27/31

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the 31 Vibrant Things
Launch Post

I gave this clay sculpture to my wife as a wedding present. It's us. At least, that's what it meant over thirty years ago. Yet many years later, I realize it signifies much more than I ever understood then. I like the premise that time + reflection = wisdom and thus this vibrant thing and its meaning has matured with us. 

Look closely: those two figures are forever young, kids really. Appropriate considering that regardless of age, we do this wonderous life once, forever novices to new experience—starting somewhere, facing unknowns, stumbling along, learning our way. 

Notice they're not smiling. We humans default to fun, seeking sugar and satisfaction, but like the saying, easy come, easy go; we build a stronger relationship if it's based on more than fun. Life behooves seriousness too.

Notice they're leaning on each other but looking different directions? Love means learning to support, rely on, and trust each other...knowing we are not alone helps us cope with struggles...but we are also individuals who bring unique strengths and that helps us be a team, to thrive more than just manage. She lifts me up and I coax her down from the clouds. 

Notice the flowers? Whatever circumstances we encounter, both desirous and dreadful, if we pay attention, we both know there's always something beautiful (humorous, positive, educational....) in the delightful design of things.

Notice they're clay? We're unfinished. We—our relationship—must adapt, evolve, must "go back 3 spaces," "take a trip to Reading Railroad," or "advance to go and collect $200." Life will make us and mold us and remake us again and those are the costs of personal growth (and Monopoly). 

26/31

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The 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

I find it quite remarkable that today I'm a mere FIVE years younger than my Dad.😶Although decades have passed, I understand him so much better now that we're the age of brothers instead of 30 years apart. 

He was tough, had unnecessarily large hands and eyebrows, and laughed like his lungs were hiding old air mattresses. His nickname was the Grinch, but his heart grew many sizes in the presence of two things: machines and his grandkids. All things with engines were most vibrant things to him. So in his later years, he combined those loves and made toys.  

The summer after he died, our little family took a road trip and visited the Alberta Reynolds Museum. Their motto is "Celebrating the Spirit of the Machine." If ghosts were real my Dad could have haunted this museum—the Ford Model Ts, the first snowmobiles (huge), a 1940s helicopter, early 20th century tractors—there's nothing more he would have enjoyed. 

While there, we bought this little tractor soldered together from a spark plug, nuts, and copper. My kids and I knew instantly it was the perfect souvenir, a truly vibrant signifier for my Dad. Soon after that museum visit, I called my Mom and told her how much Dad would have loved this museum; she surprised me when she revealed he had visited it once, with a friend. I thought, whoa, maybe he is haunting it? 😉 

Sometimes now when I look in the mirror first thing in the morning, I see my Dad there—his eyes, his cleft chin, and yes, even a version of his eyebrows, ha. Dear friends, who says we can't time-travel and who says we can't continue to have relationships with those we've lost? 

25/31

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the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Years ago, I started a new job and quickly became close with a new colleague about 15 years younger than me. Becoming more connected, we discovered we have common Scottish heritage; he showed me his wedding photo, proudly donning his kilt. During that conversation, he asked me about my kids who were teenagers at the time. With a smirk, I didn't hesitate to say, "I wholeheartedly recommend marriage, but kids? Not so much." 

Little did I know he and his wife had just learned she was pregnant with their first child. Yup, insert foot here. I can be a tad too candid, even flippant sometimes. He didn't reveal the pregnancy until a few months later and we laughed about my comment. Why did I say that? 

We're not special; all families face all sorts of challenges, but sometimes, if you know what I mean, the phone call is coming from inside the house. But raising teens is behind us now, so today, would I say the same thing about having kids? 

I have thought about this a lot. I have sorted through my feelings. I have written words, words, words, and more words. I'm older now, and I've changed. Fortunately, the past is settled, frontal lobes have fully formed, we knitted ourselves back together, we've all grown—sadly, not all families find their way back to each other. Speaking of evolving, my daughter gave me this book during her first pregnancy and made this vibrant thing even more meaningful by filming herself reading it.😭

So as they raise their own children now (and only if they seek my perspective), I tell them my truth: being a parent will test you like nothing else. And you will fail. Repeatedly. So be prepared to fail at what will become the most important job you never imagined you'd be so terrible at. You will be triggered. You will be uncomfortable. You will need to confront your own shit. And it will hurt. And it may even break you a time or two. But it will still be worth it. 

