Things one should never outgrow:

playing Picasso face, ha. 

Every day children teach us (if we're paying attention) that there are often other ways to utilize objects than their intended design might suggest. Who says Magna-tiles are more about engineering than the arts? My oldest grandson L demonstrates that like all well-designed toys, they are both STEM and STEAM.  

There's a name for this limiting thinking habit: functional fixedness. You know— stuck thinking or perhaps fast vs slow thinking. We all do this. Taylorism and assembly-line thinking is inherent in many systems. In the name of efficiency and productivity, education sometimes teaches us to see (tidy) categories instead of (messy) spectrums. But those spectrums? That's where the imagination goes jet-skiing. 

This is what I love about us humans: for every brilliant monomath along comes a playful polymath from left field. Let's be honest, you know a guy, don't you? Like this guy. 😂 Everyone knows this guy. Or consider *mic drop* this gal. 

I've been a stuck thinker more times than not, but I'm also the guy who once made a hornet sword when I could have simply bought some wasp spray. Efficient? Um, it worked (temporarily), but here's the thing: it was 100% more FUN! 

Dear friends, do you play Picasso face, aka are you a part-time MacGyver, aka how do you avoid functional fixedness? 

Ding Dong

Take 2...not bad...but many iterations to follow.

When my son's fiancé asked me to make their wedding cake, I did not hesitate, "Nope. No thanks. No. Nah. 😕😕😕 Certainly not. Nuh uh. : / I cannot. Are you serious? I reject this premise. Sorry. Noooo sir-ee."  

Then she explained that it wasn't a cake for the guests but a heart-shaped one they would cut for photos and share with each other on their wedding day. 

"Ohhhhhh... uhhhh.... noooo.... welllll... your wedding is a year away, so.... [cut to Brittany Broski tasting kombucha for the first time meme, lol]." Creatives gotta create and I do like a baking challenge: see evidence here, here, here, here, or (ha) here. 

But what kind of cake? They said I could decide but it should be some version of chocolate (like my cupcakes). So I did some research AND THAT'S WHEN I DISCOVERED THE PERFECT CAKE AKA a DING-DONG CAKE. I will let you google that. Two words: ermine frosting. 🤯Whoa! You're welcome. 

But what makes this cake so perfect? Well well, I have been calling my son a ding-dong since he was a toddler (among others things). The inside joke value here is basically five stars, amirite?! (I fully acknowledge and respect that you may be neutral or only mildly amused by this nonsense while I laugh with abandon at what is likely only hilarious to me). Anyway...

It tastes AMAZING. They LOVE it. One problem: *record scratch* now I have to figure out how to decorate a wedding cake. *deep sigh* Okay, yes, I sound like a big baby. Anyway, dear friends, if you have any cake-decorating tips or tricks, do tell, because (to use an accurate nickname) noob. 😉

Something Bigger

"No man can put a chain about the ankle of
his fellow man without at last finding the
other end fastened about his own neck."
Frederick Douglass (1883)

Last Friday, I received these witty vintage buttons and this fine postcard from a fellow blogger. Many weeks ago, she posted about the buttons, and offered to mail them to fellow bloggers. So friendly of her (and completely unnecessary). I love them. And I love her blog, especially for her book reviews, her humour, and her Friday Randomness. 

Across our countries, I estimate J and I live about 3000 kilometers (1800 miles) apart. Throughout my life as a Canadian, I've counted Americans as my friends, my colleagues, my neighbours and I've viewed America as sort of like my rich, famous step-brother, ha. My Dad had deep respect for Americans and loved visiting the US. If he were still alive, I suspect he'd be angry and confused by our current political rift but he would also likely consider it temporary. My fingers will always be crossed for that wish. 

Despite what's changed, I think J's neighbourly gift says something important about being a part of the blogging community: it's borderless. Yet her gesture also says something else. Something bigger. Note the three references in this gift. 

First, J may remember I recently wrote about encountering a Frederick Douglass statue in Belfast. He's one of my favourite Americans, yet his passion for literacy/reading/writing/arts (particularly photography) is something J and I both love as well. As they say, friends have common interests. 

Second, consider what George Orwell teaches about friendship in his (perpetually relevant) magnum opus, 1984. The novel's totalitarian state undermines authentic friendship, relegating it instead to "comradeship" to ensure that loyalty is first and foremost to the Party. Hmm, something about this sounds very familiar in 2026. Sigh. 

Third, what did Emily Dickinson say about friendship? In a personal letter she writes, "my friends are my estate." Now that's a legacy. 

Dear J, I'm sending you something in return. Because, friendship. Despite everything, cheers to ours and to the world's. 

1/8

Meanwhile in Saskatchewan 👊

You know that joke about Saskatchewan, right? Easy to draw, hard to spell. 😜 

But harvest-time on the prairies? Growing and gathering food for the world? No joke. 1 in 8 Canadian jobs are connected to agriculture and the agri-food sector. Dear friends, have you thanked a farmer lately?

Things that deserve your 𝚜̶𝚝̶𝚒̶𝚗̶𝚔̶ eye:

Caption: "You'll be kept awake during the operation." 
As a Scot I prefer to see this as a compliment, lol. 

Many people are quick to comment that they can't even draw stickmen. As I've said before: bullstick.

Meet Edward Steed, a singular cartoonist who is somehow simultaneously disturbing and hilarious. Plus his story offers a blueprint for how to live a fuller life. 

