Re: Art

Re: Mistake

I don’t like the phrase, ‘We all make mistakes’. It has a let-me-off-the-hook sort of vibe to it. We see the underlying theme of this phrase often as in Brittany Spears singing ‘Oops I did it again.’ Yes, the reality is that we humans err, but there is no sense of accountability when someone shrugs. In politics there may even be examples of a cover-up rather than an admission of any responsibility. A Director in the recording industry, television, or movies can ask for another take, if the first performances have missed the mark. Yet a shout of “Take Two!” is not going to cut it in an argument with someone you care about. On the in-real-time stage of life scenarios, the miss-takes are unfixable, since the show must go on.

“My Bad” or the snotty version, “Mea Culpa” is not a replacement for an apology. I guess being a Canadian I am hard wired to be apologetic. But a sorry verbalization that comes naturally is still not an excuse if I have exhibited bad behaviour. I once kept my whole young family waiting at a campsite for me to return from an errand of my own obsession. I wanted a silly travel sticker to complete my collection for a Great Lake Superior Tour promotion. So I left everyone to pack up the travel trailer while I went into town early. In my excitement, at the tourist parking lot, I locked my keys in the truck. Long story short, I got my sticker and was rescued by an affable hydro worker who had just the right length of wire to pull my vehicle’s lock button. But, I had kept my loved ones waiting nervously, thinking I had been in an accident. That’s on me.

We don’t always try to learn from our mistakes though. In the film ‘Juror #2’ the role of mistakes in one’s life is examined through an extended courtroom scene. Slowly the errors of human behaviour and the systems created to provide a sense of justice are revealed. It’s a film that explores cynicism, righteousness, loyalty and community standards to resolve what began as an accident of deathly proportions. We can learn from art.

Misinformed, miscalculated, misrepresented, misspoken, misfortune, and misunderstandings are part of the vocabulary of the errant human. Sometimes we screw-up and sometimes it seems that the universe conspires to make our life difficult. Yes there are such things as innocent mistakes, even innocent bystanders. Even in those occasions when we feel blind-sided or personally hard-done-by, I feel we can learn something to try to prevent another mishap. Accidents are sometimes preventable with a little forethought. My elderly mom blamed herself when she fractured her hip. She went into a darkened room to fetch something and slipped on a bit of plastic on the floor. “If only I had slowed down and thought it through.” She said of her fall. She walks about very carefully now, so I guess you could say that was a lesson learned.

Would that each of us could learn something from the vastness of human experience!

Re: Perfect

Pronouncing this meaningful word can produce a wonderful shift in perspective. For example, when I write this essay I reread, edit and change many parts of its structure to perfect the final result. I am active in my pursuit of a readable piece of writing. Meanwhile, if I’m being honest, there are only a few times when I can say the result of this writing process could be called perfect.

I enjoy the act of perfecting something to a point. I admire those who have the discipline to achieve a top score in their fields. For example in the sport of gymnastics, I remember Nadia Comăneci achieving the impossible in the Montreal Olympics of 1976. It was such an unusual feat that the scoreboard wasn’t enabled to display a Perfect Ten. Her achievement still generates debate about athletic scoring to this day. There are philosophical arguments suggesting that if you remove the goal, by saying the highest level can actually be achieved, then you have done a disservice to the human impulse to strive. When I was a teacher, I liked to advise my young friends to; “Have a go!”, “Give it your best shot.”, or “Reach for the stars!” The beauty is in the attempt. The outcome will take care of itself.

Seeking perfection is a noble goal, sometimes achieved, but requires a devotion to daily practise. The fictional character Mary Poppins may pronounce that she is, “Practically perfect in every way.” Whereas most of us characters are mere mortals and prone to error. We wish to have a perfect life, a perfect body, a perfect performance report at work, or a perfect partner. I have agency for the first three in that list but the latter is more a matter of luck, which I have, praise be!

