I wish I had a flame-thrower.

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Since March 2020, living in Alberta and surviving a pandemic has been, um, interesting. Of course the entire world has experienced ups and downs but our struggles have been compounded by our particular government, loathe to admit their number one job during a crisis: public service. No matter where you live, maybe you can relate? 

I need to vent. 

First Wave

1. Fear
2. Toilet Paper
3. Social Distancing
4. Our government: let's fire people.
5. Anxiety and confusion.
6. We told our daughter not to visit us. *heart breaks* 
7. Visit relatives through windows.
8. Celebrate health care heroes.
9. Masks everywhere except on Facebook.
10. Hunkering down & resilience.

Second Wave

1. Government: let's keep everyone in suspense.
2. Government: mixed messages are still messages, right? (Some MLAs resist restrictions).
3. Government: we would prefer if more of you died. 
4. Perseverance
5. Tick, tick, tick...
6. EVERYONE STAY HOME AGAIN.
7. CANCEL ALL PLANS (except politicians who have to go to Hawaii, and such). 
8. World Ending (January 6, 2021)
9. Eat everything.
10. Hunkering down & resilience.
11. Celebrating health care heroes.
12. Some churches can't remember the golden rule.
13. Government: get vaccinated now.
14. Government: let me be clear; Alberta will never have vaccine passports.
15. 30% of Albertans begin doing "research."
16. 70% of Albertans get vaccinated 12 minutes after they're eligible.
17. Our premier takes a camera crew with him to go hug his mother. 
18. Government: get vaccinated now but we can't tell you if we are vaccinated or not.

Third Wave:

1. In their "spare time," doctors pick up extra jobs being activists (to fill the void in government leadership).
2. Fatigue.
3. Hanging on.
4. EVERYONE STAY HOME FOR TWO WEEKS. 
5. Infections and hospitalizations dramatically decrease.
6. Government: But, rodeos!
7. Government: "Open for summer; open for good" & "BEST SUMMER EVER." lol, facepalm
8. Government: here's some money to get vaccinated (suck that, vaccine passports). 
9. Welcome relief (temporary). 
10. As summer continues, the predominant facial expression is side-eye.

Fourth Wave:

1. Government: our non-plans for rising case numbers are data-based; also, let's make sure kids aren't protected this Fall.
2. Where's the data?
3. Government: [away-from-office auto-reply]
4. Um, hello?
5. Hello?
6. SCREAMING INTO THE VOID.
7. Doctors organize daily demonstrations begging for basic restrictions for children & other vulnerable people.
8. Government: here's a video and see, it's not pre-recorded like the Christmas vacations ones were. 
9. Covidiots complete their covid-19 Facebook degrees.
10. Covidiots begin protesting at hospitals.
11. Government: we're fiscally responsible but here's more money for anti-vaxxers (suck it, people who already got vaccinated).
12. Government: we still can't declare our own vaccinations statuses.
13. Reporter: "But health minister, people are dying!" 
14. Government: "That's good feedback for us."
15. WTF?
16. Rage flame-throwing (aka writing yet another MLA letter).
17. Government: here's a vaccine passport but we named it something else stupid and confusing. 
18. Next? Perhaps the military will be deployed to help save us from our government & covidiots? 
19. Rage wood-chipping.  
20. Hunkering down & resilience. 

For someone else?

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Yesterday, I voted.  

In my three decades of voting—both provincially and federally in Canada—I have voted across the political spectrum. Is that your experience too? Over the years, I voted based on limited information, or out of fear, or anger, sometimes in protest, sometimes in reaction to scandal, sometimes convinced by empty arguments founded in whataboutism. Sometimes, I voted with little contemplation, aligned with family and/or other groups of people, aka tribalism. 

The current political grind makes me understandably cynical about politicians who continue to devolve to be more partisan, unable to work together on anything. Can you relate? In Alberta for example, we have the worst provincial government since the province was formed a century ago. Faced with unprecedented unpopularity, daily calls for resignations, protest after protest, no one in that party is steering the ship. Their strategy? Pander to their conspiracy-theory minority base. Ignore every scandal or defend hypocrisy. Lower taxes yet download all costs to municipalities. Collaborate with no one. Stream endless bullshit. Gaslight and double down. Hence, storm after storm, we drift. 

