Those Spires Amongst Us

So. Cardinals are meeting in Rome to begin the process of choosing a new Pope today. This is an ancient procedure precious to so many.

My thoughts go to the art and architecture the religious world has given to us throughout the ages; the attention to detail, and speaking of that, especially the symbolic nature of spires – structures that point up to the sky. The sky. Up. A wonderful direction in so many conceptual ways.

The sketch above depicts (roughly) a spire that has all these mini spires surrounding the big one, all topped with these metal finials. I like this spire in particular because it's like a whole bunch of 'ups' gathered together. With exclamation marks.

Spires originated in the 12th century as a simple, four-sided pyramidal roof and provide the same message as the pyramids. Pyramids weren't originally meant as just burial places for pharaohs. In fact, I have it on reliable authority that some Egyptians were sitting around one day and one guy said, "Hey why don't we leave a message for people in the future and build these things so big they can't help but notice. Something that no matter what language they speak, it says; "Up!" And they all went "Brilliant," got their chisels out and set to work. Then some pharaoh came around and said "Hey, I'd like to be buried in there, make me a room in the middle and seal me up in one when I die." Of course then the pharaohs took over the copyright and claimed it was all their idea. True story.

But what I really wanted to say is that people can be spires too. Not necessarily by standing on top of buildings with their hands together over their heads but by how their actions remind you there is an 'up'. And not by being bossy about it but simply by how what they do raises your spirits. When we recognize that is indeed what they're doing, we're never without folks who show you an upside. Like Italian actor Roberto Bellini. The lovely wacky energy of Bette Midler and fellow Canadian the late Leslie Nielsen, who once said, "Doing nothing is very hard to do... you never know when you're finished." And about the first person in my life that cheered me up was Lucille Ball, in black and white, no less. All these folks could be one of the mini-spires on the sketch above. You can probably name many mini-spires from your life who 'up' your days. Artists, musicians, actors, writers, thinkers... Michelangelo, daVinci, Mozart, Charlie Chaplin, Emmet Kelly, Barbra Streisand, Charles Schulz, Hemingway, Shakespeare, Kurt Vonnegut Jr., maybe even the blackboard writings of Bart Simpson. What a wonderful gift these people all have. They remind us to see the upside. Like those ancient Egyptians with their chisels.

Maybe that's why they say people who do that inspire you. 

This Dusty Trail We Travel Upon

It is both fair gift and common curse; these steps we take. Our uncertainty itself fuels our most serious attentions. The surety of failure should we remain stagnant creates the determination to proceed. One step. And another. Footsteps echo our progress and reflect the vibrancy of our intentions. Our hearts are lightened by the heroics of our fellows, for we are not alone. We watch for each other. Tales are told along the way to allay our fears and wisdom is shown in what is spoken and, more importantly, what is not.

And when the sun breaks through every now and then, we enjoy a brief respite of a pleasure born of our pained ploddings.

Then we finally arrive: emerging scarred but not broken. Changed. Better. And we find that after spending all those years looking down the trail for the riches of our destination; that the journey itself was perhaps our reward all along.

Stirrer-Uppers

Dedicated to all the Stirrer-Uppers in the world. And we're all Stirrer-Uppers. Peace out, Rand

Two Dogs Barking At The Moon

Two men passed each other in the street one day. One mistook the look in the eye of the other as something of an insult and was instantly filled with rage. For perhaps he had grown up in a family that had taught such sensitivities, or he or someone he was related to had been hurt in the past by someone else who had the same look. Or his community, even society itself, had placed blame on these looks for the reason behind the hardships of their own kind. Who knows? Possibly his friends, through lack of understanding, had condemned these looks as those given by freaks or deviants and in fearfulness had labelled them unworthy. Whatever the reason he felt so outraged at this person and the look in his eye that he lashed out against him there in the street; abusing, hissing, spitting, demeaning, and cursing.

The other man raised his head to the sky and laughed and threw his arm around the angry one's shoulder and said, "You are RIGHT! I am all those things. Come now lad, I will buy you a refreshment and then another and we will share tales of our travels and families and we will eat and drink some more and laugh and find fair company and then, when it has grown dark, we will come back outside and you can tell me again what I am and we will both laugh and bark like dogs at the moon. Because what are these words? They are not you or I. These words are mere expressions of the outrage we both share at the unfairness of life: a common view we will have found in the ensuing hours. For there is no gain nor profit in either of us thinking the other is evil because of our looks, customs, beliefs or heritage. I may be different than you and you from me but by the end of this evening...

...we will be just two dogs barking at the moon!"  

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"Anger and intolerance are the enemies of correct understanding." ~ Mahatma Gandhi

Boiling Canadian Saps

It is commonly accepted around the world that we Canucks are a docile bunch who suffer our fools lightly (to a fault some would say). So you may be shocked to hear that once a year we take great glee in boiling our saps. But take relief. We're not actually gathering all our foolish together and sticking them into big pots set over open fires.

The saps we like to boil come from trees. Sugar maples in particular, although other varieties have their saps as well.

Each year at this time, as temperatures begin to get warmer during the day and dip below freezing at night; the sap begins to run, carrying the nutrients that have been stored in roots for the winter up into the limbs to prepare for spring. (You can usually time it by watching as ice fishing huts begin sinking into the lakes.) And taking a lesson from Native Americans who developed the technique long before written history, when the sap runs we tap into the trunks, collect and boil it down, thickening it into syrup roughly at a rate of 40 gallons of sap to 1 gallon of maple syrup. 40/1: much better than the odds of many lotteries or having a pleasant evening at your boss's house for dinner.

Sugarbush, 1958

Of course, I've tasted the sticky treat a number of times, even right in the sugarbush as a child. (I'm the little guy beside my mother on the right.) Culinary experts have tried to classify its taste and can only agree that there is no other taste quite like it. Scientists have tried to detail the formula but have been unable to break the code.

While there are cheaper syrups (mainly made from corn syrup) there is no comparison. Francophones refer to imitation maple syrup as sirop de poteau ("pole syrup"), joking that the fake syrup comes from tapping telephone poles.

