Summers Past

Jello with fruit salad inside. Flashlight tag. Tenting in the backyard and running inside to use the bathroom. Nanny's soft kisses. Coming in when the streetlights turned on. Gallant sword fights with sticks. Cutting through hedges. Skinned knees. Rubber boots and getting a soaker. Sunburned nights and the smell of Noxzema. Slinkies. Crazy eights. Burnt marshmallows over a campfire. Biking back up the hill from Paul's Sundries. Baseball cards fastened with clothes pins to run through spokes as you ride, making bicycles sound like motorcyles. Water pistols. Sandbox cities with dinky toys and popsicle sticks. Avoiding girl cooties. Boiled rhubarb in a dish. Building forts. Laughing at knock-knock jokes. Getting a hug from your mom.

Looking up at the sky at night and watching the stars. 

Endless days ahead...

A Summer's Embrace

Catch the hint of life's bright whispers

Hear it's song of grace

The brightness of a child's laughter

The oft-hid glee of serenity

And the grace,

ah, the amazing grace of love.

--------------------

Photos from my yard this summer.

All the best 

William MacIvor and Meera Margaret Singh

Uncle Rand

Are We Just Customer Servants?

In Ontario, as is the case in other Canadian provinces and territories, we all go into a special government-ordained store to buy our spirits. I've grown up with the system and it's generally not so bad. The fact that they hold something of a monopoly on liquor sales has been around since the age of prohibition. But whether we should be able to buy our alcoholic beverages in neighborhood corner stores has been in the public debate recently.

I don't buy a lot of booze anymore but I went into one of these stores the other day. I was in the neighborhood and decided to get a few cans. It's summer and my fridge sometimes feels sorta sad and empty without something beer-ish inside.

At the time I was there it wasn't tremendously busy and there was only one cashier open. As I stepped into line I couldn't help noticing the cashier was on the phone while she was serving customers. And because she had to hold the phone with one hand, she was limited to the other one to sort, scan codes, collect cash, give change and package the purchases. Curious, I listened to what she was saying into the receiver (she wasn't being quiet about it, so I didn't have any difficulty hearing what she was saying) because I assumed she must have been doing important business. But her conversation was clearly social chatter. What's up with so-in-so type of thing. Not only that, but this was a person who evidently had a difficult time concentrating on two things at once (talking and serving) and her progress with the customers in front of me was painfully slow. Meanwhile, more people joined the line behind me.

When it was my turn at cash, she kept on chatting and didn't smile or nod. I had 12 loose cans of beer (Keiths, from NS). She had to count them twice (she lost track the first time) and enter it into the cash register twice (she entered 2 the first time instead of 12), but before she could reenter she had to recount the cans a third time because as she voided the wrong entry I guess she had forgotten and I finally interrupted her chat to remind her I had 12. Finally, with a hint of irritation, she told her phone mate to hold on a second.

As she set the receiver down I said, "Probably a good idea."

"I was talking to an associate from another store," she retorted.

"You were rude," I said calmly as I counted out my cash. All of a sudden, everyone in the line behind me got very quiet.

Her voice went up. "SIR, I was doing business, getting a price on merchandise." She finally totaled my purchase.

"I don't care," I said quietly, waiting for my change and looking down at the counter.

As I left I couldn't help but overhear when she got back on the phone and said, "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to call you back, a customer complained I was on the phone."

Clearly, I had done something wrong. I expected good customer service. And that was bad.

I'd been in plenty of situations where people in a service industry have had an entitlement disposition and the interaction has suffered because of it. The first time was on a plane years ago and the stewardesses spent the whole flight bitching with each other about a union issue. As one gets older, one becomes hardened to it. Sometimes folks are just having a bad day. We try to forgive those. But an institutional lack of quality customer care, where employees are allowed to provide anything less than the best possible experience a customer could have, is pure horse patootie.

