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. 😜

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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!🍺

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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.

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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. 

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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. 

In-between

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)_/¯

In-between

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. 

In-between

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.)

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Watch a video
about "Babel."

We enjoyed several London experiences. This was my second trip, so I've done many of the tours: Tower Bridge, the Thames boat tour, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, Shakespeare's Globe, the Tower of London....

But this time, two art installations stood out to me. 

Firstly, I appreciated the National Covid Memorial Wall. Adorned with hand-painted hearts and an open invitation to write the name of a lost loved-one, it is maintained by volunteers. What are other countries doing to commemorate the 7 million+ people who died during the pandemic? 

Secondly, I loved the Tate Modern Art Museum. Mostly free, it features artworks by Matisse, Dali, Picasso, Warhol, Lichtenstein, but the one that completely captured my attention was "Babel" by Cildo Meireles. 

Entering the room from around the corner, the 8 meter behemoth at first seems like any other antiquated busted tower, inviting you to look up, but then you notice the materials—stacks of radios arranged upward from large to smaller, old to newer technology, and then you discover these radios are ON, tuned to different stations!

If you know the biblical story of the Tower of Babel, its meaning is obvious and then you slowly realize it is simultaneously meaningless as it floods the room with quiet and scratchy radio nonsense—discordant sounds, and voices, and languages from throughout the world. In other words, it's trippy and clever. Although constructed in 2001, it's also very 2020s.

Dear friends, art sometimes uses technology to ask us humans big questions: are we truly so advanced if we still can't understand each other? 

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I took this photo somewhere in London. Who am I to say, but "loo" really is the most charming name for what we Canadians typically refer to as the bathroom (or the washroom, the toilet, the can, the throne, the shitter, ha). 

As tourists, it's also quite a relief to find the loo, a small victory while navigating unfamiliar places. 

Various language historians hypothesize that "loo" is a diminutive form of words like "lookie-loo" and "gardyloo," which I've blogged about in the past. So I love the notion that a loo is not just a great human leveler, but also an invitation to pay attention. 

We all know modern life is endlessly distracting, competing for our attention, highlighting and monetizing clicks and likes and other nonsense that essentially interferes with the personal agency we once took for granted: living, being, discovering, experiencing, understanding, enjoying, appreciating.... 

Looking with intent is becoming a bit of a lost art. Dear friends, isn't the point of sightseeing to open and expand your mind? To be inspired and to learn? To cherish and be astonished? To have a good look at the world? To shake loose old thinking? To evolve?

In-between

On the train in-between Gatwick airport and our London accommodations, I snapped this first photo. I apologize that I share this without his consent, but there's a reason I was drawn to him. 

He looked so familiar, a combination of my father and grandfather: the work-boots and the barn coat (Dad), the foggy spectacles (Dad), the flat cap (Grandpa), the beer (?) in his bag (Grandpa), the hint of loneliness (Grandpa). A bit giddy, I wanted to look him in the eyes, smile wide, and say, it's so good to see you again.

I did not. Undoubtedly, jet-lag and sleep-deprivation (flying Edmonton to Halifax to London) contributed to this sentimental moment but this phenomenon happens regularly when I travel. Many times, I have encountered other foreigners I'm positive I know but it's just psychology. Unconscious anxiety compels us to seek safety: the familiar strangers effect is one way we feel more secure, more attached in new contexts. 

It's quite a common human experience and I kinda love it. Maybe most strangers really are just friends we haven't yet met? 

Big & Small & In-between

M has thoughts.

My oldest granddaughter's experimental writing provides some insight into her thoughts. 

On our road trip home with her Mom, she was missing her Dad (note the hearts), but I'm unsure why the Grinch was on her mind? Ha. 

She's five now, and like all kids extra-ready to begin Kindergarten, she repeatedly asks, "How do you spell...?" Those other letters represented? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ She's figuring it out. 

After our European summer vacation, I too am figuring out how and what to share. Like M, I have some thoughts, and writing will help me unscramble the new people, places, things and ideas I experienced. Whether near or far, traveling never fails to provide perspective on the world's bigness, smallness, and in-between-ness... more to come soon. 

Crisscrossing Lines

source

Insert mic drop emoji here. 😊

Dear friends, I have things to do and places to see and there will be no TV. As for my phone? Sidekick mode. Will share more later.... 

As Mary Oliver said, "my work is loving the world." 

Impact

source

Guilty. 

Like many others this June, I attended a university convocation but, for the first time, as faculty.

What a pleasure. Joyful, even. Also cringe—most public ceremonies are inherently (no cynicism intended) performative. And also this: humbling. Nothing makes a guy feel more dense than being surrounded by incredibly smart people. But (like me) if your safe space has always been at school, so so so worth the lingering imposter syndrome. 

After their tassels were moved from the right to the left and their bachelors' degrees official, one of the PhDs said something like this to those graduates: "you've just joined a community; welcome, and for those who might perceive it as an exclusive group, let's clear that up. Like all of the faculty on stage, whatever their degrees, you just became a life-long problem-solver with one overarching goal: better the world. As someone whose safe (and comfortable) space is learning more, I heard that. 

Dear friends, PhD or whatever, less procrastinating and more get out there in the world to enhance, advance, uplift. 