24/31

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the 31 Vibrant Things
Launch Post

Although I've never experienced a house fire, my entire community was once threatened by wildfire. Sadly, most of us can tell similar stories nowadays.  

So today, I chose a fire hydrant because it's a profoundly vibrant thing but unless there's one in your front yard, I bet you (like me) may struggle to pinpoint where exactly they are in your neighbourhood. Related to this topic, how many firefighters do you know? I know one, but he's not inclined to discuss his work, or even broach the subject other than this: he deeply values and trusts the people on his team. This makes me curious. 

Let's contemplate fire hydrants. What do we actually know about them? 

Quick research reveals they are typically colour-coded according to water capacity, even type of water (potable or not). They are flow-tested at least twice yearly and are replaced approximately every 50 years. Apparently, in Canada, they are pressurized to keep the water below the freezing line. 

All this adds up to key community infrastructure produced and maintained thanks to our taxes, an investment in security, a safety net, an insurance policy we hope we will never need. This implies that fire hydrants are abstractly future-orientated, so is that why we don't pay attention to something so valuable, so key to our well-being? And what else do we take for granted?   

Until we need those fire hydrants.

Of late, I've grown weary of people who seek more and more and more, heedless or blind or willfully ignorant to all they already have. I'm not referring to those seeking solutions for important social issues we should all rally to improve: education, health care, poverty, injustice, inequality, and so on, nor am I suggesting that the status quo remain uncontested. I'm speaking of those who will never be satisfied....

Perish the thought their houses were burning. But no matter—my fire hydrant will always be my neighbour's fire hydrant, even if my neighbour didn't notice there are fire hydrants all over this safe and thriving and cherished country, even if my neighbour feels somehow cheated and maltreated by our community. And the firefighters? They won't think twice about rushing into their homes to save them no matter the ideology that makes them perceive themselves as hard done by... and I hope you know, dear friends, I am not just talking about fire hydrants. 

23/31

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The 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Nope. 

My partner and her friends are rarely without (spiked) coffee hence this Wayne Gretzky Maple Cream in our kitchen. But let's be clear: it was a gift. 

Since the US Orange Toddler King called Canadian hockey legend Gretzky a "good friend...who wants to make [Trump] happy," CBC news has reported his popularity among Canadians has decreased about fifty percent to 35% favourability. Around that time, thousands in Edmonton, Alberta signed petitions to rename Wayne Gretzky Drive, the road next to the old coliseum where he led the Edmonton Oilers team to win four Stanley Cups in the 1980s. What's that saying? FA¯\_(ツ)_/¯FO 

Canadians paid careful attention to how Gretzky responded to the Liar-in-Chief 's 51st state blathering. If you can call it a response, Gretzky said, "I'm just a hockey player." 

Hmm. Sure, Jan.  In fact, Mr. Gretzky, you are also a corporation that sells liquor and clothing and hockey sticks, all vibrant things that were once meaningfully connected to pride and identity for most Canadians. Isn't it curious how many leaders seem to have suddenly lost their voices? It makes one wonder if they were ever leaders at all? 

Following is one of my favourite quotes, an idea I truly affirm: "you are the average of the five people you spend most of your time with." In my life, choosing my circle carefully, has made all the difference. We Canadians continue to make choices about the many circles that integrate us with the US. We know that someday, US citizens will replace Kim Don Un and the majority of us will dance in the streets with them, but until then, we will do those necessary little things because they continue to all add up to bigger things. 

22/31

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the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

I don't have much fashion sense, but there is one thing I like: odd shirts. 

See those astronauts floating around on one of my favourite t-shirts? They make me smile. But can shirts be vibrant things? Yes, I think they can. My son can't resist t-shirt sarcasm/ comedy; for his birthday this year I gave him a t-shirt with a bull logo and the text, bull shirt. 

Maybe I like weird shirts because I was a kid in the 70s &80s? Maybe it's because the brain loves novelty? Whatever the reason, they make me feel something...? Authentic? More confident? Playful? Yes to all. 

But mostly? It's a bit of a mental-health boost. They uplift. They spread a little much-needed happiness in this sorry world. Plus, I just realized they align with the tattoo on my right arm: sursum corda, Latin for lift up your hearts. 

