Le'ts be honest

Source: The Contrarian
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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.)

Fed up?

Fuel your body & feed your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I bet Kafka and Camus liked breakfast for dinner.

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

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

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Rob. ber. y. 😡

I never thought I'd have to quit turkey cold turkey! 😮 

UFBs

discovered in a child's
playground toy 
(insert horrified face here)

My son and I have spent decades marveling at bugs, especially those that attempted to ambush us, scare us, kill us. Yes, that's hyperbole; we reside in Canada, not Australia. But still. 

One of my son's first most complex utterances was, "Look dad, BIG HONKIN' SPIDER!" 😂 'Twas. 

These days we just text photos to each other: evil Spruce/June bugs, big-ass (honkin') spiders, and UFBs aka Unidentified Flying Bastards. 

This reminds me. No shade to the majority of the population, but I am astounded at how many of you folks belong to various group texts. I cannot endure text chains. Occasionally I experience momentary fomo, but (to me) most group texts feel more sad trombone than thrilling announcement. They're like urgent emails on Friday afternoons. Or like ringing someone's doorbell—not to socialize with them—but more like to stand in their yard. Ugh.

My son has similar feelings. But, and I bet he'd agree, I'd join a group text whereby participants simply share a photo of the bugs that attempted to slay them. Relatable, or um, no? 

Dear friends, do you enjoy group texts? Or UFBs? Also...if this post (ironically) feels a bit group-textish, I apologize and, as always, no comment is expected nor required. 

Inside My Box

Inside my box.

I slept in a box this weekend. Along with several other people, I participated in a homeless simulation, and I got the message. 

I have seen bums sleeping on the streets in Edmonton, Montreal, Paris, Rome. Sometimes I would put a coin or two in their cups and move on. Before my experience, I hadn't thought about what it means to label someone a "bum." Sleeping on asphalt outside overnight has me thinking carefully about that word and its intent. When I call someone a bum, am I saying...You are a piece of crap? You are connected to a bodily function that I'd rather not dwell on? Hence I can ignore you?

My 12-hour homeless experience was the tip of the tip of the poverty iceberg, yet the event clearly said gratitude. Usually blind to my privileges, I saw them everywhere at home today: blankets, pillows, lip balm, toothpaste, mosquito spray, deodorant, sunglasses, socks, shampoo, food. So much comfort. Doesn't everyone deserve this comfort? Yet the poor are blamed, dismissed, disrespected, ignored.  

How does that lack of compassion impact a person's daily mental health?

Science teaches that pain is subjective. Our brains use pain as a signal for action; the actual pain is not an accurate indicator of how much damage has occurred to our bodies (or minds). Thus pain responses are individual in nature. This is both fascinating to me, and, considering the homeless, tragic. Yet it explains a lot, because if my pain is not your pain, it takes effort to truly understand your pain. Thus the homeless, and what they're experiencing--so abstract to me--becomes invisible to me as it does for so many of us. 

I survived one night sleeping outside in a box, but if I had to do it again tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow and almost everyone ignored me everyday...who would my pain make of me? A thief? A drug addict? Dead? It's not so abstract anymore. 

?

Like millions of others I'm reading about, I am bewildered by what is happening in the United States. Sure, I was bewildered last year too. Shocked. Angered. Grossed out. Worried. But now it's worse. And it renders me unable to think clearly. This is not the US I grew up next to. I'm not American and I don't pretend to know what it's like to be an American. It's always a matter of worldviews and perceptions, but I'm so confused by this open bigotry and ignorant tyranny and "alternative facts."

I always seek to understand people because, despite differing ideologies, the great leveler is that we are all human and don't we want the best for our children, for all children? This situation is way beyond political parties. Yet not everyone (?!) feels some combination of appalled and outraged, so what now? And what next?

Often, I am guilty of leading with my feelings. As we all should know, feelings are not facts so perhaps that isn't the best way to think critically and calmly about 2017 in North America. Nevertheless, this FEELS like when I was a kid and I watched Roots or when Sting sang, "I hope the Russians love their children too." It FEELS like when I read Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank or Night by Elie Wiesel or 1984 or The Handmaid's Tale or when I met a man who lived through Hiroshima. It FEELS like my Great-Grandfather, who paid the ultimate sacrifice at Passchendaele in World War 1, would be sickened by these developments. I don't even know how to explain these feelings. It's a heavy feeling, a fog. Growing up privileged and safe and comfortable and free likely explains why I feel so confused at times. But right now, I'm awake. I'm alert. And I feel empowered by all those who DO feel appalled and outraged and MOTIVATED.

Facts or Factish?

According to a variety of sources, 1 in 12 men and 1 in 200 women are colour-blind. Typically a genetic condition, there are several types of this “blindness.”  Some forms are mild, some severe such as those who see no colours at all, only greys. Most colour-blind people DO see colours although they are not fully able to “see” red, green or blue.

Think about that. Colour-blindness is a fact. And yet don’t we “regular-sighted” people tend to think red is a fact, green is a fact, blue is a fact. Maybe that’s not true? Even though 11/12 men could all point to red and 199/200 women could do the same, maybe colours can be opinions?

