been numbing. He went back through his trip, in a futile attempt to rescue his wallet from the road where it must have fallen but to no avail. His credit cards had to be cancelled but luckily he had only $40 in cash. A couple of week’s later he got a call from his local police department saying the wallet had been turned in! Much to his amazement the wallet’s contents were intact! When he shared this story with me, we both commented on how our faith in humanity had been enhanced by this simple act of unselfishness.

Some folk say the cell phone has become their most highly valued object to carry everywhere. When I told others of my son’s mishap they related by saying how they had lost their phones and had been bereft as to what to do when a record of their identity had gone AWOL. Indeed, when you consider what is loaded onto our devices they become a veritable code to who we are in this world. Comparatively, the wallet with its old timey paper access cards, wrinkled photos, bills, receipts, bus passes, loyalty IDs & embossed business cards becomes a relic you might see on display at a museum of not so modern culture.

I made my first wallet when I was nine from a craft kit I got for Christmas. It came with pre-cut leather and strands of gimp plastic lace. When constructed it looked a bit like a folding moccasin with a side gash for paper cash (I never had any of that), a snap pouch for coins and a cool slit for bus tickets. There was a single clear plastic window under which I put my library card and my swimming pool registration card. With this wallet, fully loaded, I could get access anywhere.

Throughout my life other wallets have not lived up to the level of self confidence given to me by that first homemade beauty. However I still choose each new wallet by giving it a smell test. The leather scent knocks me out. A wallet has always given me a sense of importance. It contains a bit of my past and present and some assurance that my future is secured. A cell phone seems cold in comparison.

Re: Zoo

I don’t like to keep words in boxes (dictionaries). I respect the notion that language is forever evolving. For example, when I come into contact with the word Zoo I jump to initial conclusions based on my experiences. The very sound of that word triggers an emotional response. Before I enter into a discussion regarding zoos, in general or specifically, I need to consider the context of the engagement. Perhaps my understanding of the meaning of this word will change as I consider a different point of view. With this word Zoo I have now covered all the letters of the alphabet. Maybe one day my effort will serve as a children’s ABC style learning book but for older folk: P is for Price, A is for Art, Z is for Zoo etc.

Language researchers like lexicographers or etymologists enjoy studying words. I am not a researcher yet I like writing about how the English language has made me who I am. Most adults have a vocabulary of 10 000 words used on a regular basis. Human beings separate themselves by language, physical borders, personal boundaries or behaviour. It almost seems natural that we seek to enclose ourselves.

Zoos as an institution can depress me. Aquariums for aquatic mammals are jails. Captivity is not something that appeals to me. Keeping (owning) pets of any kind is a questionable human habit. Surprisingly, I used to aspire to working in a zoo. I once visited a hobby farm or ‘family zoo’ that appalled me. The star attraction both times, 30 years apart, was a very sad looking chimpanzee. After all that time the pathetic creature was in the same cage, not looking any wiser. The film Planet of the Apes comes to mind. In the late eighties some zoos underwent a transformation from the confined structure of old bars, iron gates and concrete screened buildings to more open air enclosures where the wild habitat was imitated to a certain degree. On a visit to such a zoo in Europe I was enthralled that I could walk about in an open field with giraffes. I came very close to chucking a career in teaching during a mid-life crisis after reading that Al Oeming had started a conservation area for ungulates in Alberta and wanted workers educated in wildlife management. Pick me!

It’s funny how we throw our arms in the air in exasperation saying, “It’s a zoo out there.” Clearly we have built our own self confining spaces. Sometimes we live in cages of our own design. Maybe that’s why we feel a zoo is ok for animals. Maybe that accounts for our belief that it’s acceptable practise to incarcerate fellow humans. I truly think planet Earth would do better if it was less managed by our species. With climate change, perhaps we are being shown that we can’t continue to harvest/corral/confine everything just to make our lives better, richer or safer.

‘We reap what we sow’ sounds fitting in this context.