Dear friends, wear your heart (yourself) on your sleeve, and chest.

21/31

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the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

A long-ago wedding gift that's been displayed in our home for decades, this is a photo of a lithograph print named "Moonlight" by London-born artist Peter Ellenshaw. Who are the people in the boat? Why are they sailing in the moonlight? What danger are they escaping? 

If you look carefully, my reflection is visible in this photo, inserted and absorbed into this "story." I wasn't sure how to represent today's vibrant thing but then I remembered that Ellenshaw worked in the film industry, specifically for Walt Disney.

No doubt many of us in North America count Disney as formative in introducing us to the movies; many of my generation remember Sundays at 6PM when the Disney theme song invited us to eat our ice-cream in front of the TV and watch Goofy steer that camper around that treacherous mountain yet again or watch wunderkind Jodie Foster (a favourite) escape danger while running circles around the adults.... Sure enough there's a Reddit thread exploring similar memories. These were my early experiences with film-related vibrant things, absorbed in a magic I will always be captivated by and am forever grateful exists for us all to engage with, enjoy, and be inspired by.   

Despite being an introvert, this appreciation for films compelled me to minor in Drama. Dear friends, do not assume studying drama (or any of the arts) is impractical. Those courses truly helped me improve essential life-skills including speaking, listening, presenting, improvising, problem-solving and especially creative-thinking. But I especially loved scene analysis, studying text and subtext, and using it to create the behind-the-scenes props and sets—the stage craft, the art direction. Artists who arrange the locations, the sets, the props, the look, the feel, the identity of a film setting...they're creating a emotional landscape, which results in a kind of art-therapy alchemy and finally this leads me to the magic. 

Film-makers create spaces and characters and ideas fundamental to pondering (even solving) the mysteries of our lives and who we are. Good films are magic, and if you pay attention, that magic is hidden in the details. And those details...details that suspend our disbelief, cause the world to slip away, immerse us, possess us, invite us to become lost and somehow also found within the story. 

It's a trip, isn't it? It's why we love movies. For some, certain genres are especially effective at achieving this alchemy, but today (stay with me), I want to elaborate on this using the horror genre. You see I have a soft spot for horror. Whoa, I just flinched at my soft spot word-choice and so I googled its origin and it has something to do with a baby's fontanel AND NOW my imagination just fused that with the horror genre AND NOW I'm completely freaked out by my own thoughts.... As you may have deduced, it doesn't take much for me to be get absorbed. Sorry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Dear friends, horror movies are particularly powerful at creating vibrant spaces; those dire landscapes are often metaphors for pervasive human struggles. One recent example is the last chapter of Danny Boyle's apocalyptic zombie film saga, 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple. Is it dark, disturbing, even deranged? Yes, but it's also a metaphor for overwhelming grief (personal and collective) and a lantern of hope in the dark emotional landscape we currently live in.

For example, a vibrant thing featured in the film is a record-player and an album that somehow survived a virus-based apocalypse in what was the UK. Do you remember Duran Duran's song, Ordinary World? It's a profound ode to loss, disguised as a 90s pop song and it's oddly perfect for a horror film. Hearing that haunting song played by a lonely man in a bunker surrounded by human bones is a nightmare, but it's also an act of defiant rebellion, an act of human perseverance, and much-needed hope in a world (our world) gone mad. That's magic. And that's what film-makers do. 

If you're interested in contemplating how Ordinary World compliments the horror genre, listen to Joy Williams haunting version, lyrics included:

20/31

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The 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

As I've been exploring in this series, it seems to me that vibrant things do in fact possess a power over us: "philosopher Jane Bennett theorizes that things have a sort-of agency—they can "speak" to us... open windows to memories and ideas... summon a deeper relationship." 

So could someone tell my kettlebells? 

I would like them to speak to me like my pea-brain imagines a personal trainer would similar to my 1980s (old-school) PE teacher who would watch some of us attempt various sports and shame us with his literal groans, ha. 

Why won't my kettlebells yell at me and demand I lift them, repeatedly, until I finally morph into the muscular gymbro I was always meant to be? Er, who am I kidding? I just want to live longer and it's my kettlebells' responsibility, right? I'm sure they're well-versed in the facts about aging and muscle loss and protein and grip strength and longevity and other such jargon that bores me—I'm an English major and the only word I like in this (run-on) sentence is jargon. (Actually I quite like the sound of longevity as well.) 