And with all due respect to his signature drawing style (I'm a fan), even he says this about his process: "It’s quite a bit of thinking and then a small amount of drawing.” In fact, he revealed in an interview that he didn't begin drawing seriously until he saw an ad seeking a cartoonist for The New Yorker!  Since landing that job, he also says he's starting to enjoy drawing more. 😀 Dude's got gumption.

Dear friends, this should remind us it's not too late. Perception becomes reality, often without evidence, and so if you think you can't draw stickmen (or whatever), well so what? Be a kid again and draw. Why not be a bit delusional? Put your work in someone's lunch kit. Post it online. Hang it on your fridge. The drawing process enhances memory, relieves stress, and acts like meditation no matter what ends up on the page. And if it's not drawing, do that something else that would fill your cup. 

September Strawberries

We have a little patch of resilient strawberries. Although a small section didn't survive last Winter, those remaining spread. Typically they produce only a few handfuls of medium-sized berries throughout the summer, but in September? They surge. 

For this and other obvious reasons, I love our little plot of strawberries, a special variety. The rest of our garden does the heavy lifting, sustaining us with carrots and beets and turnips and (so many) tomatoes and squash, but these strawberries contribute too, especially now, sensing temperature and light changes...they know winter is approaching, inevitable.  

In Canada, winter is a promise, a hardened oath. So, we must prepare.  

Especially now, we Canadians are like these September strawberries. We rally. Unlike other strawberry gardens, yes, we are fewer with fewer resources, but don't count on us to wither away. These harsh and conniving winds? Along with the entire world, we expect them now, but remember, we are September strawberries: hardy, built (and building) to withstand—we're nasty like that. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Yes

Ta-da!

Some reports claim that a toddler hears the word no more than 400 times daily. Hmm. I have no problem with the word no. It's necessary. Think consent, boundaries, safety, logic, discipline.... 

Yet, regarding the default (and potential) overuse of no, here's to using language intentionally to provide a possible solution: a yes space. These are spaces, places, zones, and situations where children are encouraged to (safely) be independent, less restricted, and make their own choices—spaces where they will rarely hear no.

So when I spotted a vintage elementary school desk in a thrift store recently, I thought of my grandkids, and bought that solid-wood gem for a mere $15. Although it had no structural issues or damage, I spent a weekend refinishing it (sanding sanding sanding), restoring it to raw wood followed by three coats of a child-safe water-based finish (more sandings between each). However, I did leave the marker scribbles under the desktop. As with any of the many furniture pieces I've refinished over three decades, my aim is never to erase its history, only extend it.

She won't turn three until Winter, so my middle granddaughter (I) has several years until she starts school, but I knew this desk was perfect for her. She has a new brother, and although he's crawling now, he's not quite yet a playmate, so she continues to be engaged in and content with imaginative self-directed play. She loves flat surfaces where she can arrange her toys ("guys") to tell stories, pretend to cook for her customers, read her books, draw and write. Typically whenever she creates something, she remarks, "Ta-Da!" 😍Plus, her parents tell me she also now prefers to eat her lunch at her desk, ha. And if she marks it up or spills paint or whatever, I say yes, yes, yes. Let this desk be a part of her child wonder-factory, her yes space. 

Dear friends, did you grow up with yes spaces? 

Be like cats.

Still contemplating woolgathering, so when I noticed this patch of sunlight on my dining room floor, I thought of cats and how they will always find the sun and sleep. 

Cats don't need to be convinced but science says that 10+ minutes of sunlight exposure (especially outside, in the morning) has significant impacts on human mental health and well-being. Dear friends, why not sit in the sun or (better yet), lie down on the floor while woolgathering? We should be more like cats. Right? 

One more thing, a question; I'm stumped. But first, some context: I thought there must be a name for this cat-attracting "chunk" of a sunbeam. You know, a word that sort of means the opposite of a shadow. Or a technical word, something like "sneckdown" for example. The Internet must know, right? But nope.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered an uncharacteristic cyberspace void in this regard. Reluctantly, I asked AI (aka paste pudding, thank you Ray Bradbury): "There is no single, official one-word English noun exclusively for the bright shape cast on a floor by sunlight through a window, so people rely on descriptive phrases."

Well well well, you know I love to invent words so let's all remove our leashes and let our minds wander, shall we? Ha, here we go a-woolgathering....

What do you call the patch of sunlight on the floor? Or how would you describe it? Or...do you think any of my spitballs stick? 

• sun spot
• sun site
• sun puddle
• sun blanket
• sun throw
• sun haven
• sun oasis
• sun setting
• sun nook (s'nook) 🙌
• splace (sunny + place) 🤦

Got wool?

A video short featuring more
about this word from Phil, lol.

How are you utilizing your time? 

Yes, most of us are either too busy for much downtime and when we are idle, we busy ourselves (understandably) by consuming entertainment or worse, doomscrolling. Sigh. 

Hence I am happy to launch this word into your vocabulary (and worldview). Dear friends, a challenge: sip your coffee and let this word sail toward the sunrise along your peaceful horizon and let your woolgathering be like serenity-seeking. 

Perhaps you were already familiar but if not, consider this term's etymology: "woolgathering comes from the literal 16th-century practice of wandering through fields and hedgerows to collect loose tufts of wool left behind by sheep." Hmm, not exactly a highly constructive nor profitable endeavor, but is woolgathering/daydreaming completely meritless? It depends. 

I'm not referring to being unproductive, or replaying negative events and experiences, nor do I suggest you lose focus while you're cutting carrots. Instead, I'm talking about the value of intentional daydreaming. We humans are not designed to be endlessly "on." So, consider literal woolgathering. YOU HAVE ONE JOB: accumulating. (Also this: if possible, literally get moving.) Gather your "wool" mindfully. If that sounds like a contradiction to daydreaming, I see your point, but intent aims to transform. 