Debate

I'd never heard this word before. It's significant and it deserves some attention, doesn't it? Plus it makes for a curious connection with the word that (no doubt) came to your mind too: ironic. These words seem like cousins? I wholeheartedly believe that language impacts worldview and influences action, so.... 

Imagine these two words in a debate. 

Ironic would intend to subvert expectations while Irenic would aspire to promote consensus. Ironic would be witty maybe even sarcastic, seeking soundbites for social media. Irenic would be honest, authentic, and philanthropic. Ironic's rizz? Captivating. Irenic's earnestness? Moving. I suspect I'd be rooting for both, enjoying Ironic's word-play, and respecting Irenic's altruism. 

Yet, in these modern times, I bet Ironic would start a podcast and become a brand ambassador, get rich. But Irenic? No sponsorship, just long-slogging it, resolute. Sigh. So it goes in this attention economy—a shady system, that I sometimes think will be our undoing. 

Dear friends, who do you think is winning the debate? 

31/31

Links to 30/31
& the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

It was challenging to choose one final item for the last post in this series. I had several options, but while pushing my youngest grandson in the stroller, I realized that most of my posts about vibrant things had one thing in common: M's soother sorta says it all. 

Do vibrant things act like soothers? And does this mean we're just big-baby humans? 😆

It seems my little research-project this May has revealed that much of the vibrant matter in my life is indeed lively and functions to boost my mental health, and additionally, seems connected to my identity.   

As you know, from day 1 our brains are biologically hardwired for anxiety—varied degrees of fight, flight, or fawning—thanks to that (life-saving) little stinker of a cluster of neurons at the core of our limbic systems named the amygdala. We're programed to have knots in our stomachs connected to so many mental health factors: trauma, loneliness, debt, struggling relationships, health issues, watching The Bear and so on. But, as you also know, coping strategies are numerous: breathing, exercise, music, dancing, writing, pets, watching The Pitt and yes, surrounding yourself with "centering objects" aka those optimal vibrant things that soothe. (Please dear friends, I do not mean your phone.)

This reminds me of the cliche we all know: stop and smell the roses. But wait, dear friends, don't dismiss this overused statement as trite. Why? Because it's wise, and it's true. 

The garden soothes. But it need not be a garden, nor a rose—substitute any object: a favourite bookmark, your Mom's cookie jar, the photos sticky-tacked to your bathroom mirror, a Christmas ornament, your Dad's hand-me-down tools, the saskatoon bush planted in your yard to remember someone special.... 

Whatever the "rose," pause and pay attention to the vibrant things that act like maps when we've lost our way a bit, especially those cherished items that re-tell soft-spoken stories, that lift you a little, that bring some peace, and soothe what aches. 

30/31

Links to 29/31 
& the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

My wife made this for me. It's my favourite mug. She LOVES ceramics and LOVES spending hours at our local studio. We both have that artistic impulse. 

She has created many vibrant things, serving platters, Christmas decoration, and I'd wager she's nearing maybe 219 mugs. I josh, but we do indeed continue rotating them through our cupboards. Whatever, I'm glad this makes her happy. 

Dear friends, it occurred to me that I haven't yet asked you to name a vibrant thing. To refresh, philosopher Jane Bennett's research asserts that "things have a sort-of agency—they can "speak" to us, they open windows to memories and ideas, they summon a deeper relationship." 

What special item comes to mind and why does it "speak" to you? 

29/31

Links to 28/31 &
the 31 Things Launch Post

Check out this "honking" pencil, ha. 

A birthday gift from my middle granddaughter I, her Mom explained that when I saw it, she pointed and said, "Pops." Despite being only two, it seems she get's me. 😊💖

We spend lots of happy together-time drawing and colouring and writing i i i i i (line, dot, line, dot...) to represent her name. By the way, introducing drawing to children through lines and dots encourages and unlocks many simple drawing approaches even before introducing shapes. (Thank you Paul Klee.) Hence, it seems to me that my granddaughter might be just as invested as I am in vibrant things for creatives. 

Dear I, here's hoping that a pencil (or paint brush or stylus, or—nod to Dr. Seuss here—whatever tool inspires you to be you-er) becomes for you, like me, an ever-amusing portal to meaning and learning and self-expression and exploring and attending to this one astonishing life. 

28/31

Links to 27/31 
& the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Some vibrant things communicate directly and sometimes they provide key, important, info for those in one's social circle on how to more accurately read the room. (Especially for us introverts, ha.) 

I know that mental health wearables are typically smart-watches, headphones, fit-bits, and the like—they serve some owners well—but why not a sort of neo-old-school option? This analog social battery button brings some levity to the room but, let's be honest, it might be a decent emotional regulation option before the robots take over become even more sophisticated to our, er, benefit (?) at least as some folks insist.  

Apparently, future iterations of AI connected wearables will apparently use real-time data (sleep, heart-rate, etc.) for crisis prediction. Whoa. I appreciate there could be some life-saving benefits, but I can't help but imagine what the billionaires will do with that data? Yikes. I'm no technophobe, but I think I'll stick to analog for now. 

How 'bout you?

27/31

Links to 26/31 &
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

Links to 25/31 &
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

Links to 24/31 &
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

Links to 23/31 &
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.