But let's be honest: my not-so-vibrant kettlebells don't give a shit about me. (Insert my old PE teacher's shame groan here.) Do they help me? No. They just sit on their rocker-recliners ,watching TV. (Sometimes I watch with them.) IYAM, at this point they're more like dumb-bells because all my kettlebells do is silently mock me. 

19/31

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The 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

This green ceramic pig with wings sits on a table in the corner of our living room at the front window, looking outside. No one in my family knows this, but this vibrant thing has a job. So shhhhhhhhhh.

I saw it in a home decor store years ago and it said, "buy me!' Also this: "if you buy me, you're an idiot." Also this: "You know you're going to buy me so stop fighting it...you idiot." Also this: "I'm hilarious and stupid and unnecessary and you know that's why you love me!" 

I circled that store like six times trying to leave without this pig, and then it whispered, "I am the middle finger to everyone who ever told you that whatever you thought you could be or do or become was IMPOSSIBLE." 

And so I bought it. I swear the cashier stifled a laugh as I paid her... maybe $29? BUT IT WAS WORTH IT. 

Hear me out: like, who doesn't need a pig with wings? Dear friends, do not believe the naysayers: PIGS FLY! All the time! If you are paying attention, here we are living in a world of everyday impossibles: texting and refrigeration and antibiotics and driverless cars and facial biometrics and contact lenses and hydraulics and vaccines and contraception and pasteurization and the scientific method and deodorant... just look around. 😶

But there's something else about this pig: I trust him—he helps me cope with letting go. Purchased around the time my selfish tender heart was grappling with both our kids leaving home, I fretted how was I supposed to live without them? Sure, I wanted those teens to get the H out of our house then, but would we ever be together again? I could imagine many irrational things that might interfere, might make it impossible for us to be together—crimes, disasters, death—but let's be honest friends, never once did I imagine a pandemic BUT THAT HAPPENED, so irrational thoughts or not, insert smug face emoji here. 

The pig looks out the window because (like me) he's waiting for my son and my daughter to return home. And whenever they both do (with silent relief), I turn this winged pig toward our living room to watch us talk and debate and laugh and eat cupcakes and play games and now our grandkids are here too and all of this is joyful PROOF that despite all the possible ways that this harsh world might plot to prevent us from being together again, we are somehow together anyway and yes dear friends I'm grateful that the impossible is indeed possible. 

18/31

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the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

My oldest grandson turns three today. He loves diggers and blue, so I hope he enjoys this watercolour I painted for him. 

The subject certainly suits him: he's endlessly curious and also quite mighty, a bit of an immovable force—it's challenging for him to change directions sometimes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

He has incredible language skills, can sing Bridge Over Troubled Water (!), and drops the best malapropisms like, "For Pete's Egg" and the "finish lion" (plus this favourite, lol). 

He once said to my wife, "Nannie, I love you with all of my blue blue heart." He's a a bit of a budding poet (after my own heart) so I love introducing him to new words; sometimes this has unexpected outcomes including a recent FaceTime call—he spotted me and said, "Hi Hossenfeffer [sic]!" If you're a Bugs Bunny fan, you might appreciate this reference. 😅

I love being his Pops, and am thankful for the opportunity to be a better mentor to all my grandkids than I was for my kids. Raising my daughter and son, I made 13065+ mistakes but the biggest one was perhaps thinking I was protecting them from what I experienced by pressuring them to be better than me. Children are who they are; they will be who they'll be. 

I didn't comprehend then that my vibe was more judgmental than constructive or curious. But now? I just accept my grandkids as they are and encourage them to lift their hearts as they dig into life and marvel at this one awesome extraordinary opportunity to be. 

17/31

Links to 16/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Educators know that it's very special when a student leaves something on your desk: a note, a treat, a drawing. My favourites were always the drawings. Is there any more precious vibrant thing than a child's drawing?

As a former educator, I cherished and displayed them all and somewhere I have a box full of them. Even better, some of my former students pursued careers in art and now a few of their art-pieces are displayed in our home. 

