Re: Art

Re: Announcement

Bugles once announced the arrival of invited guests to a fairytale ball. A red carpet is still occasionally used to indicate the presence of VIPs at a notable function. I’m a cinephile so I like the grand entrance of Hollywood movie stars as they strut their stuff and take their places before the year’s winners of an Oscar are revealed. The envelope please!

Folks love to be the first to tell the Big News. Others love to be the first to hear an announcement of importance. I haven’t been to a wedding in a while so I wonder if the tapping of the drinking glass is still the start to delivering a toast; to the bride, to the groom, or later whoever happens to be still in the banquet room. Parties are times of announcements, pronouncements, or opportunities to gossip. We all love hearing the latest news, especially when it makes us happy.

Recently I published my first collection of newspaper columns. I sent a copy of the beautifully bound book to the library in my old hometown. They accepted it with grace and sent me a picture of it sitting on a shelf, where book lovers might see it. A bit of me is in general circulation! I felt like trumpeting my accomplishment from the highest hilltop. Perhaps I was a Town Crier in another lifetime, reading from the scroll provided by the palace; ‘Hear ye, Hear ye! Gather round all who wish to be enlightened, informed, or otherwise amused.’ Newspaper boys used to shout, ‘Read all about it!’ Most news comes online now but you can still find artistic cards that are decorated to announce a birth, death, wedding, illness, or achievement. With the Canadian postal situation being in a state of disarray, one wonders how long the tradition of handwritten messaging will continue. Yet it still holds that even a word of condolence can feel like a gift when delivered to the mailbox right outside your door.

Announcements, good or bad, generate a buzz that we human bees transmit with glee. There was talk for weeks after Queen Elizabeth died. The recent meeting between our new PM Mark Carney and that Donald fellow had all Canadians feverish with expectation. People leaned in, metaphorically at least, to catch any body mannerisms or speech inflections that might reveal the truth behind the politics. Honestly though, it’s often hard to collect the courage to make a personal announcement.

Spreading the news can be premature. No one wants to let the proverbial cat out of the bag. Something may change between the time you choose to share your thoughts and what you’re anticipating will come true. There have been many times when I’ve said, “Guess what?” Then finding myself regretting giving the message. No one wants to jinx the future, even if we understand that we have no power over what comes next. The new world order, our personal world order, will evolve regardless of our excitement to be the herald of happiness or the bringer of bad tidings. It comes down to sharing what matters to us. That’s what counts.

Re: Inflammation

It’s entirely possible that a person can have inflammation of the psyche. I know because I have been feeling it lately. My symptoms include: Redness of the face when ever I see a picture of The Donald, Swelling of the chest as I pace about the rooms of my vindictive mind imagining what might be an appropriate punishment for these perpetrators of injustice, Pain in my brain as I try to rationalize how the state of the world came to be so scary for my grandchildren. I fear that I have lost control of my moral compass. Most alarmingly, my soul is feeling the heat of all these conflicted emotions.

The political world has been set on fire by our faux leaders, billionaires, and capitalist conglomerates. Meanwhile many parts of the natural world are aflame with the results of human induced climate change. The Anthropocene was a recent term used to define humankind’s dominance over our planetary systems. I suggest that our planet’s destruction at the hands of Homo sapiens is rapidly resulting in a new geological period. Let’s call it The Inflammatory Age. It’s clear to me that everything on this globe called Earth is suffering from a sickness quite like the illnesses that spring up in our body systems. Earth has been keeping the score of multiple abuses to its structure. Constant extraction of its minerals, pollution of its water, air, and lands have taken a toll on its health. Warring nations have been inflaming the hearts and minds of youth to the point they are absorbing the negative energy and losing all sense of peaceful solutions. When does acute illness, become chronic; leading to death or extinction?

My health care advisors tell me the inflammation in our physical body is responsible for many of our ailments.  With every infection, inflammation of the nearby cells is initially involved as a protective measure. It could make things worse however, complicating the healing process. The original injury is therefore harder to manage. Sometimes through my life I have felt feverish for no apparent reason. My joints get swollen and uncomfortable. Pain relievers can help me through these spells of an aching body. This fever can be brought on by stress which can be a contributing factor to my discomfort. If our body is electric, and of a chemical nature, then it’s no wonder we short-circuit every once in a while during the natural course of living.

