Things that deserve the stink-eye:

A pumpkin-spider-crab, aka "Gourd." 🤣

This year Halloween felt free and I was a bit inspired by the cheery nonsense so I thought, let's give those trick or treaters pumpkin to talk about. 🎶

I'd rate my creation 8 tenths adorable and...maybe 2 tenths nightmare? One kid called it cute, another assessed it as...eww. 🤣

Free Halloween

Halloween is for kids, right? With this in mind, I thought you might appreciate this sidewalk art, produced by a kid in my neighbourhood. I adore kids art, don't you? 

I watched a clip recently whereby the person interviewed (I can't recall whom) said this about Halloween, "[paraphrased] compared to all the other holidays, it's the best day: there's no finding-the-perfect-gift, no cooking a giant meal, no extra pressure. It's freeing, it's just self-expression."

Before this, I hadn't thought about Halloween in contrast to other holidays. Sure, I've always appreciated its costumes, its candy, its movies, but the predominant purpose is someone else's enjoyment, specifically kids. That's the entire point. Right? 

Hmm...maybe not? 

Why do I feel this way? [Insert big pause here.] For me, Halloween has always felt a bit too extroverted, too turbulent, too chaotic, too... (insert English-major trigger-warning here) Dionysus and not enough Apollo. Right? 

Dear friends, I could bore you with the reasons for my childhood hang-ups here, but I will close with this: there are some things I need to unlearn about Halloween. What's that saying? "Remember that the opposite of depression is not joy—it's expression [author unknown]." Happy Halloween to all the kids today, but to YOU I say: feel free to also do your thang.

Lapels

Sometimes I'll read something and it grips me by the lapels and stares at me, demands my attention, and when I attend, it grips my shoulders and turns me another direction so that I'm looking at the world anew. 

That, dear friends, is the power of reading and why I love it.  

Sometimes what I've read is profound, and other times, not...BUT even when it's not a revelation, it can be a novel distraction prompting my (pea)brain to say, go there and poke around. Hence the rest of this (crafted before this introduction) is (mostly) stream of consciousness. Let's go:

 

I saw the following comment on another writer's blog post, one in which she had added a selfie: "you have kind eyes" (I agree) and the invitation to reply, aka start a conversation. It made me think. And think. And think. The comment is not so unusual, but in this instance? It hit different. It registered. 

My reply:

1. Is there a better compliment? Not today—at least I can't think of one—what a fine compliment!
2. Do I have kind eyes? Hmm, I don't recall anyone ever using that adjective to describe my eyes.  
3. What have people said about my eyes? When I was in Junior High the girl who sat in front of me on the bus said, "your eyes are steel gray-blue." My heart thudded.
4. Don't most people have kind eyes? Yes, kinda. In various interactions such as when the baker hands me the cake I ordered (typically transactional)...those are kind eyes, but bona fide kind eyes? There's something else there, something subtle, something beckoning, something calm yet charged. What is it?  
5. What other words describe eyes I've encountered? Playful. Mischievous. Winsome. Sparkly. Attractive. Squishy. Sharp. Dismissive. Guarded. Pleading. Cold. Drunk. (Just first thoughts...all creatives should avoid judging the brainstorming process, so I am trying not to overthink these word-choices.)
6. Whose eyes do I deem kind? My grandmother had kind eyes. But it wasn't just her eyes...it was her voice too, her proximity.
7. Do most people actually (searching for the right word here...searching...) ratify compliments, or do they (like me) dismiss them? I wonder. 
8. They seem to have big egos, so do narcissists actually need compliments? First thought: Trump. Insert barf emoji here. 
9.  Are kind eyes impossible to fake, like could someone wholly unkind have kind eyes? Yes, I think it's possible...looking at you Netflix, and your ongoing (problematic but compelling) obsession with tweaking serial killer narratives with redemptional arcs to sustain us all while we navigate this age of (legit) horror, if that makes any sense at all? Anybody?
10. What's the best compliment I've ever received? *scanning... deflecting... scanning... dismissing... second-guessing... scanning....*

Dear friends, feel free to respond to any of these questions. I'm curious about how your answers may grab my lapels. 

Moved

I haven't attended an arena concert since 1991 (Sting), so the Sarah McLachlan concert this past weekend at Edmonton's Rogers Place was...overwhelming, good overwhelming. She performed with the band Tiny Habits; combined they just might be the sad song music therapy epicenter, lol. For a guy who read this book as a beacon to the shadows, let's be honest...all the feels, all at once. 

Things have changed since 1991. Mostly me. This time, sober, conscious, I brought a well functioning (mostly) frontal lobe. But my brain still wanted to play games. The venue? The crowd? Yikes. Massive. This introvert's initial reaction? Fear. And the Dad in me kept waiting for the event safety spiel, lol. But soon I forgot because somehow, Sarah made it feel cozy. 

I have a list of musicians I've longed to experience live: Sarah was third. She's a one-of-a-kind Canadian treasure of a human and her concert did not disappoint. Imagine being a child with hearing loss and becoming a global award-winning performer who used her mastery of sound and voice and language to change the world. (See the Lilith Fair documentary.) 

I had hoped she would perform her cover of Joni Mitchell's song River (Mitchell is the #1 artist on my list). Yet with every hit, old and new—her voice like a weighted blanket—I soon forgot and then she sang a favourite: Ice Cream. 

