I am watching the Republican primaries with great interest. There is a great range of views being put forward with great passion. Still, I have to laugh.
Everybody seems to be attacking everybody else. Every flaw in the person's character and beliefs are being exposed. One of the words you will hear is that somebody "flip-flopped" on their opinion, as if it is wrong to change your mind if circumstances change or new information is revealed. It makes you wonder if any of the candidates is capable of doing the job. Winning the nomination is so important, it doesn't matter how you achieve it.
This isn't what makes me laugh, though. What makes me laugh is that next year, when the election is on, the person running for the Republican party, and the Democratic party, too, will be the perfect candidate for the job. All of the imperfections will be forgotten by each party and the focus will be on attacking the oppononent.
It reminds me of missles that seek and destroy the target. Once it is obliterated, then a new one is sought out and the process is repeated. The election then becomes a campaign of tearing down the other person instead of building up ideas. I feel it has led to a split in the United States that has polarized the country more than I can remember.
My concern is that the same thing is happening in Canada. We seem to fall asleep between elections and let the government govern. I'm not so sure if that is bad or good.
It is interesting that we have trouble getting half of our eligible voters to cast a ballot in elections where some Arab countries that are tasting democracy for the first time in a long time are experiencing high voter turnouts. It makes me wonder who is practising democracy to the fullest.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Saturday, December 24, 2011
The Not-So-Perfect Gift
“What did you get mom for Christmas?” Such an innocent question provided years of laughter. Here’s the whole story.
Many know I come from a large family. I am the youngest of eight. Some siblings still treat me like the baby. Now that we are in the prime of our lives, I just remind them that I am younger than they are for revenge.
Buying Christmas gifts was difficult when I was a child. A kid like me couldn’t afford presents for everyone, not with only $10. My mother told me that I should buy something for her, dad, my youngest sister and my youngest brother. She reasoned that the others were working and had money to buy whatever they wanted for themselves.
Of course, I got lots of presents, which lead some to complain how spoiled I was. I really would have liked to have bought them all something, but getting four gifts with ten dollars was pretty difficult, let alone ten.
Dad was the easiest. He always got a pair of work socks. They were perfect. He could use them and they only cost ninety-nine cents.
My brother and sister usually got school supplies, like a nice pen. I could always get a hockey stick for my brother, too. Believe it or not, Kresge’s used to sell them for a dollar ninety-nine.
My mother’s four-dollar gift was the big challenge. Being the focal point of our family, everybody did their best to buy the perfect present, including me. I had to compete for my mom’s favour against siblings with more than twenty dollars to spend, a huge amount in those times.
I trundled off to Northtown Plaza in Willowdale searching for the perfect gift. I might as well have been looking for the Holy Grail. I went back and forth for hours in the U-shaped plaza more times than the number of “U”s in a Scrabble game. Everything was either too expensive or too tacky.
As the sun set, like in a cheap western, I was the cowboy looking for the loot. In Aitkenhead’s Hardware, a sympathetic saleswoman suggested that if I couldn’t afford quality, then I might try quantity. I could buy two two-dollar gifts instead of one for four dollars. Running out of options quickly, I snapped up the idea and skipped back home knowing my Christmas shopping was complete.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and the three youngest children were tucked into bed. My brother shared the room and my sister’s was nearby.
Barry asked, “What did you get mom for Christmas?”
“It’s a surprise,” I said.
“No, tell me what you got her. I won’t tell.”
“A natural sponge and an extension cord,” I replied.
As sudden as a wolf howling at the moon, he immediately started convulsing in laughter.
From the darkness, my sister Lorraine shouted, “Hey, what are you laughing at?”
Barry snorted, “Johnny bought mom a sponge and an extension cord for Christmas!”
“It’s a natural sponge,” I said, defending my purchase. It wasn’t merely one of those bright yellow blocks that fit the hand nicely. No, it was this novel brown blob of uneven pores that had once been a living creature.
Immediately my sister joined in the hysterical snorting. The din filtered downstairs where my mom was playing Santa, filling up our stockings with goodies.
The door going upstairs flew open and her voiced shrilled, “What’s everybody laughing at?”
My brother and sister chimed, “Your gift!”
I was trapped. There was nothing I could do. The hour of reckoning would come tomorrow when I would have to give my mother the two gifts.
In those days, nothing came packaged in boxes like today. Putting paper around an extension cord was difficult enough, but can you imagine trying to wrap a natural sponge? It was sort of round and squishy. Putting Scotch tape on it was like bouncing on a trampoline. It didn’t seem to stick very well.
First, I gave my mom the extension cord. My wrapping skills were not so great, so there was no surprise. She deftly removed the paper and remarked how this gleaming mixture of plastic and wire would be very useful around the house.
Next, she was presented with this red-papered glob. She looked at it and looked at me. She looked at it again and looked at me. It was soft to the touch. What could it be? She opened it, and then blurted, “A sponge!”
“A natural sponge,” I added, hoping to give added value to the gift.
“Oh, how interesting,” she said, trying her best to look happy with what I had given her.
A few years later, the natural sponge met its second death being sacrificed to my class of high school students putting on a United Appeal car wash.
The extension cord was a mystery for many years. Just before my mother died, we were in her apartment reminiscing about our lives together. I brought up how I had thought that nothing says loving like a sponge and extension cord and we both laughed. I apologized for destroying the natural sponge, but I asked her what ever happened to the extension cord.
“Move the couch,” she instructed.
I did and there it was, looking as new as the day it was bought. Through the years it had served her well.
When my mom passed away, I made sure I got that extension cord. In those days, they weren’t grounded, so it has been retired to a drawer in my workshop downstairs. Occasionally, while browsing around, I will catch sight of it. It will remind me of that special Christmas when a couple of not-so-perfect gifts brought laughter to our home for years to come. While they cost less than four dollars, they brought us more joy and laughter than any precious jewels ever could.
Many know I come from a large family. I am the youngest of eight. Some siblings still treat me like the baby. Now that we are in the prime of our lives, I just remind them that I am younger than they are for revenge.
Buying Christmas gifts was difficult when I was a child. A kid like me couldn’t afford presents for everyone, not with only $10. My mother told me that I should buy something for her, dad, my youngest sister and my youngest brother. She reasoned that the others were working and had money to buy whatever they wanted for themselves.
Of course, I got lots of presents, which lead some to complain how spoiled I was. I really would have liked to have bought them all something, but getting four gifts with ten dollars was pretty difficult, let alone ten.
Dad was the easiest. He always got a pair of work socks. They were perfect. He could use them and they only cost ninety-nine cents.
My brother and sister usually got school supplies, like a nice pen. I could always get a hockey stick for my brother, too. Believe it or not, Kresge’s used to sell them for a dollar ninety-nine.
My mother’s four-dollar gift was the big challenge. Being the focal point of our family, everybody did their best to buy the perfect present, including me. I had to compete for my mom’s favour against siblings with more than twenty dollars to spend, a huge amount in those times.
I trundled off to Northtown Plaza in Willowdale searching for the perfect gift. I might as well have been looking for the Holy Grail. I went back and forth for hours in the U-shaped plaza more times than the number of “U”s in a Scrabble game. Everything was either too expensive or too tacky.
As the sun set, like in a cheap western, I was the cowboy looking for the loot. In Aitkenhead’s Hardware, a sympathetic saleswoman suggested that if I couldn’t afford quality, then I might try quantity. I could buy two two-dollar gifts instead of one for four dollars. Running out of options quickly, I snapped up the idea and skipped back home knowing my Christmas shopping was complete.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and the three youngest children were tucked into bed. My brother shared the room and my sister’s was nearby.
Barry asked, “What did you get mom for Christmas?”
“It’s a surprise,” I said.
“No, tell me what you got her. I won’t tell.”
“A natural sponge and an extension cord,” I replied.
As sudden as a wolf howling at the moon, he immediately started convulsing in laughter.
From the darkness, my sister Lorraine shouted, “Hey, what are you laughing at?”
Barry snorted, “Johnny bought mom a sponge and an extension cord for Christmas!”
“It’s a natural sponge,” I said, defending my purchase. It wasn’t merely one of those bright yellow blocks that fit the hand nicely. No, it was this novel brown blob of uneven pores that had once been a living creature.
Immediately my sister joined in the hysterical snorting. The din filtered downstairs where my mom was playing Santa, filling up our stockings with goodies.
The door going upstairs flew open and her voiced shrilled, “What’s everybody laughing at?”
My brother and sister chimed, “Your gift!”
I was trapped. There was nothing I could do. The hour of reckoning would come tomorrow when I would have to give my mother the two gifts.
In those days, nothing came packaged in boxes like today. Putting paper around an extension cord was difficult enough, but can you imagine trying to wrap a natural sponge? It was sort of round and squishy. Putting Scotch tape on it was like bouncing on a trampoline. It didn’t seem to stick very well.
First, I gave my mom the extension cord. My wrapping skills were not so great, so there was no surprise. She deftly removed the paper and remarked how this gleaming mixture of plastic and wire would be very useful around the house.
Next, she was presented with this red-papered glob. She looked at it and looked at me. She looked at it again and looked at me. It was soft to the touch. What could it be? She opened it, and then blurted, “A sponge!”
“A natural sponge,” I added, hoping to give added value to the gift.
“Oh, how interesting,” she said, trying her best to look happy with what I had given her.
A few years later, the natural sponge met its second death being sacrificed to my class of high school students putting on a United Appeal car wash.
The extension cord was a mystery for many years. Just before my mother died, we were in her apartment reminiscing about our lives together. I brought up how I had thought that nothing says loving like a sponge and extension cord and we both laughed. I apologized for destroying the natural sponge, but I asked her what ever happened to the extension cord.
“Move the couch,” she instructed.
I did and there it was, looking as new as the day it was bought. Through the years it had served her well.