So you can relax about the Canadians boiling their fools thing.

Not that I haven't, at times, thought about what we should do about our silly citizens.

But it saps the energy right out of me... :o)

Bootie Break

Drudgerius interruptus at the grocery store today as my eye caught a shelf of colorful kiddy's galoshes.

Man, boots like this make me wish I was a little kid again. Or my feet were a lot smaller...

On this first Day of March. As the encroaching warmer weather brings the rain that makes the puddles remember to take a moment and splash around a bit. Or a lot. But don't jump too high or too deep.

You might get a soaker.

How Not To Be An Idiot

Maybe it's just me. Or to be more specific, maybe it's just my particular form of neuroticism. But is it not true that if you know someone thinks you're an idiot that everything that comes out of your mouth while you're in their company is going to support that assumption? It's sort of a Fulfillment Theory Issue (FTI). What people expect from you is exactly what one does. It's only polite. And besides, people are going to think what they like and you're much too busy babbling what they're hearing as incomprehensible idioticracies (new word) to change their minds.

And you know intuitively within the first few seconds of meeting someone if they think you're an idiot (or worse a complete jerk). It's in the way they look at you and then look away the instant you look at them. It's in the way they spell out certain "w-o-r-d-s" for you or begin overly en-un-ci-a-ting every syllable of every word and how they keep defining words for you ("that means telling what a word means") and how they hold up fingers in front of your face when they're talking about something to do with numbers. "I'd like two (holds up two fingers) of those logo doodads to choose from please."

If this goes on for some time, it's obviously going to begin to bother you that someone believes you're an idiot because you're a person of the twenty-first century; fully in touch with your sensitive, caring side. So you're obviously not going to choose to spend much time with these people, otherwise you might begin believing that you are indeed an idiot yourself and that won't do at all. Then you'll have real problems. That is DEFCON 1 territory. Because you can't not hang out with yourself. So you must do something about it before it gets to that stage. As well as leaving their company, there are a few other options.

If you're not really an idiot (and of course you're not, only non-idiots read Rand's Place) it stands to reason you're far better off and have much more of a chance of getting somewhere in life if you only hang out with people who believe you're fairly intelligent. Then the Fulfillment Theory Issue (FTI) will have you only uttering intelligent things. But how does one go about finding someone like that? Well, you could put an ad in the classifieds, something along the line of "WANTED: People to hang out with that won't automatically think I'm dumber than a sack of cucumbers." That's all you'd have to say because you need people with a relatively high Emotional Intelligence Quotient (EQ) and people who can figure out the reasoning behind your ad and respond to it should therefore be reasonably high on the Emotional Intelligence Quotient (EQ) scale.

Or, you could do the old comparison thing and hang out with people who are real idiots so you look obviously intelligent by comparison. Smart people will look at you and go, "Isn't that a nice guy, hanging out with that obviously inferior person." Then they'll nominate you for sainthood and you'll get to then hang out with all the other people who used to hang out with idiots just to appear smart.

Whatever option you choose, just remember this: you don't have to be very intelligent and wise all the time. People who do that are so very odd.

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(Dedicated as a first life lesson to newly born Dakota Rose, from her somewhat wacky but always very intelligent and wise great uncle.)

The One With No Name

Inside the artist lives a ronin – an unconventional being known only as the one with no name. An eccentric stranger with an unorthodox sense of justice; this stranger comes to town with an extraordinary proficiency – with an image, a word, a rhythm, a look or a sound. People know of the stranger only by reputation, and they speak of the arrival only in whispers. In the dusty saddlebags lay the stranger's weapons.... a pen, a thought, a worn paint brush, a lens, a pencil or two, an instrument, a voice, a chisel, or some pixels.

It is not for the stranger to mingle with others. It keeps company only with the artist. The one with no name will not bother others. They are incidental. If they don't interfere there will be no trouble. Most know to step back and give this consummate pro plenty of room.

Once triggered, years of training spring into action... and justice is dealt out swiftly and without mercy. Sometimes for no other reason but because it needs to be done.

Marisol: Why are you doing this for us?
The One With No Name: Because I knew someone like you once and there was no one there to help. ~ A Fistful of Dollars

When the job is done, the stranger leaves town as quietly as it came. And the townspeople stand in the middle of the dusty road and watch as this enigma rides into the sunset. To right the next wrong. To bring justice to an unjust world. One work of art at a time...

Who's The Guy Who Rolls The Toilet Paper?

Hope you'll forgive me for a quick one today because, honestly, I've been talking much too much lately.

These days toilet paper comes wrapped around a cardboard tube that allows you to hang it on a special holder on the wall beside you and unroll the appropriate amount needed.

I'd hate to be the guy who has to roll it all up. I can't imagine people asking me what I do and me saying "I'm the guy that wraps toilet paper around those cardboard tubes." But it's one of those necessary jobs and I'm glad someone does it. And they've probably got great job security there because there's always a demand. I'd like to shake that guy's hand but I probably shouldn't because his hands are most likely insured for quite a lot because, really, that's a rare skill they've got there. 

For more information than you'd ever want to know, including alternative names for the tissue, visit Wikipedia.

For a free 18" X 18" print-ready PDF of the "Sweet Rolls" art drop me a line with your email address.

Gotta go.

Dear Prime Minister Harper: A Note

Dear Honourable Prime Minister of Canada, Mr. Stephen Harper:

Forgive me for intruding on your busy day. It's not for me to get all political by any means, that's your job. We have a great country with a splendid record and we've weathered the economic crisis better than most and for that I thank you and the agencies responsible. But since I was a teen and aware of world events, I've longed for world peace.

Lester B. Person

Canadians have a grand history in the establishment of world peace initiatives. When a ceasefire was declared in 1957 in the Suez Crisis of 1956, (a war between the alliance of the United Kingdom, France and Israel, and Egypt, which was supported by other Arab nations), Canadian diplomat (and future Prime Minister) Lester Bowles Pearson suggested that the United Nations station a peacekeeping force in the Suez in order to ensure that the ceasefire was honored by both sides. Pearson would win the 1957 Nobel Peace Prize for this, and he is today considered a father of modern peacekeeping.