Years ago I sang this song to my kids at bedtime. If you know it...your love is better than ice cream...better than chocolate...better than anything else that I've tried...that might seem fitting but this song—deceptively simple and upbeat—is also dark, and most importantly, honest...but everyone here knows how to fight...how to cry...it's a long way down to the place where we started from.... That's why I love the song: it juxtaposes exuberant delight with that abrupt anguish inevitable in all our relationships, the mirth and the melancholy. She did not sing her crushing song from Toy Story 2 either, but she did sing a song she wrote about her relationship struggles with her daughter, entitled Gravity. Oh wow. 

While waiting to vacate that massive arena, a stranger asked me what I thought of the concert. Sheepishly, I told her I cried a few times. She nodded and smiled, "you were moved." I'm still moving. 

Dear friends, what's moved you lately? 

Things one should never outgrow:

Thank you M, L, i, and little m. 

 the still life—however you define it. 

Thanks to a delightful week of playing with and tidying up after my grand-turkeys, I have discovered toys arranged in both haphazard and intentional (?) ways. 

What's happening here? Is this still life some sort of a minikin movie set? Or perhaps a precarious attempt made by tiny labourers to repair a massive dinosaur statue? Or is it a time-traveling Lego robot attempting to tap a dinosaur on the shoulder? Maybe warn him about that huge asteroid? Hmm....

Whatever the artist's intention, the still life invites closer inspection and contemplation. Children have a way of reminding us how joyful it is to pay attention to the world, to notice, to wonder, to imagine, to discover, to be curious. They can also make us long for the still life—a little peace and quiet, ha. And then (at least for me) to wish for them to return and liven things up because a (still) life is nothing if not fleeting. We only have so much time to compose our stories. 

As the inimitable Oliver Jeffers said, "The universe is not made of atoms; it is made of stories." Dear friends, what (stories) are you noticing? 

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Yes, I have 4 snow shovels. Don't ask. 
If you live in the North,
are you prepped for Winter?

 the forecast.

Our current high today in northwestern Canada is 4 degrees Celsius. With the wind? -5! Tomorrow's high? 2/35! 😢

Hence, the snow-shovels are out of the storage shed again. Sigh. 

Dear friends, this is not flake news. 

Things one should never outgrow:

Thanks for the reminder, L. 

politeness, charm, civility. 

Potty-training is challenging, but my grandson is teaching me a few things I suspect we should all review periodically.  

After his first BM in the toilet, and before he received several Smarties, my grandson (altogether sincerely) had this to say about that first flushing, "Bye-bye poop. Have a good day." 😄

 

Prescription

One of my favourite actors, Robin Williams famously portrayed Dr. Oliver Sacks in the film Awakenings. It seems to me there's a lasting alchemy in this convergence of two humans who greatly impacted the world.

A doctor, a professor, a writer, Dr. Sacks described himself as "agonizingly shy" but he developed a strong bond with Williams who much admired Sacks' gentle genius approach to neurology, informed by science but rooted in human connection. Williams loved that Sacks saw people, not patients and it's clear Williams infused this character trait in his film performance. 

Dr. Sacks wrote about his own struggle as a patient in his book, A Leg to Stand On. After a serious hiking injury, Sacks felt "legless" and disconnected from his body. Unable to walk for months, Sacks ruminated on his lost identity. Many years later, no doubt Williams ruminated in a similar manner as he secretly battled a form of dementia and its inevitable impacts to his quality of life and his legacy. Sadly, we all know what happened next. 

I miss these men in the world. 

Dr. Sacks' legacy is in his writings. He describes methods whereby a patient might cease to feel "the presence of illness and the absence of the world, and come to feel the absence of illness and the full presence of the world.” But how? The film Awakenings explores this, but Dr. Sacks promoted a more everyday method to achieve the full presence of the world: he prescribed garden visits. 

Is there a better place to at least temporarily forget what bothers? Dear friends, just wondering: have you been outside today? 

Quilted

In Canada, September 30 is National Truth & Reconciliation Day, also known as Orange Shirt Day. Most schools and government offices are closed. 

In my community, to recognize and partake in ongoing reconciliation between Indigenous peoples and settlers, local school children designed quilt squares which were knitted together and displayed in solidarity.

If you're unfamiliar with this growing Canadian tradition, watch this CBC Kids video featuring the founder of Orange Shirt Day, elder and author Phyllis Webstad. Confronting racism, her story and growing activism has changed our country for the better. 

Lessons in Time Travel & More

During my morning hike yesterday, I suddenly remembered another September walk along a bluff of trees in my childhood school playground... shuffling along with Marci and my other Grade 1 classmates, led by my first teacher. 

We collected leaves. She instructed us to gather different colours, shapes, and sizes, to listen as our rubber boots crunched over them. Next, we sat in a circle along the trees with our treasures in our laps, and oh-so-beautiful Mrs. Pochipinski smiled, then invited us to smell our autumn leaves.

This morning's episodic memory experience has me wondering. What prompted this memory? Why was it so sudden and so vivid? Science teaches that our senses are linked to the brain's limbic system and those neural pathways are responsible for memory, thus our senses can trigger time-travel, especially smell as it connects more directly to the limbic system. 

Yet, while walking this morning, I don't recall any particular smell. Perhaps today's falling leaves unconsciously evoked that same smell from Grade 1? Or was it the same time in the morning, the sunlight and colours just so? Or a combination of all? 

I'd like to think there's only one answer to my questions: Mrs. Pochipinski. 