When my mom passed away, I made sure I got that extension cord. In those days, they weren’t grounded, so it has been retired to a drawer in my workshop downstairs. Occasionally, while browsing around, I will catch sight of it. It will remind me of that special Christmas when a couple of not-so-perfect gifts brought laughter to our home for years to come. While they cost less than four dollars, they brought us more joy and laughter than any precious jewels ever could.
Who do I believe?
I'd like to share something with you. The DJ at a wedding in Stratford was from my high school. He was in a band with a guy by the name of Miles Wilkinson. You don't know Miles, but he is one of the top recording engineers in the world. He worked on almost all, if not all, of the Anne Murray albums. I emailed him about a couple of my ideas. Here is the first line of his reply.
"Thanks for the e-mail. Sounds like you’ve got some passion for this stuff. Way to go. Anything is possible."
Now, who should I believe? Should I believe a guy who now lives in Nashville, has lived in L.A. and has worked with many of the top artists in the world or should I believe people who keep on telling me something can't be done? The answer is that either one may be actually right, but do I want to live not knowing if what Miles said is true or do I want to heed the advice of the "experts" here and do nothing? If I do nothing, the result will be nothing. If I actually try to see if Miles is right, I just might find out he is and my dreams will be unleashed. What about you? In the process, some may think you are foolish. So what? If you reach the top of the mountain, you can look down at them and admire the view. If you don't, you will have learned some valuable lessons along the way.
I want to live my life with an exclamation point at the end. I don't want to be John. I want to be John!
"Thanks for the e-mail. Sounds like you’ve got some passion for this stuff. Way to go. Anything is possible."
Now, who should I believe? Should I believe a guy who now lives in Nashville, has lived in L.A. and has worked with many of the top artists in the world or should I believe people who keep on telling me something can't be done? The answer is that either one may be actually right, but do I want to live not knowing if what Miles said is true or do I want to heed the advice of the "experts" here and do nothing? If I do nothing, the result will be nothing. If I actually try to see if Miles is right, I just might find out he is and my dreams will be unleashed. What about you? In the process, some may think you are foolish. So what? If you reach the top of the mountain, you can look down at them and admire the view. If you don't, you will have learned some valuable lessons along the way.
I want to live my life with an exclamation point at the end. I don't want to be John. I want to be John!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Life Teaches Me Many Lessons
It's not even 5 o'clock in the morning, but I have to write.
If there is one thing I have learned in life, it is that sometimes you have to lead with your heart. Sometimes you have to take chances. Sometimes you have to be willing to risk falling. Unless you take that risk, you will never ride a bicycle. You will never go up to bat again in baseball. You will never meet the love of your life. You will most certainly fall off the bike, strike out in baseball, and be hurt in love. That's when you learn to get up and try again. That's one of the lessons life teaches you.
It's easy to do what is logical. Many follow existing paths that are there to reach destinations. There are some, though, who want to chart new paths. These are the ones who push civilization forward. It's only through the process of innovation that progress is made. They do what others couldn't imagine. They restore the faith that all things are possible. We only have to discover how to make them happen.
The journey along this path is usually lonely. Unlike the Tour de France, where people cheer and encourage the riders, the spectators are often like vultures, waiting to validate their existence in predicting failure instead of joining in the discovery of finding out how to make something work. When failure comes, as it often does, the pundits can be seen preening their feathers of self-justification of how they were right. These are the same scavengers whose feathers you may have to ruffle in the process, not because you are trying to do so, but because they become obstacles you have to push past when they could be helping make things happen. They lose sight that often there are valuable lessons learned in trying and falling short of your goal. You don't take up pole vaulting and set a world record on your first try. It's like sportscasters who criticize players without ever having played at the elite level against the best of the world. They talk about choking, when they have no idea of what true excellence is, often defined by opportunity meeting preparation for that moment.
In my life, I don't want to simply do what is feasible. I want to do what others can't even imagine. I want to push the human spirit to the maximum. I want to see what I am capable of, not merely settle for what I know I can do.
There is a fine line between innovation and insanity. I will try my best to discern whether I am the former or the latter. However, it is a decision I will make. I will not allow others to prevent me from trying to reach my dreams when they don't know what's in my head and on my heart. I will try to be logical and methodical in my approach to the task at hand. I will try my best not to be foolish, but I will also allow inspiration and determination to be part of the journey. They can often be disguised as foolishness. If my destiny doesn't unfold through inspiration or determination, then I don't think that my life will have been fully lived. I will dare to go where others fear. I know some will think that I am crazy. That is the price I am willing to pay.
I invite you to join in my journey. I would really appreciate the company. You can help lessen my load. I am also willing to join in yours as long as it takes me to the extraordinary, not the mundane. Too many are willing to lead safe, predictable lives. I want to be the first one to fly an airplane, not wait until it becomes a jet and let somebody else take me for the ride. I realize that many may not be too comfortable with the path I have chosen. Sometimes it isn't even comfortable for me. Climbing up the face of a rock with no safety rope isn't something I want to do, but I realize that to some what I do may be seen as just as foolhardy to them. I will try to approach them in love. However, if my soul cries out against all logic, I will listen to that still, small voice inside and above all, I won't be afraid to be seen as a failure in other peoples' eyes.
It is only when I do this that I will truly be able to stand up and say, "I am."
If there is one thing I have learned in life, it is that sometimes you have to lead with your heart. Sometimes you have to take chances. Sometimes you have to be willing to risk falling. Unless you take that risk, you will never ride a bicycle. You will never go up to bat again in baseball. You will never meet the love of your life. You will most certainly fall off the bike, strike out in baseball, and be hurt in love. That's when you learn to get up and try again. That's one of the lessons life teaches you.
It's easy to do what is logical. Many follow existing paths that are there to reach destinations. There are some, though, who want to chart new paths. These are the ones who push civilization forward. It's only through the process of innovation that progress is made. They do what others couldn't imagine. They restore the faith that all things are possible. We only have to discover how to make them happen.
The journey along this path is usually lonely. Unlike the Tour de France, where people cheer and encourage the riders, the spectators are often like vultures, waiting to validate their existence in predicting failure instead of joining in the discovery of finding out how to make something work. When failure comes, as it often does, the pundits can be seen preening their feathers of self-justification of how they were right. These are the same scavengers whose feathers you may have to ruffle in the process, not because you are trying to do so, but because they become obstacles you have to push past when they could be helping make things happen. They lose sight that often there are valuable lessons learned in trying and falling short of your goal. You don't take up pole vaulting and set a world record on your first try. It's like sportscasters who criticize players without ever having played at the elite level against the best of the world. They talk about choking, when they have no idea of what true excellence is, often defined by opportunity meeting preparation for that moment.
In my life, I don't want to simply do what is feasible. I want to do what others can't even imagine. I want to push the human spirit to the maximum. I want to see what I am capable of, not merely settle for what I know I can do.
There is a fine line between innovation and insanity. I will try my best to discern whether I am the former or the latter. However, it is a decision I will make. I will not allow others to prevent me from trying to reach my dreams when they don't know what's in my head and on my heart. I will try to be logical and methodical in my approach to the task at hand. I will try my best not to be foolish, but I will also allow inspiration and determination to be part of the journey. They can often be disguised as foolishness. If my destiny doesn't unfold through inspiration or determination, then I don't think that my life will have been fully lived. I will dare to go where others fear. I know some will think that I am crazy. That is the price I am willing to pay.
I invite you to join in my journey. I would really appreciate the company. You can help lessen my load. I am also willing to join in yours as long as it takes me to the extraordinary, not the mundane. Too many are willing to lead safe, predictable lives. I want to be the first one to fly an airplane, not wait until it becomes a jet and let somebody else take me for the ride. I realize that many may not be too comfortable with the path I have chosen. Sometimes it isn't even comfortable for me. Climbing up the face of a rock with no safety rope isn't something I want to do, but I realize that to some what I do may be seen as just as foolhardy to them. I will try to approach them in love. However, if my soul cries out against all logic, I will listen to that still, small voice inside and above all, I won't be afraid to be seen as a failure in other peoples' eyes.
It is only when I do this that I will truly be able to stand up and say, "I am."
Sunday, August 28, 2011
How One Word Changed My Life
One word changed my life. Oui. It wasn’t even English, but it started an adventure of a lifetime.
Years ago I taught computer courses for a private company. The salesperson was meeting a government employee regarding a huge contract. A prerequisite of federal contracts is teaching in both official languages, so she had two bilingual instructors lined up to accompany her. The only trouble was one didn’t show up.
I first knew of this when she frantically rushed towards me and said, “John, you speak French. Come.” This wasn’t an invitation; it was an order. Like a tourist on a mystery tour, I had no idea where I was going and why.
I sat for half an hour listening to the presentation. The government manager asked Christine, a francophone instructor, a question. Then it was my turn to respond in French. I simply said, “Oui.”
At the end of the meeting, the government representative announced that our company had the contract, and it was assumed that these two bilingual instructors – Christine and me - would be delivering it.
As we exited the building, I asked the salesperson what had happened. She told me that I would be teaching Microsoft Outlook in four days. I asked her, “What’s Outlook?” The product had been just released. Her reply was, “It’s for email and you have four days to learn it.”
This was the earlier days of the Internet. How do you learn an email application when nobody you know has an address? I blindly poked around Outlook with the faith of a fanatic and taught the course. It worked.
For the next few months I taught Outlook, learning each day. I became an expert, not because I was so intelligent, but that few had been exposed to it.
About a year later, another contract came up with the federal government. It was 1999, the year of theY2K scare. Every computer in Canadian embassies and consulates had been replaced and a new email software had been installed – Microsoft Outlook. They needed instructors. I passed the test with flying colours and travelled to Guatemala, Poland, Turkey, Taiwan, Kosovo, Macedonia and India. It was an opportunity of a lifetime. And the journey started with one word – “oui”.
Sometimes you will never know what effect something you have said or done will have on life until it does.
