Re: Art

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.

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: Fix

I remember my dad used to fret so much when a television repairman had to be called to our house. In the first place he had to admit to himself that his skills with dials, tubes and antennae had been for nought. Secondly it would mean he might be shamed after the technician could fix the problem with a turn of a screw. Then of course came the bill, which would set my factory working father back half a day’s wage.

When my dishwasher went on the fritz recently I thought of my dad. I started into a brain spiral about repair vs replace. I called and got some opinions, which still left me in a quandary. On the one hand I had a perfectly good appliance that only needed a gasket (or so I thought). A competing idea had me considering the domino effect of falling/failing returns on my original investment. My DIY skills are limited, but like my wonderful dad, I have a certain amount of pride in looking after the things that I own so when they fail I take it personally.

Some things you just can’t fix on your own, especially problems of a non-material sort. Especially problems of the relationship sort! My bride and I have generally done a great job ironing out our differences. When problems between me, her or us crop up, we use different strategies to overcome the missing or damaged parts. I usually try to charge in and fix things but my wise woman often tells me, “I just want you to listen.”

Getting a fix on things is a way to focus attention on the important things. I want my mind to stick with the essentials during a problem solving exercise. It’s no coincidence when we use the phrase, ‘glued to the task’ to indicate just how deep our concentration can be when we are attending to the job at hand. I have an image of my dad trying to apply a fixative to a broken china cup handle. He had to hold the pieces until the epoxy set, all the while unknowingly sticking his tongue out of his mouth as if to tether his thoughts.

I can rarely control my imagination, so I have to rely on structure to anchor my wandering mind. When a problem is too overwhelming, I occasionally turn to the medicine cabinet for a prescription. I  recently rewatched the dramatic film Man With a Golden Arm starring Frank Sinatra.

https://www.tcm.com/video/198811/man-with-the-golden-arm-the-1956-i-need-a-fix/

I think of the many folk who are drawn to street drugs in our city. Illicit drug use is a problem with no easy fixes for millions through the world. The things that make our lives better sometimes make them worse. When a device, friend or situation lets us down we may feel temporarily defeated. Sometimes a technician of the mechanical, digital or psychological sort can help us fix the problem. It’s worth it to make the call.

Re: Laughter

At one point during my first marriage, my wife and I looked at each other through tears saying simultaneously, “We’ve got to laugh more.” We’d just been laughing, belly aching hard, over something that is lost to my memory. It was fun to be breathless from humour rather than daily toil. We knew we had been missing something with our laser focus being trained on the responsibility of parenting three little boys. We were strung out on diapers, defiant temper tantrums and sibling squabbles. Laughter is the best medicine, at least that’s what Reader’s Digest said back then, and we realized in that hysterical moment that we had been laugh deprived.

I’m a serious guy by nature and I know I don’t laugh enough. I prefer topics of conversation that go deep. My shoulders seem adapted to carry the weight of the world. Some people hide from the dark side of life while I can be a bit intimidated by a room full of chortling people. For just an insane moment I’ll think that I am the butt of someone’s joke and it puts me off balance. My mom used to be a master of sarcasm, which I never learned to master. She would preach that her humour was an attempt to make a person laugh at themselves; “Come on I’m just kidding!” I think she had a twisted understanding of the phrase, ‘Laugh with me, not at me.’

There is probably a reason why late night talk shows are so popular. We do need to laugh at ourselves and the situations we find ourselves in when everything seems so grim. We need the news delivered with a dash of comedy; just a spoon full of sugar and all that miserable stuff is a tad easier to swallow. History is filled with examples of clowns and jesters presiding over a community spectacle while our fellow citizens were led to the gallows by the executioner’s hand. Slapstick comedy comes from such roots: Someone falling is irresistibly funny in spite of our desire to express empathy for a person’s plight. My favourite comedians are still The Three Stooges yet they are consistently mean to each other. Go figure.

Maybe laughter is a judgement on us and from us. My wise 94 year old mother-in-law asked me recently if I can I laugh at myself. I wondered what she was getting at. I gave her a philosophical answer along the lines of not enjoying being teased. I said I didn’t like it if I thought someone was laughing at my expense. She sort of went, “hmmm”. Which made me feel judged. I wanted to go all Popeye on her telling her to accept me as I am. In the end it wasn’t an issue, just a question, and there I go again being too serious.

Laughing out loud is an expression of our soul. Like showing any emotion, a laugh can connect us to our spirit. I’ll start with a chuckle and see if I can work my way up to a roar.