And I know this: I walk into my little corner store and the owner is behind the cash, their little children may be playing on the floor behind them and their store may not be all spit and polish, but when I approach the counter I have the distinct impression that, at that moment, I am the most important thing in the world to this person. They get to know what I like and tell me as I enter the store whether they have it in or not. It may cost me a few more pennies to do business with them, but they take a moment to chat and have a laugh with me. Like I am a real human being. Not just someone to be processed.

"Lightbulb, I love you..."

The title of this post refers to the punchline of an old joke where Count Dracula asks Igor, his hunchbacked assistant, to turn on the lightbulb and Igor's response was to cuddle the bulb tenderly and croon, "Hehh, hehh, lightbulb I lo-o-ove you!"

This reflects my sentiments exactly after having the power go out last night at 8 p.m. (Yes, I paid the bill, and the power company will hear from me shortly.) Their excuse, I hear, was a little freak summer storm. Like I allow a little tornadic action affect my work...

It was, to be succinct, HELL ON EARTH. I had no computer, no air conditioning and no auto-shutoff kettle (which really didn't matter because I had no bloody running water). I actually had to open windows and hear weird, geeked-out, misshapen teenagers walk by saying inane things like "That's not a little boy, that's a little girl with her head shaved."

This morning, nasty little birds woke me up with their incessant chattering and instead of grinding my personally blended Columbian fair trade, organic, free-range coffee beans and enjoying a finely filtered coffee, I had to go out for coffee (god knows what slavery and chemical fertilizers were involved), during which time because I was outside exposed to the world I had to talk to my (shudder) neighbors. Nicely. While trying to avoid Howie Mandel germs (mysophobia) and old people smells (gerontostinkophobia).

It all capped off an evening of acts of self sacrifice. Dangerous manual drugery between downpours made necessary because the tree in the front yard that the city owns shat branches all over the yard.

Then today, I had to read a real book to pass the time. With real pages. That give paper cuts. To avoid a full-fledged, deprivative-based panic attack I trained myself to huddle in my car at regular intervals to keep my iPhone charged. It remained my last link to civilization. And I was damned if I was going to be trapped in an end-of-the-world disaster without being able to tweet someone... anyone still alive.

I don't think I'll ever recover from the trauma of going into rooms and out of force of habit flipping switches only to find my actions produced no reactions whatsoever. I had to see my way around last night with the use of candles. They're made of wax, by the way, with strings inside that burn. Meanwhile my carefully stocked freezer began decomposing delicacies that I couldn't cook because I had no microwave or stove. All this on top of the fact that I only got to yell at my television once during this very trying time (right at the beginning, for being off and not turning back on). Sigh.

Thankfully, all that is over. The power is back on and once I have reset all the clocks in the house and take a load of soggy, now inedible post-frozen food to the garbage can, I pledge to lovingly use every electrical item at my disposal.

And never, ever take them for granted again.

On Characters And Potatoes

"Sam Droll, The Wobbly-Eared Troll"

Meet Sam. The guy's a troll – a nice one, not the other kind. He's a character that I worked with years ago, probably when I should have been doing something else. It would be ironic if I was supposed to have been cleaning out a closet because that's what I was doing when I came across him in an old sketch book. He's aged well, but trolls tend to do that.

He's not perfect but that adds to his personality. And having a personality was important for Sam. Otherwise, he would have had a dull existence and ended up being a character without character. And then he'd run the risk of being mistaken for a potato. (Not to infer that potatoes don't have character; I've had dinner with more than a few very nice potatoes in my time and they were very nice. But potatoes are completely different from trolls and obviously, if all was right with the world, the two would never, ever be confused.)

How trolls display their personality is very much like people – in their expressions. And it's worth it to ask them if it's okay to play around a bit. Most won't mind and will let you know if you do something that makes them uncomfortable. Fashion also contributes to character but there are some things they won't allow you to dress them in. Sam here balked at underwear on his head. It was just a thought and after reflecting on it, I agreed.

Even trolls are entitled to their dignity, after all.

--------------------------------------------

The word "character", by the way, comes from an ancient Greek word "charaktêr"; a word for a mark made on a coin. Over time character became recognized as how we're different from one another. You have to hand it to our old Greek friends. They did a lot of work back then on stuff which is a good thing because if they hadn't, we'd probably have to stop what we're doing and figure it out today. And we've got a lot on our plates already, what with all the characters around...