Sigh. So does voting really matter anymore? 

Absolutely. Please vote. If we check out of politics, we will not even contemplate (let alone combat) the issues that we remain dogged by: wealth inequality, privilege, xenophobia... Right now, idiots are protesting at hospitals and harassing schools! The Trump years continue to highlight democracy's fragility and yikes, there are our climate challenges too. Despite disillusionment and cynicism, we must persist. Why? 

Time has proven that voting matters and policy change has improved our lives, drastically. I mean it's a simple example, but as a child I had never even heard of recycling. Think of our extended life expectancy and enhanced quality of life, communication and technology innovations, a more educated society, improved social justice policies, and so on. I recognize that many of these examples should be followed by "for some" in parenthesis. It took me much too long to realize that voting is only the first step; regardless of the outcome, I must remain engaged after election day. I will choose accordingly, with my wallet and with my voice.  

Yesterday, inspired by allyship, I voted for my granddaughter's future. If you are struggling for reasons to vote, perhaps there's someone's future you might vote for too? 

Let's be honest...

source

if you're protesting at a hospital, you're a moron. 

Sound

What’s your favourite sound?

I love sound: honest music, belly laughs, kittens purring, faraway skidoos, loved-one’s voices, rivers flowing, birds singing, ukulele strums, stomach gurgles and soft heartbeats. And more. It’s all great. But my favourite sound? Silence.

Around us everywhere is sound. And we are constantly processing it. We may filter some, but sound is hard to ignore. Worse yet is the chatter. It distracts us, it demands, it chastises, it confuses, it weakens: the radio, the TV, the texts, the constant updates and news flashes, the global cycle of doom, gloom, renewal, and resume. All these sound-waves impact us. They reverberate. We absorb them. Once they’re inside us, we process that discord and it churns. We’re distracted, we’re frustrated, we’re confused, we’re anxious, we’re worried, and we may not even know why. Whatever or whoever the din, we must continually swim in this steady stream of noise.

Therefore I wish you silence. In other words, I wish you peace. What’s more valuable than peace? Think about it. Don’t we all deserve a little peace? Peace of mind? To be peaceful. It soothes. It balms. It bolsters. What’s better than that?

That’s the thing: we can make peace. We can find it. We can choose it. In small ways and big ways. For most of us, it’s not that far away. And for those whose peace is distant, we can make peace for others. There are a million ways. Go offline. Go outside. Be pure of heart. Have good intentions. Apologize. Walk. Pull your sheets out the dryer and crawl inside them. Seek ways to be on good terms with others. Stop comparing yourself to others. Compromise. Forgive. Empower someone else and bask in their happiness. Surrender something. Learn something. Be honest and open and real and vulnerable. Stop trying to solve everything, at least for a while. Accept that determining blame is unproductive. Be humble. Sneak away for a while. Stay in bed an extra hour. Spend time with someone you trust and tell them what’s troubling you. Like cats do, sit in the sun. Give away cookies. Think about what you’ve accomplished instead of what you haven’t. Wander for a while. Slow down. Recharge. Breathe. Make peace with someone and it might hardly make a sound and yet it will be heard in the most important places in the heart. 

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

For realz or just clever marketing?
(I would brand this unsheared oil.)

Hmm. Does my beard stink? Is it not shiny enough? No one's complained. Yet. Honestly though, it didn't occur to me until I discovered beard oil. According to Reddit, beard oil is a good thing. Could be I guess. But then I researched the ingredients. According to the Art of Manliness (also new to me), you can DIY your own beard oil using the following recipe:

-1 tbsp melted coconut oil
-3 drops of peppermint oil

Hmm. Have the same sort sorts of sexist marketing practices that target (and overcharge) women become commonplace for men as well? Totally.

Anyway, I'll let you know how this works out after I finish reading the manly skills section of the Art of Manliness. Lol.

Marshmallow test?

I hesitate to call it an oven mitt. Sure, it's an 'ove' glove but I prefer HULK HAND. A gift from my wife, instead of hulk anger it incites in me this desire to test it on really, REALLY hot things. Casseroles? No problem. Lava? ABSOLUTELY. And that's why I foresee a sad end for this asbestos-packed kitchen wonder-mitt. In other words, I suspect that around the campfire this summer, the marshmallow test will have a whole new meaning, and no stick required! That's reasonable, right?