A bull cannot be inflamed by the sight of red. He is tortured into a rage by the constant twisting of the matador’s cape. So too am I enraged by the antics of people intent on bullying for the sport of it all. The answer is not by fighting fire with fire. Not in my peace-loving book anyway!

Once upon a time during Covid-19 our provincial health officer, Dr, Bonnie Henry called on our population to be kind, be calm, and be safe. She sensed that fear inflames during times of crisis. I agree with that wisdom: Inflammatory comments don’t help, only hinder, our return to healthy living.

Re: Talk

When a boss says, “Let’s have a chat.”, you know there is trouble ahead. I would prefer a request like, “I’d like to talk something over with you.” The latter suggests a mutual desire to solve a problem. Too many times the person wanting to have a discussion has already mapped out the attack strategy so that you’ll eventually hear, “There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.” The situation, talk-wise, has come to a dead end.

That seems to be where we are in the world right now: At a dead end. The UN is a global talk opportunity between nations. There are many words spoken at many meetings with many reams of paper, and many talking points are recorded during discussion after discussion. This is where the phrase, ‘talk is cheap’ comes to mind. As I review the records of politicians there seems to be only a few who actually walk their talk. One exception is Manitoba Premier Wab Kinew. Since taking office he has shown that election promises can be kept. If he were talked about within the pages of The New Yorker magazine I bet he would be in the profile called Talk of the Town.

Bonnie Raitt sings a great version of Shirley Eikhard’s song, ‘Let’s Give Them Something to Talk About’. It’s a catchy hit primarily about gossip, which is a somewhat seedy form of talk that gets people into trouble sometimes. I like being talked about in a way, because it makes me feel folks are thinking about me. But I wouldn’t want to be slandered or have people think I’m different from what I may pretend to be. When TEDtalks first became a thing, I fancied myself giving a lecture where everyone would take notes and discuss the finer points in a coffee shop afterwards. Then I had a dream imagining that very scenario with the audience talking while I was speaking and I woke with a sweat, and a radio voice in my head moaning “Talk, Talk, Talk, all you do is Talk!”

A debate is high level talking where ideas are proposed and a ‘Winner’ is chosen for their eloquence and astuteness while in the hot seat (or a hot podium). In a panel discussion I usually find myself nodding off after the opening remarks. Political debates are the same snore-fests. I know I’m supposed to be paying attention but I’m wishing all the time that if I just had a pamphlet I could figure it out for myself.

I wouldn’t call myself a talkative person. After a stimulant I might get excited enough to run-on. There was this time I met someone I admired and I rallied many coherent thoughts and blasted them in a non-stop fashion leaving me sort of breathless and sadly with nothing left to say. I’ll never forget the look on the face of the person who absorbed all that enthusiasm. I reminded myself later to be more careful with my words. That said; I love talking happy-talk.

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: Sport

My youngest son thinks that Sport is everything. I can relate to his enthusiasm because I feel the same way when it comes to Art. Our world would be a shabby place were it not for the creative opportunities found in either of these two activities. He’s very knowledgeable when it comes to team stats and athlete’s profiles. When it comes to participating in a sport he is the epitome of good sportsmanship.

Canada has just been through another serious sort-of sport: Electing a new Parliament. Politics and sport don’t mix, you say? But I think they are a lot alike. The parties all have their colours like the teams you will root for in the stadium. There are some players to watch while assessing goals or penalties depending on your judgement of the candidate. The final result produces a collection of tired bodies, frayed nerves, and speeches to media. The losing performer usually says something like he had a great team behind him, and it was an honour to participate, and yes we can live to fight another day. The winning representative is aglow with victory, praising her supporters for knocking on all those doors, as she assures everyone that once she is on the hill she won’t forget how she got there. In Canada we have a tradition of being good sports when it comes to our election night announcements.

My sporting life consisted of the usual experimentation within individual and team arenas. Unlike many in my home nation, I never played hockey (unless you count the street version where the shout ‘Car!’ is part of the activity). In my youth, I was into soccer, baseball, football, and volleyball. By nature, I preferred solitary sports like golfing, fishing, tennis, and archery. Some of these activities might be considered Games or even Past-times by those who are more particular. Friends of mine consider the goal of any physical activity, organized or not, is to keep fit. At my age I’m considering adding cheering for the Blue Jays to be very sporting of me, especially if they lose, again.