Years ago in Edmonton, I wrote and produced television commercials. One featured an entertaining Italian restaurant owner. In it he said things like, “You want veal scaloppini? You got it! You want chicken parmagiana? You got it!” On and on he went, rhyming off Italian classics that miraculously appeared on customers’ tables.
Shortly after the commercial went to air, a musical artist came to Edmonton. His name was Roy Orbison. About six months later, a song of his hit the charts. The title? Anything You Want (You Got It). I often wonder if that commercial was a stimulus for his composition.
Whether it was or not, the point I am trying to make is that it is often the little things you do in life that can lead to great things, not just for yourself, but for others too.
One small word or one small positive gesture can be a stimulus for great things. The reverse is also true. Something negative applied to your life can be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
As a substitute teacher, I used to take my guitar into every class. I would encourage the kids to learn how to play it. I remember going into Mrs. Jetchick’s class at Jeanne Sauvé School in Stratford. A young boy sat in the back corner of her classroom – Justin Beiber, discovered on YouTube playing his guitar outside the Avon Theatre. Hmm, I wonder? Probably not, but you never know.
Most of us have been touched by the recent words of Jack Layton. “My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.” That change can start with one small action or word. It’s like planting seeds. You can sow beautiful flowers or weeds. The choice is yours.
Years ago I taught computer courses for a private company. The salesperson was meeting a government employee regarding a huge contract. A prerequisite of federal contracts is teaching in both official languages, so she had two bilingual instructors lined up to accompany her. The only trouble was one didn’t show up.
I first knew of this when she frantically rushed towards me and said, “John, you speak French. Come.” This wasn’t an invitation; it was an order. Like a tourist on a mystery tour, I had no idea where I was going and why.
I sat for half an hour listening to the presentation. The government manager asked Christine, a francophone instructor, a question. Then it was my turn to respond in French. I simply said, “Oui.”
At the end of the meeting, the government representative announced that our company had the contract, and it was assumed that these two bilingual instructors – Christine and me - would be delivering it.
As we exited the building, I asked the salesperson what had happened. She told me that I would be teaching Microsoft Outlook in four days. I asked her, “What’s Outlook?” The product had been just released. Her reply was, “It’s for email and you have four days to learn it.”
This was the earlier days of the Internet. How do you learn an email application when nobody you know has an address? I blindly poked around Outlook with the faith of a fanatic and taught the course. It worked.
For the next few months I taught Outlook, learning each day. I became an expert, not because I was so intelligent, but that few had been exposed to it.
About a year later, another contract came up with the federal government. It was 1999, the year of theY2K scare. Every computer in Canadian embassies and consulates had been replaced and a new email software had been installed – Microsoft Outlook. They needed instructors. I passed the test with flying colours and travelled to Guatemala, Poland, Turkey, Taiwan, Kosovo, Macedonia and India. It was an opportunity of a lifetime. And the journey started with one word – “oui”.
Sometimes you will never know what effect something you have said or done will have on life until it does.
Years ago in Edmonton, I wrote and produced television commercials. One featured an entertaining Italian restaurant owner. In it he said things like, “You want veal scaloppini? You got it! You want chicken parmagiana? You got it!” On and on he went, rhyming off Italian classics that miraculously appeared on customers’ tables.
Shortly after the commercial went to air, a musical artist came to Edmonton. His name was Roy Orbison. About six months later, a song of his hit the charts. The title? Anything You Want (You Got It). I often wonder if that commercial was a stimulus for his composition.
Whether it was or not, the point I am trying to make is that it is often the little things you do in life that can lead to great things, not just for yourself, but for others too.
One small word or one small positive gesture can be a stimulus for great things. The reverse is also true. Something negative applied to your life can be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
As a substitute teacher, I used to take my guitar into every class. I would encourage the kids to learn how to play it. I remember going into Mrs. Jetchick’s class at Jeanne Sauvé School in Stratford. A young boy sat in the back corner of her classroom – Justin Beiber, discovered on YouTube playing his guitar outside the Avon Theatre. Hmm, I wonder? Probably not, but you never know.
Most of us have been touched by the recent words of Jack Layton. “My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.” That change can start with one small action or word. It’s like planting seeds. You can sow beautiful flowers or weeds. The choice is yours.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Impressions of a Life
Her name was Maria de Gieter. I would be surprised if you have heard of her. On Sunday I found out she died last Wednesday. She was my Belgian pen pal’s mother. She always referred to me as her Canadian son. To me, she was my “maman Belge”.
When I first met her, my French was very limited, but her kindness communicated much more than language. I had hoped she would be able to visit Canada, but she told me that she felt that this meeting a few years ago would be our last. We said our “adieu” and parted, knowing that mutual love and respect existed between us.
When people I know die, it causes me to pause and reflect on my life. Sunday was no exception.
I started thinking of how I liked paintings as a young boy. Swabs of paint stroked on a canvas by masters like Rembrandt and da Vinci preserved a point in time for generations to come.
Then I discovered impressionism. Up close I only see dots, splotches and strokes, often having no idea what I am looking at. However, when I stand back a bit, it all makes sense and I see the whole picture.
My life is like an impressionistic painting. It started as a blank canvas. My family applied the first strokes creating the background.
As I got older, teachers, classmates and coaches added to the picture.
My life progressed. Colleagues and friends applied their colours.
Each person who has touched me has contributed to the progressive picture that is my life.
However, everyone has not been equal. Some have been more profound for various reasons. My family has applied colour to my life for a long time. Others, although not around as long, were very prominent in the scene, like lightning on a stormy night.
My picture contains dark spots and bright spots. Not everything that happens in life is positive. Both are important to create an interesting painting.
Negative people have created the shaded areas. They seem to find fault in everything, yet do nothing to contribute to the solution. Somehow they feel important spewing their negative energy, criticizing instead of offering encouragement. Many actually see themselves as doing something noble pointing out my flaws, yet failing to recognize their own imperfections.
In sharp contrast to those dabbing black on my canvas are those who are bright rays of sunshine. They illuminate life. Their positive impact is made even more obvious when contrasted with those contributing darkness. They inspire me to greatness.
Mme Marie de Gieter was one of those bright spots. No matter what I did or said, I knew that her affection would not wane.
I have lived in St. Marys for just over ten years. I can think of two people who have passed on who have painted bright spots among the dark clouds.
One was Pat Young. We stayed at her bed and breakfast when we first arrived here. She encouraged us as we opened up our own. She was a mentor and a friend. I never heard her say a bad word about anyone. I never heard anyone say a bad word about her.
The other was Barry Hearn. I first met him when we were on the Lincolns’ 50th anniversary committee. Whenever I think of him, I see his huge grin. He was such a positive force. I remember the large crowd at the funeral parlour paying its respect. What a tribute it was to a life that touched so many.
Many living in this town are currently adding to my picture in a positive way, but it got me thinking of how I, too, contribute colour to the pictures of the lives of others. What is my contribution? Do I add darkness or brightness to their lives? I hope I provide illumination. What about you?
Regardless of how people have touched me, when my life draws to a close, I want to be able to stand back from the confusing blobs in the impressionistic painting created by all who have had a hand in the artwork and say, “It see the picture clearly now. What a masterpiece!”
When I first met her, my French was very limited, but her kindness communicated much more than language. I had hoped she would be able to visit Canada, but she told me that she felt that this meeting a few years ago would be our last. We said our “adieu” and parted, knowing that mutual love and respect existed between us.
When people I know die, it causes me to pause and reflect on my life. Sunday was no exception.
I started thinking of how I liked paintings as a young boy. Swabs of paint stroked on a canvas by masters like Rembrandt and da Vinci preserved a point in time for generations to come.
Then I discovered impressionism. Up close I only see dots, splotches and strokes, often having no idea what I am looking at. However, when I stand back a bit, it all makes sense and I see the whole picture.
My life is like an impressionistic painting. It started as a blank canvas. My family applied the first strokes creating the background.
As I got older, teachers, classmates and coaches added to the picture.
My life progressed. Colleagues and friends applied their colours.
Each person who has touched me has contributed to the progressive picture that is my life.
However, everyone has not been equal. Some have been more profound for various reasons. My family has applied colour to my life for a long time. Others, although not around as long, were very prominent in the scene, like lightning on a stormy night.
My picture contains dark spots and bright spots. Not everything that happens in life is positive. Both are important to create an interesting painting.
Negative people have created the shaded areas. They seem to find fault in everything, yet do nothing to contribute to the solution. Somehow they feel important spewing their negative energy, criticizing instead of offering encouragement. Many actually see themselves as doing something noble pointing out my flaws, yet failing to recognize their own imperfections.
In sharp contrast to those dabbing black on my canvas are those who are bright rays of sunshine. They illuminate life. Their positive impact is made even more obvious when contrasted with those contributing darkness. They inspire me to greatness.
Mme Marie de Gieter was one of those bright spots. No matter what I did or said, I knew that her affection would not wane.
I have lived in St. Marys for just over ten years. I can think of two people who have passed on who have painted bright spots among the dark clouds.
One was Pat Young. We stayed at her bed and breakfast when we first arrived here. She encouraged us as we opened up our own. She was a mentor and a friend. I never heard her say a bad word about anyone. I never heard anyone say a bad word about her.
The other was Barry Hearn. I first met him when we were on the Lincolns’ 50th anniversary committee. Whenever I think of him, I see his huge grin. He was such a positive force. I remember the large crowd at the funeral parlour paying its respect. What a tribute it was to a life that touched so many.
Many living in this town are currently adding to my picture in a positive way, but it got me thinking of how I, too, contribute colour to the pictures of the lives of others. What is my contribution? Do I add darkness or brightness to their lives? I hope I provide illumination. What about you?
Regardless of how people have touched me, when my life draws to a close, I want to be able to stand back from the confusing blobs in the impressionistic painting created by all who have had a hand in the artwork and say, “It see the picture clearly now. What a masterpiece!”