It's clear to me my grade 1 teacher designed an engaging lesson about the human nervous system, one that employed ALL our senses. Revisiting it felt like happiness. But, did Mrs. Pochipinski—hired and entrusted to lovingly exercise and build our brains—intend for this to happen? A first-year teacher, did she intentionally aim to not only engage us in the novelty of Fall's beauty, but also fast-track our new sensory knowledge into long-term memory? And wouldn't it be fantastic if she knew that someday, somewhere, she'd also be responsible for a little morning hike time-travel moment? Yes, yes, and I'd like to think also yes. For my low-key obsession with trees, and for my straight up obsession with description, thank you, Mrs. Pochipinksi. 

Dear friends, teachers make magic. Please support the important work they do. 

Things one should outgrow:

source

 groaking.

 Is this word new to you too? 

To groak (verb) means to stare longingly at a person who is eating in hopes of being invited to join in/them. 

Hmm. Someone starving? Of course. A child? Certainly. A pet? Perhaps...

But what if it's fries?! I have lots of thoughts: 

1. *gives the stink-eye*
2. Back off there, bud.
3. Get your own fries.
4. No.
5. Why didn't you order fries?
6. Look, I'll order more.
7. Just a few.
8. Okay that's enough.
9. *silent seething*
10. Groak off! 

UFBs

discovered in a child's
playground toy 
(insert horrified face here)

My son and I have spent decades marveling at bugs, especially those that attempted to ambush us, scare us, kill us. Yes, that's hyperbole; we reside in Canada, not Australia. But still. 

One of my son's first most complex utterances was, "Look dad, BIG HONKIN' SPIDER!" 😂 'Twas. 

These days we just text photos to each other: evil Spruce/June bugs, big-ass (honkin') spiders, and UFBs aka Unidentified Flying Bastards. 

This reminds me. No shade to the majority of the population, but I am astounded at how many of you folks belong to various group texts. I cannot endure text chains. Occasionally I experience momentary fomo, but (to me) most group texts feel more sad trombone than thrilling announcement. They're like urgent emails on Friday afternoons. Or like ringing someone's doorbell—not to socialize with them—but more like to stand in their yard. Ugh.

My son has similar feelings. But, and I bet he'd agree, I'd join a group text whereby participants simply share a photo of the bugs that attempted to slay them. Relatable, or um, no? 

Dear friends, do you enjoy group texts? Or UFBs? Also...if this post (ironically) feels a bit group-textish, I apologize and, as always, no comment is expected nor required. 

Caturday, kinda.

Thanks, M. 

I don't own a cat, but my 4-year-old granddaughter does, so if you're into Caturday (or need some light-heartedness), here are her adorable cat drawings. 

How do you like meow? 😀

Wait, wot?

Wait, wot? 

I swear this main-character-energy mushroom wasn't here yesterday?! I've read that some mushrooms can double their size in 24 hours, but this mushroom? She got quantum leap skills.  

Aren't mushrooms bizarre? They're fascinating. Wikipedia informs me this is a "coprinus comatus" aka the appropriately named "lawyer's wig, or shaggy mane fungus." 

Like all cunning villains, this character wears a wig, proving she's involved in some nefarious subterfuge, popping up into the garden, a stealthy baddie up to no good. It's like she's superbly styled by the genius artists from the series, Wednesday. 

If you're thinking, pea-brain put a leash on your revving imagination, here's the most astonishing fact I learned about her: "this mushroom is unusual because it will turn black and dissolve itself in a matter of hours after being picked or depositing spores." 

Wait, wot? If you look closely, she's already dissolving! No doubt she is currently popping up (right behind you) in your garden (insert Thing's soundtrack here). 🤣

Things that deserve the stink eye:

I know I'm a little late sharing my perspective on this embarrassing book-banning debacle, but I am so enamored by this Handmaid's Tale themed clap-back (above) from Canadian icon, Margaret Atwood (writer, historian, scholar, 85 year-old bad-ass) that I couldn't resist sharing it with readers here.

If you're unfamiliar with the context, here's my take: instead of collaborating with duly elected and trained Alberta school boards, school administrators and librarians (who have provincial jurisdiction over choosing appropriate school-aged reading materials), our provincial government leader, Premier Danielle Smith, yet again capitulated to the pearl-clutching anti-library lobbyists/zealots currently sweeping across North America intent on removing books they deem "woke." 

Using new guidelines from the Premier's Education Minister, one school district's list of 200 banned books was published just before school reconvened and the understandable backlash was swift and far-reaching so now this government has an international public relations disaster to contend with, lol. Titles banned included classics by Maya Angelou, Judy Blume, and Canada's favourite, feisty, freedom-loving Great-Aunt, Margaret Atwood. 

At first the government admonished the school district labeling their list an act of "vicious compliance" claiming it never was a book ban. Uh, nope to that fake news. The school district was simply following the new guidelines...cut to now...the government is amending the order and "leaving the classics on the shelves." 

Please know that this is not who we Albertans are. Like all democratic citizens, we value freedom of expression. Of course, school materials should be age appropriate; however, lobbyists don't get to decide for us. 

Imagine in 2025 thinking books are corrupting children. If children have phones connected to WIFI, well (insert face palm emoji here) we all know what they may encounter...so, I'd much rather they read (almost) any book they want. Even if, as Margaret Atwood joked in her first reaction to the list, "it might set your hair on fire" kids, lol. 

One more cherry-on-top to this well-deserved political drubbing: there's been a spike in sales of these banned books, lol. I've read lots of these titles, but I too will be shopping in the new "vicious compliance section" and continue reading while my hair burns. 

Maps

Well done, M. 

My 4-year-old granddaughter already loves to write. 

