It seems to me that children typically start fresh every day. And we adults...do not. And it seems to me that in restoring ourselves, it helps to be like a child, to assume the necessary disposition—open, curious, unfettered, and, er...not so damn uptight?
Dear friends, I know I have been whining about this for weeks now, and I apologize for that, but I think I think I THINK Spring is finally ready to get on the fucking dance floor!
(Sorry...still a tad pissed off.)
Sure, today's forecast high is a mere -5C / 23F...and yes, that's still a heap of smoldering garbage BUT, if I adjust my disposition to childlike pep talk mode, I must admit that it's SO MUCH SUNNIER here FINALLY the sun the sun the sun. Despite the temperature, there's (almost) melting! That's a win! Plus, I HAVEN'T SHOVELED SNOW FOR (nearly) 24 HOURS.
What I'm saying is this: I've lowered my expectations and it's embarrassing but I'm actively summoning some version of childlike ignorance to cope with this interminable transition aka I'll take what I get and pretend the recess bell just rang and call it STARTING FRESH and if you live in northwestern Canada, that the best one can do.
If being less uptight doesn't work, does anyone want to meet up and scream?
Homer Simpson said it so well: "I'd be a vegetarian if bacon grew on trees."
Just a little bacon appreciation post for those who love salt and happiness.
Years ago a friend oh-so-randomly filled a pause in the dinner party conversation by remarking, "Frick, bacon's expensive!"
Well! You probably had to be there to fully appreciate this, but we laughed all night about his well-timed but left-field declaration and FOR YEARS NOW, whenever there's a lull in the game-night or supper discussion, someone inevitably drops this arbitrary statement and we laugh and laugh again.
Dear friends, I hope you and your pals have inside jokes.
Dear friends, I introduce SPRING in Northwestern Canada.
One might call our version of Spring 2026 less of a welcome seasonal change and more of a meteorological paradox. ๐
While other (northernish) bloggers tell of snowdrop flowers and actual butterflies, featured here is the (repellent) view through our lower floor window. Yes, that's our backyard (tomato garden box entombed) and yes, that's the peak of a neighbour's home in the distance.
Although locally quite on brand for this winter, all this flake news has become MORE and MORE and MOREsnowtiresome.
At some point, an iPhone Apple CarPlay update meant my vehicle navigation now features this tiny and instantly amusing vehicle on my dashboard display and it consistently triggers a switch in my imagination so now any road-trip is ALSO A VIDEO GAME and thus I anticipate/conjure various (fun) characters and or obstacles to emerge like MARIO & LUIGI or a YETI (to eat my avatar) or a LAVA PIT or a PORTAL (teleportation wishful-thinking) and yes, I suppose this confirms Iam still a child, also just so you know I'm a tad preoccupied on the road these days. Dear friends, travel safe.
There's so much more sunshine these March days, yet snowfall after snowfall continues. We know there's no point in complaining, but that never prevents a Canadian from griping about the weather. Between complaints though... why not go sledding?
My son (the stuntman in the photo) recently repaired my "sled," a weighty old-school no-name-brand-yellow clunker of a (perfect-for-me) snowmobile. Thanks to him, my clunker has much more gumption.
As the photo implies, my son and I approach snowmobiling differently. One might say we have opposite ways of snowmo-being. He's no fool, but he's more of a risk-taker and quite unflappable. My approach is more cautious, and uh, geriatric. Nevertheless, despite differing "braaaaap" styles, inside us we're experiencing the same emotion: pure joy.
I often say that my son possesses many of my characteristics and all those I wish I had. Did I have his confidence at his age? Nope. Could I repair a snowmobile or anything else? Nope. But I could draw it, paint it, describe it, neglect it, and then buy parts so he could fix it. I believe this relationship is referred to as er...symbiosis, or is it codependency?
I josh. I'm grateful for him. He needs me though too. After we zipped around for a while, I pressed my brake and noticed no resistance. Hmm. This was not overly concerning among the flat prairie fields, but I made a mental note and adjusted accordingly. Later, I mentioned the brake problem. His reply? "Oh yes, I know; I haven't fixed the brakes yet." ๐Perhaps he could have shared that important info pre-braaaap?
I told you he was unflappable. (Or perhaps planning my demise?) We chuckled; we both know there's something I'm a bit better at than him at least sometimes: fundamental communication. ¯\_(ใ)_/¯
M & L waiting together to ride the bumper cars. ๐
human warmth... emotional safety... secure attachment... healthy coregulation... and reminding us grown-ups, just how to be with each other in this sorry world.