Friday, July 08, 2011
Life Lessons Learned Playing Ball
“I’m going to drop it!”
At nine years old, my mind screamed these words when a ball came my way. I was right. I dropped it.
I had little confidence. Why should I have? I tried out for the team with a left-handed glove. I was right-handed. My parents said if I made the team, I would get my own glove. Other kids had mitts big enough to hold a watermelon. Signatures of heroes like Mickey Mantle adorned them, along with other words, some that I didn’t understand. Mine, a throwback to another era, was perched awkwardly on my hand.
I was the last one to sign the roster. The coaches mentioned they had thought of cutting me, but didn’t have the heart. The words stung, but I was still happy. I would get my own glove.
My dad and I went to Dobby’s Sports. I had often looked in the window, but dared not enter unless I made the team. I strode in with my dad like I had an audience with the queen. I still have that glove. I will never part with it, even in death.
Even with my own glove, when a fly ball was hit to me, I still screamed, “I’m going to drop it!” The ball finally hit the pocket once – and it stuck. It didn’t take long to build my confidence to where I expected to catch every ball.
Lesson #1 – While natural ability is important, having the heart for something means a lot more. There are many steps to climb to success. I have seen great talent fade when success comes too easy. Determination eventually wins.
Years later, I injured my shoulder. I couldn’t lift my arm. Throwing was impossible for two weeks. Before the injury, I had a great arm. I wondered whether it would ever be as strong.
As it healed, I started throwing the ball. I used my legs, back and other muscles to compensate for my lack of shoulder strength. To make the ball take flight, I had to execute the muscle sequence in the proper order. When my shoulder healed, I could throw the ball even better than before.
Lesson #2 – Sometimes the adversity in life makes us stronger. We have to figure out a better way to do things.
On our way to winning our first Ontario championship, we were in the final game of a best of three series. We were ahead in the bottom of the last inning, but they had runners on second and third with only one out. Their best hitter was up. He hit a rocket between second and third. Somehow our shortstop got there, snagged it and stepped on third for the double play. The game was over.
Lesson #3 – Usually on the way to success, there are moments when the difference between winning and losing are small. Never give up hope.
In softball, if you fail 70% of the time, you are doing well. It is also a team sport.
Lesson #4 – Sometimes it’s not how often you succeed that’s important. It’s when you succeed. Everybody can have a moment of glory on a team. You work together for success.
One season, we had lost only two games until the Ontario final, then lost two straight. In the series, I didn’t get one hit and left 8 runners on base in the final game. I was devastated. I almost quit.
The next year I played and coached. The Squirt team I coached played against the eventual Ontario champions. They beat us 52-0! Yet something happened that changed my life.
The pitcher had a perfect game until a pudgy Italian kid, Umberto, was hit in the stomach. The ball bounced back to the pitcher. Both teams exploded in laughter, including Umberto. He trotted proudly like Babe Ruth to first base.
Lesson #5 – It’s a game. It’s meant to be fun. Life’s the same. Find ways to enjoy it for what it is. It’s not perfect, and you don’t always win, but it still can be fun.
Softball and baseball have taught me valuable lessons, even more than appears here. They’ve allowed me to apply the phase you often hear on the diamond to my life. “I’ve got it!”
At nine years old, my mind screamed these words when a ball came my way. I was right. I dropped it.
I had little confidence. Why should I have? I tried out for the team with a left-handed glove. I was right-handed. My parents said if I made the team, I would get my own glove. Other kids had mitts big enough to hold a watermelon. Signatures of heroes like Mickey Mantle adorned them, along with other words, some that I didn’t understand. Mine, a throwback to another era, was perched awkwardly on my hand.
I was the last one to sign the roster. The coaches mentioned they had thought of cutting me, but didn’t have the heart. The words stung, but I was still happy. I would get my own glove.
My dad and I went to Dobby’s Sports. I had often looked in the window, but dared not enter unless I made the team. I strode in with my dad like I had an audience with the queen. I still have that glove. I will never part with it, even in death.
Even with my own glove, when a fly ball was hit to me, I still screamed, “I’m going to drop it!” The ball finally hit the pocket once – and it stuck. It didn’t take long to build my confidence to where I expected to catch every ball.
Lesson #1 – While natural ability is important, having the heart for something means a lot more. There are many steps to climb to success. I have seen great talent fade when success comes too easy. Determination eventually wins.
Years later, I injured my shoulder. I couldn’t lift my arm. Throwing was impossible for two weeks. Before the injury, I had a great arm. I wondered whether it would ever be as strong.
As it healed, I started throwing the ball. I used my legs, back and other muscles to compensate for my lack of shoulder strength. To make the ball take flight, I had to execute the muscle sequence in the proper order. When my shoulder healed, I could throw the ball even better than before.
Lesson #2 – Sometimes the adversity in life makes us stronger. We have to figure out a better way to do things.
On our way to winning our first Ontario championship, we were in the final game of a best of three series. We were ahead in the bottom of the last inning, but they had runners on second and third with only one out. Their best hitter was up. He hit a rocket between second and third. Somehow our shortstop got there, snagged it and stepped on third for the double play. The game was over.
Lesson #3 – Usually on the way to success, there are moments when the difference between winning and losing are small. Never give up hope.
In softball, if you fail 70% of the time, you are doing well. It is also a team sport.
Lesson #4 – Sometimes it’s not how often you succeed that’s important. It’s when you succeed. Everybody can have a moment of glory on a team. You work together for success.
One season, we had lost only two games until the Ontario final, then lost two straight. In the series, I didn’t get one hit and left 8 runners on base in the final game. I was devastated. I almost quit.
The next year I played and coached. The Squirt team I coached played against the eventual Ontario champions. They beat us 52-0! Yet something happened that changed my life.
The pitcher had a perfect game until a pudgy Italian kid, Umberto, was hit in the stomach. The ball bounced back to the pitcher. Both teams exploded in laughter, including Umberto. He trotted proudly like Babe Ruth to first base.
Lesson #5 – It’s a game. It’s meant to be fun. Life’s the same. Find ways to enjoy it for what it is. It’s not perfect, and you don’t always win, but it still can be fun.
Softball and baseball have taught me valuable lessons, even more than appears here. They’ve allowed me to apply the phase you often hear on the diamond to my life. “I’ve got it!”
Thursday, July 07, 2011
How Not to Avoid a Cat-astrophe
You’re going to be a father again!
She didn’t shout these words. Women don’t do this when announcing an addition to the family. They do things like knit booties. They leave subtle hints.
In my case, it was a can of Pounce on the kitchen table, but I am getting ahead of myself. Let me tell the whole story.
Last year we lost our cat, Toby. He was a great friend, but cats are also a responsibility and an expense. While not pleased about his death, I was happy to be free of the extra work.
My wife, Marie, had another opinion. She had had many cats over the years and longed for feline companionship. It didn’t matter that we have two dogs. Having a cat is different.
However, it takes two to make a marriage. Summoning all of my masculine authority, I made it very clear that under no circumstances was she even to think of getting another cat.
Oh, she tried. I was invited into McPhail’s to view various kittens on numerous occasions. I was rock solid. I didn’t flinch. We left the store catless.
Next came the vet clinic. I got updates on stray cats that needed new homes. My little Mother Teresa of the cat world visited them and told me how we would be a positive influence in their lives. I would assure her that her saintly intentions were mixed with my fiendish, selfish desire not to add any more pets to our household.
Marie was determined. There was the social pressure. Ann at church asked me why I didn’t want a cat. Marie expressed her desire to many friends, who sometimes leered at me for not giving in to her desires. I had no trouble being portrayed as the cruel husband, as long as we didn’t take in a stray.
Then it happened! The perfect occasion and the perfect excuse, mixed with the perfect timing.
Marie went to the Mitchell Golf Club with Bonnie for a practice round for a tournament she entered. People often drop off their unwanted cats, I’m told, at golf courses. This kitten wandered up to Marie and rubbed against her. As she put it, “He chose me. There were eight other women and he walked right up to me. I would have never have chosen a cat like him.” Right! I wasn’t falling for that line.
He chose her enough for her to call the course the next day, go pick him up and hide him in our basement, leaving the Pounce on the table to break the news to me gently.
She’s crafty, though. We went golfing with friends after work. I had planned to go directly to the course, but had forgotten my clubs. Marie didn’t complain when I asked her to bring them in her car. She seemed happy about the idea. Strange.
After an enjoyable golf game and dinner with our friends, we came home. I saw the Pounce. My first words were, “Where is he?” I announced in a firm voice that he would be out of the house at the earliest possible opportunity. I was angry. How dare she go against my wishes? How important was my opinion in this relationship? I debated even sleeping on the couch. I was upset.
Then I made the fatal mistake. I crept into the basement to see what the fuss was all about. The huge, friendly eyes of a scrawny cat greeted me. It was obvious that he needed care. I picked him up to see how light he was. He had me at purr.
The next day I mentioned about the cat going back, but like a Popsicle melting on a hot summer day, my intentions disappeared. By evening I announced that we were keeping the cat, as if it had been my idea all along.
The final seal of approval was giving him a name. Marie purposely came up with some terrible ones. She’s sly. By giving me naming rights, the cat was sure to stay.
I struggled to find a name. Then it dawned on me that he was found on the Mitchell Golf Course. His name would be Caddie.
My only victory in all this? She is on poop patrol. Since he is her Caddie, I’m not going to clean the sand traps.
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
A Tale of Two Men
They are two very different men. I know them very well.
One is negative. He doesn’t say much good about St. Marys. He points out everything he feels is wrong with the place. He finds fault with others and criticizes their performance when he needs to look at himself in the mirror.
The other man sees the great potential of our town. He suggests improvements. He encourages others to do the same. He lends a hand to those in need.
One says unkind things that can be quite hurtful, based on opinion, and not entirely true. He is an expert at raising doubts about peoples’ motivations.