In more recent years, the role of Canadians in peace support operations has expanded to include the delivery of humanitarian aid, the supervision of elections, the repatriation of refugees, the disarming of warring factions and the restoration of shattered landscapes through the clearing of mines, helping nurture human rights and the training of police forces and the judiciary. This is a diplomatic expertise to be profoundly proud of.

Canada is one of only a handful of countries to which the international community has regularly turned to obtain expert advice on peace support issues. Tens of thousands of Canadians have served in more than 40 international peace support operations around the world.

A Canadian led the way in promoting peacekeeping as a tool to help end conflicts and Canadians have long had an international reputation for putting themselves out to support peace. Now, we're in a new age of discord. And we've slipped in the world's recognition of our traditional role as leaders in the peace movement. We've gotten caught up in other things. We've taken sides over matters to appease other countries. And peacemakers don't pick sides. Maybe it's a good time to revisit this aspect of being Canadian and step it up. Listening Mr. Prime Minister? There is an economic aspect to this. People and nations getting along, sharing expertise and resources. Sounds good, doesn't it? How can it not?

But because of alliances and various reasons, we've slipped in world opinion as peacekeepers. Now, with conflict raging in countries all over the world, some think it time to get back to concentrating on earning back the respect that our country has historically garnered throughout the world to be leaders in bringing more peace and harmony to our world.

"Given the escalation of violent conflict, the increased threat of nuclear annihilation and lawlessness across our world today, there has never been greater urgency or a better window of opportunity to promote this initiative in Canada. ... advance an agenda for a new architecture of peace by supporting and establishing activities that promote a culture of peace and assertive non-violence in Canada and the world... In pursuing this initiative, we recognize that the crisis facing humanity is not only social, political, economic and environmental, but also spiritual in nature. We believe that creating a culture of peace is an ongoing and long term process but it is our intention to turn the tide in our generation working closely with Canadian youth." ~ Campaign to establish a Canadian Department of Peace

The time seems to be right to move from an image of past-tense peacekeeper to a world leading, non-violent peacemaker.

Just a thought. Let me know what you think.

Ventriloquistic Cheerios

Few sounds in life have the power to make you drop anything you're doing, can wake you from a deep sleep or immediately stop you from having the greatest sex you've had in a hundred years than the sound of a pet getting ready to upchuck. You know the sound, it's sorta like "Huuagh. Huaaahhh. Whooowauahhghhh!" Instantly, visions of a favorite chair that you'll never ever want to sit in again fill your mind. You can clean the icky stuff all you want and spray with all the cleansers in the world to get the smell out but you know in your mind that deep down in the tiny holes in that foam cushion somewhere lies the potential that you are sitting on pet barf.

You can't blame the pet. It's a natural physical response to stuff they eat that their stomach says "Nope, this ain't allowed. Back out you go."

This morning I thought I heard the cat getting ready to bring up a hairball and I stopped the open heart surgery I was mentally performing and went flying into the bedroom where, it turns out, he was lying completely relaxed on the bed, innocently looking up at me saying, "What?" Turns out the sound I thought was the cat getting ready to hurl was coming from inside me. Evidently the Cheerios I ate for breakfast had one hidden in there that had a ventriloquistic ability that allowed it to throw it's voice from somewhere in my lower intestines sitting in the living room clear through to the bedroom.

Somewhere in the Cheerios factory is a guy with a smirk on his face who's throwing the odd special cheerio every now and then into the batch going, "Ha, this'll get him." Which would be cool if you wanted to impress a date and make her think the cat was hoarking up in another room and you could laugh and go, "Ha, fooled you, didn't I? It's actually a special Cheerio I ate that you're hearing. Neat eh?" Then again, that would probably signal an early evening for some dates...

Only thing is, these special ventriloquistic Cheerios look and taste just like all the others. This makes it sort of the luck of the draw if you get one. And I get the taste thing because you want to keep the quality of the Cheerio eating experience. But maybe they could make the special ones a different color. So if you were having a night out with the guys or something you could pick out the special ones and your intestines could be the floor show. Or you could avoid them if you were having a night out with folks who just wouldn't get the humor. Like the Queen. Or other people that don't have bodily functions.

Which is silly really. Because where's the humor in not having bodily functions?

February 14, 1983

This is a stick. It has no monetary value. It's about 26 inches long with a bit of a knot at one end, which makes it easy to hold. It was found weather-beaten on a beach. At the time it proved to be a handy accessory; useful for prying up shells, urging along critters with claws, inspecting icky things in the sand, poking at embers in sunset bonfires and swiping at tall grass. A cord was added to allow it to swing freely or hang on a wall when its services were not required.

It's a historical fact that guys need sticks like this. It's a symbol of something or another and a testimony to the stylishness of leisurely pokes and the grandness of swings of the arm.

It's funny what we keep, given the number of times we move and each time we do we discard stuff that we've accumulated to lighten the load. But this small piece of wood was always sort of special. It holds memories.

And this year marks its 30 year anniversary. The date inscribed at the time with a pocketknife proves its age as a manly stick. And it has a bit more significance because there are two names carved above the date. They are the names of two people in love; who married the previous February. On Valentines Day. And the stick was inscribed that summer perhaps as an expression of hope and happiness. So while it may not be worth anything to anyone else, it reminds this guy that once upon a time he was loved by the most wonderful woman.

So today marks the day they married thirty years ago. Even though the relationship is long over, perhaps it still matters somehow. Even though they haven't met or talked in decades and even though they both went on with their lives and found happiness with others, it doesn't mean that something special didn't happen and it doesn't necessarily mean that the time spent together as one back then can't be remembered and perhaps even quietly celebrated now.

Events that happen when we were younger, when we share a deep love, help shape the fullness of our lives today. These experiences are rare and can never, ever be replaced. Never should past love be buried in the bitterness or angst of love lost, nor used cruelly as a shield to fend off new love from our hearts, because our hearts have no full gauge. They are meant to overflow. This kind of love knows no time limit, even if it visits us for only a brief period of time. It stays in our souls as pure as it was when it was unselfishly given and enriches us even now. In memories of joys we shared, in how our chests felt buoyant at the mere thought of each other, in kisses kissed, hugs given for no reason and secret smiles shared across crowded rooms. And more. Much, much more.