That youngest son of mine recently waxed poetic about the latest winner of the coveted Green Jacket of the Masters Golf Tournament. He spent time explaining to his 96 year old grandmother how Rory McIlroy had wanted this win so badly, thinking it was out of reach because he had come so close before, and now in victory he sank to his knees on the final green, letting all that emotion out for all the spectators to witness. Such a victory in sport is often called a crowning achievement. In the Olympics they hand out gold coins to signify the status of being first in your field.

Sport is really a story, and we love stories. Athletes are central characters in their quest for glory. Their parents and coaches have urged them on to create themselves while learning the skills for excellence. We watch excitedly when their joy in doing is evident in their faces. Being a witness keeps my mind fit.

Re: Loving

Verbs have power in any language. This part of speech can provide clarity by showing an active intent. I’ve written before of Love and what it means to me; love as a concept, as a value, or as a thing we sometimes wrestle with. Loving is different.

Some say that hope is inspirational: But only when we start actively hoping, does anything change. Kindness, as a word, sort of sits there. When we see displays of loving kindness then a visual comes to mind and a goal can be set for us to respond. Loving can become part of our lifestyle choice, if we let it. Working, parenting, studying, creating, jogging, reading, and praying are all part of a sustainable and healthy lifestyle. When it comes to loving, we get sort of shy even though we want it to be part of our daily experience.

I’m not necessarily referring to the skin-to-skin type of loving (though I won’t exclude it). No, I’m looking for signs that I know what love has to do with it. And by It, I mean life. I believe the act of living requires loving. Otherwise it’s just something we talk about or try to conceptualize. In other words, if Love is something we value then Loving is something we must consciously do.

Sometimes we may catch ourselves saying, “I’m loving you” to a partner or special friend and it is so much more present tense than the standard “I love you”. Hopefully the recipient of your declaration can understand that you aren’t suggesting that you didn’t love them yesterday or way before the modern era of your relationship. What you want to get across is that you haven’t lost that loving feeling, you are in fact loving this very second of time with whoever happens to be sharing it with you.

Perhaps that’s why people resist making love an active thing, because your revelations may be misconstrued. As with all feelings, in order to communicate them accurately the folks involved have to at least agree on the definitions. This is beautifully made clear in the television series Somebody, Somewhere. The writing for this show is all about loving. The dialogue around Love is not conceptual but flowing with feeling. Characters describe with little effort how they are loving (or sometimes hating) how an event or circumstance is making them feel. The situations are laid out in the active tense, if you catch my meaning. One actor is loving their ice cream treat, another is hating going to church, another is loving discovering she can feel love again.

When I can hold space for loving thoughts my breathing changes. I become calmer, knowing that my loving attitude stops me from dismissing an idea, or an individual, out of hand. Likewise, if I can see that someone is loving me, it changes my perspective and makes me feel safer somehow in that given situation. Loving is a performance in this way, not a fake attempt to get along, but a horizon to keep in mind while navigating life.

Re: Shadow

My mom would sometimes answer my persistent childhood questions with, “Only the shadow knows.” She would say it in a spooky voice that gave me the creeps. It was much later that I learned it came from an old-timey radio program, The Shadow, about a vigilante and his female sidekick. I think my mom saw herself as a detective. She even worked part-time with a private eye on divorce cases involving suspicions of adultery. Dark serious stuff.

Shadowing someone sounds sinister. In the modern lexicon it might be described as stalking. But in business settings to shadow someone suggests a new employee watching and learning from someone more senior. As an experienced elementary school teacher I was asked to support newly graduated teachers in a mentorship role. One year I was assigned a policeman who gave up his career due to burnout (he had the grim job of taking crime photos). We had great conversations as he learned the ropes in the sometimes stressful arena of education. When he got a full-time position he honoured me with a poem describing how he had been “a shadow of his former self” before I helped him create a more satisfying work/life balance.