The other says positive things about people. He figures life is tough enough. He would rather try to lift others up than tear them down. He seeks ways of enabling people to perform better, usually through a kind comment.
One doesn’t go to the source to find out the facts. His opinion is based on personal observation. He feels he has the right to say anything, even when it may be horribly wrong.
The other verifies with the source to find out if something is true. He investigates all the facts before coming to a conclusion rather than relying on gossip.
If you get on the wrong side of the first person, he may shun you or judge you without talking to you. If you disagree with him, he often doesn’t want to resolve the problem. He would rather hold on to the grudge indefinitely. He might even try to get back at you.
The second feels life is too short for grudges. The best way to conquer an enemy is to make him your friend. Conflicts are resolved through understanding and love. He treats people with dignity and respect. While difficult to do, he sees this as the only hope for this world. Trying to get back at somebody wastes energy on negative things that could be used positively.
One says things that divide people; the other tries to unite them.
One feels he is right; the other is more concerned about doing right. He seeks advice and input from others, willing to listen to them, and accepting that it might be different than his.
One is a bully trying to push people around. The other leads through example and encouragement.
I like one of these persons. I don’t like the other one at all. Many I know feel the same way.
Who do you think these two people are?
Both of them are me! Might they also describe you at times?
I can be the one I don’t like. If things don’t go my way, it is often easier to complain than do something about it. Sometimes I don’t feel positive about myself, and I find everything wrong with the world instead of me. When I get into this funk, people don’t like being around me. Heck, I don’t even like being around this person.
What do I do to be the positive me? Every morning when I wake up, I ask myself who I want to be. Do I want to make this world a better place or do I want to merely point out its imperfections? Do I want to be a positive influence or a negative one? Do I want to inspire people or drag them down to my level?
Sure, we must speak out against injustice and stand up for what we believe in. However, the way we achieve this is important. We need to resolve problems, not try to hammer the other person into submission. If we have differences, we should keep the channels of communication open to allow for understanding.
Yes, I have been the negative man in this article. If this part of me has hurt or offended you in any way, I apologize. Let’s talk it over and restore our relationship. I am often reminded that I am not perfect. Hopefully you can accept this and forgive me.
I remind myself of the saying, “If you point your finger at someone, there are three more fingers pointing back at you.” I would rather extend the hand of friendship than point the finger of condemnation.
Yes, every day we have the choice of having character rather than merely being one.
One is negative. He doesn’t say much good about St. Marys. He points out everything he feels is wrong with the place. He finds fault with others and criticizes their performance when he needs to look at himself in the mirror.
The other man sees the great potential of our town. He suggests improvements. He encourages others to do the same. He lends a hand to those in need.
One says unkind things that can be quite hurtful, based on opinion, and not entirely true. He is an expert at raising doubts about peoples’ motivations.
The other says positive things about people. He figures life is tough enough. He would rather try to lift others up than tear them down. He seeks ways of enabling people to perform better, usually through a kind comment.
One doesn’t go to the source to find out the facts. His opinion is based on personal observation. He feels he has the right to say anything, even when it may be horribly wrong.
The other verifies with the source to find out if something is true. He investigates all the facts before coming to a conclusion rather than relying on gossip.
If you get on the wrong side of the first person, he may shun you or judge you without talking to you. If you disagree with him, he often doesn’t want to resolve the problem. He would rather hold on to the grudge indefinitely. He might even try to get back at you.
The second feels life is too short for grudges. The best way to conquer an enemy is to make him your friend. Conflicts are resolved through understanding and love. He treats people with dignity and respect. While difficult to do, he sees this as the only hope for this world. Trying to get back at somebody wastes energy on negative things that could be used positively.
One says things that divide people; the other tries to unite them.
One feels he is right; the other is more concerned about doing right. He seeks advice and input from others, willing to listen to them, and accepting that it might be different than his.
One is a bully trying to push people around. The other leads through example and encouragement.
I like one of these persons. I don’t like the other one at all. Many I know feel the same way.
Who do you think these two people are?
Both of them are me! Might they also describe you at times?
I can be the one I don’t like. If things don’t go my way, it is often easier to complain than do something about it. Sometimes I don’t feel positive about myself, and I find everything wrong with the world instead of me. When I get into this funk, people don’t like being around me. Heck, I don’t even like being around this person.
What do I do to be the positive me? Every morning when I wake up, I ask myself who I want to be. Do I want to make this world a better place or do I want to merely point out its imperfections? Do I want to be a positive influence or a negative one? Do I want to inspire people or drag them down to my level?
Sure, we must speak out against injustice and stand up for what we believe in. However, the way we achieve this is important. We need to resolve problems, not try to hammer the other person into submission. If we have differences, we should keep the channels of communication open to allow for understanding.
Yes, I have been the negative man in this article. If this part of me has hurt or offended you in any way, I apologize. Let’s talk it over and restore our relationship. I am often reminded that I am not perfect. Hopefully you can accept this and forgive me.
I remind myself of the saying, “If you point your finger at someone, there are three more fingers pointing back at you.” I would rather extend the hand of friendship than point the finger of condemnation.
Yes, every day we have the choice of having character rather than merely being one.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Being the World’s Greatest Lover
I am trying to be one of the world’s greatest lovers. Don’t laugh too hard. When I say this, I am really emphasizing the word “trying”. In this quest, I have learned a few lessons about life.
The first is that there is a big difference between like and love when it comes to people. I really like people who think like I do. I usually don’t like those who don’t see things the same way I do. However, it makes no difference with the people I love. I love them when they agree with me. I love them when they don’t. In fact, there are some things I don’t like about the people I love. Doesn’t matter. I love them anyway.
Next is forgiveness. My first lesson was when I was 5. I still remember his name, Graham Henderson. When I moved to my new neighbourhood, he initiated me by rubbing my nose in dog poo. I was angry, humiliated and vowed to get revenge. It would have to wait, because he was older than I was. I spent many hours visualizing giving him a thrashing.
The time came when I had grown enough that I thought I could beat him up the next time I saw him. Then I heard an ominous sound – a moving truck. It pulled into the Henderson’s driveway. Wanting one last chance at retribution, I asked to see Graham, the object of my years of waiting. I was told that he had left for his new home and wouldn’t be back.
I realized I had wasted so much time planning my revenge, only to have it tossed away in an instant, totally out of my control. Had I spent this time doing positive things instead of planning someone’s demise, I would have been much further ahead.
Same thing happened with Dougie Ball. He had hit me in the head with a snowball, so I stuck one in the freezer for months. On a hot July day, I waited for him. When he arrived, I wound up, tossed the very hard snowball – and missed!
It took me quite a few more years to realize that forgiveness was a much better route. By forgiveness, I don’t mean allowing abuse to continue. Here’s what I mean.
Whether intentional or not, people sometimes do things that upset me or make my life more difficult. I can decide to get back. You know, an eye for an eye, but Gandhi probably said it best: “An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.”
I now realize that not forgiving means I am carrying around the hurt all the time. Holding on allows that person to still have some control over me. I don’t want that.
It’s so much better to forgive a person and release the burden. The other fact is that the wrongdoer might not even care if he is forgiven or not. Do I want to be the only one who cares about the wrongdoing and suffer some more? No!
Forgiveness in my mind means releasing anything that stops you from being the person you were meant to be. Spend time on who you can be and avoid anything that prevents you from reaching your potential.
Finally, being one of the world’s greatest lovers means giving a lot of what is most precious about me. Part of the process is realizing that what I have is, indeed, precious. If I don’t think very highly of myself, then what I give to others isn’t very valuable. People who remain in abusive situations because they “love” somebody don’t get this. It is my job to be the best me I can be so I can give the very best to others.
So I continue my journey down the road of life in my quest to be one of the world’s greatest lovers. It is filled with quite a few bumps and potholes. Sometimes I go in reverse, but at least I keep heading towards the destination. I realize I’ve got a long way to go, but having love in my heart during the voyage feels a lot better than hatred.
The first is that there is a big difference between like and love when it comes to people. I really like people who think like I do. I usually don’t like those who don’t see things the same way I do. However, it makes no difference with the people I love. I love them when they agree with me. I love them when they don’t. In fact, there are some things I don’t like about the people I love. Doesn’t matter. I love them anyway.
Next is forgiveness. My first lesson was when I was 5. I still remember his name, Graham Henderson. When I moved to my new neighbourhood, he initiated me by rubbing my nose in dog poo. I was angry, humiliated and vowed to get revenge. It would have to wait, because he was older than I was. I spent many hours visualizing giving him a thrashing.
The time came when I had grown enough that I thought I could beat him up the next time I saw him. Then I heard an ominous sound – a moving truck. It pulled into the Henderson’s driveway. Wanting one last chance at retribution, I asked to see Graham, the object of my years of waiting. I was told that he had left for his new home and wouldn’t be back.
I realized I had wasted so much time planning my revenge, only to have it tossed away in an instant, totally out of my control. Had I spent this time doing positive things instead of planning someone’s demise, I would have been much further ahead.
Same thing happened with Dougie Ball. He had hit me in the head with a snowball, so I stuck one in the freezer for months. On a hot July day, I waited for him. When he arrived, I wound up, tossed the very hard snowball – and missed!
It took me quite a few more years to realize that forgiveness was a much better route. By forgiveness, I don’t mean allowing abuse to continue. Here’s what I mean.
Whether intentional or not, people sometimes do things that upset me or make my life more difficult. I can decide to get back. You know, an eye for an eye, but Gandhi probably said it best: “An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.”
I now realize that not forgiving means I am carrying around the hurt all the time. Holding on allows that person to still have some control over me. I don’t want that.
It’s so much better to forgive a person and release the burden. The other fact is that the wrongdoer might not even care if he is forgiven or not. Do I want to be the only one who cares about the wrongdoing and suffer some more? No!
Forgiveness in my mind means releasing anything that stops you from being the person you were meant to be. Spend time on who you can be and avoid anything that prevents you from reaching your potential.