One such original art-piece is this portrait of an early-model typewriter made by this fun-loving creative. As you may or may not know, a portrait typically represents a person, focused on their face, but portraits are not always people. Whatever the subject, it's about capturing the essence, the personality, and in this case, it's obvious that this typewriter has seen some things and has many stories to tell. 

I adore this typewriter. Why? I love to write and I love art—it's the perfect combo and especially meaningful considering that I taught this student high-school English and Art. I also adore the artist, not just for her talent but also for her generosity. To compliment the newspaper column I wrote for decades, she urged me to start a blog. At the time (over 15 years ago), I didn't even know what a blog was, but her encouragement became this creative, reflective, uplifting, sometimes therapeutic space to grow, a life-long lifeline. 

I have no idea what I did to deserve this gift, but I do know this: sometimes the student is the teacher. 

16/31

Links to 15/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

My apologies...but sometimes vibrant things contain strong language. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This fridge magnet makes me smile. A surprise, the gifter accomplished more than making me laugh...isn't it something when a gift makes you feel seen? 

If you know me virtually or otherwise, you probably know that reading is never a trivial pursuit for me. One might say that with regard to reading, most days, I'm booked, 😆 (Sorry.)  

So if you interrupted my reading? The truth is I'd probably never say this (aloud) to anyone, but I do LOVE how this clever novelty item subverts stereotypes about readers who are also introverts aka us quiet folks. 

Speaking of quiet, I highly recommend Susan Cain's book, Quiet, The Power of Introverts. If you identify this way and you're unfamiliar, her research provides healing insight and a handy game-plan for how to live in this (loud) world made for extroverts who may not fathom that loneliness and solitude are not the same thing. For me, solitude is most often the safest space.   

A quote from Quiet: "Some of our greatest ideas, art, and inventions—from the theory of evolution to van Gogh's Sunflowers to the personal computer—came from quiet and cerebral people who knew how to tune into their inner worlds and the treasures to be found there." I'm no Darwin or van Gogh but I do know this rich and treasured inner world and I must say, it's lit (softly, and with literature). 😅 (Sorry.) 

15/31

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the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Probably similar to most bibliophiles, I have several bookends including my favourite, a pair of elephants my daughter gave me. But THE ones in this photo are pretty special too, definitely vibrant things. 

I am a sucker for any art that incorporates or emphasizes text—if done subtly, it invites curiosity or boosts the interpretation, or as with these bookends, it invites playfulness. 

Fun fact: the word THE is the most common word in the English language. It does a lot of language heavy lifting: it typically announces nouns in sentences, positioning those nouns either before or after the modifying information, such as those revealed in this famous quote from poet Robert Frost, "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." 

It seems to me that because it can position persons, places, things and ideas either before or after, the word THE essentially acts as a bookend itself. Whoa, eh? Insert mind-blown emoji here.

If you're also a dork who adores words, you might appreciate this YouTuber, Robwords. 

14/31

Links to 13/31 &
the 31 Things 
Launch Post

These are my two favourite neckties. Like all vibrant things, they tell stories. 

I purchased the Stewart clan tartan in Halifax, Nova Scotia at The Citadel, an important Canadian historical site. I bought the other tie in one of the most beautiful places I've ever visited: Taormina, Italy. 

But the real story behind these ties is their connection to my son, who's celebrating his birthday today. 

I traveled to both the aforementioned locations with my son, the first one a family vacation and then to Italy as a supervisor on his high school travel excursion. In Halifax I bought two types of Stewart tartan and he chose this one. In Italy, I bought two hand-made similar-looking ties, ones I reasoned would never go out of style, and let him choose first. 

One might say these pairs of ties are twins: different, yet the same. Whenever I wear either of these ties, I think of him, of us, and like the day he was born I wonder, how did I get so lucky? 

They say that we fickle men change ideas like neckties, but my hope for all fathers and sons is that the idea, the story of us, endures. 

13/31

Links to 12/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

This is my newest flat cap. (Insert giddy smile here.)

Dear friends, do some research on why men wear caps. Yes, there's some controversy (a certain red cap comes to mind, insert barf emoji here). But head-gear is not necessarily a signifier for intimidation or rebellion or tribalism.  

I grew up on the Canadian prairies where baseball caps were the norm, practically prescribed at birth, and although most of the men in my life wore them—my father, my brothers, my uncles, some of my friends—I knew they didn't feel right for me, with one exception: a gentle cap-wearing man I much admired. More on this below....