While in a playful mood with my young children I have used my fingers to create shadow puppets on a wall. One son helped me build a sun dial in our back garden to catch the movement of a shadow telling us the time of day. Another son loved how I read an abridged version of Peter Pan. We would playact the scene where Mary stitches a shadow onto Peter’s heels in an effort to ground the never/never boy to reality.

In the film Perfect Days there is a delightfully scene between two drunken middle-aged males playing a game of shadow tag. They exhaust themselves, trying to stamp on each other’s silhouette, then they get philosophical wondering if each other’s grey profile, when overlapping, would produce a darker shadow. It doesn’t get blacker as they hypothesized, which causes even more confusion. Directly and subtly, this intriguing film explores the shadows we cast as we move through our lives. We are led to build our own backstories of the characters in this film, from the brief shadowy references to their past. I love the way we are invited to consider time as fluid, moving gently from sunrise to sundown, until next time becomes now.

When I was a baby I giggled lots when my mom pushed my pram under the dapple of trees. The Japanese word for this speckled shadow from leaves is Komorebi. There is joy in this translation. For me this phoneme suggests the sound of a breeze through branches. It is hard to take a realistic picture of this mysterious play of lightness and shadow. A camera can distinguish light from dark and pick out the hues and tints of colour, yet our eyes measure more. The brain is reacting to what the eyes see as fact, yet life is about shading that perception with our constantly evolving selves. Perhaps answers can only be found amidst the shadows.

Re: Gracious

Grace is the highest form of being human. If I were tasked with choosing a single goal for living I would select the act of being gracious. I believe graciousness to be a key element of societal connection. Seeing an act of grace, and being gracious ourselves, creates a peaceful worldview.

Being kind to another is an act of grace. My 96 year old special mom recently required professional emergency service. When ambulance crew came to our door I witnessed first responders providing healthcare concurrently with abundant grace. In an intense situation, if you are the caregiver, it’s an expectation that you put yourself last. In a selfish world that can be seen as saintly, but it is very human to give and very rewarding too.

I went downtown to do some errands. My first stop was at the licensing bureau so I could renew my health card and driver’s ID. The line-up at the agency was a long one. As I waited my turn, I heard a service clerk make one customer after another feel heard and valued. When my number was called and I was shown the same respect and attention, I complimented the employee for his gracious manner under pressure. He smiled in gratitude and said, “When I help people I feel better about myself.” The old axiom that a customer is always right is not lost on this fellow. On hearing this awesome response, I wanted to exclaim, “Goodness gracious!”

Art in all its forms can remind us of our humanity. In the television series The Tattooist of Auschwitz many acts of grace under fire are depicted. In one profound scene a prisoner takes the place of another in full knowledge that the gas chambers will be the consequence of their gesture. On the spectrum of unselfish-ness, this type of self-sacrifice is the ultimate expression of graciousness. “You live while I die”

I can only imagine what strength of character this moment would require. I may come close when I say; “Here, you go first.” Or “You take this last seat.” Or “I will wait.” Showing or telling someone that they matter more than you, may be an anomaly in our time. In the 21st century selfishness is sexy: We get told in advertising that we are worth it. That we count. That we’ve earned it. After that messaging we can conclude that being gracious is for suckers, losers, or saints. Showing grace isn’t carrying a cross. It isn’t a burden at all—merely an offering of help.

If grace is the highest level of being human, then by acting gracefully you have found a way to connect with your own soul. The body is then secondary and you fully recognize the infinite within all humans. Helping to provide eldercare has taught me much about letting myself be a smaller part of the Big Equation. I can feel of value, by giving value. As in childcare, the needs of an elder may never be quenched yet I’ve come to know that giving has a higher priority than getting.

Re: Post

My dad loved writing letters. In a desk drawer by his apartment door he kept a bunch of stamps, notepaper, envelopes, and cards for when he felt inclined to send something off in the post. He was raised on the value of the British Royal Mail Service. Often he initiated the correspondence to family or friends with a quick one-page newsy hello. When a letter came for him he would always write back the same day.