So, how? I don't know, but I do know how I escape my own unhelpful thoughts and I experience the benefits every day. It has taken me years but I know my brain. My brain seeks comfort and chocolate almonds and imaginary conflicts and unwarranted anxieties, so when it veers away from the sunrise, I use self-talk to remind myself that my brain is a bullshitter liar narcissist unreliable-narrator...so then I revert back to the harmless woolgathering... accumulating... sorting... sifting through those useful random thoughts (gather ye rosebuds while ye may). And whether that adds up to a "sock" or whatever hardly matters. Why? Because at least my mind had a coffee break and watched the sunrise instead of the news. 

The Answer?

Bebe Rexha & Dolly Parton
(on my current playlist)

Today there's an old conversation playing in my head. 

We were attempting to get to know each other better, and he asked, "what kind of music are you into?" That was a mistake. I'm terrible at small talk. I suspect many people would say, "oh I like almost anything" or "Not jazz" but... music is just too paramount within me for any definitive synopsis. (I've written about my playlist before.) 

I'd compare musical tastes to explaining how one falls in love. How do you articulate those highly personal and abstract and fervid whatabouts? Intangible notions that sometimes trigger love at first sight or maybe bit by bit and then suddenly all at once. For me, music (the arts) is the lifelong love: my first love, a love longer than all the other loves. Lonely (Gen X) kids found love where they could. My early loves were all in books and on the radio and TV. 

Anyway, we had a bit of a meandering conversation; I tried to explain that the music I like is not just about the genre, or performer, or time period—it depends on the songwriting, the personal connection, and the self-expression. It's a relationship. He considered this, and asked one last question, "so, you like Dolly Parton then? I said, "absolutely." Suddenly, we understood each other! It's true: Dolly always has a way of bringing people together.  

Today I'm thinking about 1970s childhood me sitting on the floor in front of the TV watching Dolly perform, feeling connected, and yes, it was love at first sight. (She was like my cousins' dolls.) But it was also her trademark self-deprecating humour, her warm neighbourliness, her sincere optimism and over time, her incredible generosity and humanity. Today, I am also remembering some other members of my childhood TV family: Mork (Robin Williams), and John Candy. Sigh. 

If music is indeed like love, this week our sorry world lost love personified. Nevertheless dear friends, notice (and don't forget) that even after this world-wide collective grief fades, Dolly will always be the answer to many of life's most challenging questions. 

Le'ts be honest

Source: The Contrarian
Click here for more from Canadian
Political Cartoonist Michael de Adder.

Are we Canadians surprised by the latest trade negotiations shitshow with the US? 

Hmm...this is who he "wished well." Doesn't it just tell you everything you need to know? 

(Thank you, PM Carney.)

Things one should outgrow

The OG Scottish oatcakes. Yum.

In Nairn, Scotland this summer I discovered The Scottish Oats Bible cookbook. It provided more than just a recipe for oatcakes (a traditional Scottish healthy food staple); it offered insight into recurring habits I've worked hard to break, one that periodically hijacks all my creative pursuits. 

I've been teaching myself to bake for years now. It's artsy and inventive, and sharing my creations with my friends/kids/grand-turkeys is joyful. It's also nostalgic; many of my recipes are connected to my past, including the Scottish oatcakes of my youth.

A family member had already provided my childhood recipe:

🥣Melt 1 cup of butter.

🥣Stir in 1.5 cups of brown sugar (vanilla & salt to taste).

🥣Stir in 4 cups of rolled oats (I added 1/4 c chopped almonds).

🥣Add mixture to greased muffin tins and bake at 350℉ for 18 minutes.

A totally "healthy food staple" right? Nope...but easy-peasy and delicious? Oat-ally!

Sure, the cookbook offered some tweaks, but then I (over)thought... I should revamp this recipe... I should make them healthier... I could use a sugar substitute... Applesauce...? Crushed bananas...? I could add protein... Hmm, my version isn't good...YET... I should add jam to my recipe... they're still garbage.... Notice what happened? 

There's nothing inherently wrong with reinvention; it's a key component in creativity. But it can slip into something I've struggled with that I'd call "self-surveillance." 

If you grow up in a neglectful or highly critical environment (both), that tricky inner narrator likes to monitor, judge, and urge you to adjust and adjust expecting improvements. Sure, it's a growth mindset but one that has run amok. It also elevates product over process, and when the product (for me) is food, shame will inevitably show up to gatecrash this party. But then I recall that there are those truly healthy alternatives. Being yumped. Living in the moment. Peace. (Insert cleansing breath here.)

Dear friends, how do you ignore/quiet/bludgeon your inner Statler & Waldorf?

Things that deserve more stink eye?

Um, this was a surprise. Hmm...is it just a coincidence or is this some sort of (cryptic) response to my recent post (beef) about WORDLE?

Um, you know when you've been joking (shit-talking) about the Internet (wasteland) and sharing your totally unserious (serious) feelings about sentient (consciously malicious) technology and (hostile) AI and the INEVITABLE SINGULARITY SPONSORED BY BILLIONAIRES (the greed-based ongoing decline toward a hell-scape dystopia whereby us regular folks are enslaved by our phones/ technology in service to corrupt influencers and unrestrained plutocrats aka META et al).... Well c'mon Internet (LORD OF THE PINGS), all I did was challenge WORDLE to a battle of wits!