In the meantime, I became an educator and I swear that the most contentious and lengthy topic at my very first staff meeting was about enforcing the hat rule. It's disrespectful! It's uncivilized! It's profane! Sigh. Suddenly I wanted to start wearing a cap. 

But nope. Instead I enforced the stupid rule and sometimes it undermined forming connections with the teen boys I was attempting to convince that Hamlet was more tortured intellectual than massive whinger. (Spoiler: he was both.) Coincidentally, this same topic was discussed at one of my last staff meetings, THIRTY-SOME YEARS LATER. After about a decade in education exclusively working with teachers, I had returned to the classroom and was shocked that this hat ideology nonsense was still a raging debate. Puh-leeze. 

By then, I was wearing my own head-gear. Why? I became a Grandpops! I always knew if I ever had the privilege and joy of joining this club, I would wear a flat-cap to signify this most important milestone, to embrace aging minus the grumpy disposition, and most importantly, to emulate my own gentle grandfather. Side note: I must admit I was so removed from the hat culture loop then that I hilariously misnamed my grandfather's flat cap, lol.

Thank goodness hat ideology has evolved (more of this in schools please) because dear friends, my flat-cap is all sorts of fit mental health vibes: gratitude for my favourite five, pride in my identity, a daily mental health boost, and a most meaningful vibrant thing. 

12/31

Links to 11/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Do you have an LED neck light? If not, my condolences. You see, I always wanted to be the bionic man, and now I am!  

And you can too! 

If your eyesight is declining and you can't find anyone to hold the damn flashlight, or you're an artist, a dentist, a jeweler, a plumber, a human with eyes, and especially if you're an avid reader, this vibrant thing is a terrific aide (especially for reading on the treadmill), a part-time assistant, and kind of a low-key superpower. I say get one now and boost your vitamin see. 

Sorry. 

P.S. I'm learning from General Butler that war is indeed a racket, a scheme, a swindle, an extortion.... But my neck light—that's legit! 

11/31

Links to 10/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Christmas lights? Nope. 

They irk me. 😡

Yes, it's irrational, yes it's unfounded, yes it's ironic, yes I'm not proud of it, and yes, you wouldn't think deep breathing is necessary but yes, it is. 

Also this: I know I'm not alone in being riled by these truly vibrant things—things that should evoke celebration, joy, peace, contentment, but instead, they make my blood pressure spike. 

My reasoning? Let's be honest: they can be a cumbersome chore. I once read a news report about a man who attempted to untangle his Christmas lights and after hours of strained patience, he finally got his hand gun and blasted them...then his neighbours reported him. Yes, too far dude, but isn't there a tiny part of you...?

The main reason though? THEY JUST CAME DOWN YESTERDAY. Yesterday. 

Our relentless snowfall, our mini ice-age finally melted (like, last week), and it took a few days to get around to removing them rage-yanking the Christmas lights off the tree in the front yard. Side note: imagine a Maypole dance scene written by Stephen King—that would be me circling our ten foot tree as I unravel a string of Christmas lights (oh jingle bells) seething all the way, deep breathing all the way + 18 swear words, lol. Sigh.   

Here's the kicker: my wife absolutely adooooooooorrrrrrrrrrres Christmas lights. I'm happy they make her happy, but this also means my dark, destructive thoughts (irrationally longing to be vented and affirmed) must remain inside, inconspicuous, and in-check, or risk becoming infamous. 

Here's my point, dear friends: in marriage and partnership things like clutter, or dishes, or laundry, or thermostats, or tchotchkes, and yes decorations too...well, let's just concede that one person's vibrant thing might be more torment than blessing. 

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

10/31

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the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

If you also live in North American, a happy Mother's Day. 

My mother died more than a decade ago. I've rarely written about her, but when I do it's a curated approach. 

Since today is dedicated to mothers, it occurred to me to write about her, but what vibrant thing, what meaningful object would best represent my mother? What do I even possess that belonged to my mother? 

My mother was a mystery to me. I'm not sure if I ever really knew her? Oh sure, I can describe her well, but her identity? She remains elusive. 

My aim here is curiosity, not disrespect; I have emptied myself of past bitterness. Many (most?) parent-child relationships are complicated, sometimes forever uneasy. Parents often do not share their inner lives with their children, at least not deliberately. Who am I to judge? 