My life is not perfect, except if I say it is. Others might see that my standing in the world is to be envied. In this same way, I can get a rise in my heart when I hear someone describe their life with high notes of glee. I sometimes can create a perfect day, other times I just have the planets in my favour. Joy comes when I recognize that near-perfection is achievable, even when it occurs through a series of mysterious connections. Consider for a moment how we sometimes say, “This is perfect timing.” We are excited when things go our way. I used to think, after a run of bad luck, that I was somehow more deserving of a treat. I guess that might be how gamblers fool themselves when they consider the odds of winning.

If practise makes perfect then after much effort I trust we can tell ourselves that we shined for a moment, however brief. Each feeling of satisfaction over a job well done, is a moment in the sun, so I feel we are allowed to bask for a while. We don’t need someone to caution us about getting a swelled head, nor do we need applause. Just a healthy dose of self-satisfaction.

Re: Owl

The owl has several attributes that show up in my personality. Firstly, the animal’s patience is astounding. I’ve seen one in a tree, shoulders hunched up, barely moving, perched on a branch waiting, waiting, and waiting some more. Their feathers are so soft looking, almost furry, and patterned to make themselves blend into their surroundings. Owls are the quietest birds, with wings specially designed to make almost no sound so that wary mice don’t even know they’re around until it’s too late. Owls seem secretive to me. All knowing! They aren’t for show. They mean business, have places to go, and a need to survive.

When I was an elementary school teacher, I would often discuss animals to start the children on a creative train of thought. A simple question like, “If you could be another creature, which would you be?” might occupy an entire afternoon of discussion, art, and even environmental studies. In those days I refused to choose my own kinship animal, because I felt connected to so many interesting species who share the planet with me. Disney films and author A.A. Milne probably directed my lasting amusement with owls. I can relate to Winnie the Pooh’s friend Owl when he pontificates and, also, when he goofs by spelling his own name as Wol!

I chose a coded version of the word Owl for my social media avatar name, wh0n0z, which graphically shows two owl-like eyes. I like the immediate reference to intelligence (folks can be know-it-alls and still err in judgement). Also implied with this pseudonym is the shrugging attitude of ‘Who really knows eh?’ (an introvert’s go-to). Or, more aggressively, “I’m slightly bored so leave me alone.” Owl people may get a bad rep for being picky, having their head in the clouds or appearing seriously snobbish. I think of my owl persona as though it were a horoscope sign. Owls are curious. Ergo, my favourite question is How, which is a delightful anagram of Who, which is the sound that owls in cartoons make.

Even a wise old owl like me can show contradictions. When I served on several organizational Boards I used to be called a stealth director because I preferred to be quietly working behind the scenes, making contacts and connections that may have been considered controversial. You see I didn’t want to draw early attention to myself until the cat was in the bag (or the mouse was in my beak, so to speak).

The cliché for the owl archetype was probably set in ancient Grecian times since the goddess Athena advertised the Value of Wisdom. She even had a pet owl. In the 1981 film Clash of the Titans, Perseus is assisted by a mechanized version of Athena’s owl named Bubo. This FX creature was actually an animatron that didn’t always work convincingly in its scenes with the real life actors. And its name suggests something clownish, which is great if you consider that no one’s character can be one dimensional. In other words; A bird is more than just feathers.

Re: Hospital

My dad hated hospitals and I wished I had probed his reasons why. Everyone has a different experience when it comes to seeking or getting medical care. I view hospitals as places to get repairs for the hard knocks of life, however I’ve never needed to go to one in an emergency. Lucky me; I go when I feel it’s time for mending.

My heart needed correcting for atrial fibrillation so I opted for a surgical approach. The wait was longer than a year so that added to my jubilation when I got cleared for the procedure. My bride escorted me to the correct wing of the complex and I was patient Number Five for my turn with the medical team. The plaque above the nurse’s station said CSS; Cardiac Short Stay. This ward had 18 beds with a ratio of three beds per nurse. The place was a constant buzz of activity from my arrival at 7:30 a.m. to my departure at 8 p.m.