Unfortunately, we all know what a clique is. Sure, there are wholesome exceptions—a book club for example—but typical cliques are comprised of people who think tribalism is a personality, people who don't choose their friends carefully or, in short, sheeple—a frustrating collective driven by one or two ringleaders, secretly aching to maintain their fragile egos and dubious influence, buoyed by herd mentality and their gang, all ill-equipped or actively-resistant to thinking critically about their norms, their conduct, their code. One might call them oppressors, bullies, or the cream of the crap.
Does my description bring anything to mind?
Cliques are exhausting. I remember because I've been in them. I think this sort of temporary insanity is commonplace. I've learned my lessons and I'm wary. Decades later, joining ANY group for me is like a passport application: periodically necessary, but references must be involved, and I may never travel there anyway. ¯\_(ใ)_/¯
But whether it's Junior High or 2026, there's no escaping some cliques: here we are again.
I'm thinking about those groups I can't seem to ignore or escape, namely the Alberta Separatists (rolls eyes here) who aim to impose their policies on us other 7.5/10 proud-to-be-Canadian Albertans who have indeed been undervalued by our federal government, but c'mon people there's NO WAY our province would be better off independent from Canada—not to mention solvent—nor would we be independent for long—insert Orange Shitpile Biff Tannen 51st state blustering nonsense here—a reference to another relentlessly inescapable ringleader and his clique of idiots currently in charge of (effing) the (entire) world. Sigh.
What to do though? Defying cliques is exceedingly onerous; they disregard reasoning. I'd be delusional to think this blog post would impact much of anything but nevertheless, I do hope to arm you with a new-to-me clever (and satisfying) language counterpoint to the clique: the claque. What if clique members had a word to ponder their roles as mimicking sycophants, clapping and clapping ad nauseam at their ringleaders' bullshit?
Dear friends, I know it's only a word, but as I've suggested before, precise word-choice impacts worldview, so please use/drop/insert/release this word (like a balloon) as you see fit (sly as a fox).
Whether archaic or zeitgeist-y, unfamiliar words or phrases fascinate me. Currently, I'm captivated by the phrase drag path. Apparently, it's also a social media hashtag...so for those who imbibe in that sketchy pastime, perhaps you were already familiar?
Although I don't know much about this phrase's history, I encountered it thanks to the (fantastic) band Twenty One Pilots who recently released a song bearing this name. Perhaps they coined it?
If you know anything about me, you know I'm an (overly)enthusiastic learner so experiencing this song, this phrase felt...how to describe...?
You know when a much-missed friend covers your eyes from behind...like a makeshift blindfold, then suddenly removes them to reveal themselves? Like that...like a sight for sore eyes, but for my ears instead, ha. I didn't know I was missing this phrase (and this song) because I didn't know it existed! It turned me round. And now I see drag path evidence everywhere. Thanks (once again) to music and language, I'm empowered to identify something that once needed many more (failed) words to describe the profound but typically nebulous after-effects of an emotional experience.
To explain: a drag path is literally the path made during a task, struggle, or conflict—it's a sign, an impression, an earthly scar—somewhat forensic in nature. Metaphorically though? Imagine a grief drag path, or those created by addiction or depression or trauma. And like a drag path through the snow (eventually melted) there's intangible and psychic evidence everywhere. Think about the personal story a series of hidden tattoos might tell. Think about a heart surgery scar. Think about the pandemic's ongoing effects: a drag path of health issues, education gaps, politics, histrionics and loss. Think about the devastating drag paths of this violence and these (endless) wars.
Hardwired to be introspective, I think I've long sensed this idea but I'm grateful to now name it, to recognize it, to help others acknowledge theirs. Sometimes my own drag paths linger like ghostly trails. Heck, much of this blog might be a drag path.
We've all endured something—or we're currently enduring something. This phrase enables us a lens through which to investigate life's inevitable emotional scarring. Who/what dragged us? Did we drag our own feet? At what moment did we stand on our own two feet again? Others may never know our hidden struggles, but whether the evidence is subtle or not, they leave a wake. What might we learn from the wake?
The song features a character's intentionally-left evidence, "I dug my heels into the gravel as evidence for you to unravel," touting some type of rescue. One could insert their favourite saviour accordingly, but the song leaves it ambiguous, resisting a single interpretation. Regardless, what I'm more interested in about drag paths is this: they signify BOTH weakness and strength, surrender and resistance, friction and perseverance. In this sense, some are necessary. And sometimes we rescue ourselves.
Dear friends, contemplate, even examine your drag paths, but remember those struggles also represent survival. Whether it's to signal rescue or pure tenacity, continue digging in your heels.
