Tam Plan

One of these hats is called a tam and one is called a flat-cap. Do you know the difference?

For years now, I've been telling people that when I grow old enough to be a grandpa, I'm going to wear a tam like my own Scottish grandpa did. Finally (FI.NAL.LY) I blathered this to the right person, a person who cared enough to school me instead of just laughing at me behind my back like I realize now countless others did, because when I shared my "tam plan," puzzled, she said, "Really? A tam? Are you sure?"

So we googled it and then we laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. Apparently, my grandfather wore a flat-cap NOT A FREAKING TAM and we laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. 

Pass it on.

I will. I promise. 

There was a knock. But no one was there. Instead, this, on my doorstep.

Everyone should live in a neighbourhood like mine.

(Directions for a good life: pass it on.)

"Don't Know."

Lynda Barry

Lately I've been reading books about art and the creative process. They're rebuilding me. I need to do this sometimes. (Don't you?) A little art therapy I guess.

One of the books is a graphic non-linear autobiography. The narrator tells her own story through a series of drawings and doodles and collages framed by thoughts. In one section she's doodling and there are ghosts behind her yelling "Don't Know!"  The girl is the book's author struggling with her desire to become an artist. The problem is she doesn't know if her work is any good. She's already experienced that inevitable turning point we all undergo at some point regarding self-expression and art: someone judged her work negatively. Now she is followed by ghosts whose lingering presence forces her to question the value of her work. And she just can't determine anymore what's good. Before, it didn't matter.

So how does one know if something is truly good?

"Don't know."

Every child experiences this. Every artist experiences this. Really anyone who creates anything. I very clearly recall winning an art contest in Grade 3. There was an assembly and I was presented with a book. The man reached out to shake my hand but I didn't know what he was doing so I stood there until finally I reached up and held his hand for a while. He laughed. For years after that I wondered, am I an artist? Art class, for me, was my school safe place. I enjoyed most things about school but Art class felt more like home than my own home. I never felt stupid there. And honestly I don't ever remember being criticized there but I do remember one useless lesson I learned at some point in junior high: real boys don't do art. And that's when the critic appeared: me.

I just finished my first year in a new job. Despite the many challenges, I almost entirely loved the job. Especially the creativity. The risk-taking. The problem-solving. Testing hypotheses. The play. Never the same day twice. Researching. Collaborating. Designing. Learning. Developing the art of it. Practicing. It was hard. But it rarely felt like work. But I wonder, was it good? I truly think it was and yet....

"Don't know?"

Some things just cannot be judged at least not in quantifiable ways. I believe, once again, that what's most valuable is not measurable. Like art. So I say: "ghosts, go away."

The Oldest Trick in the E-book

When I was a kid and busy predicting (like everyone else) that we would all have super-cool flying cars in the 21^st century, I did not fathom we would have electronic books instead.

I now plug in my bedtime reading. And it’s sort of weird.

Books are a big deal to me. I've had serious relationships with some books. (Stop judging me okay?) That’s why I’m thinking that my new e-reader might be more like an awkward Junior High crush than a long-term relationship.

At first I was infatuated. She’s this tiny beauty and she’s easy to stare at for hours. In my opinion that pretty much summarizes Junior High. But then I started to worry. It’s so effortless to download new books. Let’s just say there sure are a lot of books in the virtual sea if you know what I mean. E-books may be cheaper but when the bookstore is at my fingertips, it’s alarmingly easy to impulse-buy. Cha-ching. Maybe I need to take things more slowly? Because this relationship is costing me a lot of my allowance.

She’s a bit temperamental too. I was reading a particularly absorbing scene about some musicians hiding from the Nazis in a Jazz Club during World War 2 when suddenly my e-reader had some sort of meltdown and she insisted I go recharge. That definitely killed the moment. Like any junior high relationship, emotional upheaval can strike at any time.

She also has a tendency to go on and on. Like any guy, I want to read short books. I’m not saying I don’t read long books. I do. But when I buy a new book I have to check three things: the cover, the first line, and (almost a deal-breaker) the number of pages. I prefer my books to have no more than 300 pages, max. Long books are just too much of a commitment and they’re rarely worth all the extra pages. But with my e-reader, I have no idea how many pages there are. Instead, when I press the bookmark, the e-reader indicates the percentage of the book I've read. What does 28% actually mean? 28% of how many pages?! How long is this going to go on? Again, like a Junior High relationship, I sometimes feel a little trapped and confused.

Despite these bumps in the e-road, I am still crushing on my e-reader. Why? Even though this relationship may go nowhere, I can still pull the oldest trick in the e-book:

1.      Find a comfortable spot to sit.

2.      Fake-yawn.

3.      Stretch my arm around her.

4.      Cuddle up with my e-book.

5.      And get lost in the movie she makes up inside my head. 

Strategies, not Solutions

I admit it: I don’t know many ways to solve problems anymore. I rely more on strategies than solutions. Sometimes they don’t work. But often they do.

Psychologically speaking, the following might fit into "escape-avoidance coping mechanisms" but most of them are fairly constructive with only a dash of self-punishment.

• Taking a walk: ever wonder why we use the expression "take" when it's actually more of a gift?
• The fireplace channel (or a campfire).
• Beauty (people forget but it's everywhere).
• Quoting Ron Burgundy: Sweet Lincoln's mullet! I'm in a glass case of emotion!
• Old movies: Peter Sellers was a genius.
• This app: it instantly changes my mood.
• Expensive sheets: essential.
• Deep fried chocolate bars (do add ice cream).
• "Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life." ~Mark Twain
• Thanks Twain: good friends and guiltless tomfoolery too.
• Texting odd and random things to those good friends... I'm talking with some people--when exactly were you abducted by Gary Busey?

 What works for you?

Sometimes

Sometimes, for me, hearing a new song is like a troubled dream where I'm hiking and hiking and hiking up a mountain and then finally, finally I am able to turn around and see exactly where I am.

And then suddenly here, here, all that struggling was worth it.

And everything else has melted away or it's hidden by fog. And it doesn't matter anymore. At all....

If you could choose someone to live forever, who would you choose?

Forget all the variables that would affect your decision. Don't worry about everyone else; they would still have the opportunity to live long, happy lives. Don't worry about the potential problems with living forever either. Don't worry about goodbyes. Don't worry about anything. Imagine it's your one opportunity to save that one person. The one. Forever.

Who would it be?