Hammer?

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

1. constructively or 2. destructively.

I’m sure I was quite young the first time I used a hammer. And despite my age then, I immediately knew the power of a hammer. It would smash anything! Especially my fingers. I remember the frustration when I missed the nail yet again. I know the fear of dropping the hammer and wondering about those working below (or my toes). I know the exhaustion of using a sledge hammer and the satisfying way it cements things together. I know the power I wield swinging a hammer. It seems to me that there are plenty of lessons in a hammer. Perhaps the best though is Abraham Maslow’s lesson. He quite famously wrote in his ground-breaking book about human psychology, “I suppose it is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail.”

People, everything in this complex world is not necessarily a nail. And we need not always choose the same tools: everything does not need to be pounded. Maybe there’s a different way to think about things? Maybe it’s not so simple? Maybe it’s not so black and white? Think back. At many times we people believed things that were clearly mistakes:

1.       The world was flat.

2.       Climate change was a myth.

3.       The people in charge have all the answers.

No one has all the answers. No one. Not even you. Especially if all you have is a hammer. 

Grr.

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Everyone has a dark(ish) side. Even me. Sure, I’m a nice guy. Almost always. Someone actually gave me this advice once: “you’re too nice.” Well well. There are worse things to be accused of, so I have chosen to live with that diagnosis. Yet, as with everyone, my dark side surfaces. It lifts its furrowed head and looks around. And what does it see?

Idiots.

Let me explain. People claim that true selves emerge in trying circumstances. Like in a disaster. Like when threatened with death. Like when faced with a grizzly, or a very large snake or a massive tax-bill or especially a turkey. (Sorry. That last example is a little more science-ish than science.) According to real science, there is truth to this reactive behaviour. During calm, we typically manage our lives using the frontal lobe, the rational decision-making portion of the brain. However, during great threat, the amygdala, the small inner core of the brain, trumps all rational thinking and instead, we act based on intense emotion: fight, flight, or freeze. This is designed to save our lives but yet also ruin our lives, because well, idiots idiot things up.

So when does the amygdala transform us into idiots? Is it when our grandparents ask us to fix their computers? Is it when surveys are requested during supper? Is it when our phones are missing? All of the above. And more. Quite honestly, we’ve all lost our shit here and there and that one time at that family reunion. Ahem. But I digress.

My amygdala typically gets rage-y when I’m driving. It’s emotional. People cut you off. They don’t always remember their signal lights. They drive too slowly. So no offence but I probably called you an idiot. I’m not the only one though. See, I conducted an official math(ish) poll and it turns out that literally seven out of ten people also think you drivers are idiots. You do not want to know what the other three people called you.

Hmm. I discovered yesterday that I’ve been driving with only one headlight. I wonder what you called me?

See? Everyone does have a dark(ish) side.

All. One.

In response to terrorism, I saw this simple but sad and profound sign: “humans, but no humanity.” When people forget their humanity, I say, start with the dictionary. Humanity (noun) can be defined four ways:

1. All human beings collectively; the human race; humankind.

The key word here is ALL. I’ll say it again. ALL.

2. The quality or condition of being human; human nature.

After becoming wheel-chair bound due to Multiple Sclerosis, my Grandmother came to live with us for a while. Losing much of her mobility and her independence, she seemed understandably bitter at times, but when she pushed through her struggles, she gave me drawing lessons. Human nature balances somewhere between selfishness and altruism but it always tips toward the right thing. Thankfully. Unlike animals, we humans have a moral predisposition and scorn violence and contempt. Except when we forget. See history.

3. The quality of being humane; kindness; benevolence.

I missed the bus in Grade 1 once. A Grade 6 girl waited with me while my Mom drove to town. She sat very close to me, quietly. I don’t recall her name but when my Mom finally arrived, a Popsicle in her hand, I ran to greet her and quite honestly, I doubt if I even glanced back to thank that girl for essentially being my family while I sat and cried on the front steps of our school for thirty minutes. We were strangers but kindness and benevolence prevailed. As it should. When we don’t forget.