So, am I officially frenemies with WORDLE? Or is this a white flag? Or is this a threat disguised as a white flag? (Spoiler: YES IT IS.) Now that they've destabilized me, who knows what this means, and what's next?!

Let's be honest:

I (2), M (5), M (8 mos), L (3), M (1)

Our summer attempt to take a couch photo of all five of our grandchildren was... messy, chaotic, and like chasing your own tail, a hilarious exercise in futility* but also this: PERFECTION because I CAN'T WAIT for them to reenact it as teens someday. 

*An argument ensued regarding which sibling should get to hold M (their little sister). If you look carefully, our eldest granddaughter's body language shows how cross she was at this grave INJUSTICE perpetrated by her little brother, ha. 

Happy FIRST birthday young M! I hope your older siblings (and cousins) might always pick you for their teams, but that would be wishbull thinking, wouldn't it? Never fear though: you will always belong to Team Pops. 

Things that deserve the stink eye

Ha, right back at ya, Wordle: 🖕

I quit Wordle last year and when someone asked me why, I didn't think before saying, "Connections is superior word-play." 

Well.

Apparently, Wordle heard me? Because, sentient? Because AI? Because I'm paranoid? Because, when I recently resumed play, I noticed Wordle was unusually difficult, like it was AWARE of my unpremeditated (yet accurate) SMEAR and had received an ALERT. Despite Google's pledge otherwise, (sure, Jan) we all know our phones are listening to us, right? 

Okay yes I sound a bit paranoid but consider how many five letter words support my (admittedly pea-brain) hypothesus: FISHY, SHADY, CAGEY, using GUILE to play DIRTY. Well Wordle, if you have indeed evolved, become sentient, or AI sophisticated, I bet you can't "hear" this,  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ nor can you unscramble this:⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ 😏😉

Let's be honest

Even those who live in Polar Night
still "find the light."

Nothing says middle of August in northern Canada like a soon to mature sunflower. Why? 

The days are quickly becoming shorter here. In June we have close to 18 wonderful hours of daily sunlight, but in August? About 16. Near the end of September? Around 11. In December? A mere 7. But I'll take those seven and send good thoughts to the Canadians (and all northerners) who live north of the Arctic Circle.  

I don't mean to get ahead of myself, but if you live in the North, it's a bit like being a sunflower—everyday you notice, and you turn to the sun, with gratitude.  

Do you know the sunflower theory? It's a lovely story, unscientific, but warmhearted fiction. Young sunflowers do indeed turn east daily, seeking the sun (heliotropism), but the story tells that at night, sunflowers will turn to face each other, seeking the sun in a partner. Although a winning metaphor for how to find solace in each other during dark times, it is fiction. 

But finding the light in your (northern or elsewhere) surroundings (and friends) no matter the circumstances? Or blooming where you're planted? Let's be honest: those notions seem rooted in reason, wise, and like sunflowers, down-to-earth. 

Things that deserve ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶n̶k̶ a discerning eye:

My oldest grandson L, (age 3) is smitten by colour... and I, in turn, am smitten by him (and his mind). 

Currently, he may not pay attention to every instruction or direction from us adults, but he's certainly paying attention to the beauty in this world. 

Thanks for the reminder, young sir. 

Wordfuse (Excessive Words Edition)

I like to make up words.

(noun) PS (PostScript) + ness = an occasionally sarcastic but mostly polite word/euphemism used to describe compulsive talkers, (myself included) who continue blathering on much longer than is necessary (post script after post script after...) but due to the ideal combination of speaker and listener the experience is mutually rewarding aka a total vibe. 

Think of those fun people with whom you just click like long lost friends but after 35 minutes of blathering in the grocery store you missed a meeting, an appointment, your kids' swim meet, your job, your newborn's birth, etc. On the flipside are those compulsive talkers with an appalling lack of self-awareness about their annoying verbosity aka talkaholism. 

Dear friends, how do you halt a talkaholic?

Things the deserve/give the stink-eye:

←Tell me you've been to Canadian Tire without telling me you've been to Canadian Tire. 

Um, yikes. Canadian Tire garden and lawn statues are next level disturbing. Who is paying hundreds of dollars for these resin abominations?  

Need an obviously fake panda in a bamboo cage? Get it at CT. Need a gnome doing yoga? Also at CT. Or in this case, an owl with Graves disease? I must ask you, CT, have you ever seen an owl? Because let's be honest: in this case, your lawn crimes are owl of control. 😜

Small

A big thank you to London, Scotland, and Ireland for accommodating us Canadian tourists; I hope we left behind small footprints and a positive impression. Now one last excursion to share....

Just north of Dublin is a peninsula (once a small island) with a fishing community (about 8,000 folks) called Howth (rhymes with oath), a quick train ride from the city.  

This was our second visit. We had something to finish: the cliff walk. Last time it was raining, so we cut the walk short, but this time? Perfect weather. 

About a week before we visited Ireland the first time (2023), we met someone at a wedding—he was studying medicine in Ireland and told us Howth was his favourite place. We asked, why? He couldn't find the words but his body language said much. We are fans of serendipity and places people get emotional about, so we visited and it became a favourite too. Now my turn...how to describe? 

  🤔Let this good man's clip show you what words can't.

  🤔It's a cleansing breath of a place. 

  🤔It's a retreat, a haven, a resting place; I suspect Dubliners request their ashes be spread in Howth.