When I was a preschool kid, I drew. I loved to draw maps: houses and roads and streets and rivers and ponds and trees all from a bird's eye view. I believe my grandparents had an atlas which introduced this concept. So I drew my maps and told stories about the people who lived there. I'd say that's early writing too, or as it's sometimes called in the education field, "dwriting." One might call it simple imaginative play too, but it's also a solid form of therapy. 

When I did begin writing with letters, you might think I wrote the stories conjured from my maps. Nope. I wrote lists. When our family traveled, I would list the name of every town and city and roadside attraction we encountered as well as the odometer reading at each location. (Call me early google maps, ha.) When my parents discussed those trips with company later, they would use my list to recall details. I finally had an audience. This thrilled me. Always the odd kid out, I suddenly had an identity in my family. 

Eventually, my lists became more complex and—thanks to TV and Stephen King's books—typically morbid. There was no audience for this phase. I would write a list of character’s names then cut them in strips to prepare for a random draw to discover which one would be disfigured in a terrible accident or who would lose his mind (or hand) and be sent to an institution for the criminally insane or join a circus. I recall being completely rapt by these lists and stories. Time dissolved. I once wrote an entire lifetime of a set of characters in a point form list. 

You might think I really enjoyed all the writing assigned in school. I did enjoy it; I didn’t take it seriously though. They didn’t want lists. And I wasn’t a particularly skilled writer either. My teachers constantly pointed out that I would often leave the “y” off the word “they.” Here’s a sample sentence: “The enjoyed the trip the took to the Rocky Mountains.” Not so smooth, eh? 

Eventually, I studied writing in both my undergrad and graduate degrees. I love teaching writing strategies to kids, and yes, they typically involve drawing, and other easy-access approaches. I want to assist them in unlocking and sorting their thoughts, ideas, and feelings. I now know that writing is just one option in the positive psychology toolbox. 

Most of my writing now is (once again) therapeutic. For an overthinker like me, it's seeking solace, and like those maps, helps make my journey more meaningful than melancholy. 

Dear blogger friends, when did you begin writing? Why? For what purpose? 

Just the Right Amount

A sister to M & L, 
and a cousin to I. 

Especially after false labour way back in the first week of August, it's been quite a holding-pattern of a month waiting for our newest (third) granddaughter: 9 lbs and 9 days late! I'm so impressed by my daughter's resolve.  

But she's finally here: another M, her name a nod to my Grandmother and her middle name for my daughter's grandmother. Imagine being so fortunate to be named after two grandmas...that seems to me like just the right amount of grammatude, and I can't wait.   

Parched?

Flowers? Collectively adored. 

At his film's release, director Michael Angelo Covino, said this about his latest project (Splitsville) and the theatre-going experience: "it is so important that we [have spaces to] laugh together." 

That resonated. 

When was the last time you laughed together with a group of strangers? 

Thanks to our phones, it seems to me that modern collective experiences are typically fragmented, often encountered alone. Plus, they seem predominantly negative, rife with distractions, misinformation, political upheaval, and disasters, thus the modern desire to withdraw, isolate, and protect ourselves...alone.

A Gen X kid I definitely grew up alone, but I also recall sharing most of life's emotional experiences collectively, both positive and negative. We all watched the same weekly TV shows and imitated them. We all knew the Vulcan salute and said, "Nanoo, nanoo." I grew up loving The $6 Million Dollar Man so fervently that most of the playground stunts my classmates and I did, were in slow motion. Even outside my grade, these behaviours were common to my entire school community, and I suspect some of you reading this can relate? That's a key difference between then and now: community. 

A couple of weeks ago, I asked my adult son if we could watch Happy Gilmore 2 together. He grew up on Adam Sandler movies and, back then, we watched many comedies together. The film, as expected, was delightfully stupid, a genre we can both get behind. But the point of that experience? Nostalgic bonding.  

It seems to me that the modern world is sorely parched for bonding opportunities, especially among strangers. This made me wonder: what do we all collectively adore? Flowers? Kittens? Will Farrell? Silent Book Clubs? Hockey-playoffs?...?

And how might we bring back bonding? 

Things one should never outgrow:

Itchy for kitschy?

 

 

recess.

I've heard it said that travel is like recess for adults. You don't have to go far to enjoy recess, do you? 

Are you enjoying a recess (staycation) this year? 

A Field

Cindy Revell

On impulse, I bought a little painting. The artist is someone I grew up with. We lived across a field from each other. This field. Or so it seems to me. As soon as I saw the painting, I remembered biking along my childhood road looking across the yellow (canola) to her house.

There can be much ado about a field. As poet James Hearst says in Truth, "How the devil do I know if there are rocks in your field? Plow it and find out."

It seems to me that when you leave a place—especially that first place—you carry it with you: the sky, the soil, its rocks (plowed and unplowed), the light, the heavy, the love, and the pain. 

It seems to me that art carries all this too, that interiority, acting as a kind of proxy for the told and untold stories, and ultimately a means to plow a field in one's heart. 

Ready.

I was texting with a friend—she parents slightly younger adults than I do—and she shared that her youngest son's first year of university was rough AND THEN he was diagnosed with ADHD. But that information changed everything: the meds greatly improved his life. She's celebrating his improved health with simultaneous relief but also that parenting classic: regret. She wondered, what if I had helped him sooner? Yup, another parenting classic: wished-for clairvoyance. 

Like all honest parents, she needed some encouragement, so I reminded her that we parent in draft-mode. In this life-long research project called raising adults, we sometimes (oftentimes) don't know what to do. Beta-mode means that parenting is perpetually under development and yet the important, timely decisions must often be launched without adequate testing. Toss into the chaos all the ever-changing variables (age, gender, personality, knowledge, skills, experiences, finances, support or lack there of...) and it's a wonder it ever works. As a therapist once explained to me, "AT THAT TIME few resources were available." True. So, I also reminded my friend that parenting is fucking hard and heartbreaking and fantastic and worth it and like the weather (sometimes) it's all these things in the span of 24 hours. 

