No more than 12/hr.

I purchased this card (by Eat Haggis)
in Scotland this summer. :)

Home. 'Tis not so sweet for some. Sigh. But my home? The sweetest. My (long) weekend plans include 

a) nothing
b) nothing
c) nothing
d) all of the above. 

Despite the relief of no real plans, sadly, here in northwestern Alberta, it's raining, with snow forecast tonight. Sigh. So what better weekend to stay hame sweet hame?

If you noticed, I sighed twice in this post thus far. Fun (?) fact: science says that although excessive sighing is a worrisome well-being indicator, on average, we humans still sigh every 5 minutes, or 12 sighs per hour. 

That many?! I had no idea. 

And why do we sigh? It's a response to anxiety and stress. But apparently typical sighing is connected to optimum lung health and acts as a nervous system reset. Although we are encouraged to seize the day, it seems our bodies are designed to seize the peace. I like that. 

Dear friends, whether you're home or not this weekend and whatever the weather, I wish for you some contentment. In other words, slow down: no more than twelve sighs an hour. 

All Along

I'm no scientist, but I've long known there's an abundance of lessons (and solace) among the trees. Only recently though did I learn that leaves don't really change colours as Autumn progresses; more accurately, they unveil themselves. 

We all likely learned some of this in elementary school: in Spring and Summer, abundant sunlight and heat enables leaves to create the nutrients trees need to survive and thrive. Leaves absorb the light for photosynthesis to occur in cells containing green-pigmented chlorophyll...but did you know that this pigment masks other pigments already within leaves?

During Autumn, daylight decreases and temperatures drop, signaling plants to form a kind of cork between leaf and stem and as leaves die, chlorophyll breaks down, the green pigment disappears, and other pigments are revealed: yellow, orange and red—those beguiling Fall colors.

Think about that: the colours were there all along. 

There's something altogether reassuring about this. Perhaps there's much more within us humans too? More resilience? Untapped hidden potential? Some of the answers we seek elsewhere? I'd like to think more likely than not. 

Poet Mary Oliver also felt more likely than not. In her poem, "When I am Among the Trees," she describes herself returning to the forest, her sun-dappled and comforting first love, just listening. And although she feels "distant from the hope of myself," the surrounding trees invite her to "stay a while." They say," “It’s simple...you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”

Dear friends, if you too are preoccupied with life's seasons or some other matters and needed a boost today, I hope something helpful is revealed here. If not, go to the forest. 

How to say it?

Apparently, you can buy these
stickers, lol. I miss Betty. 

I'm still thinking about emojis* and their role in our lives, so when I teased a friend via text recently and she responded with🖕I laughed—a bit surprised by her cheeky ambush mic-drop of an emoji. I countered with a fist bump, a sign of respect for her comic timing. But what did I actually appreciate about our exchange? It provided a good laugh. Who doesn't need that?

With that in mind, a thought for today: here's to giving the finger. 

Some might (understandably) frown—this is not exactly a "gift" one should "give" recklessly, emoji or otherwise. But consider this example: when I first visited my brother in the hospital soon after he shared his terminal cancer diagnosis, this was what I noticed immediately. That laugh was a most welcome way to begin that visit and that conversation. Although that "finger" didn't cure my brother's cancer, the environment felt better, safer, less severe. 

Sometimes the finger says it so well. Better than anything else. But why is that? It's science. 

Giving the finger (or saying the words) can decrease pain. And although the science is less conclusive, witnessing someone giving the finger may provide secondary catharsis, decreasing stress as it activates mirror neurons that boost feelings of empathy, shared justice, and social connectedness. Sudden thought: imagine attending some team-building session where the finger is employed to empower all participants! Attention workshop leaders: I think I'd find the novelty of that hilarious. (I dare you.)

Dear friends, these days we often feel so powerless in a world that can feel doom-y, a world where it sometimes takes too much energy to resist the bleak. Permission (for those who might need it) to use science to boost your nervous system today. 🖕😀

*Update: AC and one of his followers explained how to use the Genmoji function (iPhones) to create your own emoji. Thanks—I immediately made an orange shirt emoji. Solved. 

Things one should never outgrow:

Tex

fetch.

This dog has energy! And it's tough. And it's relentlessly playful. And it stinks. And that orange ball is basically a petri dish six weeks into some harrowing experiment.

But come on, you can't not play fetch.

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 that deserve the stink-nose:

I know a guy who needs this so I bought it for him.

Don't ask. (But oh the stories I could tell.)

Just so you know, the answer is no.

La Maison du Bagel
Montreal, QC, Canada

Are all bagels the same?

