Going

"I walk in the world to love it." 
Mary Oliver

Angry? Go for a walk. 

Confused? Walk. 

Overwhelmed? Walk. 

Stuck? Walk. 

Worried? Walk. 

Low? Walk. 

A walk has a way of thawing what's frozen within. Keep going. 

For those who love...

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.   

( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜)

  weatherroneous

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. 😠

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 MORE snowtiresome. 

Insert rage sigh here. 

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

my iPhone made me into an avatar. 

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 I am still a child, also just so you know I'm a tad preoccupied on the road these days. Dear friends, travel safe. 

Snowmo-being

Thanks, son. 

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." 😕Perhaps 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. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Things one should never outgrow:

M & L waiting together to ride the bumper cars. 💗

human warmth... emotional safety... secure attachment... healthy coregulation... and reminding us grown-ups, just how to be with each other in this sorry world.  

Cliques and...

source

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. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

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). 

Let's be honest:

sourdough cinnamon brown sugar bread
(Thanks, T.)

bakery air.

It's basically oxygen, but better, buttery better. 

I fondly recall many places I've visited all over the world but truth be told many of the best spots were bakeries. Montreal. Kensington, PEI. Galway. 

Dear friends, here's to more bakery air in our lives. 

You know you knead it. 

Drag path

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.  

Things that deserve the stink-eye (in a good way):

kiwi fruit. Yum.

Bonus: when peeled one might say they're giving Dr. Seuss vibes. Despite this fair assessment, I will eat them in a box, I will eat them with a fox, I will eat them here or there, I will eat them everywhere... because they're delicious. Not-so-bonus: unpeeled...well you already know what they resemble. 

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyhoo, I mention them because science says the exterior fuzz is just as nutritious as what's inside. 

Therefore, dear friends, as Dr. Seuss might put it, do you nosh them with the skin or does that make your stomach spin? 

To learn more about kiwi fruit please visit this entertaining YouTuber who shares the fruit's history (and takes a jab at a certain world leader, lol.) 

Canadian Mishap

zoomed in to said offending snowflake ;)

Curious to know a little known life-as-a-Canadian hazard?   

Choking on a snowflake. 

True story. 

Mishap occurs more than you'd think. I will never not recommend a brisk walk during a snowfall but if the wind(chill) is blowing a certain direction—the exact direction one must trudge to return home—well, dear friends, don't sing along with your ear pods or risk inhaling those adorable fluffy (damn) (killer) snowflakes. 

One more thing: if it weren't March this post would be unnecessary (even embarrassing) but it's time FOR THE MELT TO BEGIN. Sigh.

A quick reminder:

we all know some words are better left unsaid. Conversely, this adage suggests that some words are best said.

Precise language impacts worldview. Words influence action. So, dear friends, what if you and I—at some point today—released this word like a balloon into this sorry world? 

It certainly couldn't hurt, could it? 

Makers

im-peck-able design :)

Recently, I enjoyed a few hours playing with my middle granddaughter, I. Considering she has a new baby brother, she loved the undivided attention. And me? Also a total boost. 

She has the cutest bedroom; last summer I helped her Mom paint it pink and white. Her Auntie painted big yellow flowers along one wall. Her room is big, with ample space for toys. Although I will always be a fan of big cardboard boxes, stones, and crayons, some modern toys exhibit impressive design. I's miniature A-frame cabin—it has a tiny glowing campfire next to it—ha, I played with its sound effects more than she did! And of course she has a big bookshelf with her Mom's childhood rocking chair next to it. We spent most of our time reading aloud: she brought me book after book after book—this is classic playtime with I. 

But my favourite of her toys? A knitted chick. Imagine the person who created this?! How could you be sad or anxious with this little friend?  

Let's take a moment today for people who make things: artists, creators, composers, cake-decorators, all types of creatives—their skills, their imaginations, their hands. In these modern times of tearing-down, remember and celebrate the people who make things: they empower us, they comfort us, they inspire us. 

Markus Zusak said, "I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that's where they begin. Their great skill is their capacity to escalate." Sad but true, eh? Let's be honest though: the greater skill is to make something that de-escalates this impulse. 

Dear friends, what do you make? Or which maker inspires you? 

Let's be honest:

Thanks, Chris
(for fries cooked in beef tallow,
 and for everything else too).