Finally, being one of the world’s greatest lovers means giving a lot of what is most precious about me. Part of the process is realizing that what I have is, indeed, precious. If I don’t think very highly of myself, then what I give to others isn’t very valuable. People who remain in abusive situations because they “love” somebody don’t get this. It is my job to be the best me I can be so I can give the very best to others.
So I continue my journey down the road of life in my quest to be one of the world’s greatest lovers. It is filled with quite a few bumps and potholes. Sometimes I go in reverse, but at least I keep heading towards the destination. I realize I’ve got a long way to go, but having love in my heart during the voyage feels a lot better than hatred.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
I Hate Camping
I hate camping. Why? Every camping experience of mine has been disastrous.
I once camped in the Rockies with our college group. Two things took away from the fun.
First, we shared food with our tent mates. My buddy, Alex, loved camping. I brought meals I recognized. Alex brought concoctions with lots of fibre. When far from toilets, having to dig a hole to answer nature’s call and sharing it with blood-hungry mosquitoes, you welcome constipation. Alex’s offerings had the reverse effect.
Second, I rented a sleeping bag. The camping store suggested a down-filled one for the cold nights. They were wrong. It wasn’t warm enough. Also, I discovered my allergy to feathers. At daybreak, my body itched everywhere. I got out of this cocoon and went outside into the rain.
Then I saw the moose. They have terrible eyesight. It didn’t see me. The rain prevented it from smelling me. After two days without a shower, it should have detected my scent. It walked towards me. Suddenly, its eyes bugged out. It saw me, but kept walking towards me. I had no idea what to do, so I did nothing. It calmly passed me, almost stepping on our tent.
Still, there were some laughs. I remember the Johnson girl with a plug-in make-up mirror in her backpack. There was no electricity for miles.
I vowed never to camp again, until one of our youth leaders in Ottawa, Andy, suggested winter camping in Gatineau Park. As a leader, I felt pressured to participate.
Sensing my apprehension, he assured me that snow huts waited for us at our destination and a small heated cabin for me. It sounded inviting.
The worst ice storm ever in the region closed our trail. The temperature was - 28˚C. Nothing would stop us, though.
After an afternoon blazing our own trail, it was getting dark. We had to decide immediately whether to continue trying to reach the snow huts or spend the remaining daylight setting up camp. With the temperature at - 28˚C, and our survival depending on this decision, better to deal with familiar surroundings.
A tarpaulin covering a three-foot hole in the snow became our shelter. Twenty weary campers crammed their sleeping bags into the pit.
We huddled around a huge fire, holding our bodies perilously close to the flames. The hot food tasted delicious.
Exhausted after an afternoon slogging through deep snow, I got into my sleeping bag. Suddenly a cramp in my leg felt like a volcano erupting. I got up, hunched over and did a jig under the tarp. I returned to my bag. It came back twice as hard. Trying to sleep was useless. I decided to stay up all night. Getting dressed, I actually stepped on Mark Jones’ head. He screamed, but the rest of the campers laughed.
I tried staying warm by the fire and kept it going until morning. A beautiful meteorite blazing across the sky at 4:30 a.m. was my reward for a sleepless night.
When I got home, I immediately went to the washroom and threw up.
The winter camping experience was horrible, yet when the group met again, there was a special bond among those who had participated in this adventure. Going through this unpleasantness together brought us closer. My trying to put on my clothes, bouncing around like a ping pong ball, and stepping on Mark’s head became more legendary with each telling. Something very good, indeed, had emerged from this horridness.
Sometimes life’s like this camping adventure. Even though you may be going through a rough time, once you’re through it, you may treasure having shared the experience, and something strong and beautiful can grow from it.
Maybe there’s something to be learned from the saying: "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain."
When there is somebody to dance with you in the rain, you know you have a true friend. It’s easy being a friend when times are happy, but getting through the difficult times makes true friendship stronger.
Hopefully you have friends like this. If not, maybe I can be your friend. Just don’t ask me to go camping.
I once camped in the Rockies with our college group. Two things took away from the fun.
First, we shared food with our tent mates. My buddy, Alex, loved camping. I brought meals I recognized. Alex brought concoctions with lots of fibre. When far from toilets, having to dig a hole to answer nature’s call and sharing it with blood-hungry mosquitoes, you welcome constipation. Alex’s offerings had the reverse effect.
Second, I rented a sleeping bag. The camping store suggested a down-filled one for the cold nights. They were wrong. It wasn’t warm enough. Also, I discovered my allergy to feathers. At daybreak, my body itched everywhere. I got out of this cocoon and went outside into the rain.
Then I saw the moose. They have terrible eyesight. It didn’t see me. The rain prevented it from smelling me. After two days without a shower, it should have detected my scent. It walked towards me. Suddenly, its eyes bugged out. It saw me, but kept walking towards me. I had no idea what to do, so I did nothing. It calmly passed me, almost stepping on our tent.
Still, there were some laughs. I remember the Johnson girl with a plug-in make-up mirror in her backpack. There was no electricity for miles.
I vowed never to camp again, until one of our youth leaders in Ottawa, Andy, suggested winter camping in Gatineau Park. As a leader, I felt pressured to participate.
Sensing my apprehension, he assured me that snow huts waited for us at our destination and a small heated cabin for me. It sounded inviting.
The worst ice storm ever in the region closed our trail. The temperature was - 28˚C. Nothing would stop us, though.
After an afternoon blazing our own trail, it was getting dark. We had to decide immediately whether to continue trying to reach the snow huts or spend the remaining daylight setting up camp. With the temperature at - 28˚C, and our survival depending on this decision, better to deal with familiar surroundings.
A tarpaulin covering a three-foot hole in the snow became our shelter. Twenty weary campers crammed their sleeping bags into the pit.
We huddled around a huge fire, holding our bodies perilously close to the flames. The hot food tasted delicious.
Exhausted after an afternoon slogging through deep snow, I got into my sleeping bag. Suddenly a cramp in my leg felt like a volcano erupting. I got up, hunched over and did a jig under the tarp. I returned to my bag. It came back twice as hard. Trying to sleep was useless. I decided to stay up all night. Getting dressed, I actually stepped on Mark Jones’ head. He screamed, but the rest of the campers laughed.
I tried staying warm by the fire and kept it going until morning. A beautiful meteorite blazing across the sky at 4:30 a.m. was my reward for a sleepless night.
When I got home, I immediately went to the washroom and threw up.
The winter camping experience was horrible, yet when the group met again, there was a special bond among those who had participated in this adventure. Going through this unpleasantness together brought us closer. My trying to put on my clothes, bouncing around like a ping pong ball, and stepping on Mark’s head became more legendary with each telling. Something very good, indeed, had emerged from this horridness.
Sometimes life’s like this camping adventure. Even though you may be going through a rough time, once you’re through it, you may treasure having shared the experience, and something strong and beautiful can grow from it.
Maybe there’s something to be learned from the saying: "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain."
When there is somebody to dance with you in the rain, you know you have a true friend. It’s easy being a friend when times are happy, but getting through the difficult times makes true friendship stronger.
Hopefully you have friends like this. If not, maybe I can be your friend. Just don’t ask me to go camping.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
You’re Right!
“You’re right, Peter,” I shouted across the gym when I arrived for badminton. It had been a bad day. Everything had gone wrong. Nothing provoked my outburst except the needed assurance that something or someone in the world was right. Peter was my target. His response echoed my comment. “You’re right, too, John.” Suddenly, I felt a lot better. The affirmation that I was OK warmed my soul.
At our badminton club, it’s become a regular greeting for Peter and me. It’s a bit of a joke, but it still feels good. That small interjection has helped me know the man better. What was a mere acquaintance has blossomed into a friendship.
The problem is that I don’t do this often enough. I let negative thoughts creep in. I think poorly of people when I have the option to feel differently. I look at our differences instead of what we have in common. I start wishing they were more like me, instead of celebrating their uniqueness. I might even say something negative about them.
Years ago, I learned how powerful thinking positive about someone can be. A board member of mine needed something delivered to her. The problem was it was during a snowstorm and my car heater didn’t work. I arrived at her door shivering. She saw my plight and invited me in for a warm cup of tea before sending me home.
Soon after, she started doing and saying some pretty nasty things. When the phone rang and I heard her voice barking at me, I immediately tensed up. When I sensed this, I replaced it with the picture of her giving me hot tea on that cold night. I relaxed and my voice became soothing instead of aggressive.
Six months later, she called and boldly asked me to explain myself. I asked her what she meant. She said she realized she had been treating me badly for so long, but she couldn’t understand why I had responded with kindness. She confessed her actions were due to difficulties she was having at work and not me. I told her that deep down I knew that this wasn’t her true self. The real person was the one who had given me hot tea on a cold night. I had chosen to think good things about her.
I could have gotten angry and argued back. Maybe I would have gotten her respect. I’m not sure I would have won her friendship. This way I got both and received the admiration of others who watched my quiet dignity in response to her attacks. This was a case where doing right was much more important than being right.
The way I figure, I have a choice to make every day when I wake up. I can be positive or negative. Experience has taught me that being negative doesn’t work very well.
As an occasional teacher, I faced the same decision every time I stepped into a classroom. I found that the best days occurred when the students saw that I truly wanted to be with them. I did my best to find something positive about them as soon as I arrived.
However, I often fall flat on my face. I say or do the wrong thing in spite of my intentions. It can be so easy being negative and finding faults. I have suffered from foot in mouth disease.
Realizing my imperfections helps me a lot, though. Who am I to criticize when I am far less than perfect? So I try to find the positive in everyone. I don’t always succeed. It’s difficult to love people when they don’t love themselves. In those cases, rather than stay and fight, I usually just remove myself from the situation.
Anyway, who wants to be around a negative person? I don’t. When I’m negative, I don’t want to be around myself. Why should others?