She thanked me for being wise, LOL. Nope. I just know this is true. She does too. 

But. 

She will continue to worry. 

And so will I.

Parenting will TEST you like nothing else, and you will fail repeatedly. Experience taught me that to be a good parent, you need to understand your own shit first: fears, anxieties, trauma, prejudices, flawed thinking, magical thinking, blind spots.... (I did not.) And you need strategies. (I had few.) Nevertheless, you will need to believe your influence has worth even when all the evidence says it means shit. And by the time you have all this knowledge and all these skills, they've already moved out. 

So fellow regretful parents out there, chins up, okay? Because here's the more important thing: despite our own entangled feelings, our young adults still need us sometimes, and we better be ready. 

Rewards?

Just as tasty as these scones. 

My chocolate scones? Let's just say they were here one minute, the next, scone!

Understanding this joke depends on whether you rhyme scone with Gone Girl or Game of Thrones. Either way, delish, also compelling entertainment. (Isn't it the worst when someone explains a joke? Sorry.)

Do you ever make something SO TASTY, you are tempted to immediately snarf it all down your gullet? If so, relatable. Humble brag newsflash however: I did not eat them all, nor did I even taste one before I shared them. Yes indeed, I'm a hero. Or maybe it's just progress? Or is it something else? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mention this because my latest scones have me pondering short and long term rewards/goals. 

Let's be honest: I HEART SHORT TERM REWARDS, but I know the marshmallow test has proved that those who can resist quick temptation (1 out of 3) have better long-term psychological, health, even professional outcomes. Or that's what we've been told...hmm...maybe this experiment is just another conspiracy orchestrated by Obama and Hillary Clinton? *rolls eyes*

I jest; my aim is not to undermine this experiment's key role in extending our collective understanding about deferred gratification and success, but let's be honest: if I had been one of the original marshmallow test children, I WOULD HAVE FAILED IMMEDIATELY (maybe even made s'mores). 

Why you ask? Because at any moment my much older brothers could have burst into that two-way-mirrored room, threatened violence, and SNATCHED my marshmallows, then slowly and dramatically eaten them in my face (without consequences) like every other day of my childhood. Again, I jest (kinda), but culturally, what if you were a deprived, neglected, or anxious child? I suspect a few others can relate? (I'm talking to you kids whose youth was more Stranger Things than Bluey.) 

Hmm, now I'm imagining the adult versions of those long-ago (1972) well-adjusted gratification deferer-ers aka kids with matching socks. I bet they all work for Big Pharma Long Term Reward Ltd., or some other nefarious corporation filled with superiority-complex, pearl-clutchers...er, never mind: given the current state of politics, I retract this statement unequivocally. Please PLEASE please OUT with the glut of ME FIRST ME NOW ME FOREVER leaders addled by unrelenting vainglory. 

Sigh, I digress. Here's my point: perhaps some instant gratification is less pathology, and more (just enough) self-care. With that and happiness in mind, here are some short term rewards I'm currently indulging:

• reading.
• journaling and blogging.
• YouTube travel vlogs & comedians.
• eating healthy, trying new recipes, & sharing treats with others.
• wearing my flat cap on walks.
• hanging out with those mini-masters of self-gratification, kids & toddlers.
• adding a new song to my playlist every day. 
• sawing.🤣
• remembering.
• paying attention.

Wordfuse (golf-edition)

“Did that go in? I wasn’t watching...."
Happy Gilmore & also me

fairway + wayward = fairwayward (adj) If you golf, the definition is obvious. Sigh. 

Once weekly yearly I golf, and yet I'm still shite. It's shocking because I'm a sporty guy. By sporty I mean I'm a good sport, but I can't do any actual sports. 

Sports I've tried: skiing and cornhole. 

Sports I like: skiing, walking, floating, lifting rocks to examine what's underneath. Sure, only one of these is deemed an official sport but let's be honest, that sounds symptomatic of a poor imagination. Isn't picking saskatoons a kind of sport? Snowmobiling? Reading? Painting? Lawn-mowing? Surviving Winter? Not to brag, but I excel at these. 😜

What do you "excel" at? 

Places to Go

Clever.

On their way through Saskatchewan, some good friends texted this hilarious t-shirt design, lol. Well done Tourism Saskatchewan. 

These friends are currently moving home to Nova Scotia after 30 years employed in Alberta. Working for decades in the Canadian West is a familiar story for those of us born out of the province, but especially those from the stunning Maritime provinces: New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and Newfoundland. I'm sad to see them go, but we will visit them someday soon. I'm also a bit jealous of their cross-Canada travels, a dream many of us Canadians possess although the east west trip alone is about 8000 kilometers. (This reminds me dear Canadian friends, did you know you can now buy Terry Fox's shoes?!!)

Their trip is more necessity than tourism, but like many Canadians choosing not to travel to the US this year, it's an opportunity and the right time to explore a corner or two of Canada's 10 million square kilometers. This summer, our new federal government initiated the Canada Strong Pass, so Canadians (especially young Canadians) can experience our country by rail. There's so much to marvel at here at home. 