My wife and I were in a greenhouse this weekend and she asked, "what's this beautiful flower?" I explained they were dahlias, known for their vibrant colours, impressive symmetry, and lengthy summer blooming. I added that although they are not perennials (in our climate), the bulbs can be stored inside in the winter, then replanted to regrow each Spring. But then something occurred to me...why did she ask me? How did I know this? 

Because my Mom taught me. Her favourite thing was the outdoors: the garden, the trees, the veggies, the flowers, the bees... is this why the trees and grains and flowers fascinate me endlessly? We may have never developed a deeper language between us, but we could speak flowers. That's something.

9/31

Links to 8/31 &
The 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Art-making materials are the most vibrant things.

Artists sometimes refer to the muse—an apt way to express the relationship and that alchemy that occurs when the materials meet the maker. It's a mysterious bond both abstract yet tangible. 

You have a favourite psychologist, right? Mine is Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (MEE-hy CHEEK-sent-mee-HAH-yee), who researched creativity (and happiness) for decades; he coined and studied the sports and arts concept flow. 

During the flow state—a personally defined goldilocks zone between what we find too easy and too hard—time (and trouble) disappear as we become absorbed in a fulfilling task. In connection with our goals, whatever activity prompts and sustains this zone for us—marathoning or driving race-cars or cake-decorating or sewing or performing on stage or refinishing furniture and so on—Csikszentmihalyi declared that flow "transforms a random walk into a chase."  

I find that phrase "random walk" compelling. That's it! For me, art-making is a flow experience, a rapt random walk. 

A fitting metaphor, I have learned to value the walk—the process—as much as or more than that elusive product we artists chase. Regardless of my original plans (my goals), the random walk is about getting absorbed, even lost in that flow zone, creating something surprising, unintended, serendipitous... the fluke I sought all along. As in all valuable relationships, this requires trust. Like a soapstone sculptor trusting something hidden within the stone itself (the seal? the turtle? the fox?), the tools, the muse—they too will provide something vibrant, something more than at first imagined, something connected to happiness.  

Dear friends, what inspires you to find flow? 

8/31

Links to 7/31 &
the 31 Things
Launch Post

 Do you know what these are? For those in the know (people over 40?), let's call them the before-the-internet-Internet. Like, imagine if Wikipedia weighed at least 80 pounds. 

Yes, several years ago I acquired a set of encyclopedias from the year I was born! Yes, they're old-ish and outdated-ish but these vibrant things are a portal to my childhood curiosity. 

Childhood me hopscotched through them repeatedly. I especially remember the maps with their plastic overlays and various gripping entries including cartooning and human reproduction, lol. 

I also pondered the people/polymaths who contributed such wide-ranging information...how did one obtain a (dream) job researching random things? Is this why I changed my undergrad minors every year? Is this why I completed a Master's Degree in Interdisciplinary Studies? Hmm, coincidence? 

Considering encyclopedias were once my first personal library and a legitimate authority for credible knowledge, I asked AI a somewhat personal question: are you founded on old encyclopedias? 

The response? NO. "AI is not primarily based on old encyclopedias. While they form a tiny, curated fraction of the data used for training...encyclopedia content is minimal: while some digitized older encyclopedias might be included in the, say, (10^{12}) parameters of a massive training corpus...[more like] the relationship is reversing, with traditional publishers like Britannica transforming their curated, old-school knowledge into AI-powered tools...." 

Well well well. This world-choice, eh? Minimal vs massive? Hmm. Is it just me, or do you also sense some "pissing-match" type tension here?  

Dear friends, when AI becomes fully sentient, I suspect we may need to fight back using "the old ways" and thus my old-ass encyclopedias might just help us save the world. 🤔

7/31

Links to 6/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

I tend to save cards I love. Once, my wife gifted me a card with a couple holding hands...one is labeled Artsy and one Fartsy; I'll let you determine which of us deserves either moniker. 

But it's not just the card in this example: c'mon, it's the Swedish Chef! 

Like many Gen Xers who raised themselves, I grew up on TV The Muppets, also fish sticks and tuna and Miracle Whip and Cheez Whiz and the Bionic Man and leaded gas, etc., so these characters are MUCH MORE than puppets to me...they're my people? My clan? My Proustian mind-trip support-group? 