Everyone should know a guy who

a. knows a guy

b. knows a guy who knows a guy

c. knows how to make homemade French fries.

Dear friends, who's your guy? And what do they know?

Art

Dear friends, I hope you already know that a sketchbook can change your life. 

Because a sketchbook is your very own secret laboratory. Or workshop, or garage. It's your office—perhaps the one you prefer to visit. It's a forge, a factory, a shop. You can lose yourself there, time will disappear, the work is "all." Things will happen and you will begin to see the world anew. 

Some cautions though: a sketchbook is not about perfecting or producing something. Unless you want one, there's no clapping nor silent audience. And it's definitely not (all) about your so-called artistic skills. It's not about good or bad, right or wrong.

Defer judgment. Discontinue criticism. Suspend doubt. Waive embarrassment. Slow down. Think. Observe. Record. Stop verbalizing. Quiet. Calm. Think. Move the dialogue inside. Or silence it. Because, here's the truth: you must must must destroy the gatekeepers of your imagination. 

So, draw. Depict. Experience. Scribble. Write. Paint. Smush. Paste. Cut. Journal. Quote. Recipe. Smudge. Doodle. List. Strikethrough. Ask your questions. Reflect. Swear. Remember. Forget. Free yourself. Experiment. Create. Whatever. Just (verb-intended) art. 

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

"Illegitimi non carborundum."

 Um, why is this printer so rude? 

I have this temporary teaching gig and I'm love, love, loving it. But the printers? They're conspiring against me. I did the HR courses; I know this is low-key harassment. I mean you can't just threaten me with a papercut and call me an MF! 🤯

Indeed, I print too much but it's for EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES you copier gate-keepers. I'm not peddling microplastics or printing guns...I'm trying to prepare pre-service teachers to love teaching and create art and celebrate student self-expression and make a difference in the world...but those persnickety printers? Let's be honest: they've made it xerockward, haven't they? 

Let's be honest

Thanks to a childhood filled with sci-fi/horror books and movies, I am especially intrigued by this "lab" situated near my new temporary office. Sure, my cerebral cortex is like calm down, but also DANGER. And those frosted windows? They certainly add to the potential for an "outbreak" of some design.  

Let's be honest: laboratory is a synonym for a fraught 48 hours from an home-made asylum. Yikes. Remember The Fly (1986)?! (Don't google it.) Hence, that's why I would LOVE to visit this room! Because, mystery. Because, curious. Because pea-brain. 

Dear friends, what in the amygdala do you think's going on in there? 😕😁

?

Um, a snowman...or perhaps a (one-eyed) snow-golfer? 😁

Whatever it is, I love it because I love it when creators resist a huge detriment to their art-making: overthinking.  

Dear friends, what do you think? I glimpse an curious and unusual story here, both in its composition and in its substance. 

Is this good? Who cares? It captured my attention plus it simultaneously disturbed me and made me laugh. That's what art should do. 

Bonus: it also hints there are others out there who might also be losing their minds about the unending snow. Art is always a good way to cope. 

Enthusiasm Fading

Is there any better painter than nature—the way she handily utilizes white? Yet my characteristic awe...it's waning.  

Much chatter about nature here. The snow continues. It's relentless. Where else can we put it? It's everyone's new part-time job. It's like the annoying wannabe bully from Junior High. Could you go somewhere else? However, longing for needed moisture, we respect it...yet we're all studying our roofs with anxious eyes. Some of our neighbours are worse off than us. 😟

Nevertheless,  my spouse and I cleared a section of snow on our roof today. Our home was built to withstand snow. It has an interesting history I should share someday but here's the gist: transported to our community from Canada's Northwest Territories (Great Slave Lake) in the late 80s (then refurbished and remodeled), it's built for the Canadian North. And it's bones? Sturdy. More sturdy than us, in fact....

To ensure good air quality and ventilation, we used a rake style snow shovel and cleared a section above our kitchen and bathrooms. Why? Our vents were under 4-5 feet of snow! The last time we did this, we were 20 years younger! I stood on the ladder and raked snow from the roof while my wife shoveled the snow as it came down. At one point, my pants creeped uncomfortably low so my wife pulled them up for me. 😆 What can I say? We're an unfailing team, and it seems, a part-time spectacle. 

Dear friends, I will never not be inspired by nature's painterly hand, but she's drunk and needs to "brush" off. 😉