4. The humanities: the study of languages, literature, Latin and Greek classics, philosophy, art, etc., as distinguished from the natural sciences.

I have always found my heart and my truth in stories and in writing and in art. I believe it’s our ability to read and to write and to draw that leads to understanding, to wisdom, to action. One of my early literature obsessions was Shel Silverstein. He said, “Many leaves, one tree.” The key here is ONE. I’ll say it again. ONE. 

Murse?

Is that a murse?!

My new man purse is getting a lot of attention. And by a lot of attention I mean like three, maybe four people have mentioned it (aka called me on it) so this is probably irrelevant and I’m just embarrassing myself again but that’s never stopped me before so anyway...one SO-CALLED friend even went so far as to completely throw me under the macho bus when he (and his mocking smile) shared this uncalled-for tidbit: “Let’s get real. It’s not a murse, it’s a purse.”

Whoa. Haters gonna hate. Oddly, I've been using a murse for over a decade and until now, in the reaction department, crickets. Sure, people have mentioned it in the past occasionally, whether to tease me or to determine if I have food in there. It’s been during those rare instances when I actually remember that it may be somewhat out of the ordinary. Only then do I wonder, is there something wrong with using a murse?  

Unless it’s donuts or a cake, I don’t notice what other people carry around, male or female. Honestly, I never really thought about this much. My murse seems practical to me. I need to carry my laptop somehow. My books. Pens. A laser pointer. You know, geek swag. All those things combined won’t fit in my pockets so what else am I supposed to do?

Some of you traditionalists may be thinking, why wouldn’t you carry a backpack instead? A briefcase? Something, anything else? Sure. Those could work. But I prefer a murse. Hands free, it works for me. But here’s the thing: I don’t CALL it my murse. I guess I call it my bag, maybe even shoulder bag (like once, maybe). Why would I bother calling it anything?! It has no personality and it’s not a parakeet.

But now I realize my mistake. Because then this happened during an unprompted mini-debate about my murse: someone rebranded it as a satchel. A satchel? As in Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) had a satchel. So HA haters… MAYBE I HAVE A SWISS ARMY-KNIFE IN THERE! Or a small rattlesnake! OR A LIGHT-SABER (wrong movie, but close enough). OR SOME JAMES BOND GADGET (again the wrong movie, but still.) Or more likely jujubes that I will NEVER SHARE AGAIN. Take that murse-haters. 

Things one should never outgrow:

Grandma & Teresa. 

our elders.

I admire and respect those who care for people who can no longer care for themselves. It confuses me when others neglect their grandparents and other elders. We are all busy. Yet everything we have is, in some way or another, a gift from before.

Superstitions?

According to all reliable sources, here’s the proof:

     1.    Superstitions come in threes.

     2.    Especially when you walk under a ladder.

     3.    Even worse on Friday the 13^th.

     4.    But, knock on wood, there is a solution:

     5.    Eat an apple; it keeps the doctor away.

     6.    However, it’s unclear which type of doctor: my hope is that it refers to plastic surgeons.

     7.    Speaking of distorted faces, go ahead and drop a mirror. Why? Who needs luck for the better part of a decade? Kidding…the number seven is lucky so mirror-tossing actually has a reverse effect. Boom.

8.    All four-leaf clovers are stored at the end of the rainbow.

9.    When black cats cross your path don’t look away in fear or you will miss the chickens on their backs: that’s how they cross the road. Fingers crossed. (Side-note: sometimes they step on cracks. Sorry Moms.)

10. Itchy palms mean forthcoming mail related to money, sometimes debits, sometimes credits, or maybe the phone is going to ring or maybe your ears will ring because someone mentioned you on social media. (This one’s still confusing to me because I don’t have Facebook.)