For US friends interested in visiting "The [Forever] True North Strong and Free" this summer, there are many wonderful places to see and experience. And if you find yourself in Saskatchewan, you must get the t-shirt, AND if you want a unique, some-say-weird, one-of-a-kind experience, visit my favourite Saskatchewan oddity. If you dare. ;)

Wordfuse (shut-eye edition)

 (noun): slept + skeptic = those who doubt they'll sleep through the entire night, or whose history has shown proper uninterrupted shut-eye to be elusive aka more four winks than forty winks. Sigh.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tree Gazing

As my oldest granddaughter once said, "Happy New Day, Pops." It is indeed. The saskatoons are ripening— my favourite sign of Canadian summer. Happy Canada Day, friends.  

Science says even looking at trees boosts your mental health. What's your favourite tree? Or berry? 

Welcome interruption?

Thanks, M. 

The world is (extra) a lot right now, so here's a smiling dragon my toddler granddaughter drew for me. 

You're welcome. And may this interrupt your doomscrolling. 

(Ever think about how our phones are kind of like our refrigerators? The fridge pictures displayed tell about the best goings-on in our lives: first ultrasounds, wedding invites, Christmas family pics, travel photos, love notes...but the pictures in our phones often mirror the worst goings-on in the world. Dear friends, don't forget to spend a little time reflecting on your fridge "algorithm" too.) 

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Dopamine Party? Not so much.

whatever this is aka cottage cheese (high-protein) no-flour pumpkin loaf, lol. 

I believe it was Homer Simpson who said, "the first step to failing is trying." ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Constructing

iron wheels waiting in
my son's yard for something more

My son works in the trades. He builds things, always has. It's about math and physics for him. First he obsessed about Lego, then wood, then technology, then guitar, then sheet metal, then iron. My favourite of his creations? He welded an iron bird house, lol. The humour's mine, but the skill? It's genetic, thanks to my Dad. 

I've welded exactly zero projects, so I guess that means it skipped a generation? Not really, I build things with words (and sometimes other ingredients too). The grandfather, this father, the son—our default mode is creative but preferred mediums are personal.

Why this craving? It's a problem-solving fixation. Like my Dad, my son applies this skill to things, then enjoys that accomplished feeling. Similarly, I like to apply problem-solving to ideas and behaviours. If you read this blog, my (over) thinking obsession with comprehending this confusing world might be obvious. So...if you're still reading this, I applaud you. 🤣

I mention this because I just finished reading The Molecule of More. The molecule in question? Dopamine. The book clarifies the difference between dopamine and those other handy brain chemicals/hormones: serotonin, oxytocin, endorphins. In a nutshell, the latter three are here-and-now orientated whereas dopamine is future orientated. Hence the first three react to novelty and affect daily mood. They are released when we experience those so-called little things in life: walking in the sunshine, petting a purring cat, and a spicy chai latte. But dopamine? It's about anticipation.

Dopamine motivates us to leverage resources to achieve/complete something pleasurable, something not yet attained, something more. Dopamine is all those coins Mario collects BUT especially leveling up. It drives addiction and creativity and it is both taxing and gratifying. Furthermore, some brains are apparently wired to be more here-and-now while others are dopamine forward: my father, me, my son. That's why completing this paragraph—after much drafting, re-reading, redrafting, and revising—provided the dopamine hit I sought. I hope that makes sense. 

A final detail about the book: there's a chapter on harmony and what we should know about dopamine and mental health. Not surprisingly, we need a balance between here-and-now needs and future-orientated wants. Guess what occupation most helps us humans achieve that? Construction. Essentially, although our brains default to dwell in immediate rest, relaxation, and delight, it's being productive that promises more durable happiness. 

Dear blogger friends/creatives, it seems to me that this is why we blog. As we react/write/sort/tell about the (chaotic) here and now, it helps us construct a hoped-for future. 

What are you constructing?

A Real Slice?

When life gives you melons, maybe you're dyslexic?

Sorry.

It's a remarkably large watermelon though, isn't it? Some might even say, uh, one-in-a-melon. 

Sorry. 

Gotta go eat watermelon; no more melondrama. 😜

Thursdays

Recently, thanks to another blogger, I experienced the "psychological relief" of learning the oh-so-apt name for what we're all experiencing in the 20s: hypernormalization. This is that feeling of dread and powerlessness that permeates our modern lives as we endure daily chaos written off by those in power as uh, I don't know, Thursday, so we square our shoulders, endure, and continue our daily lives amidst the pervasive instability, because uh, what the hell can we really do about it anyway? Sigh. 

So I'm taking a break, sort of a psychological relief break. Let me explain. 

While watering the front garden yesterday, a butterfly landed on me. Oddly, I gasped. I think I reacted this way because it's very 2025 to deem this incident as the ominous opening "butterfly effect" to yet another shitshow. But no. Just what I needed, it took me out of my head. I love it when nature taps me on the shoulder. Delightful. 

Despite everything, what else is delightful? Let's go there. 

Words. Words are delightful. So is corn-on-the-cob and trees and the northern lights and ice cream and garden spaces and when women wear kilts in curling competitions and wedding vows and music and art and the human eye (each so startlingly unique and beautiful) and history class and movies and hilarious one-liners and Lego and librarians and architects and artists and writers and ee cummings and books so moving they shouldn’t end and deep-fried fish and chips and Scotland and Ireland and the Maritimes and Montreal and the wide Saskatchewan horizon line and waving grain and frogs and northern Alberta’s long, long summer days and a freshly painted room and golden hour and watching people open presents and (controversial) tuna casserole and The Swedish Chef and bork bork bork and making cupcakes and cookies and giving them away and haircuts and sleeping in and lavender and poppies and rabbits and snowmobiling and skiing and long walks and picking saskatoons and wood furniture and my bed and my house and my flat-cap and CBC radio and sudden rain and sticky-note pads and my grandkids and the countless ways my spouse, my children, and their children enrich and fortify my ordinary (extraordinary) life, and friends too, playing dice or Ticket-to-Ride or texting memes and when human facades fade and when we admit our stupidity and interdependence and people who don’t condemn others and don't complain just for the sake of complaining and people who understand being neighbourly and Dolly Parton and nurses and people who care for the elderly and my past and present teachers and every teacher my kids ever had and grandmothers and people who snowplow or can fix your AC and people committed to improving the world peacefully and self-deprecating people and comedians and unifiers and people who volunteer and people who are honest, people who encourage without ulterior motives and especially how sometimes the world seems to conspire to make me butterfly happy and oh ya, run-on sentences—I love run-on sentences too.