So, a message to a woman from a guy who had the honor of being your love so long ago might go something like this: even though time has passed and our lives are entirely different now, he treasures the gift you so freely gave back then. And there aren't words to tell you how much that meant to him and how precious those memories are today.

Happy Valentines Day. Happy Anniversary.

Love, Rand

Blundering Through Life's Side Effects

You're sick. You get something to take for it. Prescription drugs. The whole point of taking them is to get better. You know, from evil little bugs and illnesses your good friends give you or your kids kindly bring home from school or you get from doorknobs (and then make sure you lick your hands). In a perfect world, what these drugs really aren't supposed to do is add to your suffering. But you know that really tiny 3 point type at the bottom of pharma ads and the speed read rushed in at the end of their TV commercials? Disclaimers. They outline the possible side effects of taking the medications that are going to make you better.

The disclaimers generally go something like this: "Common side effects include headlessness, dizzy gillespie, tsunami, passing wind, sand pits, rage at the machine, and decreased karma, a side of fries, sore bussoms, banning from public swimming, onion rings, prostratigations (new word), ingrown toe nails, not being able to sleep or even insomnia. Some patients feel the urge to write love letters to Don Rickles, yell at microwaves, hype their playlist, play with bed bugs, or imagine their feet are six feet long. This medication should not be taken if you are pregnant or may be pregnant, planning on getting pregnant sometime in your future, have painted extremities, or have ever dropped Mentos into Coke bottles." And then comes my favorite ending: "In some cases patients have been known to suffer from loss of life and even death." Death. They sneak that in there.

Then they say, "Consult your doctor." So I go to my doc and tell her I want the stuff that I'm not supposed to take if I'm pregnant, or may be pregnant but definitely don't want the stuff that may make it impossible for me to become pregnant in the future. Because someday when medical science allows guys to do this I may want kids (born conveniently at 4 years of age) who can bring home more illnesses for me to catch. Death? Ha! Death doesn't worry me. I laugh in the face of death!

Now, to be fair, any medicine that is out on the common market has been tested and is relatively safe but depending on your metabolism, what you're taking, what else you're taking and how much of it and for how long, there can be issues; just as there can with practically any foreign substance (legal, not-so-legal and just plain scandalous) that you put into your body.

My favorite conversations with my doctor is when she says, here take this and hands me a prescription. Then she prints out another three prescriptions and I ask what they are for. She says, "Oh, to counteract the side effects of the first one." I'm afraid to ask about the possible side effects of the drugs I'm taking to counteract the side effects of the first medicine. Besides, by then she's usually out of the room.

These other side effect meds seem to work. I suffer from very few side effects. Maybe the times I find myself belting out "My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord," while talking on the phone to clients is one. Plus, I'm convinced the mustaches growing just under my kneecaps will fade. And what about those horns, you ask?

What horns?

News Flash Big Guy: Laughing Is A Good Thing

Sorry about being late with this post. I was busy last night.

I thought this guy at the gas bar was going to write me a ticket or something.

Oh, my klutziness got the better of me again. I started laughing. The clerk at the cash did then as well. There we were laughing and the guy behind me in line took exception. I reminded myself that some folks love to be miserable. It's almost like an entitlement. You'd think this guy'd got a degree in miserable or something and was so much of an expert at miserability (new word) that he'd go out looking for happy people and offer to teach them how to be unhappy. He probably had a big tub of cranky in his trunk ready to deliver to my house for me to wallow in. (Wallow, love that word. It relates mainly to large mammals, to "roll about in mud or water, esp. to keep cool, avoid biting insects, or spread scent.") He probably thought he was doing me a favor showing me the error of my laughing ways and I left before he could get around to offering me a wallow.

He probably needed a hug. But I wasn't the one to give it to him. Rule number one with miserable people: no physical contact. Rule number two with people with wallowing tubs in their trunk: stop laughing. On the outside. Laughing on the inside is fine. Rule number three with wallowing people: agree with them profusely and walk away as soon as possible.

I laugh at myself all the time. Maybe it's in my DNA or something because I'm continuously finding new ways to break myself up. And sometimes I share.

An article on the healing powers of laughter, states "when laughter is shared, it increases happiness and intimacy. Laughter also triggers healthy physical changes in the body. Humor and laughter strengthen your immune system, boost your energy, diminish pain, and protect you from the damaging effects of stress." Then there was a quote from a doctor that I was going to include but it sounded like a preachy public service announcement. And we all know these can cause crankiness. You can look it up for yourself, but be forewarned.

I can't remember where I heard this but there was a motel owner who used humor to good effect. When half of his motel burned to the ground in a fire he changed his promo sign out front to read, "Great rates on non-smoking rooms." 

If we can laugh at our foibles it signals to others a self confidence that wallowing pool misery lovers will never project...

...so you might want to visit your own Happy Place yourself, Mr. Gas Bar Grump. (phhhhfffft)

Art, The Pleasure Center and Becoming Very Sexy

It seems we are surrounded with definitions of proper art. Not of the Garfunkel variety. Of the aesthetic kind. Not that Garfunkel isn't proper. Nor isn't he not an Art. Just not the art that can be defined. Perhaps even by Art himself.

"Aesthetic" describes a philosophical theory that defines what is beautiful. Those who think more than most would say art is a unique presentation of interpretation, technique, form, tone, texture, use of color and shape – one that hits the pleasure center in the brain (ie: nuclear accumenitos or NAcapow) via neurotransmongers. Said neurotransmongers, dopahumahuma and serotestical in turn punch out tiny pheromones via quicky messenger. Pheromones are chemical signals first discovered as a sex attractant in insects which make you very sexy. All add to the drama the eye beholds, the ear hears or the fingers touch. So if you hear someone exclaim, "Better than sex!" after taking in a piece of art, or you find them suddenly very, very attractive and want to jump their bones, you'll now know there is a scientific explanation for this phenomenon.