11. Find a penny, pick it up, all day long, you’ll have a penny. Uh oh…this only works outside of Canada.

12. Every sixth Friday at dawn, animals can talk. (A cat told me this.)

13. Problems are easy to solve if you’re an idiot, am I right?

You might be thinking: what is all this horseshoe? Sorry for all the silliness. What motivates superstitions? Why do we humans think and do all these irrational things? Psychologists relate this behavior to the “uncertainty hypothesis.” This is the idea that when people are unsure about the outcome of a situation, they try to find a way to control it. These control-methods may be odd. Nevertheless, they sometimes provide the mental boost needed to trick ourselves into perseverance mode so we can push through fear of the unknown. Or here’s another way to deal: just think rationally. Um, not so easy for us humans, is it? So friends...keep stepping on spiders and throwing salt if you need to. Either way, something will happen. 

Just so you know, the answer is no.

Was this built by giants?

It does look as though Hagrid or Mag the Mighty built it, but this picnic table-for-10 was indeed constructed by a very talented regular-sized human being whose only wizardry skill is nevertheless quite impressive: carpentry. I've decided it's the coolest picnic table ever, uh, unless it requires moving at some point.

Wordfuse

Sometimes really big things fall over. And when they fall over, they make a big mess. And sometimes it's hard to clean up that mess.

"Those who fight corruption should be clean themselves." ~Vladimir Putin

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Um, a both impressive and disturbing display, I encountered this performance art-piece (?) outside a grocery store so let's hope it's less urine and more someone's "leaky" orange juice.

(Get it? Leaky. Sorry.)

Things one should never outgrow:

Van de Graaff Generator

physics (& curiosity & wonder & play).

(It made my shoes snap! Plus I couldn't stop flinching due to all the suspense. Electricity is dangerous fun.)

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

What sociopath thought up a spray-on version of
something that should never, ever be available in
spray-on?! (Little brothers everywhere beware.)

Truly, this scares the shit out of me.

Just so you know, the answer is no.

Is it possible for me to NOT wonder every time I use a boot-boy if today is the day when he snaps and becomes a wood chipper?

Whoa.

9 Lives?

Not long ago I actually said this to a small group of people while chatting: “Oh no I don’t dance. Anymore. I used to dance. Those days are over.” And then even before I lifted my chins and saw the sadness on their little earnest faces as they kindly suggested I really should try dancing again, I thought, WHAT AM I SAYING and WHO AM I and WHEN DID I TURN 86 and WHY AM I SUCH A DING-DONG?

Regardless of those sags and skin-tags, chins and bumps, and ups and upheavals, those wrinkles and worry, scars and stretch-marks, that one finger that won’t straighten anymore, that mortgage, that low tolerance for hip-hop and a hip that won’t much tolerate hop anymore, regardless of all that TV Kardashian-nincompoopness and the fact that it’s impossible to find a kid to mow your lawn or shovel the driveway anymore (I mean COME ON) or that falling-asleep sitting up issue, that awkward-irk-thing when someone is sitting in my chair, regardless of that annoying not-knowing why you came into that room brainfart routine, or whatever the really impressive sentence I was going to write here but I already forgot it, regardless of oh never mind here’s my point: can’t we all just DECIDE to reclaim this stray-cat of a thing called youth? Maybe youth has 9 lives? Think about it.

Why not have a “Reclamation of Youth Day.” Apparently, it’s a thing. I didn’t bother to research the actual date because well, irrelevant. Isn’t any day the perfect day to…

1. Find a pal and have a watergun-fight? Snowball fight? Thumb-war? Or maybe surprise your spouse with one of these?

2. Stop being angry they don’t make regular light-bulbs anymore.

3. Throw a pumpkin off a bridge?

4. Get yourself some selfie-sticks and an Instagram account.

5. Stop making the bed; it’s just going to get messed up again.

6. Fix your own computer/phone/TV/iPad/PVR/GPS/phone/coffee-maker/everything.

7. Mojitos. Jager-bombs?  

8. Ask your parents for money. Or better yet, your kids.

9. Daydream. Stay in bed all day? Lego? Harry Potter marathon?

10. Dance. 

To reclaim means to "regain possession of." Essentially, to "repossess." So get on your ten-or-much-less-now-speed-bike (of-course-ensure-it-has-that-special-protective-seat-and-goodness-sakes-wear-a-helmet-I’m-not-saying-lose-your-mind) and go reclaim your youth. (Re)take what is yours: life. 

Things one should never outgrow:

snowball fights, even inside snowball fights. Because fun.

Besides, it's a little too cold outside right now.