A recent headline read, ‘Canada Post in Crisis’. The article suggested letter writing was dead. The popularity of Amazon free shipping, and the rise of labour costs were all reasons for our crown corporation to be in existential trouble. A world without some form of communication across borders would be isolating. Connections of the global sort stoke my imagination. To me the message will always be key, regardless of how it is delivered. I can get amused by thoughts of carrier pigeons, Pony Express riders, ham radio broadcasts, or telegraph typers sending my notes of love or encouragement. I’ve enjoyed my online relationships, especially flourishing through Covid times. Social media platforms can contribute to feelings of togetherness in times of alienation.

Postal service has changed greatly since my relatives in England counted on their daily mail. Traditional bright red post-boxes, looking a bit like vertical cannons, can still be seen on British street corners for tourists to mail a postcard home. Now it’s more likely that a smart phone photo will be snapped of the same sight and sent digitally and instantaneously to curious relations abroad. I have a decorative mailbox on the wall outside my front door. I’m always hopeful for the clanky sound of the lid when a letter is dropped by a postal worker. Some housing areas have community mailboxes that encourage a bit of neighbourly banter. I once lived in a mining town that had a village postoffice. My mail had a postbox number, which I thought was very rural and romantic. On my daily visits I was happy to say hello to either the postmaster or postmistress behind the service counter. How quaint!

Dad set a high bar for postage stuff. For a while in my adulthood I felt I met his standard. Then came email. I lost my pen-to-paper skills, however I kept my joy of wrapping a parcel for delivery by Canada Post. I still take pride in building my own cardboard containers for packages; wrapping them in craft paper with a neat address. Handing parcels to my local postal clerk gives me a special feeling of reaching out. Recently I felt saddened when one of my mailings to Germany was returned to me, undamaged but stamped ‘Undeliverable’. I got my money back but the sense of a disconnect in the universal link of global communication left me slightly shaken.

In grade school I communicated with several pen pals. I loved receiving mail envelopes with foreign stamps on them. The letters inside felt magical. These messages helped create a bridge of understanding between cultures, breaking stereotypes and prejudices. Now I type this for you.

Re: Relationship

My bride and I have great conversations. This truth was key to our relationship from the get-go. Over the years we have developed a nice back and forth rhythm that rarely sees turbulence. Sometimes though, one of us may take exception to the words of the other. It’s hard to backtrack and trace where the intellectual response changed to an emotional one. The trigger is usually released when one of us feels threatened.

We watched an intriguing movie called Companion. It’s advertised as a scary film but the story has deeper elements about the way in which folks view relationships. Key to the film’s plot is that the lead character is a robot (this is clear in the trailer so I’m not giving anything away). I found it fascinating how the film slowly revealed what the characters needed from each other. We find that all the lead boyfriend wants is sex (even though he’s shy to admit that fact to his friends). He doesn’t like the term ‘fuck-bot’ but that is really as far as the relationship with Iris (his rental robot) goes. He wants to use her to attain his goals. This one-way relationship is more common than we wish.

Which got me thinking about how we can have a bond with things; humans, ideas, other species, and almost anything. I can have a fondness for a coffee mug. I may cherish a memory or a comfy sweater. Some people are fine with their prime relationship being with a pet. I’m growing to love Time itself. Once when I was sitting by an ocean shoreline I thought everything about that moment was relatable. The people passing by, the birds in the air, the sound of the ocean swells connected to my heartbeat and breathing. It felt like I was part of the mysterious continuum. I didn’t want the relationship I was having with this singular moment to stop. Likewise, while reading a book, I can feel this dialogue between me and the author is as strong as if we were sharing a coffee together, at the same bistro table, on a beautiful day. I’ll finish the book not wanting to say goodbye. That’s a temporal relationship!

Comics make jokes about over-age children staying in their parents’ basement unable to face the ‘real world’ due to having formed limiting, constricting attachments to their video games. Back in my day my stamp collections sometimes kept me from exploring the wider population of folks who were different than me. In maturity, I believe finding a mutual connection is the most exhilarating thing one can experience. Paramount to the experience is a sense that you are giving as much as you are getting. That balance is tricky, sticky, messy, and confusing. When it comes to humans being together in the present, their separate pasts must be welcomed guests. A shared, interesting story of what happened, might infect or enhance the stories we’ll tell at some point in our future.

That’s where conversation creates a comfortable feedback loop. It’s better when things stay curious rather than turning chaotic.