  🤔Think of a place that has almost everything: (in this case) incredible views, friendly folks, fresh seafood, street markets with huge brownies, colourful boats bobbing in blue coastline waters, rocky beaches with cold water where people swim anyway, playful otters, ice-cream shops, flowers that grow in cracks along rock walls, unexpected palm trees, a castle, and maybe one busker. Note that I said, almost. Why? Some places have too much, their abundance overwhelms and they don't feel...snug. Plus, setting is a relationship—we must bring something to our most cherished places—an impulse to attach to the stream of life.   

  🤔Like all words sometimes, my words are inadequate, so I will offer this final idea about Howth: my heart just endorses this place.

Quick research reveals that a teen-aged W. B. Yeats lived in Howth. He wrote fondly about it, sharing that he snuck out at night (classic teen move even in the 1880s), and also felt his first unrequited love there. Perhaps his famous poem The Lake Isle of Innisfree has clues to Howth? The poem expresses a longing to escape the urban confines and return to nature, build a cabin, plant a garden, live in "a bee-loud glade," seek peace next to the "water lapping with low sounds by the shore" and then even while stuck in the city hear this cherished place in the "deep heart's core." 

Dear friends, our hearts are small, and some places fill them so well. Whether travel is required or not, I hope you get plenty of time in places your heart endorses.

In-between

We ended our trip in Dublin and so we did it right: parks, pub-food, street performers, a craic comedy club and the Guinness Storehouse. Everyone told us this tour is a must-see, but could it match the excessive hype? I enjoy Guinness so I remained hoptimistic.

(Aside: Conan O'Brien says he made his own Guinness once by blending a loaf of pumpernickel bread, burying it in the backyard for six weeks, and then... he got sicker than a dog. LOL, if you've seen Guinness and watched it foam, you might also find his recipe hilariously plausible. 😂😄😆)

So, would I also recommend this tour? 

It's fantastic! It's unexpectedly sensory—sights, sounds, touch, smell, and (of course) taste, and the only negative is that your nervous system may not recover from the prices in the gift shop! But the best part? Arthur's Bar on Floor 5! We visited on a Saturday so maybe we were just lucky? Because we enjoyed a 30-minute concert: trad music, Irish dancing, a harpist. Fantastic! 

After we met some fun Americans on a "divorce holiday" lol, I snapped this photo in-between drinks (3 pints ftw) at the Gravity Bar on Floor 7. I describe this mural as "3-D glasses-inspired" and there are several in and outside the storehouse; google tells me the talented artist is a Dubliner named Aches. (I'd call him the new Chuck Close.) 

Anyway, dear friends, a pea-brain multiple choice question for you: does this mural depict

a. musician Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?

b. entrepreneur founder Arthur Guinness?

c. the vision of someone who's consumed too many Guinness?

d. who cares? Sláinte!🍺

Big

During our visit to Galway on Ireland's west coast, we encountered this 3-meter high "Seated Figure" along the Claddagh basin. It had just been installed as a preview for the city's annual arts festival, which we very much enjoyed during out 2023 trip to Galway. 

So who is this big, pensive man?

I have no idea, but if you're wondering, watch this short video about artist Sean Henry and his "Seated Figure." 

As an older white guy with a beard who favours darks colours who also happens to carry a satchel (ha yes, I admit that it's basically a murse), I felt a little too seen next to this dude. But as an art-guy who LOVES how this figure invites curiosity and toys with scale and perspective, I mostly felt giddy. 

This installation reminded me of the artwork of another sculptor: Saskatchewan-Canadian legend Joe Fafard. Renown for sculpting a multitude of multi-sized cows (there's a herd of them in Toronto) he also sculpted his friends and neighbours (farmers, waitresses, artists and teachers). 

Why do artists enjoy playing with scale? Why not? 

In particular, Fafard tells about a dream he once had where he had to confront a fearful figure but instead of escaping he stared the man down and the imposing figure shrunk smaller and smaller and smaller. It seems to me that in a way, artists can subdue, even master ideas by altering their size. 

Plus, similar to Sean Henry's art, I think Fafard invites us to reexamine the extraordinary ordinary and recognize that we average folks (and many other everyday things) might just be works of art too.

Small?

Irish writers? Extraordinary. 

C.S. Lewis...W.B. Yeats... James Joyce... Oscar Wilde...  Bram Stoker... Claire Keegan... Sinead O'Connor... Bono... Dolores O'Riordan... the Irish Rovers... Hozier...

Although Ireland has a relatively small population (about 5.3 million), the country, per capita, apparently produces the second-highest number of poets, writers, and songwriter-musicians (Iceland is number one). 

Why is this?

Clearly, Ireland has established systems for the arts to thrive, but it also speaks to the way the Irish value and elevate storytelling.

So when I saw this whiskey in Ireland, I chuckled, not entirely surprised by the cheeky name. Who hasn't drowned their tears in alcohol once or twice? But I also thought, oh yes, I know the struggle that is writing and communicating as I write and rewrite a lifetime of words like assembling Lego. Does this connect? What's missing? Is this forming something perceptible? Yet despite the struggle, writers gotta write, hoping to bring something into being—an idea, a release, a light in the dark? For creatives, tears (sad and happy) are inevitable. 

Today those tears continue to fall for another Irish singer-songwriter, Glen Hansard. In one of the many tributes occurring in Ireland and elsewhere, someone expressed his admiration for the artist this way: "he operated at the speed of love." Is there a better legacy (or sentence) than that? Tears indeed. 

Big

Welcome to the Moon the Burren

Canadian English majors typically study Northrup Frye, a prominent literary critic and theorist. (Margaret Atwood would fill that role now.) Regarding Canadian identity, Frye argued that our geography is everything: he speculated that it's less about "who are we?" and more about "where are we?"