Other, less excitable affectionatoes tell of a conversation that happens between the objet d'art and the viewer. If something speaks to you, draws you in, creates an emotional response; it must be either art, you are off your meds, or you need to take a break from whatever you're imbibing.

Beauty, or the lack thereof, is indeed so subjective that no one can tell you what you should like and what you shouldn't. Most of us unless we're excessively boring, doing an academic paper or detailed gallery review don't consciously make a laundry list of why we like something. We just look at, listen to or nudge it in some way and go "Give me a cold shower!" or at the least, "Ahhhhhhhhhh. Cigarette?"

In marketing communications there is an occasional lack of understanding about the value of art in the design of business material. To draw the eye, create an impression and begin a relationship with the viewer even before a single word is read is a highly misunderstood and feared magic. While creatives yearn to give beauty and substance, marketers sometimes view this as a form of witchcraft; one that conjures the devil and makes one want to shed their clothing, slap paint on their torsos and dance around a fire. Therefore they feel it only prudent to request slapdashery and the mundane.

Artists have a phrase for when this happens.

"Oh well."

Grab A Chair And I'll Put The Kettle On

This is the time of the year when I'm most at a loss for the company of old friends. It's so easy to let time drift us away from one another until one would be forgiven for wondering if you'd ever been close at all. But as much as good friends are ones who can sit comfortably in a room with nothing at all to say, they are also those who can get back together after years and years and sit down like it was just yesterday when you last got together.

The kitchen table was the gathering spot: a destination unto itself. No fancy parlors for us. And no real agendas; although financial reports, the status of initiatives and informal feedback were often part of the proceedings. And personal status was shed with coats and boots at the door. Everyone had an equal say and the right to laugh. These were gabby times of philosophy, plans, ideas, sports scores, the never neglected weather reports and the idlest of who-did-what-to-who and what-they-did-back chatter.

It was common courtesy to save the chair at the table that was closest to the "golden triangle" of fridge/stove/sink for the host; to allow them to move freely to fetch for their guests. Or to putter without tripping over others while you gabbed, with the open chair always at the ready to sit a spell between duties.

And being at a table in a kitchen also meant there was always the calming potential of food close by even if you weren't there to eat. Maybe it was the lingering odor of the Campbell's cream of tomato soup left over from lunch or there was dinner cooking and we all got to watch and enjoy the heady aromas drifting from the oven or the pot: a gift in itself. And once you'd sat in a friend's kitchen a few times you got to know where things were kept. Just the thought of knowing their saltines were kept in the cupboard above the fridge in case you wanted one or two was a source of comfort because you knew if you wanted one all you had to do was ask. And the ready answer was always "Sure!"

And then you could say, "It's okay, I'll get them myself." 

It was almost better if you weren't there for a meal because meals meant they had an end and then it was over and you were supposed to get up from the table. When you were just there sitting around the table there was no formal end. And no dishes to offer to help wash up. If coffee cups and glasses were all that were involved all courtesy demanded was just to place them in the sink when it was time to go. And time to go was flexible. Time hung on a "gotta go" or a "freshen up your cup?"

I can remember many kitchen table talks. Different kitchens and friends of various ages in an assortment towns and cities; we were the kitchen table people. Put the coffee on or fire up the kettle or, especially on hot summer days, pop the cap off a nice cold one or two. Ashtrays and splatters of milk and bottle caps and spoons surrounded by sugar galaxies adorned the tabletop with pets at your feet, top hits from the am/fm radio on the counter and sometimes kids running in and out of the room marking ends to various excursions and the start of new adventures. New folks popped their heads in the back door at times with a smile and a "Hi-how-are-ya" and joined the clutch to add fresh fodder to the proceedings. Often chairs had to be found from other rooms and dragged in to allow seats to be properly parked. And spur-of-the-moment talk fests ensued. Conversations that, on a cold winter day, visit me in remembered expressions, gales of laughter, pep talks, and the occasional tear – always surrounded with warm smiles and better tomorrows to come.

Anyway, there's no point to today's post. Those who have sat around a kitchen table with me will know there doesn't have to be one.

Just shooting the breeze.

Plus ça change

“The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense.” ~ Jane Austen

Pride and Prejudice was released this week in 1813. Two hundred years ago. A drop in the bucket when you look at the age of the cosmos, but to you and me it's easily three or four lifetimes. Or five or six less fortunate ones. Life in that two hundred years has changed quite a bit. Technology has enhanced our health, our communications and our efficiency. Some would say we're doing well. That we're making 'strides'. But it appears the basic state of humanity has remained unchanged, regardless of the wisdom shared from a multitude of sources over the years.

Two hundred years ago, when Jane Austen wrote Pride and Prejudice, the cultural movement called the Age of Enlightenment was just waning. Its purpose was to reform society using reason, challenge ideas grounded in tradition and faith, and advance knowledge by promoting science, skepticism and intellectual interchange. It was sparked by folks like physician John Locke, physicist Isaac Newton, and philosopher Voltaire. But by 1813 these new perspectives on nature and man's place within it were losing ground. Emphasis on reason was giving way to Romanticism's emphasis on emotion. And emotion, it seems, is exactly what the powerful needed for their purposes. Today, evidently, it is this still the act of playing on emotions that allows a few to rule while the general population believes it has a say in how they are governed. Some would say society really functions not by duly elected governments but by the rule of money lords and special interest groups. They would say that we are governed under tables that upon which we are tantalized with emotional red herrings: talk show hosts gaining notoriety by giving respectability to liars and cheats, snappy new apps that make life zippier, fear being spouted in short sound bites meant to enrage the uninformed and keep them in ignorance, and attentions drawn to trivial game shows, quicky payday loans, new treatments for bad breath and astounding antics delivered via reality television.

Because the evil masses have to be kept occupied, you see.