Dear friends, there is also psychological relief in naming what you delightfully love. Even on Thursdays. Sigh, it's often impossible to love what's going on in the world, but we can love our way through it. Right? 

Help Yourself.

Thanks, Grandma. 

My life-long relationship with food? Dysfunctional. Someday we may delve into that topic. 

Anyway, current status? Complicated, and healthy-ish, but perhaps not in the (caloric) way you might be thinking. Let me explain.

A Gen X kid (aka 8/10 times without parents), I taught myself how to "cook" all the 70s-80s savory classics: mostly fish sticks, oven fries, KD, tuna casserole, chili, and other box/ package/ can-opener inspired meals. (I still firmly believe that most meals should be cooked in one pot and eaten as leftovers for days.) Except for rice-Krispie squares—marshmallows are fun to melt—childhood me never learned to cook anything sweet.

 

After years of attempting to feed my kids (no comparison to my wife's abilities), cut to becoming an empty-nester (about a decade ago). Equipped with more time, knowledge, and skills than childhood me, I decided to join that elusive club of people who made food others actually enjoyed. In most cases, people ate my culinary concoctions with more resignation than reverie. So, always a creative, I began to experiment. I failed. I succeeded. I learned how to make chocolate-chip cookies that are infinitely more popular than I am. 

And that's it. Insert record-scratch sound here. I perfected these cookies and that's all I made for years; it's still my go-to. I call my recipe, 'Small Cookies are Stupid,' because they are. 

But this taught me something more meaningful than recipes. Cooking sweets for others boosts my mental health. My cookies make people happy; happy is not my default mode, but making people happy? Pure dopamine. 

Cut to the pandemic. Remember those tragic and trying 24 months when most humans became more we-orientated than I-orientated? But then thanks to politics and social media 30% of humans went batshit? Sigh. Who didn't need extra dopamine during those days? So I mastered my Grandma's cupcake recipe. And gave them away again and again and again; I made them for my own birthday party this week. Why? Gifting cupcakes boosts my personal growth, and increases my life's purpose and meaning. It bolsters my self-acceptance. It lifts my heart too. In short, everyone is rewarded; IT'S A DOPAMINE PARTY!

Dear friends, happiness is fleeting. But mastering something simple and sharing it with others? Help yourself. 

Imagine a hammer.

Imagine a hammer. Now think history. What were the very first hammers like? What were they used for? To build up or to tear down? To bust or to beat? Although the modern hammer’s design is much improved, its function remains mostly the same. We can use a hammer two ways:

• constructively or
• destructively. 

I was quite young the first time I used a hammer. And despite my youth, immediately I knew the hammer's power: I could smash anything! Especially my fingers. I knew the frustration when I missed the nail yet again. After dropping the hammer on my toes, and off the side of a building under construction, I knew the true weight of a hammer. I know the exhaustion of using a sledge hammer and the satisfying way it cements things together. I know the power I wield swinging a hammer. But I was in my late 20s when a tradesman taught me precision: where to place my hand on the hammer's hand and to position my thumb on the back of the hammer to improve my aim; he essentially made the hammer and extension of my arm. There is always more to learn. 

It seems to me that there are plenty of lessons in a hammer. Perhaps the best is Abraham Maslow’s lesson. In his ground-breaking book about positive human psychology, he quite famously wrote, “I suppose it is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail.”

Everything in this complex world is not necessarily a nail. And we need not always choose the same tools. 

Maybe there’s a different way to think about things? Maybe ______ is not so simple? Maybe ______ is not so black and white? Maybe you haven't completely figured out ______? Maybe your toolbox is missing something? Think about history again. Our firmly held beliefs were false: the world was flat, doctors need not wash their hands, women should not have the right to vote, left-handedness should be "corrected." All these were once "common sense."  

Some people claim to have all the answers (and they often refer to it as common sense). I have always been wary of these people. No one knows all the answers. No one. Not you, nor I. Especially if all you have is a hammer. 

One more thing: this is not about hammers. 

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

🤯

Does the internet know about hot-dog pasta?

Probably. But I didn't. And I still don't (because I'm a baby and I didn't eat it). 

No judging (but kinda judging): IMO hot-dogs should only be coupled with buns and/or baked beans aka wieners and beans. 

Thoughts? 

Things one should never outgrow?

L😍

My grandson is almost two. His vocabulary? Incredible. He can sing the A-B-C song AND Bridge Over Troubled Waters, lol. 

I am not kidding. 

And then there's his enunciation. Impressive, but still developing. Here's what happened:

We were together on the back deck at his parent's home, just us, blowing bubbles and singing songs and reading books. In other words, doing what this toddler and this Grandpops enjoy doing together. 

Suddenly, he yelled, "MURDER!PSYCHO!" 