My interpretation of his theory is that because Canada is so big, our massive (and imposing) land mass combined with such diverse geography and relative isolation with low populations, makes us Canadians less about being one nation and more about many nations, many peoples. We are regionalized folks, connected but with differing customs and traditions. Our history adds to this notion as we were founded on three nations: Indigenous, French, and English, although in 2026 we are many more diverse peoples too.  

I like to think of it this way: it's as though we Canadians paddle in many canoes, but share the same storms. 

But then what do we Canadians have in common with each other? Lots, but regarding geography, two examples:

1. The Canadian Shield: a glacier-scraped scar of bedrock, lakes, and trees that covers 50% of Canada, not exactly a beach. Add the Rocky Mountains and well, we're basically just rocks, er, we just rock—that's how we roll. 

2. Winter. Snow doubt about it, we put the north in North America. This underscores our survival instincts, again a factor of geography. 

Yes, I'm a geography nerd, and that (finally) brings me to the Republic of Ireland—a country whose geography has also shaped the country's character, in particular, The Burren. It's otherworldly and the geographical equivalent of a cinematic anxiety dream. So sure, why not attempt to live there, right? 

Our Shield is similar to this Irish dreamscape as is Nova Scotia's incredible Peggy's Cove and parts of Newfoundland, etc. I have visited the Burren twice now and I can't help but believe that surviving it helped forge an Irish resilience, a toughness, and when those Irish came to Canada? They brought that grit with them: "many a good tree grew on shallow ground." 

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One last post about Northern Ireland. 

After some shopping in downtown Belfast, we were walking back to our accommodations when I noticed this statute. 

I thought, is that Frederick Douglass? 

I read his pivotal autobiography in 2024, but I had no idea he visited the UK and Ireland (summarized here in a short video). My favourite Douglass quote? "Once you learn to read, you will be forever free." 👏 

Later that day, I read that after his book was published in the US it became widely popular and a big seller all over the world, but it triggered the demented possibility that he could be recaputured and enslaved again. So, he toured Ireland giving lectures on prejudice and liberation—something the Irish certainly know a thing or two about, don't they? 

Douglass loved Ireland and felt "transformed" there, "I find myself not treated as a color, but as a man." Inspired to erect his likeness, the Irish obviously loved him too. His statue, the only one of Douglass outside of the US, is located near where he spoke in Belfast (1845-46) and depicts him gesturing as he speaks to his listeners. Thankfully, his words live on and thanks to the Irish appreciation for art, one can also see his passion for human rights. 

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On the same day we toured the Giant's Causeway, we visited another hot-spot for those fortunate enough to experience Northern Ireland: the Dark Hedges. 

This tree-lined lane and the canopy it forms is captivating. The Hedges reminded me of Robert Frost's mysterious poem, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. Borrowing Frost's words, I definitely found these woods lovely, dark, and deep. 

Planted about 250 years ago, these spellbinding trees are situated in-between flat wide-open fields on both sides, so their roots, trunks, and branches rise into the sky as though they were painted into existence by artists like Emily Carr or Piet Mondrian, whose renderings of nature invoke awe. Yet I did not expect such a rural setting.  

So despite my wonder, the Saskatchewan-raised kid in me couldn't help but think of the farmers on both sides who likely reflect more on the blasted weather as they plant, fertilize, and harvest their crops month after month, likely unmoved, (perhaps stoic, detached, or even irritated) as hundreds and thousands of moved visitors excitedly walk in circles down the road next to their crops. I encountered one walker who was Face-timing her experience. 

My point? Tourism is anthropology too, isn't it? One person's curiosity is another's indifference. Let's be honest, we humans are downright fascinating creatures, arguably batty, but fascinating. 

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Do you know The Giant's Causeway myth? Here's the gist: we men can be big babies and who saves us? 

Yup, it's women—the women who (roll their eyes and still somehow or at least 59% of the time) love us. 

We spent an afternoon hiking throughout this uniquely scenic area along the north coast of Northern Ireland. Although we did not have time for the official visitor centre, we loved exploring this geological wonder. We also hiked to view "The Devil's Middle Finger" whose name reminds me of a favourite dad joke: dear middle finger, thank you for always sticking up for me. 😄

Afterwards, we ate the best scones with jam and clotted cream at The Nook, a pub nearby. I'd never had clotted cream before! 🤯 Dear friends, what is this dream fluff and why is it sooooooooooo good?! Hmm, maybe it's the 643 grams of fat in each dollop? Worth it. 

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No pun intended, but Belfast has many eye-catching murals, all of them invite curiosity. Inevitably, some are political, hearkening back to those historical conflicts between the loyalist Protestants and nationalist Catholics. Although I read the Belfast history book I bought there, I feel I have only skimmed the surface of The Troubles. 

But if you look closely at this particular Belfast mural, made in 2025, you'll see it reflects a smiling child holding an ice cream cone. To me, it feels playful and forward-looking, a warmhearted nod to the Irish children who have inherited this history and might paint Ireland anew. And (to me) it seems to pose a question: who's looking at whom? 

Entitled "The Ice Cream of My Eye," I think the artist, My Dog Sighs, wants us to think about the future. Some quick research reveals that his work is inspired by Banksy: he aims to use street art to engage every demographic, particularly those who never seek art at all, a most worthwhile pursuit, iyam. I still encounter people today who think art is not for them, but art is distinctly intended for everyone. Art is not for intellectuals; art is not supposed to be genteel—art is a human impulse.