Colour-blindness is not considered a severe limitation; “sufferers” learn to adapt by using other cues such as labels, brightness, or location. Red/green colour blindness is the most common. The name is tricky because apparently, this doesn’t mean sufferers mix up red and green; instead, they struggle to distinguish colours which contain some red or green as part of the whole colour. For example, a red/green colour blind person will confuse a blue and a purple because they can’t ‘see’ the red element of the colour purple. One man described it this way: “most people would see 32 differently coloured crayons in a box; I see about 12.”

Think about that too. For some, 1 x 32 = 12 colours. Whoa. Maybe basic math isn’t factual either? 

This leads me to three conclusions:

1. Some so-called facts are actually fact-ish.
2. Therefore, it’s important to question "facts" (and their sources).
3. And it’s especially important to question facts even if you’re absolutely sure you know the facts because those have been the “facts” your entire life.

Here's my point: our judgment, our choices, our decisions, must be based on critical thinking. Sure, confirmation bias is way easier, but emotions aren’t facts. Perceptions aren’t facts. Opinions aren’t facts. Even some facts may only be fact-ish. Determine the truth based on a combination of evidence from several sources through observation, experience, evidence, analysis, reasoning, research, reflection, and so on. Otherwise, we may become colour-blinded people manipulated by those who insist their red is red and their green is green.

Let's be honest:

Hate makes you an asshole.

race is in your head. Racism is not.

1. "I think there's just one kind of folks. Folks." ~Harper Lee

2. "You never understand a person until you see things from his point of view." ~Harper Lee

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Really? No women? Not even one?

"Feminism isn't about making women stronger. Women are already strong. It's about changing the way the world perceives that strength." G.D. Anderson

108% Sure

source

We’ve all had our wars with insects. Whether spiders, mosquitoes, flying ants, and especially spruce beetles, the struggle is real. But honey bees? No problem. Sure they sting. Not pleasant. But more typically, they are busy saving the world, literally. Essential to human survival, not only do our precious bees make honey for our glazed doughnuts, they also make protective wax for those round little cheeses we all like. Oh and they pollinate crops and flowers and trees which is basically everything we rely on for nourishment. Yes, the little bee, like a tiny hairy farmer in black and yellow overalls, is essential to our food production and our food economy. Food’s pretty cool to have, isn’t it? So yup, bees = good.

But what about those other bees? Yes, I’m referring to the bee’s aggressive relative, the ones I’m 108% sure are never invited over to any bee family reunion: wasps and hornets. AKA flying arses. 

Sure, they resemble some sort of super-cool prototype for futuristic flying machines but they have one mode: hair trigger. And one emotional response to everything: WHAT? OH REALLY? MAKE ME! WANNA GO? WANNA GO? We all know at least one wasp or hornet who’s bragged on social media about

• ruining a BBQ.
• ruining some kid’s birthday party.
• ruining an outdoor wedding.
• ruining the outdoors.
• flying around the bar set up on the deck trying to steal drinks like, well, bar-flies (on steroids).
• constructing the only deceptively delicate paper mache art-pieces that (when suddenly encountered) induce terror.
• snorting bear-spray.
• killing a lady-bug.
• kidnapping caterpillars and feeding them to their young, live! (Not even kidding.)
• generally stealing happiness by causing everything in their path to wither.

But you know what else wasps and hornets do? They make a really sweet sound when you hit them with a badminton racket. There: now you have something I don’t recommend you try at least once this weekend. Wink. 

Things one should never outgrow:

Happy birthday Donny. Miss ya.

If you're a Canadian, you know about these. And how they are basically their own food group. Or they should be.

My wife loves them. So did my brother.

Vuja-de

I think most people have experienced deja-vu. Defined as “the illusion of remembering scenes and events when experienced for the first time only,” deja-vu happens randomly without explanation. An odd sensation, it may feel confusing and difficult to describe or defend. And in my experience, it’s fleeting and quickly forgotten. It’s sort of a throwaway experience.

Consider instead vuja-de. There’s nothing throwaway about it and that’s why I love it.

Vuja-de is deja-vu reversed. In other words, it’s knowing the experience has happened many times before and yet it’s seeing that experience in new ways as if it were the “first time” with newly wide-open fresh eyes. Think about that. Think about how it would add value to every single day.

Perhaps it seems that there are few novel experiences in day-to-day life. Most days could quite possibly be described as repetitive and inconsequential. How many days are particularly noteworthy? Vuja-de dispels wearisomeness because it embraces the notion that each day is potential, each day is opportunity, each day is imaginable. Vuja-de is about choosing the better perspective.

Recently, I had the privilege to listen to a holocaust survivor, Dr. Eva Olsson. Her life-experiences are raw and disturbing, yet enlightening and inspiring too. Her message is simple, (yet an enormous task): she aims to banish hate. I’m thankful for her words and even more thankful many young people heard her truth because there’s precious little time left to learn first-person from veterans and survivors. One particular story stood out and it wasn’t one of hers. Instead it was about her. The teacher who introduced her to the crowd described the two of them walking out into the sunshine earlier that day when Dr. Eva, 92-year-old holocaust survivor, stopped and stated, “Oh this sunshine is so beautiful.”