I had lots of time to witness what a hospital (at least in this section) was all about. Computer monitors and tech-looking machines were everywhere but it became clear to me that people still drive this institution. I witnessed many types of workers with things to do, surprisingly most had a piece of paper, or a folder of papers, in one hand. Many papers were filed with other papers, which were then located and typed into an available computer to create what I imagined to be a permanent record. As time passed slowly, I pushed boredom aside by creating stories, most of which were true. I was prepped in several ways for my Pulsed Field Ablation (a new computer assisted technique). I was shaved in areas I’m too shy to mention. An IV that meant business was hooked up to my arm. In one instance a four-foot-tall nurse in full PPE hooked me up for an ECG. Meanwhile several nurses clustered nearby laughing hysterically over a gift shop novelty bag filled with stationary items, and labelled “For Those on a Diary Diet.”

I was there long enough to feel part of the gang. And then it was my turn. Anaesthetic is no laughing matter but somehow I managed to spill some unintentional jokes in the operating room. Through the mental fog, I shouted to all who were near that I was a man of words, not of numbers. Once in the doctors’ Total Control, a snake-like device entered my body to find its way to my heart where it corrected my arhythmic heart’s cadence. Seconds later (or so it seemed) I was coming out of that dreamland with difficulty; sore throat, disorientation. I even made manic calls for an imaginary chiropractor when my neck refused to work. Traumatic!

In conclusion, hospitals are institutions that rely on professional integrity. Real people seemed determined to help me feel better and I felt like an adventurer choosing a brand new medical procedure to lengthen the quality of my life. In short, it was a pretty decent way to spend a day.

Re: Follow

I had a Following on Twitter. My Followers viewed my writing with enough interest or affection to become my online tribe. It was as easy as clicking on a digital button. Likewise, I followed a group of authors, journalists, thinkers and prophets on that social media site. I left to find a more hospitable climate. My principles prevented me from supporting the marketplace Twitter had become when billionaire Elon Musk bought the company and renamed it X.

Lemmings supposedly follow so blindly that they herd together and jump off cliffs. It’s a myth. I hear my mom’s voice asking me if I’d do something awful just because everyone else was doing it. For whatever reason, someplace along my timeline, I decided not to be a follower of fashion. I became a loner, since group dynamics invoked a fear reaction, I avoided clusters. If I see that someone has gained a certain popularity, my first response will be repulsion. That magnetic contrariness might indicate a psychological recognition, perhaps a certain jealousy even. I’ll say to a bossy person, “You can’t tell me where to go! I’ll tell you where to go!”

When I have a need to decide something I like my thoughts to flow along a logical path without interruption. I want to be led to a conclusion by my own choosing. This doesn’t mean I’m averse to recognizing leadership, only that my criteria for the position of Leader is pretty demanding. I look for these values/skills/attributes: Innovation, Clarity, Intelligence, Compassion, Individuality and Creativity. We all manifest a leadership figure at points in our lives. The leader you have in your mind, your conscience say, is constructed out of all the people you have ever allowed to have influence over you. Before deciding something we might ask ourselves, “What would so and so do?” To follow, we must have a guide we can trust, even if the guide is a figment of our imagination.

We love it when someone follows-up on a request or suggestion we’ve made. We feel validated. If we feel like someone has paid attention, we are more likely to consider a proposal they make in turn. Loyalty can make us sheep, easily herded. Some will pursue others to get what they want. I sometimes think computer bots are set up that way. Our capitalist society needs data. Company algorithms will stalk (like a wolf) following the path left by our buying habits to ‘help’ us make our next purchase based on our shopping/internet history.

I was ten years on the Twitter site. I know this because the robots in charge of the algorithm sent me balloons on each anniversary date. I felt special in a way. I felt connected, like someone in the old days might have felt if they had a pen pal. The virtual connection helped during the isolating days of Covid. Now we have other matters of worldly importance to comment on or stew over. I’ve followed a flock to Bluesky. Time will tell how long I’ll inhabit this virtual space.