Modern society continues to send men off to be killed in the name of words like "honor", "justice" and "freedom" all for the control of things like resources that other nations want from them. And when they fall in the line of duty grieving families without fathers, brothers, sons and daughters are told they died as heroes to the cause. And, as is the case in Canada, when more soldiers die at their own hands after returning to society with PTSD than were killed in combat, why, that's a shame but let's just not talk about it for the sake of the families. We could easily feed all the people in the world but we continue to turn farmland into strip malls and light industrial complexes. In some places modern society still condones the taking of a life. Scientific research is sponsored by political and commercial interests spinning results tailored to conveniently fit purposes. We fight bullying with bullying disguised as reason and diplomacy instead of compassion and a good look at ourselves. We allow the possibility of assault weapons made for battlegrounds to be placed in the hands of the unstable and resist background checks and bans on the grounds of rights that were written during the time of muskets. We still take delight at figuratively burning people at the stake. Because rule by coercion, intimidation, fear and force is all "these people understand."

But all is not for the powerful. We, the minions, are given miracle cures, gurus spouting panaceas, experts telling us how to improve, how our dishes can come out of the dishwasher spotless, what rules to follow and in what order. What to drive in order to save the planet and still be cool. We're told what we should be worried about. How to get more social media followers. What we should be wearing. Whether our countertops should be granite or marble. All to keep us busy and on a direct route to happiness and self-fulfillment.

Individuals continue to be judged by their beauty, their wealth or the quality of their scoundrelousness rather than the substance of their thoughts and selfless deeds. We are told of the virtues of living with grace, about the value of our heart and love, about the special nature of our soul and how little money really means. More and more the news that is delivered to us is based on whether it will attract the most revenue rather than its intrinsic value. Morning newsreaders are now television personalities that report on news for three minutes and then entertain for the balance of the hour because people have to be "engaged" and because ratings mean revenue. Reporters have to put their pieces through the filter; making sure they're not stepping on the toes of advertisers/corporate owners or offending the politically correct.

We're suckers for all this, in a way. We're supposed to share and support and speak the truth as they take and subvert and shower us with cleverly disguised misinformation. If we complain they say, "Don't be so shallow, think of the war/recession/terrorists/assault weapon crisis/child labour/welfare bums/labor strikes/interest rates/global warming/jobs we're losing to China" when they may be the very people that allowed/caused the calamities in the first place. They perch so much of their considerable weight on our concern and good will, is it no wonder that so often it becomes buried in distrust and disillusionment?

Who are "they" you ask? They are us. Just people. Fallible.

Human.

Deep down we are still the animals we profess to be better than. We scrap at the watering hole of resources, fame, riches, importance, dominance and self-centered gain. It is in our basic nature to compete, to win and to survive at all costs, even if it is on the backs of others – losers all. It is not our fault we conquer. It is their fault they are weak. We profess to be something more than beasts while we tear into those who would threaten us.

If it were not so, surely the last two hundred years would have seen more progress in a humanity that is more humane. Maybe we're ready for a new Age of Enlightenment.

"Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose." ("The more things change, the more they remain the same.") ~ Alphonse Karr, Les Guêpes 1849.

Off my soap box. Sorry for the long rant. I feel better now.

Just Sayin' – Hopefully In The Right Way

Whether you're a kid posting a message to friends on Facebook or a large organization posting to the web; you gotta be careful about how you say things. Because people can take offense. Not only that, but these days with interactive media, they can let you know in no uncertain terms. Very quickly.

An incident this past week hammered this home. An advertiser released a commercial that they obviously thought edgy and humorous. One that portrayed a gentleman's anxiety that prevented him from leading a full life. It showed him unable to function, unable to eat, sitting forlornly in a chair in a backyard. The 'cure' was the company's product.

They launched the commercial on national television, posted it on YouTube, announced it on their Facebook home page and their web site and had it covered by the national trade magazine. The CEO and VP tweeted its launch. No doubt they were proud of their campaign. But it came off as though they were belittling people's health conditions in order to sell their wares. And overnight they became "the company that makes fun of sick people."

The condemnations poured in. Comments were posted on all social media sites that mentioned the campaign. People were livid. Multiple "it wasn't our intention" replies were sent out. A few days later, officials of major health associations posted their concern and the next morning the company finally announced they were pulling the ads. Major newspapers covered the scrubbing of the commercial. In the end, an expensive lesson learned and people will remember this company for a long, long time for all the wrong reasons.

It's a big world out there and there are some advertisers who are willing to push the envelope of good taste in order to cut through the clutter. Most ad creatives know that making fun of a minority, religion, race etc. and doing things like depicting women as sex objects is a way of getting attention akin to pulling down your pants in public and expecting people to still respect you – let alone want to hang out and do business with you.

The danger is that humor in advertising, because of those who have used it poorly, will become something people will shy away from. In fact, humor is a very effective tool for capturing people's attention so long as you're not belittling others. Inviting someone to laugh with you is totally different than laughing at someone's expense.

When properly used, humor is friendly, positively engaging and begins a relationship with a smile on everyone's face.

Some People Have Epiphanies - Some Go Boom

"Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world." ~ John Milton

A typical lightning bolt contains a billion volts and contains a current of between 10,000 to 200,000 amperes. That's about enough energy to light a 100 watt light bulb (of the old variety) for 3 months. I know this, not because I'm a brainiac, but because I looked it up.

And when a person such as I, who rarely thinks they can learn anything new, gets a sudden understanding about something, it's so unexpected it hits like lightening. Some have epiphanies. I go "BOOM" – there goes the brain. I estimate the one I had this week is probably worth about 8 months of energy because I'm a low-light 40 watt guy. Age makes one appreciate energy savings more effectively than any conservation, green-earth pleas. Got an energy crisis? Give everyone ugliness. They'll turn off lights like crazy. But I digress.

Epiphany (from the ancient Greek epiphaneia, "manifestation, striking appearance") is an enlightening realization that allows a situation to be understood from a new and deeper perspective. Sounds pretty poetic... romantic, like a candle lit in a dark room. Often they are triggered by a new piece of information, which when added to prior knowledge allows a leap of understanding. Like Archimedes's discovery of a method to determine the density of an object and Newton's falling apple thing. I didn't shout "Eureka!" or "Hey!" or anything like that. I'm much more of a "WHATTHEHELLWASTHAT?" man. Because I don't tend to have candles lit in dark rooms. I get thermonuclear-grade bad hair days.