Long Shadows, Trends and Design Integrity

Goatees are so yesterday. Capri pants usurp shorts for the fashion conscious guy. Backpacks suddenly suck. Topics trend on social media. Skeuomorphic design is now flat design which is nudged by something called long shadow design. And everyone feels they must follow the trends.

Trendiness is the world of the seller. Magazines, fashion goods, hair products, stocks, dog breeds, new music, vacation locations, body art and what you're supposed to say and do today. It's all for sale.

While one of the aspects of today's creative designers is to produce art that appeals to the viewer, a good working designer doesn't necessarily follow trends. They devise the direction of their creations based on appropriate, strategic approaches that further the communicative value of the piece and reinforce the client's brand image.

While there are rules for design integrity (balance, composition, color, technical compatibility, consistency) I don't think you'll find one called "Thou shalt be trendy". I may be wrong. Maybe it's in the fine print.

But wait. Maybe long shadows aren't a trend but just a technique, I thought. Or better yet, a look. So of course when I thought this it made it okay to try it. Doesn't hurt to play with a specific look. As long as it's not a trend. Seems like the end of day/early morning exaggerated shadows work best when there is no gradation in them, as some of the examples in the article do. I kept the artwork in illustrator for the vector value. Adding gradations seemed to cheapen the quality of the bold colours and tarted them up too much. And it seemed to keep everything within the flat design realm.

Interesting. As long as it's not a trend, of course.

 

Painting Over Old Things To Do New Things

I don't know what came over me. Recently I slapped some gesso on a couple of old canvases. The stuff (can't really call it art) I was covering wasn't bad but it was an experience from another time and space and besides; new canvases cost a lot.

And I suppose one of the reasons I did this is because we all get caught up in everyday sh*t that keeps us away from doing stuff just for ourselves. And while most of the time it may not be too important to do that, sometimes it is.

After everything was white, the canvases were left to dry a few days and a large one was put on the wall of the bedroom blank. It's happy there for a while, mainly because it goes with the sheets. And one of the other two smaller canvases got picked to be the next victim.

They say the important thing about things you do for yourself lies in the 'doing' (as opposed to the final product). And after some sketches and deciding my approach I gathered the implements (retrieved from storage hell) and set to work. As I began I noticed that as careful as I had been with the gesso some of the texture of the old work still showed through. So the old stuff wasn't entirely gone. That was kinda nice.

Here it is to date. It's not done yet. But the basic idea is there. A person contemplating the proverbial high dive into a small vessel. A seemingly impossible act. I may add a small umbrella to the chap's other hand, just to cushion his fall... If I ever get it done I'll post the finished piece.

In the meantime, I invite everyone thinking of painting over things in their lives and starting fresh to join me in an act of exploration. And don't be bummed if some texture from the old work shows through. It adds character.

Cheers, Rand

Yet Another Endangered Species

There is a terrible crime against humanity going on, even as we speak. Consultants are being annihilated in great numbers, simply because of an undeserved bad rep. These creatures play a major role in maintaining the balance of the biodiversity in the business world. Sure they're muscular and powerful, but they are much more intelligent, cautious and inquisitive in nature than they have been depicted. Too much negative publicity has been bandied about willy-nilly regarding consultant encounters by those who are misinformed or prejudiced by fear. In fact, consultants are just doing what they are born to do. They go about their day offering business owners and executives objective expertise; helping to avoid costly mistakes, lending an outsider perspective and trouble-shooting organizational issues.

But have one consultant kill one project and that's all you hear about. The truth is, many things are more likely to kill your efforts than a consultant.

Consultants have long been the victim of folklore and blockbuster hit movies; but how much of that is really true? Your chances of an actual bad encounter are 1 in 11.5 million, and your odds of a fatal attack are even less (1 in 570 million). The truth is, your efforts are much more likely to be harmed by environmentally-based hazards, or by using a vending machine approach.