Re: Crime

I watched the film A Real Pain and came away with many thoughts related to how we make judgements in our modern world. In this movie people are taken on a tour that examines historical trauma. The characters visit sites in Poland where atrocities were committed; human against human. Some of the tourists in the film are seen experiencing the ongoing pain of dealing with the circumstances in their own lives. Judgements are made.

The morning paper brought more news of conflict, this time in Ukraine and Gaza and Lebanon. I read the headlines recalling the dialogue from last night’s dramatization of conflict and I struggled with the notion of crime. It was an aquarium experience: I was looking at events, both historic and current, as if through a barrier of glass. My looking only gave me a visual. I tried to understand the feelings of the other side but I couldn’t because I lacked immersion. A scuba diver can swim amongst dangerous fishes, an astronaut can experience inhospitable space and a soldier can merge with the horrific realities of war, but to enter these unknown environments you need protective gear. The world beyond the glass of this metaphorical aquarium holds uncertainty at the very least, and terror at worst.

From this vantage point I could observe the pain and suffering of crimes committed against humanity but seeing without Being, just dulled my understanding. I couldn’t draw any conclusions, let alone make judgements. Our judicial systems are set up to evaluate crimes, categorize their depth of destruction and apply a suitable punishment. I am neither a lawyer, nor a criminologist but some things I know to be true: Murder is wrong, Revenge is wrong, Despoiling our planet is wrong, Abuse is wrong.

Criminology holds a fascination for me: Motives for criminal behaviour, prerequisites for becoming a criminal and reasons why some areas of the world are more crime ridden, make me wonder about what it means to be human. We are not animals in fancy linen. Humans are imperfect. Religions have debated, conflated, obfuscated, excused and hidden sins of their institutions and of the societies they profess to protect. Israel, as a state, has to answer to the world court for its abuses in Palestine and Lebanon. Russia abuses politics when it suggests that Ukraine isn’t even a country. Crime cannot be justified. Crime exists separate from what came before and what is yet to come. Crime cannot be allowed to beget crime.

I believe some form of restorative justice is the peaceful way out of repetitive crime. Grace can be an antidote to the sadness of the human condition. This isn’t dream-scaping. It’s aspirational to plan for healing the pains that come with Being. While there is a comparative depth of pain, if we judge pain to be less or worse then we risk committing the crime of not caring. The suffering in Hitler’s Warsaw ghetto is no different from Netanyahu’s Gaza Strip. Both are crimes against humanity.

We must do something positive when we reach a conclusion, not create a new problem.

Re: Mystery

One of my favourite lines from a film is delivered by the owner of a theatre in early London. The movie is Shakespeare in Love and this character (played beautifully by Geoffrey Rush) is asked how the play he has sponsored can possibly go on. His reply is simple, “I don’t know. It’s a mystery!” Life is indeed mysterious and the wonder of it can flabbergast me.

Social media, as an art form, is an extension of theatre throughout the history of humanity. It is  a communication medium writ large and I’m loving the feelings of connection I get from the internet of things. I wanted to use the handle WhoNoz when I first opened an account on Twitter in recognition of this curiosity of our internet age. How I can have a relationship (even a virtual one) with someone in Australia by tweeting something on my computer and getting a follow back is a mystery to me. I like to think of myself as someone who knows some things. I acknowledge at the same time that I can’t know everything. It’s confusing and a bit contradictory, while thinking that I have an opinion, even though I’m no expert. I could just as easily lift my shoulders in a moment of exasperation declaring, “Who Knows?”