Art can be created without any conscious agenda, and although it often feels personal and individual, it can also open space for bigger conversations (discussions that might not otherwise every happen). Moreover it can open a gate and unify diverse peoples. History reveals that sometimes words conquer us, divide us, fail us, but art is a language without words and whether it yells or whispers, sometimes it says it best of all.

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I've shared a few graffiti based travel posts, so I thought I'd do one more, but I'd describe this one as low controversy, high importance. 

Dear friends, although I'm a bit confused by this graffiti artist's phrasing, I say yes, go hug your Nan. (Believe me, I would if I could.)

After taking the ferry from Scotland to Belfast, Ireland, our first visit was to the Duke of York Pub, (apparently) a famous party spot in the Cathedral district. This is not why we chose to wander inside but I'm glad we did. They allow you to write on the walls! 

I might be the only person to ever describe a pub this way, but it reminded me of a time-travel version of my childhood school with the wooden desks (the ones I desperately wanted to write on), albeit with a lot more Guinness than Mrs. Pochipinski's classroom ever had. 😄

Guess who always has a pen with him? Hmm...so where did I leave my small mark? Well, friends of a certain age, some agist pylon wrote "old people are weird," so next to it I retaliated with a stern, "no we're not." Sorted that out, didn't I? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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We departed early on a June day and did a marathon drive in-between Inverness and Glasgow. Scots might be appalled at the expanse of this one-day road-trip, but for many Canadians...? Pfft, a five hour drive is basically a Wednesday. 

We drove along The Great Glen (stunning) and stopped at Urquhart Castle AND HELLO HISTORY NERDS: TREBUCHET ALERT. This brutal medieval war-toy is an engineering feat, and history tells us they were used in shockingly inappropriate ways. What would you flllliiiiiinnnngggg to defeat an enemy? 

Next was a quick stop in Fort William, a warm and friendly town that my spouse and I spent a day exploring on our first trip to Scotland. But this time...WE ACTUALLY SAW BEN NEVIS! During our last visit, locals suggested not to fret about the (interminable) rain and fog as even some Scots, despite multiple visits to this town, have never seen the UK's tallest mountain! I'd call us lucky ducks, but I believe the Scots say, "absolutely jammy." FYI, I will be stealing this phrase as spreading jam on what you're already enjoying is the perfect way to describe unanticipated luck. 

After a sunny picnic along the lovely Loch Linnhe, we continued driving aka repeatedly accelerating and decelerating (see: roundabouts, sigh). Side note: as locals might say, "I didnae ken" how effectively the Scots use roundabouts to slow drivers down. It's brilliant, but as Canadians might say, also #$@!% annoying. But soon we just didn't care anymore....

BECAUSE VIEWS. Glencoe... Loch Ba... Loch Tulla... Loch Lomand... Whoa... definitely not just a Wednesday! It's like YOU get a car spectacular view and YOU get a car spectacular view and YOU get a car spectacular view. Thank you Oprah Scotland! 

And finally, Glasgow, a city my spouse and I spent several days in during our first trip to Scotland (the Necropolis, the People's Palace, Buchanan Street, those incredible street murals...) but this trip? We had one evening before we took a bus and ferry to Belfast. What to do? Meet a fellow blogger, of course! It was an absolute vacation highlight! But why didn't we take a photo together?!

Dear Christina, thank you again for your warmth and hospitality and our fun conversation. During our talk you mentioned one of your favourite Scottish words, "outwith," the opposite of within. As we discussed, to my knowledge this is not standard usage in Canada, but I suppose our closest equivalent would be outside of or beyond? Well, Christina, although we live outwith Scotland, it lives in our hearts and now, so do you. I wish we lived closer but remember, if you ever travel to western Canada.... 

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Click for a recent news report about Nessie. ;)

Thanks to its impressive depth, Loch Ness happens to hold more fresh water than all lakes in England and Wales combined. That's big. And hmm... what might possibly be hiding in those depths? 😜

As a kid growing up on the Canadian prairies, I recall being rapt reading about the Loch Ness monster. Before (and after) I understood myth and folklore and tourism marketing, I hoped to one day visit this famous Scottish lake.

I'm so glad I did. It's just sooooo beautiful there. 

Did we spot Nessie? Nope. Other than Steve, the genial amateur cryptozoologist (?) parked on the beach, I completely forgot about the legend. Click this link to watch a short video about Steve; he has an inspiring message for the inner child within us all. 

We spent the morning hiking through the forest along the still loch water looking to the mountains on the horizon. Quiet and calm and cool and sun-dappled with greens, it's mossy and rocky and fresh... and let's be honest—I need a poet to help me say it better. Maybe Rilke and his love for the trees? 

Speaking of love, I know from family records that Loch Ness is not far from where my maternal great-grandparents held their marriage ceremony. I now know why. And maybe I know them a little better now too? As poet Mary Oliver said about how to go into the woods: "if you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much." 

In-between

Dear friends, don't judge Inverness by what Macbeth did there. I found no weird sisters nor "damned spots." 

The truth is that this small city is pleasingly walkable with pretty views along both sides of the swift-flowing River Ness, er wait...? What's forming those ripples in the water? 😉

Inverness folks were talkative, kind, and considerate and perhaps similar to those in Edinburgh, a tad pissed off by the world. How so? Somewhere in-between the Griege Street suspension bridge (iyam a bit-too-bouncy of a pedestrian bridge, built in 1880) and the bustling Victorian Market, we encountered more Scottish graffiti. Local reviews were reportedly as follows: 1/10 for artistry 😂 and 9/10 for message.✊

Say, just how much does it cost to fund a war? Sigh.🤦

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Before I explain how we achieved my wife's small dream of petting a highland "coo," a caution: periodically we Canadians hear about tourists who visit us and attempt to take selfies with an elk or a moose or a bison or a grizzly bear. (I kid you not.) Terrible ideas. 