So I'm not going to tell you what led up to my big boom. It's not important. What's important is that I had one. And because it takes me a while to recover I only allow myself one per year. So I've had mine for this year. And I won't get another until 2014 now. So check back then.

Or just watch for the mushroom cloud on the horizon.

What Do Words Do?

"The substance of a thought is the peace it brings"

What the heck are words? (I'll bet you were asking yourself this very question.) We don't talk a lot about words themselves. Discussing words is sort of weird because you have to use words to do so. And some of them might not want to snitch on their own kind. Plus some words have singular meanings while others have multiple meanings depending on context; and the first group might get jealous.

So let's not talk about words except to say they're made with letters and we put them together with other words in order to communicate with our fellow humans (and dogs, cats and the occasional goldfish). Suffice to say their effectiveness depends on whether others are paying attention. But without words we'd all be doing charades all day to pass messages between each other. While that would be fun at first (and would make political debates downright entertaining), it's not the most efficient way of conversing. So that's words. Done. Good. (phew)

Now we can talk about what words do. Some might just say they're a link between comprehension and action. They prompt understanding and allow appropriate responses. While one word can be an understandable message, more words add clarity and too many words can just be confusing. And they can have funny effects. Words can either make you want to climb walls or make you so comfortable you just want to cuddle.

So about today's visual. I wrote those words on a scrap piece of paper when I was in my twenties. This was before most of my adult life when I was still something of a dreamer. I didn't mean to keep it. It just stuck around. And over the years I'd stumble across it now and then.

I don't remember who authored it. It was so long ago. Maybe I did (pick this one if you like it) and maybe it was someone else (definitely pick this if you don't like it).

Not being a real 'new age' person (no mantra here), I don't have many words that I say to myself that would bring me peace. I guess I'm more prone to words that prompt my "flight or flee" mechanisms. But I've learned that words from other people can help you relax. Some have done just that for me. I'll leave you today with a few favs from over the years:

• "Your account has been credited with the amount wrongly debited." This is a huge relief to hear. Sometimes they even add neat advice, like "From now on you might refrain from investing in fake shrimp farms."
• "Hey, you're not as ugly as I thought you'd be!" If this is not followed by the words, "You're worse!" this is very calming
• "There's no need to blue-rinse your hair to appear distinguished." Self-help books about aging gracefully are great, aren't they? I'm thinking I this should be my next project
• "The test results are negative." This only works if you're not part of a couple who are trying to get pregnant
• "Just kidding..." Hearing these words usually follows a period of high anxiety induced by a jokester. Smile and activate your "flee mechanism" as soon as is appropriate
• "The reference between you and hamsters wrapped in hockey tape has been deleted." Let me just say that sometimes the humor that goes around a creative studio can get quite weird
• "You may eat with your hands." This was great to hear when I was a kid. It released the animal in me (without being sent to the corner), and finally
• "I keep your book in the bathroom and read it all the time." While this is very nice to hear but sometimes I have a hard time with the picture that puts in my head.

Have a great week everyone!

Free Cat Food And Other Tasty Merits

I got this badge when I was about eleven. I can't remember what it was for but I suspect it was when I single-handedly stormed the beaches of Normandy.

I swear if there is a greater word in the English language than the word "merit" I don't know what it is. Just the sound of it and you think of other great words like: rewards, prizes, kudos, money, advantages, beer, recognition, privilege, honor, pizza, beer, candy, gold stars, fame – a life suddenly made better than what it was before.

Like, open the door and let me on this ride, right?

We merit free cat food when we buy ten 20 lb. bags of cat food at the local cat food store, even if we don't own a cat, and merit points when we use point cards with almost any purchase anywhere. And when we get merit rewards in return for our patronage this tucks us into bed at night with a cuddly sense of accomplishment.

We work hard and get Awards of Merit when we do something that others think is excellent. Some even get merit pay for performing well, merit commendations for pulling babies out of fires, mentions in the pages of publications or maybe even a day named in their honor (which would include a free pizza lunch if they're really lucky). People plan their whole careers around what merit points they will collect next, like a person hunched over a kitchen table with snubby-nosed scissors cutting out coupons from weekly shopping flyers.

Of course, all this began long before you and even I existed. They say the idea might have emanated from the legendary American Dream, the idea of which I hear grew out of Horatio Alger's rags-to-riches stories from the mid-1800's. His stories all centered around the theme, "by leading exemplary lives, struggling valiantly against poverty and adversity” anyone can gain both wealth and honor. At its core was a few basic messages: a) each of us is judged solely on our own merits, and b) we each have a fair opportunity to develop those merits. Some call this the Horatio Alger Myth because they believe that the ability for everyone to develop merits is affected by things like pedigree, race, gender, sexual orientation (or in my case the ugly factor) and those variables do play an appreciable role in how our actions are appraised. But I remain hopeful that, with good people, we'll make it right. Until then I try to remember what my mother used to suggest as I went out the back door in the morning: Do the best you can.

It's interesting to note that when we help others, or when we're kind, or we do great work, or choose to lead exemplary lives, or perform well, it's not always to get something back. Sometimes we're just doing what we probably would have done anyway. For the joy of it.

“Heaven goes by favor; if it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in” ~ Mark Twain

Oh. My. A. Website.

With the preponderance of miracles happening on the interweb these days, I suppose it was inevitable that one would pop up and allow this technically all-thumbs, non-back-end creative type to come up with a web site. Admittedly a simple site, it's the result of a few hours on a Saturday messing about on a site called www.cubender.com (with time out to search for my scissors when they were sitting right beside my laptop, plus multiple treks to the kitchen only to wonder what I went to the kitchen for, and of course time to yell at the cat) has resulted in a hallmark in the annals of history just possibly worthy of note.