Re: Cookie

I can totally relate to the Muppet named Cookie Monster because I love cookies. My day begins with cookies (two) and a mug of coffee. I’ve had this morning habit for years now and it hasn’t affected my blood sugar. Anyway in my way of thinking porridge is just an oatmeal cookie without the crunch. I once had the pleasure of being wooed by a lady who knew of my kooky breakfast desires. She often left a bag of fresh from the oven oatmeal & raisin delights on my doorstep, ringing my bell, then stealing away down the street. I was grateful for the effort, the cookies were delicious but that relationship never got past the baking sheet.

My favourite cookie flavour is probably oatmeal but the delight of this baked good is more about the texture, not that I’m particular. The shape of a cookie is round, a beautiful shape for eating. Sometimes I’ll load a whole one in my mouth like a CD slipped into a player and I’ll listen to the unique music of the chew. I’m not wild about Oreos but I get the sensually artistic pleasure of twisting the black circles, unscrewing slowly, to reveal the white cream. A lick and a crunch puts a smile on anyone’s lips. I like a slow coconut style chew, rather than a ginger snappy snip between the teeth. Stale cookies can still be dunked (even a fresh from the wrapper Dad’s cookie holds my hot coffee moisture well). Really crumbly, over cooked cookies deserve to be enjoyed on ice cream or combined with muesli for a breakfast in a bowl. Of course not all cookies need to be round to be loved; my runner-up in my private cookie contest is a thick shortbread. The Scottish recipe is delicious for sure but I love when bakers go untraditional and add a bit of baking soda to the shortbread formula to give the taste some tang. When I go mass produced it’s a Peek Freans I choose. Coincidentally, they are my mother-in-law’s favourite so that makes her my cookie buddy.

As a kid I was an after-school milk & cookies sort of student. Both my parents worked outside the home so I ate by myself most of the time. I’m not sad. That was really all right because I didn’t have to answer cookie cutter clichés about how my day had gone. That milk/cookie combo was such a comfort after a hard day in the classroom. One year when my dad had strange work shifts he would sometimes surprise me with a tray of fresh peanut butter cookies ready when I got home. We sat beside each other on the couch while watching television.

These days children might know that there are cookies on their computer. I hope they have time to learn how to make cookies or at least share some precious moments with a parent and a biscuit tin. I’m no foodie but a warm sweet morsel of cookie is darn close to what might be called perfection.

Re: Doctor

“Is there a doctor in the house!” Now that’s a phrase I’ve heard might be called out in a medical emergency by someone in a theatre. I’ve never witnessed that happening in the many plays I’ve attended. I’ve never been involved in a doctor intervention while being a passenger of an airplane either. This is another high drama location, that probably requires a mid-flight turn to get a patient to a hospital. Doctors to the rescue!

Canada is thought by many to be the home of ‘free’ health care. It is comforting to know that in a crisis situation citizens have access to hospital care without the added stress on their personal bank account. However for those of us without a Family Doctor our view of the tax funded, government sponsored/administered health system is not as seamless as it would appear to outsiders. Doctors retire. They move. Medical Centres close. Patients who have seen their doctor as just a phone call away may suddenly find themselves building confidence with a new physician at best, or stuck playing musical chairs in a clinic at worst.

Recently all these things have happened to me. To complicate things I had to spend an extended period of time away from my home province. To complicate things even further I had a heart incident that required intervention and follow-up treatment. Since health care is a provincial responsibility my health card was questioned. I had prescription drug needs that kept everything ticking (literally). Without my records I had to relate familiar stories about my medical history way too many times. When I returned home I joined thousands of others without a GP or Primary Care Physician and therefore have had slower than normal access to the specialists I need for my condition.

“What’s up Doc?” is a question that comes to mind in my lighter moments of feeling. I don’t want to skip the line for appropriate care. Sometimes I just want to know where I am in the line. I’ve questioned the notion of the word Care. I don’t like to point fingers in blame. Every doctor who has ever looked after me has done just that. In an emergency and over time, when I’ve come in need the questions have been answered in full. I would wish the same for everyone. Trouble is, there aren’t enough doctors for everyone in Canada right now.

I counted eight professionals around my bed when I was admitted to the emergency ward for my rapid heart arrhythmia. That’s a healthy amount of care for sure. Doctors are all about saving a life. It’s in their Hippocratic Oath. I count doctors, nurses and teachers as being the most important professionals in an advanced society. I fully recognize as an educated adult that I am primarily responsible for my health. I’m also smart enough to know that I can’t meet all of my own health needs. A solid health care system must make ease of access a key component for all in Canada and around the world.