Every day I’m trying to make a conscious effort to find something good about everyone. I find that when I am positive others feel better and so do I. The world seems a little bit better. Why not give it a try? Tell some people you know how wonderful they are. And if you see Peter, tell him he’s right.
At our badminton club, it’s become a regular greeting for Peter and me. It’s a bit of a joke, but it still feels good. That small interjection has helped me know the man better. What was a mere acquaintance has blossomed into a friendship.
The problem is that I don’t do this often enough. I let negative thoughts creep in. I think poorly of people when I have the option to feel differently. I look at our differences instead of what we have in common. I start wishing they were more like me, instead of celebrating their uniqueness. I might even say something negative about them.
Years ago, I learned how powerful thinking positive about someone can be. A board member of mine needed something delivered to her. The problem was it was during a snowstorm and my car heater didn’t work. I arrived at her door shivering. She saw my plight and invited me in for a warm cup of tea before sending me home.
Soon after, she started doing and saying some pretty nasty things. When the phone rang and I heard her voice barking at me, I immediately tensed up. When I sensed this, I replaced it with the picture of her giving me hot tea on that cold night. I relaxed and my voice became soothing instead of aggressive.
Six months later, she called and boldly asked me to explain myself. I asked her what she meant. She said she realized she had been treating me badly for so long, but she couldn’t understand why I had responded with kindness. She confessed her actions were due to difficulties she was having at work and not me. I told her that deep down I knew that this wasn’t her true self. The real person was the one who had given me hot tea on a cold night. I had chosen to think good things about her.
I could have gotten angry and argued back. Maybe I would have gotten her respect. I’m not sure I would have won her friendship. This way I got both and received the admiration of others who watched my quiet dignity in response to her attacks. This was a case where doing right was much more important than being right.
The way I figure, I have a choice to make every day when I wake up. I can be positive or negative. Experience has taught me that being negative doesn’t work very well.
As an occasional teacher, I faced the same decision every time I stepped into a classroom. I found that the best days occurred when the students saw that I truly wanted to be with them. I did my best to find something positive about them as soon as I arrived.
However, I often fall flat on my face. I say or do the wrong thing in spite of my intentions. It can be so easy being negative and finding faults. I have suffered from foot in mouth disease.
Realizing my imperfections helps me a lot, though. Who am I to criticize when I am far less than perfect? So I try to find the positive in everyone. I don’t always succeed. It’s difficult to love people when they don’t love themselves. In those cases, rather than stay and fight, I usually just remove myself from the situation.
Anyway, who wants to be around a negative person? I don’t. When I’m negative, I don’t want to be around myself. Why should others?
Every day I’m trying to make a conscious effort to find something good about everyone. I find that when I am positive others feel better and so do I. The world seems a little bit better. Why not give it a try? Tell some people you know how wonderful they are. And if you see Peter, tell him he’s right.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
It Can Be Done
“Don’t ever tell them it can’t be done!” That was the advice a colleague, Craig, gave me long ago. He was a veteran instructor where I taught computer applications.
Craig’s next prophetic comment was, “Even though you think it can’t be done, it may be that you just haven’t figured out how to do it. With computers, we’re always discovering things we can do.” Claiming something couldn’t be done might mean setting myself up to have my credibility reduced when a student would, indeed, show me it could be done.
Many weekends were spent with my computer like a student cramming for a final exam. I learned things I didn’t know in order to teach them, sometimes to people who had been using it for months. I suddenly had to become the expert. I had to find out how things could be done.
Often students asked how you did this or that. I heeded Craig’s advice. Not once did I say something couldn’t be done. Usually I said that I would get back to them and rush to the coffee room during a break to see if my colleagues knew. Sometimes I would simply say that I didn’t know, but would contact them if I ever found out.
Teaching computer courses made me realize that I don’t know everything. There is always something new to discover. It also taught me to search for ways to do something rather than sit back and claim it can’t be done.
History is filled with stories of people who did things when others were sceptical.
People said it was impossible to create a flying machine. Many tried and failed. The Wright brothers did it.
My mother told me we would never get to the moon. Jules Verne envisioned this more than a century before, even picking Florida as the launch site when it was nothing more than a swamp. We all know what happened.
In hockey, there was a time when it was assumed that a defenseman would never score 20 goals or more per season. I guess nobody told Bobby Orr.
On and on it goes. There are many more examples.
But here’s a point I want to make. In life you will meet many who feel their role is to shoot down your balloons. Usually with great authority and feigning wisdom, they will tell you why and how things can’t be done, just like the “experts” gave advice to the Wright brothers.
I usually don’t need this advice. Often, I already know how things can’t be done. I wish they would spend their energies and talents figuring out how things could be done instead. My history with these types is that they usually spend most of their lives tearing things down and building very little. There is a lot of talk and little action.
Sure, reality says there are things I can’t do. I can’t walk through a brick wall. However, in the Town’s long-range plan you will see an idea about Elton John buying
the Opera House and restoring it to its original splendour. Yep, that’s my little dream. My personal vision goes much deeper than this, but that’s for another time. Impossible? Some may believe so. I don’t.
Maybe you have dreams. Come share them with me. Maybe I can help. There are many imaginative, positive and innovative people in St. Marys who may be able to help you, too. But don’t give up on your dreams just because others think they can’t happen. They can!
Some of my favourite people are the Hope for Haiti group. Their enthusiasm, dedication and optimism are infectious. Haiti is a country where there might be cause for little hope, but that doesn’t stop them. Wonderful!
George Bernard Shaw in his play, The Serpent, wrote: “You see things as they are and ask, ‘Why?’ I dream things as they never were and ask, ‘Why not?’" From the same play comes: “Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire; you will what you imagine; and at last you create what you will.”
Pretty powerful words, but I still like Craig’s simple words. “Don’t ever tell them it can’t be done.”
Craig’s next prophetic comment was, “Even though you think it can’t be done, it may be that you just haven’t figured out how to do it. With computers, we’re always discovering things we can do.” Claiming something couldn’t be done might mean setting myself up to have my credibility reduced when a student would, indeed, show me it could be done.
Many weekends were spent with my computer like a student cramming for a final exam. I learned things I didn’t know in order to teach them, sometimes to people who had been using it for months. I suddenly had to become the expert. I had to find out how things could be done.
Often students asked how you did this or that. I heeded Craig’s advice. Not once did I say something couldn’t be done. Usually I said that I would get back to them and rush to the coffee room during a break to see if my colleagues knew. Sometimes I would simply say that I didn’t know, but would contact them if I ever found out.
Teaching computer courses made me realize that I don’t know everything. There is always something new to discover. It also taught me to search for ways to do something rather than sit back and claim it can’t be done.
History is filled with stories of people who did things when others were sceptical.
People said it was impossible to create a flying machine. Many tried and failed. The Wright brothers did it.
My mother told me we would never get to the moon. Jules Verne envisioned this more than a century before, even picking Florida as the launch site when it was nothing more than a swamp. We all know what happened.
In hockey, there was a time when it was assumed that a defenseman would never score 20 goals or more per season. I guess nobody told Bobby Orr.
On and on it goes. There are many more examples.
But here’s a point I want to make. In life you will meet many who feel their role is to shoot down your balloons. Usually with great authority and feigning wisdom, they will tell you why and how things can’t be done, just like the “experts” gave advice to the Wright brothers.
I usually don’t need this advice. Often, I already know how things can’t be done. I wish they would spend their energies and talents figuring out how things could be done instead. My history with these types is that they usually spend most of their lives tearing things down and building very little. There is a lot of talk and little action.
Sure, reality says there are things I can’t do. I can’t walk through a brick wall. However, in the Town’s long-range plan you will see an idea about Elton John buying
the Opera House and restoring it to its original splendour. Yep, that’s my little dream. My personal vision goes much deeper than this, but that’s for another time. Impossible? Some may believe so. I don’t.
Maybe you have dreams. Come share them with me. Maybe I can help. There are many imaginative, positive and innovative people in St. Marys who may be able to help you, too. But don’t give up on your dreams just because others think they can’t happen. They can!
Some of my favourite people are the Hope for Haiti group. Their enthusiasm, dedication and optimism are infectious. Haiti is a country where there might be cause for little hope, but that doesn’t stop them. Wonderful!
George Bernard Shaw in his play, The Serpent, wrote: “You see things as they are and ask, ‘Why?’ I dream things as they never were and ask, ‘Why not?’" From the same play comes: “Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire; you will what you imagine; and at last you create what you will.”
Pretty powerful words, but I still like Craig’s simple words. “Don’t ever tell them it can’t be done.”
Saturday, December 04, 2010
The Last-Minute Purchase
Me work in a jewellery store? It’s hard to imagine. I don’t wear any accessories, not even a watch. However, the sign was in the window many years ago when I was a teenager and I needed the money. They must have needed help for Christmas and I mean “really needed” help to hire me. So I became an employee for Morse Jewellers in Northtown Plaza in Willowdale for the holiday season.
Not having any interest in jewellery reflected in my sales. After two weeks, George, my boss, brought out the sales figures. I was dead last. The only thing I was good at was selling aftershave. We had a nice one called British Stirling. I convinced the women who were buying it for their men that they were really buying it for themselves. It didn’t matter if their husband or boyfriend liked it. If it pleased them, it was the right one.
The closer we got to Christmas, the busier the store got. We braced ourselves for the big day, Christmas Eve.
True to form, many customers, mostly men, rushed into the store desperate to find the perfect gift for their loved ones. Of course, we had just what they wanted, showing them the more expensive items and only showing lower priced ones if they asked.
About a half an hour before closing, a young girl came into the store with a worried look. All the stores would be closing soon. I asked her if I could help her.
“I want to buy a gift for my mom,” she said. “It has to be something very special.”
“What can you tell me about your mom?” I asked.
“She’s beautiful,” came the reply.
My next question was how much money she had to spend.