Yum.

Muchness

I watched The Theory of Everything and not surprisingly, now I'm wondering about theories for everything. Although I enjoyed the film and found some key sequences quite moving, I felt the film didn't mine the depths of Stephen Hawking or Jane Wilde or science or relationships or time or some of its other themes for the real valuable nuggets. I wanted more. And thus now I'm writing to uncover more.

More. That's a theory right there isn't it?

What is more? How deep, how wide, how much? What are the criteria for more and how do we measure it? How should we define it? What if the scientific process were applied to more?

Hypothesis: less is more. I've spent a lifetime researching this one and I already know this as truth. Only appreciating less reveals more. Take for example the not "muchness" of pairing my skiis with my music and closing my eyes as the chair lift takes me up and up, the whoosh down across rolling hills speed building, zipping around corners, then a home-made cinammon bun, a smiling slobbery baby, talking and laughing with the people I love. I don't need a lot of things; I just need to appreciate the moments. It may not seem like much but it's muchness.

Therefore, Hypothesis 2: um....run that by me one more time. That's the first "more" statement that popped into my head. And thinking it about it now, it's a gooder. One more time. In his 20s, Stephen Hawking was given two years to live. In his 70s now, he's still alive, still enjoying his family, still hypothesizing, still searching, still enjoying that aforementioned muchness, and no doubt, still struggling too. But despite hardships he's recognized what a gift one more time is indeed. What theory could be better than one more run, one more time?

What's your theory of everything?

Things that deserve the stink-what?

Shit don't stink. Literally.

Poo-pourri? It's a thing. Seriously.

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

peculiar home remedies.

#evenonesthatwork
#paige

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

My Brain: what does jet-puffed even mean?

My heart: who cares? It sounds like 

a jet stream of sugar and I WANT IT.

My brain: *resignedly shakes itself*

promoting marshmallow creme as "fat free" is like saying red herrings are not actually fish. It may be true but that's not the point.

(And yet, I want this in my belly.)

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

you say tom-AYT-o, I say tom-AHT-oh-no that is just not right.

Gestating tomatoes should come with a warning. Just sayin.

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Every time I open the fridge this keeps staring at me with its bulbous-surgery-enhanced-nipple-mouth-engorged-baboon-bum-pulsating-growth-thingy.

Ok it's not pulsating. Yet.

I try not to make awkward eye-contact but it stares.

And that's why I highly recommend it because, appetite-killer.

#thanksteresa

No. More.

There’s something you all should know. And by all I mostly mean some of you. Something another guy revealed to me. Something serious. Something important. Something both women and men should know. I like to call it: the truth.

It has to stop. Sure, sure, everyone’s laughed about it at one time or another but enough is enough. It. Must. Stop. The joking and discrimination is unfair and unkind and unacceptable. Everyone knows it yet the intolerance continues. The time for empathy, for understanding, for respect is NOW. This is another one of those turning points in history, a watershed moment, a milestone marker along this journey in life.

According to an article published in the National Post, scientists have proven that “men actually suffer more when they are struck down with illness because high levels of testosterone can weaken their immune response.”

Minus the science-y words this is essentially what men have been saying for years! Take that ladies.

I am not making this up. This is for realz. I bet PeterMansbridge leads with this story every morning when he looks in the mirror to shave and practice looking cool for the CBC National News. Why aren’t more people talking about this?!

Plus, scientists have also determined that men with higher levels of testosterone feel MORE PAIN when they ARE sick.

Boom.

I know eh?

So guess what? That commercial about that guy whose wife refers to him as a 200 pound baby is pure sexism sanctioned and encouraged by millions of women all over the world. Truth be told, I’ve even laughed at those “I survived man-flu like a big boy” mugs. But no more.

No more. 

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

My current temperature is NUTS but what's even more nuts? It's expected to all melt by the weekend. Who's in charge?! Oh right: Brick Tamland.

Things one should never outgrow:

fun with carrots aka Carrothenge.

#pureidiotgenius

Things one should never outgrow:

throwing the sopping-with-saliva barely-recognizable tennis ball for the dog and yelling fetch! even when one is pretty sure it's teeming with what might be either medical waste juice or level four diphtheria.

My Dad always said a dog's mouth is cleaner than a human's but then again my Dad was a pretty big bullshitter. (I had to learn it somewhere.)

#knox&mason&mel

This is my hood (today).

OM__ it's freakin' hot.

I hesitate to write on this topic because, as we all know, weather is predictably unpredictable, however...

It’s TOO HOT.