The questions marks are intended to help me sound a tad less pathetic and/or psychologically suspect. But let's be honest folks: we're all kind of pathetic in this regard, aren't we? We all irrationally stan some musician or sports-hero or scientist or pandas or Moira from Schitt's Creek, yet in my case I also reserve ample room for Animal, Kermit, Beaker, Miss Piggy... and at the pinnacle of my crush is the one and only Swedish Chef. Bork. Bork. Bork.  

Why? Let's be honest: I could rely on them... for escape and humour and companionship and specifically the Swedish Chef for his erratic physical comedy and mild violence aka the nervy mayhem craved by a powerless, lonely kid. That's healthy, right? Don't answer that because I've already introduced him to my grandkids. Insert (smirking) sheepish face here.

Who says that pixel on screens are not vibrant things too? Dear friends, who has this elevated status among your pixel friends?

6/31

Links to 5/31 &
the 31 Vibrant 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 31Vibrant Things 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 Vibrant 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 Vibrant 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 Vibrant 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 Vibrant 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. 

Let's be honest

(uncharted territory feels very 2026)

My GPS either needs an update or it's a Robert Frost fan, because it seems to me it chose the road, um less graveled?

Sorry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Crews

as seen on the outside of an adorable
kids' appliance-cardboard-box fort

I'm still so uplifted by the crew from Artemis II. 

Fresh from space, they spoke so eloquently and warmly about each other and their team experience, their lifework, an incredible legacy.  

Moved, Astronaut Christina Hammock Koch praised her team, describing the four of them surviving and working and relying on each other as "inescapably, beautifully, dutifully linked." She continued, saying this about observing "tiny Earth...a lifeboat [suspended in] the blackness...I know one new thing...Planet Earth: You. Are. A. Crew." 

Inspiring. I heard her, and I needed to hear it. Dear friends, we are a crew, but let's be honest, back here on Earth, our planet is not so tiny. And unlike those astronauts hurtling through space for ten days on a mission, we don't have to be inescapably joined to recognize our value to each other. To me, her key word was dutiful. 

Think of children making forts from their cardboard boxes and couch cushions. Remember those fun spaces? They felt novel and energizing, like drawing a magic circle around your squad, your peeps, your crew. But then it happens...someone is excluded, or the older siblings would arrive... (mean? jealous? suspicious? power-hungry? insecure? intolerant? controlling? bored?) and for whatever stupid reason, the fort is destroyed.

We humans are messy, complicated, fearful, puzzling—essentially children at times—and there's no possible way we can all belong at once to one crew. Yet most of us know we have a fundamental duty to each other and when we live in service to our own and others' well-being, there can be more peace among our crews, among us all. 

Fed up?

Fuel your body & feed your mind.

I've been thinking about breakfast for supper: it's refreshing, uncommon, even a tad disruptive. 

I'm interested in disruption, in being unruly. Aren't you? 

If you're thinking that my example isn't exactly rebellious, you're correct. It's a meagre example, but the sentiment is what's important. 

I've been reading some terrific books, two classics. 

1. In Letter to my Father, Kafka denounces his father's callousness and cruelty and yet never shares the letter with him. However, for over 100 years now, we the public can read it and perhaps feel a bit emboldened, a bit inspired to challenge authority, even an authority that has provided much but is stuck by mental rigidity, discord, and selfishness. 

2. I also read Camus' The Stranger, and it's clear now why this book is a philosophy must-read. The protagonist is so damn frustrating; his entrenched mindset leads to his downfall, but that is Camus' greatest maneuver: we readers must ask ourselves why we think so differently and then wonder perhaps are we just as entrenched in a status quo? 

I bet Kafka and Camus liked breakfast for dinner.

Dear friends, haven't we had enough of the current (and appalling) status quo? The chaos? The corruption? The unchecked oligarchies? The nauseating greed? The shame flung at the Pope for not endorsing war? WTAF? Is it finally FINALLY time to eat this chaos for breakfast? 

I think the world has had enough; recent backlash feels different. I know feelings aren't facts. I know. I know. How dare I be optimistic in this economy? But isn't optimism itself rebellious? We are made to feel small and powerless in this doom culture but we can still read and write and tell and resist and persist and vote and boycott and protest and multiply and amplify those voices likewise fed up.