“Six dollars.”
“Six dollars!” I thought. There was very little in the store to choose from at that price. Meanwhile, the store suddenly got crowded with last minute shoppers. George, my boss, gave me a quick glare.
“Does your mother wear earrings?”
“Yes, she does.”
“Are her ears pierced?”
“Yes, they are.”
Now we were getting somewhere. I knew that we had some earrings that would fit into her price range.
I patiently showed her several pairs. Nothing seemed special enough for the young girl’s mom. The store was filling up; wallets being flipped out like a shootout at the OK Corral. George kept furtively glancing at me.
Finally, like the star in the east, a pair of earrings appeared. The little girl gasped, “They’re perfect. My mom will love these.”
Quickly, we rushed to the cash register and I rung in the sale. It came to $4.98. As I started to put the earrings in the bag two big, brown eyes sparkled at me with great joy. Yes, the joy of the season was in her eyes.
I couldn’t stop my next sentence. I blurted, “Would you like that gift wrapped?”
“Would you?” she squealed.
I went to the back of the store. George’s eyes followed me like searchlights looking for enemy aircraft. He was scrambling to serve the many customers.
I got out one of the special Morse Jewellery boxes, wrapped it gold paper, put red ribbon around it and asked, “Would you like a bow?”
“Oh, yes!”
I found a perfect red one. The gift looked beautiful, fit for the best mom in the world. She must have been the best mom in the world. What other kind of mother would raise such a wonderful child.
She walked out of the store, head held high, reminiscent of one of the wise men in days of old bringing a gift for a special child born in Bethlehem. I walked her to the door, opened it and delivered her to her dad, who had watched the proceedings from outside with great interest.
It was one minute to six. I turned around and there was George. Let’s just say he didn’t wish me a Merry Christmas. In fact, he wasn’t very merry at all.
“We had many customers who wanted to spend a lot of money and you wasted a lot of time on a sale of $4.98. Not only that, you gift-wrapped her present. We only do that for purchases of over $10.”
Without hesitation, fear and in a cheery voice, I replied, “Yes, there were many with lots of money, but this child knows the true spirit of giving. She gave most of what she had. All I did was thank her for showing me what Christmas is all about. It’s not about money. It’s about giving. Merry Christmas, George.”
Saturday, September 04, 2010
This Is The Way The World Ends
I love the news. Always have; always will. I just have to know what's going on. I am constantly looking for scraps of information to read.
I was just poking around the Internet, Yahoo to be exact, and I noticed the following headline - Mass Extinction Threat: Earth on Verge of Huge Reset Button?
The article was fascinating. It's a scenario that most of us are well aware of. Humans have drastically changed the environment to the extent that many species are now on the brink of extinction. It looks like the situation is not going to improve.
This article started me wondering how other people thought about the state of the Earth. Here we are, perched on the precipice of major upheaval. What are we going to do? The answer to my question was not very far away.
To the bottom left was a hyperlink to another article. The title was "Out the Door." It was about Kara DioGuardi leaving 'American Idol' and it got me thinking.
I wondered how many people would click on the American Idol story and not the one on the mass extinction threat. The whole world could be falling apart and people seem to care more about Jon and Kate or Lindsay Lohan. When was the last time you went to the supermarket checkout and saw a magazine that didn't tell how somebody lost 15 pounds in one week? When was the last time you saw something that really mattered?
I guess the only way serious news can get more attention is if we turn it into a reality show. Hold on! Aren't things like the environment more real than reality shows? Maybe the way BP can mend fences with the American public is to appear on "Dancing with the Stars."
I was just poking around the Internet, Yahoo to be exact, and I noticed the following headline - Mass Extinction Threat: Earth on Verge of Huge Reset Button?
The article was fascinating. It's a scenario that most of us are well aware of. Humans have drastically changed the environment to the extent that many species are now on the brink of extinction. It looks like the situation is not going to improve.
This article started me wondering how other people thought about the state of the Earth. Here we are, perched on the precipice of major upheaval. What are we going to do? The answer to my question was not very far away.
To the bottom left was a hyperlink to another article. The title was "Out the Door." It was about Kara DioGuardi leaving 'American Idol' and it got me thinking.I wondered how many people would click on the American Idol story and not the one on the mass extinction threat. The whole world could be falling apart and people seem to care more about Jon and Kate or Lindsay Lohan. When was the last time you went to the supermarket checkout and saw a magazine that didn't tell how somebody lost 15 pounds in one week? When was the last time you saw something that really mattered?
I guess the only way serious news can get more attention is if we turn it into a reality show. Hold on! Aren't things like the environment more real than reality shows? Maybe the way BP can mend fences with the American public is to appear on "Dancing with the Stars."
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Toby
He just kept on getting better and better. Then, just like a candle that quickly sputters and dies, he was gone. I think we sometimes have emotions because we can't express ourselves in words. I will miss my friend.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
What you see isn’t what you get
If you click on the link below, you will see what they can do in movies to make you think you are watching actors in situations that are not reality. Yet, they seem so real.
What you see isn’t what you get
I find that life is often like this. I see what is placed before me and I make judgments based on my reality. While the elements that make up the whole picture may be real, I may be experiencing something that is very false.
Having worked in television, how raw footage is edited can change a story completely, even without the fancy effects you have seen.
Although I don't always succeed, I try to adopt an attitude of being open to new ideas that may radically change how I feel. Sure, I have my value system that has been shaped over the years, but I am always on the lookout for new information that may show me that what has seemed to be real in the past may not be. The great risk is that the new reality may prove to be smoke and mirrors, too.
I guess it all comes down to the fact that you will believe what you want to believe. Having adopted that belief, you will not want to move from that comfort zone.
Oh well, just some random thoughts in the new year. It's been awhile since I have posted something. We'll see how prolific I am in 2010.
What you see isn’t what you get
I find that life is often like this. I see what is placed before me and I make judgments based on my reality. While the elements that make up the whole picture may be real, I may be experiencing something that is very false.
Having worked in television, how raw footage is edited can change a story completely, even without the fancy effects you have seen.
Although I don't always succeed, I try to adopt an attitude of being open to new ideas that may radically change how I feel. Sure, I have my value system that has been shaped over the years, but I am always on the lookout for new information that may show me that what has seemed to be real in the past may not be. The great risk is that the new reality may prove to be smoke and mirrors, too.
I guess it all comes down to the fact that you will believe what you want to believe. Having adopted that belief, you will not want to move from that comfort zone.
Oh well, just some random thoughts in the new year. It's been awhile since I have posted something. We'll see how prolific I am in 2010.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Forrest Gump
Life certainly is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are going to get. That's how I feel about the movie Forrest Gump. I just don't get it.
I have watched it several times, even tonight. I still don't understand what the message of the movie is.
I certainly feel for Forrest. I have experienced many of the same emotions he has had. I have waited and waited for my "Jenny" in my life. I have done the unconventional and somehow come out just fine.
But I still don't know what it is all about. And it just ends with a feather floating in the air after he has sent his son off to school.
Mind you, there are times when I just don't get things because, like Forrest Gump, I am pretty naive about life. If anyone can help me, please send me a comment. I will be sure to post it. I'm sure I'm not the only one who is confused.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
ESL adventures
I really love teaching ESL. Every day brings a laugh or two. It sometimes works out that my students teach me a thing or two about life, particularly when I hear their stories. I am thankful and happy for the life I have lead.
Names in other cultures are fun, too. In one class, one of the students is named Heh, pronounced as if you were saying, "Hey, Jude." Unfortunately, this is the way I often greet people, which has her looking at me every time I meet somebody.
In the same class is a woman with the name Pie, but it is pronounced "pee". Another has the name Kah Kah, which sounds like it is spelled. So in the same class I have pee and caca, which is the word for poo in French.
The challenging part is trying to communicate with adults who often have no clue what I am saying. You have to be innovative in explaining a concept. For example, some of the students put the small "p" above the line. How can you tell them that it is too high when they don't know the words too and high?
What I did was loosen my belt and pull my pants up as high as I could so they looked silly and said that when they wrote their "p"s, they looked funny like this. Well, the whole class cracked up. You know what? It worked. Somehow they got the idea.
There are times when it is pure joy. One of their favourite songs is "Hello, Goodbye" by the Beatles. As soon as I sing, "You say yes," they sing, "I say no," and off we go with the whole song. It's magic.
My hope is that one day their English will be good enough that we will be able to sit down over a cup of coffee and discuss anything and everything.
Names in other cultures are fun, too. In one class, one of the students is named Heh, pronounced as if you were saying, "Hey, Jude." Unfortunately, this is the way I often greet people, which has her looking at me every time I meet somebody.
In the same class is a woman with the name Pie, but it is pronounced "pee". Another has the name Kah Kah, which sounds like it is spelled. So in the same class I have pee and caca, which is the word for poo in French.
The challenging part is trying to communicate with adults who often have no clue what I am saying. You have to be innovative in explaining a concept. For example, some of the students put the small "p" above the line. How can you tell them that it is too high when they don't know the words too and high?
What I did was loosen my belt and pull my pants up as high as I could so they looked silly and said that when they wrote their "p"s, they looked funny like this. Well, the whole class cracked up. You know what? It worked. Somehow they got the idea.
There are times when it is pure joy. One of their favourite songs is "Hello, Goodbye" by the Beatles. As soon as I sing, "You say yes," they sing, "I say no," and off we go with the whole song. It's magic.
My hope is that one day their English will be good enough that we will be able to sit down over a cup of coffee and discuss anything and everything.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
I subscribe to a daily email from Kim Komando, a woman who is a high tech guru in the United States. She has a video of the day. Usually they are pretty good. This one is exceptional.
This one is by Malaysian director Yasmin Ahmad, who died of a stroke in July.
All I can say is get out your Kleenex.
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This one is by Malaysian director Yasmin Ahmad, who died of a stroke in July.
All I can say is get out your Kleenex.
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