Many of my elders confess to loving mystery stories. Some pulp fiction writing is all about who did what and where. Even though I love the enduring character of Sherlock Holmes, I’ve never been a fan of the mystery genre of story telling. In a real life conversation I am often dismissive of the idea that getting to the why of things is an important objective. The mystery to me is discovering the how of making something happen. That is why I am thrilled by stories of quests. I want my characters, real or fictional, to boldly go forth on a mission of discovery. The question of how moves you into the future of stuff. I wonder what mysteries these adventurers will uncover. What truth will lay exposed after the search is complete? What lessons will be learned by the characters? Will I have found, by being a witness, that my life is more understandable?

Life deserves to be examined; each day awaits discovery. Even in a life that seems easy to describe there is mystery to be enjoyed. I’ve been taking medication for a heart dysfunction called Atrial Fibrillation. Recently I got an opportunity to have a surgeon try to correct the irregular misfiring of my heart muscles so that my beat is constant and predictable. Call me crazy, but I awaited the procedure with gleeful anticipation: Here was something new, that I could embrace, that just might make my health and my life better! I suppose one can accept mystery if one can be trusting in the process, just as Philipe Henslowe believed that the show must go on, back in 16th century England.

In my life I’d say that knowing, even when it’s hard to, gives me a positive bearing for my next step.

Re: Hierarchy

I don’t put much stake in status. I believe a system of hierarchy in a culture creates more harm than good. Perhaps it’s my lack of ambition that propels me to say this. Maybe it’s because I’m older (but not necessarily wiser). I never wanted to be the top dog in any setting, even though I appreciate recognition when it has come to me. When I have received accolades, I don’t view those who have patted me on the back as being lesser than. I like a level playing field.

A state of hierarchy is present in our systems. There is a chain of command in more than just the military. Business operations are defined by their top down approach, with chiefs being tasked with providing direction for the underlings. Well advertised economic principles are expected to trickle down benefits to the masses. Religion expects followers instead of adherents; sheep who will not stray and never confront the status quo. I once had a brother-in-law who used a patriarchal methodology with his family because the bible told him so: Father knows best. Hierarchy is a ranking of people based on a particular management team’s view of the environment at hand. To benefit the ruler, someone is to be judged smarter than, cuter than, stronger than, whiter than, younger than, or more obedient than and then given a certificate, badge, job, or corner office to occupy. Control usually comes from a pyramid design for administration. Rarely do we have an example of co-leadership where all stakeholders are given an equal share in ownership or decision making.

Children learn early to express their authority. My middle son was quick to point out that his brothers were not the boss of him. I remember him once standing rigid at the top of a flight of stairs, fists clenched, while shrieking, “I know another way!” because his elder brother wanted him to follow his lead. Bosses are critical in a hierarchal society, or so the bosses tell us. It becomes accepted that decisions are made by those in charge. Some are offended by this when it is stated as fact; “You can’t make me!” is something I’ve heard often from my children and from my students.

One of the aspects of a second U.S. presidential term of Trump that frightens me is the way he uses his authority. I believe he feels exulted that he is head honcho. And 80 million people (far from the majority mind you) have given him permission to be The Boss over a vast and diverse collection of people. Most of those people, I suspect, just want to go about their business exercising their freedom to be autonomous within their particular setting. Some will argue that there must be some form of supremacy within a culture: A desk somewhere, perhaps, where the buck stops. I think again of people like Trump, democratically elected but part of a flawed system, who is destined to have the final say. We, the people, each of us alone, are sovereign.

Re: Bond

Bond is a four letter word like Love. Of course when I say this word out loud I want to continue: “Bond, James Bond.” Being a film lover, I have much respect for the longevity of the Bond franchise (25 movies all told, unless you count the 2 rebel outliers). I read recently that the Broccoli caretakers are on the search for the newest iteration of this iconic spy character. Good luck to the producers as they navigate the sticky issues of misogyny, political correctness, sexual diversity, and national identities.

Love of any sort starts with attraction, then association, and eventually an adhesion of sorts. When we make a vow or sign a contract we have joined ourselves to another. Those ties are binding until we find the original circumstances have changed in some way or another. We all have certain attractions to things, both natural and unnatural. We feel bonded to our pets, our family, our friends, and our possessions. Those bonds can often be hard to explain, difficult to maintain and tricky to break. Emotion, history and convenience are involved.