Startled, I asked, "What?!"

He repeated himself and pointed into the backyard, "MURDER!PSYCHO!" 

As I contemplated what might possibly be going through his mind, his 4-year old sister joined us on the deck from the backyard. Barely noticing her, I made eye-contact with my grandson; bewildered (yet also impressed), I asked him slowly, "L, are you saying murder psycho?"

Unconcerned and a bit slower, he repeated himself for me, "MURDER! PSYCHO!" Then his sister quickly translated, "motor cycle, Pops." 

Let me explain: his backyard is completely fenced in and set back safely from a fairly busy roadway, but louder vehicles occasionally disrupt the peace, especially his favourite vehicles. 

Days later, I am still laughing and I can't wait to enjoy a lifetime of hearing/mishearing his excited thoughts. 

Also this: when did we outgrow randomly yelling the names of things we love? I say my grandson can teach us all how to love life: ICE CREAM! GOLDEN HOUR! BOOKS! GRANDKIDS! DEMOCRACY! 🤣🤔

Things that deserve the stink-eye?

Our lovely river curves like a smile (and a wink). 

What's it like living in Northern Canada?

1. Cool winds are not unusual, even in May. Canadians know that if you wait for shorts weather, your patience will wither. (Just roll with it.) 

2. In 19/20 Canadian locations, the wilderness is rarely more than a five minute walk, in any direction. (Just get your boots on.)

3. Like all the countries I've visited (Italy, Greece, Scotland, and Ireland, to name a few), Northern Canada is just as beautiful as anywhere else in the world, but admittedly, a little rustic here and there. Example? Although our river is currently high enough to hide it, there's an old van (yes, a van*) under those ripples. (Just don't look too closely.) 

(Fl)awesomeness beats perfection. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

*Thankfully, no one was hurt.

FOMO

Our precocious, fast-moving
youngest granddaughter, I. 

Although my grandchildren's personalities are unique (and in development), they all seem to display one common trait: FOMO. 

It's the reason they're so disarming. 

I love it when all three grandkids are together with us, but let's just say I am the JOMO to their FOMO. So when they wiggle their way into my lunch, my laptop, my life... I am summarily overwhelmed and yet also joyously powerless to resist them, similar to Elizabeth Olsen's vibe in this puppy interview, lol. I recall a comedian once remarking that he had no idea that parenting his first toddler would be similar to living with his university roommate if said roommate were drunk 24/7. To hell with boundaries, amirite?

Oh sure, I know how to to gently redirect and distract when necessary, for their safety, for their education, etc. etc.... but at this stage in my life I avoid imposing myself. Why? We earned it: grandparents often take advantage of the privilege to laugh about it and let their parents figure it out. But the real reason? These kids are the nervous system reboot I never knew I needed right now in my life; like the Grinch, they make my heart grow three sizes, minimum. 

Currently, my youngest granddaughter is the perfect age for this puppy-like pandemonium, so that's why I thought she needed to celebrate the way she jumps into life (and off the slide) with both feet; hence, she has her very own FOMO been-there, done-that, bought the t-shirt t-shirt. 

Things one should never outgrow:

new ingredients.

It may surprise you, but that's turnip. This humble vegetable is a staple in Scotland, and thus it reminds me of my grandparents, so I use turnips in savory recipes often. When I discovered turnip is the main ingredient IN A CAKE (Spiced Neeps Traybake from The Scottish Cookbook), I felt compelled to master this recipe.  

Similar to carrot cake's texture, it's an absolute hug of a cake: a warm combination of cinnamon, ginger, and orange zest. Would my Grandma be impressed? I picture her smiling at me so, of course; I could do no wrong. 

Speaking of new ingredients, Canada is choosing a new Prime Minister today and a new federal government. Advanced voting suggests Canadians are engaged in what many tout as the most important election of our lives. It's true; the next four years will be no cake walk.   

My ideal Canadian leader was Terry Fox; although his shoes are impossible to fill, the leader Canadians choose today also faces a marathon. So my hope is that we choose a leader with the right ingredients, like Terry—courage, compassion, determination, perseverance, humility—a leader committed not to advancing himself, but to maintaining what we cherish and facilitating change that improves the lives of others. Plus, a leader who brings new ingredients like experience, knowledge, imagination, and finally, a leader who aims to unite us, a leader we can trust. Who is this leader? He's the opposite of the US president. 

Things that deserve the stink eye?

Looks like this cheeky kid/sidewalk artist was having a lousy day. 

One can only imagine what prompted this child's affront, but no judging: we all need a pep talk occasionally. Perhaps this child would benefit from Moira Rose's special brand of parenting? 🤣

Gaffe-able?

This meme triggered a memory. 

Once, while walking through a park, a person I know appeared from around a corner on the other side, walking opposite to me. There was some distance between us, but upon recognizing each other, we waved and she yelled, “You look great!” 

Surprised, I lifted my shoulders a little higher, and yelled back, “Thanks! You made my day. You look great too!” 

We continued walking, but I noticed her head tilt to one side; she seemed to be staring at me. I thought, wow, I’m pretty hot today, I guess? 

Soon we were directly across from each other, and that’s when she said, smiling, “I think you misheard me; I said you look late.” 

We laughed and laughed. For a while, whenever we saw each other, we would greet each other with this inside joke, “You look great!” And chuckle again. 

Remembering this, I wonder...perhaps the secret to happiness is 1) age-related hearing loss; 2) a heaping helping of self-delusion? Or perhaps happiness is the human connection formed when 3) we laugh at our gaffes? AKA being gaffe-able (gaffe + affable). 😜