(If it is indeed not too hot as you read this where you live, I apologize. Right now, here, it is hot enough to give hot sauce an inferiority complex.)

I know, I know. I live in Canada plus it's Canada day. Winter is lurking nearby, smirking. Who am I to complain?! But...but...it’s just too hot. How hot IS it? It’s too hot to...

1. Cook.

2. East

3. Sleep.

4. Work.

5. Have sweat glands.

6. Play/relax/be together/be alone.

7. Encounter the colour red.

8. Be inside.

9. Be outside.

10. Be.

Anyone remember that ice tea commercial? Drink the refreshing beverage, fall backward in thirst-quenching happiness and sploosh you land inside your own personal mini-pool. Where’s the app for that? Isn’t this supposed to be the 21^st century?

And finally...I know some of you are thinking “pshaw” as you read this. Indeed, some declare, “one can never be too hot.” But those people are a minority: they’re skinny.

Talk to yourself.

Source

Question: if you lived to be 100, how many of those years would be spent in private conversation with yourself?

      a.       5 years

      b.      15 years

      c.       30 years

      d.      70 years

Before I reveal the answer, I think this begs another important question, probably the question I should have asked first: do you talk to yourself?

Don’t fib. It’s yes. In fact scientists tell us this is exactly what separates us from animals: we think about how we think. We also think about how others think. Plus, we know that others think about our thinking. Basically all this internal debating is something animals just can’t do.

Whether it’s dreaming, or daydreaming or repeating lyrics or an interior monologue or writing, it’s all inside one’s head. Apparently, part of this is completely psychological. Humans fear sudden stillness. To freeze means there is danger so we avoid that fear, consciously or not, by initiating a barrage of inside thoughts in the form of conversations. Essentially, we are equipped with our own inner narrator and that can be comforting. (Plus he might like to hum 80s song lyrics too. Just sayin.)

Anyway, so here’s the next question: what exactly do you say to yourself?

That, in fact, is the most important question: is your self-talk helping or hindering? To whom have you permitted rental space inside your head? Someone you like? Or someone who needs an eviction notice?

We really do have the power to evict. We can learn something about this from athletes. They are taught a variety of strategies to change their negative self-talk such as thought-stopping, thought-replacement, focus on the present and turning a negative into a question. It’s not rocket science is it? But it does take practice. For example, the latter strategy would go like this...instead of saying, “I can’t handle this!” say “How can I handle this?”

(I must admit that the voice in my head just now remarked that everything I’ve written thus far is utter drivel so believe me, I know how hard this is for you. And by you I mean me too.) 

Last question: what's the big ideal? According to writer Hugh Phillips, the answer to that opening question is a doozie: 70 years. Think about that. It really does matter how you talk to yourself. Is the conversation inside you a healthy one?

Not-so-Inner Skeleton

Posing for the camera.

I met a skeleton today. Literally.

Ever really think about that? Inside each of us is a skeleton. Just walking around. Getting the mail. Squeezing oranges. Holding the remote. Doodling. Pressing on the gas. Chewing its non-existent nails. Dancing.

Don’t be afraid but I’m 81% sure what I’m talking about here is pretty deep science. Let me explain. To begin, I should introduce my Jr. High Science teacher. One day, she stood in front of a group of typical young teens obsessed with themselves and each other and said the word “hypothesis.” And I actually heard her. She said something like, “Make a statement and prove it right or prove it wrong.” Most likely she outlined the entire scientific method but I remained hooked on that word. Hypothesis? Soon I was testing things, not scientific things necessarily but “life” things. Like interacting with girls and the speed limit for example. That concept challenged my comfort zone.

And that’s brings me closer to my point. I forgot about my skeleton for a while. I forgot. Seeing an actually skeleton again, talking with a physiotherapist about how bone and muscle work together, I felt my skeleton again and I began to feel different and I began to wonder. My hypothesis? I’ve been taking my skeleton for granted. And I think my skeleton is peeved.

Our skeletons are the reason we’re not blobs. Think about that. Imagine us without skeletons, flapping around morphing into fluidish shapes as we mow our lawns, like big amoebas with tattoos. Gravity would watch us on YouTube and snicker. So what am I saying? If I don’t prove I have a skeleton, I’m disproving it; therefore, I’m a blob. If I don’t prove I’m alive, I’m disproving it; therefore, I’m wasting time.

Three Steps:

1.      [State hypothesis.] What do I want to do now?

2.      [Prove it.] Take a step in that direction because it’s not too late.

3.      [Or disprove it.] Until it is. (Do you really want to be that guy?)