6/31

Links to 5/31 &
the 31 Things Launch Post

Well that was a surprise. Sort of.

This week we received some exciting news from our son and his partner: they're engaged! 

Although the timing wasn't anticipated, this was not unexpected news; they've been together for almost four years and have two kids. So, during our FaceTime conversation, I surprised them with a little gift to bless this ongoing union. 

I've been waiting patiently for this engagement forever... so, knowing how much we all love Lego, I've been blending together various mini-figures to configure their bride and groom likenesses. Let's be honest: if you knew them, I think you'd be impressed by the accuracy. And with that in mind, these vibrant things would be a perfect wedding cake topper, wouldn't they? 

5/31

Links to 4/31 &
the 31Things Launch Post

What's brown and uh stick-y? A stick. (Sorry.) 

Side note: YES (bitter sigh), there's still snow where I live. 😡

Sticks...IYAM, they're the OG vibrant things: they might be the prototype for imaginative utility. 

Throughout history, whether its Westeros or a cave or or a Renaissance Fair or a battlefield or a campsite or a playground, haven't we humans felt compelled to pick up a random stick, instinct for kindling, hammer, cane, sword, horsie, dog-toy, wand, broomstick, back-scratcher, ski-pole, sad umbrella. 

Woodn't you agree that a stick is rooted in meaning? (Sorry.)

4/31

Links to 3/31 &
the 31 Things Launch Post

I have constructed these origami frogs with students in classrooms from kindergarten to university, over decades because... art, also fun. Besides, who doesn't love a frog? (Flies notwithstanding.)

Every time, the process unfolds similarly. I invite makers to undertake this art in tandem: to cooperate, to deconstruct and reconstruct my exemplar, to listen to each other, to lead and to follow, to show, to tell, to persevere and struggle and problem-solve through every folding pattern, always pre-creasing and pinching to produce mountain or valley folds...

And there is always a juncture point, an I can't do this, a brief but undeniable perplexity, an error, a trial but then a discovery, a surprise and suddenly there's a hop, dopamine in-synch, some smiles and giggles, a tiny celebration (the best kind), a bonding and another hop, another hop...and now let's make another one, a smaller one and how high will it hop? Hop...hop...hop....

Dear friends, the ancient and respectable art of origami does more than create things to marvel at: it makes us friends. That's what vibrant things can do. 

3/31

Links to 2/31 &
the 31 Things Launch Post

There are our door stops. I bought them years ago when we installed new interior doors and updated all our trim-work. 

I bought them because I knew my grandkids would love them and they truly do. They sneak them away to add to their other toys and also bring them into the bathtub at bath-time. They call them, "guys" and when they inevitably go missing say things like, "I need my guy...where's my guy?" I love that they do this.

Here's the real story though: I bought them for myself. 

I love anything made anthropomorphic. Put googly eyes on a tin can and I would struggle to recycle it. Why? Two reasons. 

Firstly, it's a natural and healthy childhood response. An inanimate object such as a stuffed toy or plastic dinosaur typically functions as a proxy for a caregiver's comfort. I have a terrific photo of my middle granddaughter, I asleep with a miniature Bluey in her hand. They help children regulate their emotions and manage anxiety. I am so heartened that modern childhood classrooms often have weighted stuffed animals. 

And also for this reason: childhood me wasn't allowed to have them. Let's just say it was a strange time growing up in the early 70s and 80s. Maybe my experience was unique but nevertheless it had a weighty impact on me, obviously negative, but beyond my lifelong fascination with such vibrant things now, there was one positive outcome: I had to imagine my proxy companions and thus they became characters in my stories, my writings, my drawings. I wonder if some writers and artists have similar stories. 

Dear friends, here's to the little "guys" in our lives. 

2/31

Links to 1/31 &
the 31 Things Launch Post

I haven't touched my guitar for years. I guess we broke up. But I still love her. Hmm, that sounded a tad toxic, didn't it? 

I believe every home should have a guitar, or something to entice the musicians. Music is medicine, but in this metaphor I'm definitely not your pharmacist. 

The only song I ever truly learned was my favourite Christmas song: Happy Christmas (War is Over). Years later now, I can't even recall the first chord, but I will always and forever sing that song as loud as I can until, well, war is finally finally over. The world needs more John Lennon. 

Despite multiple attempts to gain competency, let's be honest: all my guitar ever did under my mismanagement was hide my stomach. And yes indeed, that's another reason to love a guitar. Perhaps it was because I never practiced? 

None of this matters though. Why? Dear friends, a guitar is a passport to  cool people. Despite my ineptitude, my conviction for music (and all arts), plus my commitment to providing exposure and encouragement means both my kids became musicians! Insert high-five here. Do you know what it feels like when your son can guitar-pick Tears in Heaven or when your daughter can strum her mandolin and move a crowd with her singing voice or when your oldest granddaughter is taking fiddle lessons?! It's pure heaven. 

Here's my point: you don't have to know how to play the guitar (or the piano or the harmonica or drums or some other musically vibrant thing) to alchemy music into the world. Support musicians and artists and soak in their sounds. And if you insist on mastering it yourself, do what another imposter guitar player once told me: pretend you know what you're doing and just play the chords you love. 

Sounds like a good way to live one's life, doesn't it? 

1/31

Link to My 31 Days of Things

I touch this bookmark almost every day. This is what my grandchildren call me. I chose this name, Pops, because to me it sounds informal, approachable, and somehow silly or jolly. M, my oldest grandchild calls me Poppy now. 💗 Also this: who doesn't love a pop? Root beer is my favourite. 