Over the last day or so I checked out a few site builders, through mere (almost morbid) curiosity, and I ended up here. The good thing is you can choose between HTML5 based (for multiple device compatibility) or Flash based (for glitz). I chose the HTML5 direction. The site offers a number of templates to tinker with which delighted me because I love tinkering with what other people have done.

It's intended to be a personal work in progress, and somehow the title "Rand Until Now" seemed appropriate. You don't want to say "that's all there is" afterall. I then thought, gee Rand, you should give it a proper name so went to CIRA and registered www.randmacivor.ca, which seemed appropriate, given that's my name and all (and it was surprisingly available). Now, with the URL, when people go there's no mention of Cubender and folks think I'm a genius. Which I am of course, just not at coding.

So, I guinea pigged it for you. Check it out. Tell 'em I sent you. :o)

Male Pattern Bafflegabbin'

Spending some say with main man Ray
He don't got no way of nothin' to say
Portray and sashay all you may
All Ray say is a shady-heydy-hey

Rollin' kookie moves from boddum to detop
Cop rides do the doo-wop to the big bebop
Moves ain't boughten in no jive-ass shop
Doo wop 'n shoo bop 'til you drop.

I may be a nutteroonie but I'm not unaware of the worldishness around me. Patterns of weirdiocrity predominate as we progressitate as a humanility into a new year. News media becoming opinionators. Leaders of people committing citizencide. People who figure they can't meet with people because of the precedentations it might set. Any conversation about issueations brings out crazisaurises. And I always thought that bafflegabbitors was meant to be entertaining confugabblelations for youngsters to squeal in delight. Silly nonsensity meant for giggleheadilating. Instead, I find myself in a worldidity where the ridicularitishishness is the normalitization.

I'm into it.

Ways To Stretch A Dollar... I Mean A Loonie

"Stretched Loonie"

If you're not familiar with Canada, we don't really have a normal dollar, we have a coin called a Loonie. It wasn't officially called that, but the common loon on the tail side prompted the popular nickname and in 2006 the Mint secured the rights to the name. Introduced in 1987 as a replacement for our paper dollar, it was originally made from a bronze-nickel combination, then it was something else and then in 2012 they switched it to a brass and steel composition (which made it lighter in weight and therefore incompatible with some vending machines and most parking meters).

Not only is a metal coin difficult to try to tuck into garter belts and fold to put into pockets, it's almost impossible to stretch to help make ends meet.

But with a bit of innovation even Canadians, who Stephen Colbert calls our "poutine-sucking, health-care-addicted nemesis to the north," can stretch a budget. Here are some ways you too can adapt in lean times:
1) Ask people who live close to you if you can store your milk in their refrigerator. Unplug your fridge. Get keys to their back door. Raid fridge when they're out. Leave an I.O.U. note
2) Take your significant other out to dinner with a 2-for-1 coupon. They won't mind paying for their meal. Really
3) Feed guests leftovers, items just past their best before date... and food that other people bought that you don't like
4) Post a list of free, fun things to do somewhere in your home. Include shoveling snow, cleaning out the closet and visiting distant relatives
5) In Canada, there is no reason to keep your freezer plugged in for the winter. Move it outside to the backyard or balcony
6) Razor blades just get dull. Besides, there is absolutely nothing wrong with body hair
7) Use the fact that the moment you get your car washed it just begins to get dirty again. When you meet people, say, "Can you believe it? I just had it washed!"
8) Wear clothes to work that don't have to be dry cleaned. Dark colors don't have to be washed as often
9) Lighting your home costs money. Memorize where your furniture is and turn off those lights. What's a few barked shins? And finally
10) Paper towels can be rinsed out, dried and reused for at least a few months.

A final note: Economists have come out recently saying we should stop calling our dollar a Loonie because it makes Canada look silly on the international stage. But the great thing about us Canadians is our ability to poke fun at ourselves. Really, Canada's Loonie seems to be doing quite well relative to international markets. The real issue, if there is one, isn't the name but what it will buy. And it's by no means isolated to Canada. Inflation calculators estimate that a 1950 dollar is worth approximately $9.55 today. In the 50's, you could get a loaf of bread for about 12 cents, and a gallon of milk for 82 cents. A gallon of gas cost just 20 cents, and a letter could be mailed for 3 cents.  

That, I would hazard a guess, was the last time a dollar was worth a dollar.

Grownup Grades

When we were little kids, about the first thing we learned after we learned how to laugh and cry was how we were going to get tested and what that meant. When we got a bad mark everyone said, "Aha! You failed! You should feel horrible!" Then maybe we got grounded for, like, ever or at least until we thought about it a while and we promised to apply ourselves better.

We hated tests. Brains froze at the thought of exams. Pop quizzes were the stuff that struck terror into minds. Multiple choice and true or false questions were bearable because there was either a one-in-four chance or a fifty-fifty chance of guessing right. There was a natural distaste of "being brought up to standard".

Britain introduced standardized testing in schools in the late 19th century to try to give everyone a certain quality of education. They brought it over from British India (where it was adapted from the Chinese model) and it spread not only throughout the British Commonwealth, but to Europe and then America, and good grades in standardized testing meant the standard had been met or surpassed. This was all fueled by the Industrial Revolution where new methods of mass manufacturing set standards that allow us to have things like cars with engines that work. Size 10 shoes that fit size 10 feet. Milk cartons with a best before date.

Then, we got older, left school and we were glad to get away from all those tests. But we'd gotten so used to proving ourselves by then we realized the grades we get from others still mattered. Because we wanted to be considered good at what we do, noticed and admired by people we respected.

So today, those who think that we're only as good as our last job, our last game, our last speech or our last kiss; will recognize we're graded everyday on our abilities, our wellness, our dedication, our aptitude, our heart, our sense of humor and our knowledge. By anyone who cares to notice. Even by ourselves.

As much as some people think otherwise, grading ourselves is how we get things to work and get new things to work better. And when you know how things work, you can fix things when they break, or even before they do. Helpfully. By combining what we know with what we do.

Maybe 2013 will prove to a more productive year if we hand out a few grades. Let people know we care. Nicely. And help those who need to apply themselves better do just that.