So, I would like to assure readers that we were not those (eejit) tourists; we did not wander into a farmer's field or traipse across protected parkland. Instead, we just stopped to pee at a service station.... 

Although it's unlikely you've visited this particular gas station (near Perth, Scotland), if you do road trips at all ANYWHERE in the world, I suspect you've visited a similar gas station, one that sells EVERYTHING. 

All-day breakfast? Of course. Whisky? Definitely. Underwear? Got it. Scented Candles? Yes. Vegan brownies? Yup. Feather boas? "We might be sold out." AND Highland cows fenced out back? AYE!

To use some Scottish slang (hopefully correctly), gas-station happenstance is good craic. 

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Eejit 1, 2 & 3 (me)

Our first full day in Edinburgh was a sunny Saturday in June, so we intended to take full advantage but we had no idea how our plans would unfold that day, my favourite in this favourite city.

In the morning we threaded our way through the city to (literally) a fairytale storybook location: Dean Village. This sublime and peaceful ancient community (12th century) in a lush green valley in New Town is impossibly charming. 

After exploring quietly (people live there), we continued along a tree-shrouded walking path next to the river Leith where we observed a mother duck teaching her ducklings to repeatedly swim into the waterfalls' current, then float backward and then push into the current again—vital life-lessons for us all these days. 

Soon we discovered a rickety rope swing over the river. I watched while each of my other three traveling companions, er eejits, temporarily suspended their frontal lobes and yoga-contortioned themselves onto said swing, while nearby I pondered, is 911 a thing in Scotland? 

Unscathed, we continued until we happened upon the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art where the first thing we saw was a large sign on the grounds declaring, THERE WILL BE NO MIRACLES HERE. Insert thinking face emoji here. Later, while navigating our way back to public transport, I thoroughly contemplated that sign. Is it irony? A quotation? Political protest? A reference to something historical? And what exactly constitutes a miracle...and who decides? Hmm. 

My conclusion? Scots artists are quite masterful at "making the masses muse," or at least this mass, ha. (Read more about the artist here, if you're interested). 

Soon we were on a bus to Edinburgh Castle (which we visited during our first trip to Scotland), so we grabbed lunch from street vendors in Grassmarket, aka where I first fell in love with fennel-seed sausage rolls. (They are a small but substantial miracle, ha.) 

We began to notice then that the crowds were quickly increasing along the Royal Mile... and suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of Edinburgh's pride parade! Middle might be a misnomer but with 40000+ people flooding everywhere, the sidewalks mostly disappeared. It was quite moving to witness and cheer on so many people singing and drumming and joyfully celebrating the freedom to be themselves.  

We continued down the street until we found a close that happens to have the same name as our oldest granddaughter, M, so we took a selfie, and then walked to the base of Arthur's Seat (elevation 251 meters/823 feet), an extinct volcano next to the city. On our first trip to Edinburgh, my spouse and I climbed the Holyrood side, an easy hike, but this time we climbed the city side, much steeper. 

Certainly by western Canadian standards, Arthur's Seat is no (Alberta Rocky) mountain, but you know that feeling when you've accomplished something challenging? Maybe like 1 part relief, 1 part pride, and 8 parts invigoration. Something like that. 

Did our sunny June Saturday in Scotland contain any miracles? I don't know for sure, but I do like that saying, "if life is a series of small miracles—notice them." 

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We saw this piper along the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. 

Although I did not wear a kilt to my own wedding, when my son was young I used to tell him that he and I will wear kilts to his wedding someday. He's getting married next summer. Hmm. 

The first time I visited Scotland, I tried on a kilt. Absolute blunder. I had no idea how to wrap the fabric, where or how to buckle it, how high to wear it, how to adjust its length.... I soon realized I needed a. my ancestor's confidence and b. some sort of kilt whisperer. Since I have zero experience as an adult male requesting that someone help dress me, there was no kilt-whispering, ha. Maybe my son and I will don Stewart tartan bowties next summer instead?

Bagpipes always give me big feelings. I'm not sure why the tears...perhaps because they made my grandparents emotional? Bagpipes always invite in me a stillness: pay attention. That magical sound gets inside me. Some people say they find bagpipes alarming; I think they're positively arresting. 

One more thing about my love for bagpipes. When she was 20, my daughter moved across Canada (to Montreal) to complete her first degree. Those were more turbulent years in our parent vs young adult relationship. One day, I received an unprompted text from her: "I heard bagpipes and thought of you." Whoa. 

Dear friends...that's even better than bagpipes. 

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On to Scotland. Six of my eight great-grandparents emigrated from this Land o' Cakes. I adore this country. 💓

From London we took the train north to Edinburgh and explored our neighbourhood. If you've visited, you know about the closes that enable pedestrians to move in-between locations along the Royal Mile in Old Town. One particular close featured (in my opinion) some very Scots graffiti, ha. 

This was my second visit to Scotland, so it would be stupid to claim I'm qualified to be an astute observer of Scottish folks. But my memories of my maternal great-grandparents and my travel experience suggests to me that Scots are typically witty, genuine, and straightforward, hence the succinct message here, lol, one I read with an exasperated tone. 

It's a sound message for the world, isn't it? Later, during a whisky tasting, a comedian phrased it another way for us tourists: "don't be a bawbag." 😄 Good advice. (Maybe don't google that, ha.)