Sure, a bookmark is functional first, but it's like those strings attach me to my favourite five little humans. It was a gift from my son's partner who made it for me because she knows I revere books and reading, but better yet it's labeled with my personal grandfatherly identity and directive: to become (like my own Grandma was for me) an always available trusted someone. Dear friends, they are teaching me how to be a better human. 

Furthermore, don't you love the period? Full stop, it emphasizes that for the rest of my life, Pops is my sentence, in the best possible way, my ambition, my purpose, my vow. 

Thirty-one Things

I'm still pondering vibrant matter. Philosopher Jane Bennett theorizes that things have a sort-of agency—they can "speak" to us, they open windows to memories and ideas, they summon a deeper relationship. Unlike empty materialism which whispers more, better, and next, perceiving matter as vibrant invites us to pay attention, to value our everyday things, and by association ourselves. 

I suppose this ideology is not groundbreaking, is it? But in my past I've struggled with self-worth, and I'm a creative, also inordinately curious and it seems to me there is opportunity in exploring this notion for potential insights and lessons about healthy attachment and interiority and in truly knowing myself. Plus, fellow bloggers in my comments have called things potent, evidence of their survival, and even maps. 

Remember the plastic bag scene in the film American Beauty? Could things—our own and those we encounter—be maps showing us how to be more human? And if you get me (and you're still reading this), doesn't this tired world need more human humans? 

Always inspired to pay attention, be astonished, and tell about it, I'm planning to post 31 days of objects this May, a writing exercise exploring my affinity with things and their provenance. 

Which things will be most vibrant? What stories will they tell? What might (you and) I discover? 

Things?

My aunt is downsizing and so I received a box of my Grandma's things. 

Among her things were pins and broaches and watches...but I am most interested in these stamps and decorations from the bottom of her jewelry box. 

No doubt childhood me peeked into this box over those early years and perhaps that's why the silver leaves feel familiar? What I didn't notice then was how prominently my grandfather's photo was featured among her treasures and keepsakes. Of course it was. He died 25 years before she did, but even childhood me knew they were smitten with each other. 

I suspect these items are connected to missing him, loving him. From letters they wrote to each other? Silver leaves from an anniversary party? They wrote letters whenever they were apart, especially during WW2. And they also loved a good party. 

Philosopher Jane Bennet might say these things are not waste, not simply what is left over after a life, but instead possessing their own power: they are vibrant matter. Bennett's philosophy aims to promote more responsible and ethical human engagement with our world. It's easy to see how her position relates to resource recovery and environmental stewardship, but she also speaks to the interconnectedness between ourselves and so many many things. That makes sense to me.

For some, these items may not conjure much curiosity, but to me they are my grandmother's stories, ones I will never know but can somehow imagine. We all know the power of stories; sometimes that power comes from the things we touch, we see, we linger over, the things hidden in books and boxes and bags and pockets and desk drawers, and the memories they evoke...vibrant matter indeed.

Dear friends, what things, what tokens might tell your stories? 

Bonbon...

Made in Camrose (a small city in Alberta, Canada), these artfully decorated chocolates from Brownstone's Curiosities, are dazzling and delectable. 

Their colours hint at their flavours, but would you have guessed that the green confections are basil infused chocolates? 

If that sounds odd, well, correct, but also: yum.  

Other flavours pictured here include cherry, scotch whiskey, lemon poppyseed, and salted caramel. One might refer to their selection and this taste experience as a bit of a bonbonanza. Amirite? 😜

April is Poetry Month

I adore this strange poem. It disturbs, yet... uplifts too?  

One of my earliest memories is standing (rapt and terrified) next to a cow in bloat. Maybe four or five years old, I longed to run but I couldn't move. A medical emergency, bloat occurs when a cow overeats, the ingested feed ferments and excessive gas expands internally; it must be released or the cow will die quickly. But the men in that field that day (including my father) just paced and grimaced and stared. They seemed to be trying to decide something. I didn't know it at the time, but a veterinarian was on his way. What I recall most clearly was the cow's suffering—its frantic and unrelenting bawling—and although childhood me couldn't fully grasp the procedure and its intensity, finally, finally, finally someone arrived and I witnessed a puncturing and heard the gas release like a balloon deflating. The bawling ceased. The cow stood up.

I apologize for these images which are especially potent for animal-lovers, also for the poem which may be upsetting. But I share these words and this story, because no doubt this experience helped me learn compassion and empathy, key factors in shaping my neurobiology, my emotional intelligence...but something more too, something dark I continue to confront.... 

This formative event thrust me into a degree of discomfort I'd never experienced before and one I never wanted to experience again. Already an anxious and stressed child, this incident reinforced avoidance.  Childhood me longed to ESCAPE and quite frankly, it became my default. I'm not proud of it, but I only have enough capacity to remain in the north field with those closest to me. I soooo admire people, those nurses, and doctors, and counsellors, the firefighters, the death doulas...but I am not a rescuer.  

This is why I appreciate this poem—despite featuring a seemingly imminent death—Gilpin focuses on an alternative perspective, a less sober and severe inevitability—albeit temporary. The poem features no rescuer, just a cow and her calf in a cloudless field, alive. In this poem, I am not the farm boys seeking notoriety, nor the cow or her calf, but instead I relate to the poet.    

Dear friends, I can't save you, and I'm sorry for that, but I will always want you to notice the stars.