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: Evacuate

I’ve recently had a moving experience. It seemed like a move on the surface: There were boxes to pack, items to sort, donations to be made, a yard sale, and relocation planning. This was all accomplished with the usual amount of fuss, tears and goodbyes. Things get emotional with a move.

I’ve been involved in several moves in my lifetime yet this was like no other. I tried to wrap my head around the experience by using different descriptors like Leaving, Escaping, Evacuating, Purging, Departing, Fleeing, Vacating. This seemed most like an evacuation. We left behind things. We knew we weren’t likely to ever come back. Fortunately, we weren’t joining a long line of similar evacuees, fleeing a war zone, but we did have a sense of loss, a sense of leaving a homeland. We felt these feelings vicariously. My wife and I saw them, in the eyes of our 94 year old dependent elder.

My mother-in-law had just witnessed the death of her husband after a protracted illness. The reality of what to do next lay ahead and we three decided that a relocation was necessary. My wife and I wanted to take our mother home with us to the place that we had loved before all this turmoil had begun. That meant our elder had to leave the apartment she had existed in for 44 years. Not an easy thing to accomplish; physically or emotionally. She was good humoured and forward thinking, telling her life long friends that she was excited about the prospect of a fresh beginning. She described how she felt grateful we had the resources for a successful transition.

When my wife and I first fell in love the notion of running away from it all was a frequent item of conversation. We thought that life would be freer and simpler if we just owned a backpack to carry a few necessities. We wanted to hit the road, be of no fixed address. Moving away from circumstances that have made us feel trapped felt liberating. One of the reasons we originally made a home in British Columbia was because we wanted to start life anew. 

My special mom has a great sense of humour. We equated our seemingly sudden departure to an ‘Elvis has left the building’ sort of moment. There were momentary hilarious thoughts of the whole exercise being like a bowel movement: All sorts of memories and possessions being expelled and flushed away. She hadn’t been evicted but there was real sadness in the eyes of the superintendent when the lease on the apartment had to be terminated. Along with her sunshiny attitude Mom had moments of darker comedy when she asked me jokingly if we were going to set her on an ice floe and push her out to sea. Reassurance was provided.

We are now settled together, we three. Our elder is busy exploring her new neighbourhood. The trauma of the move is over and a new chapter in our lives awaits to be written.

Re: Umpire

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

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

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

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

Re: Missing

The thing about saying you miss something is not about the ‘something’ so much as missing the collective stuff that came with it. The smell, sound or visual may remind us that we are missing a moment in time: Being OF that time. But, just like realizing you can’t be in two places at once, you also can’t be in multiple time frames at once. Freaky but true.

When someone asks me what I will enjoy first after a ‘time away’ I have many answers. The cliché for people being on holiday and returning is the Dorothy statement; ‘There’s no place like home’. In that sense home can be a catch-all term to describe aspects of what makes our life unique. I can imagine that prisoners or soldiers love satisfying cravings upon release from their duties. I haven’t often felt that I wished I were somewhere else. I don’t think I’ve ever wished for another reality either, so maybe that’s why I can’t say I’m missing something or someone. That makes me lucky I guess. I can appreciate stuff while simultaneously minimizing the big picture importance, if that makes sense. Hang on tightly, let go lightly.

Looking forward to something might suggest what I have missed.  Luxuriating in a long hot shower certainly delights me.  Walking in the summer rain makes me wonder why I don’t do it more often. Slowly licking an ice cream cone must never be a rare treat. When I’ve been away from the touch of my bride my heart doesn’t quite beat to the same rhythm. I guess when we can conjure up a sense of longing, which is a projection into the future, we know better of those things that have left us gasping for joy in the past.

I’ve sometimes been missing in action in a metaphorical sense when I have not paid close enough attention to the delights of the present. Shame on me! Regret comes from this place when I should have known better to capitalize on the moment. Carpe Diem must begin each thought that leads to action. Indeed, being remiss is not a good fall back position. A healthy dose of forethought might reduce feelings of FOMO.

I’ve been having some illuminating conversations with my special 94 year old mother-in-law. She’s missing things that she hasn’t used in forty years. There are tears. And then she surprises me with a question like, “What have we discovered today?” I’m on a mission to find out how it might be for me if I get a chance to look back on my life after so many decades. We both keep talking about the importance of staying grounded in the now of life, not necessarily the know of it. There is no point in being upset when you can’t recapture something from your past. Politically or otherwise we can’t make the past great again.

I’m learning that time has its own plan. We won’t miss out on anything if we tend what is before us. Plant the seeds. Watch your garden grow.