Of course it is. And given her harrowing experiences, of course she would know how precious it is. Yet how many times do we walk into the light each day and notice nothing remarkable about it? That’s why I believe we all need a little vuja-de.

Things one should never outgrow:

small-town skating-rink fries & gravy.

Shoehorned?

Writer David Gerrold said, “Half of being smart is knowing what you’re dumb at.” It’s one of my all-time favourite quotes. There are so many things I’m dumb at. Some examples:

1.       Parking.

2.       Answering the phone.

3.       Opening vehicle hoods.

4.       Selfies. (How does everyone know where to look?)

5.       Not eating.

And 6,453 other things. But I had no idea I was dumb at shoehorns. And then I got some new shoes. Swanky ones. Anyway, my wife (waiting at the door to leave so we can attend something not at our house which is pretty much the only place I like to attend during evenings) saw my struggle and, brow furrowed, swooped in to help me, aka take over. Suddenly, she was on the floor and my shoe still wasn’t on and we were having one of those husband-wife “discussions” that waver hazardously on the tipping point between laughter and rage.

This is pretty much how it went down:

Me: There’s something wrong with these shoes.

The wife: (shakes head, smiles) There’s something wrong with you.

M: There’s something wrong with YOU.

TW: YOU.

M: I have a solution. Let’s stay home.

TW: (makes the face) No.

M: It was worth a try. I can’t help it if one of my feet is bigger than the other.

TW: What? Since when?

M: I don’t know; feet are feet. One gained weight.

TW: Just USE the shoe horn.

M: I’ve never used a shoe horn before. Shoehorns are for old people.

TW: YES they are for old people who can’t put their shoes on!

M: (crushing the heel)

TW: (unprintable things)

After three attempts…

TW: USE the shoe horn.

M: (more heel crushing which only enflames my wife’s agony since she loves loves loves shoes) Why won’t it work?

TW: (looks at me like I’m a stop sign that says go)

At this point we can’t stop laughing. My shoe is outsmarting us. It’s like we’re playing shoe Twister.

M: I’ll just wear other shoes?

TW: (Doubly determined. Finally. Something. Works.)

M: (I so want to make a joke that starts with “if the shoehorn fits” but we’re late and the air feels prickly.)

Later, I shared this story with my hardware-store guy and he says this: “maybe you can learn how to use a shoehorn on YouTube?” So we googled it. AND YOU CAN, which also means I’m not the only one dumb at shoe-horns. See folks: we’re all dumb at something, until we’re not. It's a choice. Choose. 

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. 

Things one (and all) should outgrow:

source

war.

?

Worms & dirt donuts? Whoa. Clever.

So why not...French Toast Donuts? Lemon Poppy-seed Donuts? Pop-Tart Donuts? Ice-cream Sundae Donuts? Irish-Cream Donuts? Rice-Krispie Square Donuts?

If you ask me, those are quite deep frideas.

Sorry.

"Treat everyone as if they are carrying a box of donuts." ~Josh Hara

Let's talk turkeys, shall we?

source

Even though I’m terrified of turkeys, I once read a storybook about a turkey living on a farm. It’s almost Thanksgiving and so naturally, the turkey is a tad worried. While being chased by an axe-wielding farmer, the turkey disguises himself as various other farm animals to avoid the axe. For example, he rolls around in the mud pretending to be a pig. The farmer sees through this and every other one of his ruses but just before the axe can fall, turkey’s farm friends yell, “Run turkey RUN!” Spoiler alert: the turkey manages to dodge the farmer and the family has grilled cheese sandwiches for Thanksgiving.

Three things about this little Thanksgiving yarn:

1. Grilled cheese sandwiches are pretty great.
2. Turkeys are idiots.
3. All turkeys must die.

Okay that last point might be a tad harsh but it’s borne from my hatred for turkeys (at least those not basted with butter, stuffed with bread, and about to be served on a platter with potatoes and carrots). Anyway, here’s something else I think we can all learn from this story:

1. Thanksgiving is not a turkey. In other words, not every year goes as planned. Be together anyway. Be thankful anyway. Celebrate having enough instead of having more.
2. If your friends have helped you out, tell them. Go back and tell them. You may never get another chance.
3. Sometimes the turkey can’t be killed. (Stay with me here.) In other words, chasing those elusive whatevers in our lives may be counterproductive, even futile. Is it really what you want? Maybe it’s time to re-evaluate goals. There’s a time to persist and there’s a time to reinvent. And if I’m wrong about this one, if you choose to persist, then go ahead and blow that turkey’s head off.

(If you're a Canuck like me, a happy Thanksgiving to you this weekend!)

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Whoa. I'm 99% sure the world does not need this and yet, I'm 98% sure the world needs this.

Things the deserve the stink-eye:

Thanks neighbours from Nova Scotia!
(And shout out to the Atlantic Ocean too.)

Sure. They're tasty. But ugly. Like nightmare inducing ugly. Ditto lobster. Ditto octopus. Ditto head cheese. Whoa. My brain just combined all these into crab-lobster-octopus head cheese. Sorry.