Every year, increasing numbers of consultants are cruelly ripped from their environment by poachers, who make tawdry web sites out of their parts. Many associations around the world have installed Consultant Nets around their businesses, causing many consultants to be entangled, often on the inside of these nets while heading back out to sea. Not only that, but these nets cause collateral damage to many others, including innocent project managers and their coordinators.

Join the efforts of all good businesspeople to eradicate the senseless, career slaughter of these magnificent creatures, help stop the use of Consultant Nets and join a Swim With The Consultants program today...

...before it's too late.

(No consultants were harmed in the formulation of this post.)

Environmental Cleanup Assistance

I cut the grass yesterday. It went well. No body parts fell off and I didn't end up face down in the rock garden gasping for oxygen. After, to celebrate my manliness, I sat out back with a cold drink and some shelled peanuts. After the strenuous physical exertion, my hand-eye coordination was a bit off and a few nuts slipped from my grasp. To my surprise, this guy hopped up onto the deck, bold as brass, and took control of the peanut spill.

"Right then," he stated. "Harrumph. Yes yes. Quite the mess. Step back. Nothing to worry about. I'll have this cleaned up in no time." I could see the wheels turning. He rapidly sussed out the situation, assessed a priority list, determined a removal strategy and set to work.

He is of course, a member of the chipmunk union. I could tell just by the way he carried himself. Having watched every Chip and Dale cartoon in my youth, I was familiar with their industriousness.

He lives in the back corner of the yard. We've seen each other occasionally and waved. But we've never really chatted.

But when he saw something he could help with he popped over to help. It was great. I don't know what I would have done with those peanuts if he hadn't. He was polite, industrious and obviously a pro.

And my deck is all cleaned up. No lives were lost. No thanks required. And no invoice.

Good neighbors are like that.

The New Face Of "Deal With It"

 
Define personal integrity. The status quo rocks on the principle that if an individual hired to do a job finds something happening they don't personally agree with, that the individual either works from within the organization to affect change... or simply leaves. Because maybe it's something complicated that may cause unintended problems if brought out into the open. And maybe it's something that might get warped out of shape and used by those with personal agendas.

Once that person leaves they're out of it. And their personal integrity, or the perception that they are leading an honorable life, is restored. By divorcing themselves from a situation that they felt compromised their principles they are theoretically cleansed. Then again... there are others who think they have a moral duty to take action.

Define moral duty. We have to think that it is a possibility that some may stumble across what they consider are truly egregious practices. The world isn't perfect, after all. And a few may think that they have a responsibility, if not a right, to reveal things that they think are wrong. Plain wrong. They have to be exposed, regardless of how many other people's good efforts are affected by blowing the whistle. And perhaps more importantly, regardless of what happens to them. It becomes a heroic role – somewhat scary and somewhat alluring at the same time. These people have obviously come to the conclusion (for one reason or another) that a whisper to the proper authorities just isn't enough; the status quo needs to be given a big shake.

My mother, who always had a wise word for every situation, would most likely just say, "Who the hell do they think they are? Aren't there enough problems in the world without them stirring things up?"

What it comes down to, in certain circumstances, is how much an individual is willing to risk giving up should the powers that be take exception to their actions. Their life? Their livelihood? Their future? The good they might have done by lending their intelligence to improving things as they fly through life instead of taking one big leap now and hoping the parachute opens? Because there's the whole thing about potentially spending the rest of one's life either in prison or in exile. The consequences of performing one's moral duty can be devastating.

Define solution. Perhaps we need people with the courage of their convictions. Perhaps we are on the right track as we fiddle to get assurances like whistleblower protection policies working right. And then people who legitimately speak out don't have to ruin their lives in doing so. If the foundations of society are as durable as we like to believe they are and there are changes that need to be made, things can be set right. And moral standards that may have been misplaced can be put back.

Then again, I'm a Canadian. And we generally tend to think that, given cool heads, everything can be worked out for the best.

So, sorry for the heaviosity today. As the story plays itself out, I'm just glad that I didn't send that message that I was thinking about sending a while ago about a certain someone or something to somebody that contained certain words.