My dad used a paper glue that brushed on and had light adhesive properties for his artwork. I think it was called rubber cement and it was designed for artists who needed something to tack gently to another surface, then after the material was removed the glue could be rolled off by your fingertips. He also used a fixative in a spray can to set his pastel drawings. I learned that, metaphorically speaking, some things are meant to stay fastened while other things may be better thought of as a hasty-note.

In high school I remember saying to a prospective girlfriend, “I’m stuck on you.” I think that’s a lyric in a song by Lionel Richie. Anyway that relationship didn’t stick around, so to speak. Much later I concluded my best emotional bonds were cohesive rather than adhesive. The former is a fixation on someone of similar disposition; like minds as it were. The latter is more about the phenomenon of opposites that attract (another great song by Paula Abdul). My longest lasting bonds have been with people, women in particular, who share similar philosophies of life with me. Birds of a feather, if you catch my drift.

There is a contrariness here when thinking of magnetic attraction. North and South poles on two magnets are going to snap together when brought close to each other. I’ve been with others where sparks fly causing fusion of ideas in spite of lack of commonality. This is not a case of like-attracting-like. It’s a question of Game On! And I know some successful human bondings that are the result of a connection between two people who many would consider to be polar opposites. In those cases there is mystery at work. Maybe it’s a hidden bond that holds them up along with the friction, like a bracket-less shelf.

I am bound to freak out when the next James Bond is announced. Don’t ask me to explain it.

Re: Booth

If words had scent, I suspect Booth would have the aroma of grandpa’s sweater, soft leather, or maybe pipe tobacco. This word popped into my head one morning as I was waking. Booth is not a versatile word like bandage, beverage, or even British. You can replace it with box, or kiosk perhaps but the word Booth has a vintage character.

In days gone by it was a place to find a phone. It was a communications site, a depot, a word station if you like. The last time I used a phone booth was in New Zealand, where I almost lost a phone card. Were it not for a scrounged safety pin I wouldn’t have been able to retrieve my pay card from the slot.  My earliest recollection of a proper phone booth was in England where my mom took my 2 year old sister to change her nappy. Much later, in Canada when I was a teen, I would go to a local mini-mall to make calls to girlfriends. We would exchange confidences and plan run-a-ways. Despite my avoidance of small spaces, these outmoded cabinets of conversation enabled me to escape from the prying ears of my mother who would tease me mercilessly if I used the home phone line.

On those dates I might have prearranged with a favourite restaurant to reserve a cozy booth in the corner, near the back, where my date and I could have more privacy. I believe there was a television game show about setting up a date night. It involved a sound proof booth where contestants had to wait in seclusion while the audience got the scoop on what would happen next, who would choose who, or if the answers matched the questions enough for compatibility or prize money. Strangely, some of these features can be found in the interrogation one gets when having a hearing test.

A phone booth has been featured often in television and film. The scene of Hitchcock mayhem comes to mind in The Birds. Why Clark Kent chooses to transform into Superman while inside one, I’ll never understand! I’ve never been a fan of Doctor Who, yet the concept of the Tardis fascinates me. It was designed after a commonly seen police box on London streets. It’s small in size but as expansive as time & space once you step inside. This long running British series is an expensive long distance call indeed! Joel Schumacher directed a superb suspense thriller titled Phone Booth. It nicely captured two of my worst fears whenever I made use of one of these curious glassed cubicles: claustrophobia, and paranoia of not having enough change.

And speaking of tense scenarios, I always thought it was curious that John Wilkes Booth managed to assassinate Lincoln while the President sat in a theatre booth. Death by booth squared! There now; I’ve given the word Booth a boost. Now I’ll consider ordering an old-timey British phone box on eBay and installing it in my back yard as a sentimental gesture.

“In for a penny, in for a pound.”eh?