Tag Archives: differences

It’s a Sexual Thing

Ha ha ha! That got your attention! Don’t you dare deny it!

I recently read an article about an actor that I particularly admire. He had just received glowing reviews on a play he had completed and a Netflix miniseries that was brilliant but on social media there were an unseemly number of people who could only concentrate on his sexuality. Say what?! He’s an actor. He is charismatic and humble and a bit of a Chameleon. Everything that a good actor should be. I like that he acts. Period. Why are so many people hung up on things that are none of their damn business?

Perhaps they don’t understand what the word ‘personal’ means. It means it’s my business and not yours. Now granted, I understand we live in a scandalous and gossip minded society and anything that they could twist into perceived dirt is considered fair game. So, my question is this:  if I delved into your life and did a deep dive through all your secrets and then plastered it all over Twitter for the world to see, would you be upset? I would be livid. My personal life is my private life: not for general consumption. Actors are exactly the same. Yes, they have a public persona but I’m afraid that’s all I believe the public is entitled to. They all put their pants on one leg at a time, they all have to eat and you know, clean their colons.  Just like you and me.

I once read that an American power couple, both actors, had purchased a cottage in northern Ontario and were absolutely thrilled when people left them alone. I was so proud of that and so sad that it was worth mentioning. But they live in a world where they are basically considered fair targets. What a disturbing world.

I have stated in the past that I live my life from the seat of a wheelchair. But that does not define me.  The fact that I like cheese and jam on toast does not define me. My sexuality, the colour of my hair or the cut of my jib does not define me. My character does define me! What I do in public does define me. That is who I am and it is on that I will be judged. It is exactly the same for a public figure, why can’t people see that?

The Not So Simple Truth.

Last week I wrote a piece called The Art of the Lie. About how some people are really good at it and others not so much. So, this week I decided to write about the opposite, the truth. We desperately want to believe that the truth is simple, yes or no, one or zero but it is not. The truth is as malleable as wax on a hot sidewalk. Ask any police officer with three witnesses to a traffic accident, and you will find the truth of which I speak.  There will be three absolute, honest truths about what happened. They all saw the exact same thing but from different perspectives. And our perspectives are coloured by our history, our experiences and our beliefs.

Using the traffic accident as an example. A car careens into a pole. Sounds simple enough. One person sees a drunk careening across the road into a pole. A friend was killed by a drunk driver many years earlier. Another sees a person asleep at the wheel when the car plows into the pole. He had a friend who fell asleep on the way home from work. The third sees someone trying to commit suicide. A memory from his past.

As a species we are storytellers. Some go so far as to make a career out of it but each one of us tends to editorialize or to embellish what we see. We are not automatons; we use words to paint pictures. But what was it that our witnesses did not see? They could not imagine that the individual behind the wheel of the car had a medical emergency. A blood clot broke loose and travelled to his brain causing a stroke. His body reacted to the stroke by going into a full spasm forcing his foot down on the accelerator, leading to the accident. We can’t know what lies behind the truth. We either accept it at face value or investigate to learn the real truth, the whole truth. But most of us don’t do that. Most of us fill in the blanks with what we have experienced in our past. But what does that do to the truth?

The colour is yellow. Or is it Lemon? Gold? Canary?  We see the same colour but we interpret it differently. It is amazing to me that we can communicate at all. For the most part others understand what we mean when we use our words and yet some of our greatest humour comes from our misinterpretations. And also, some of our greatest tragedies. We don’t always understand each other’s truths. And it is open to interpretation.

The Art of the Lie

I don’t lie. That is not an arrogant statement of superiority. I’m simply not very good at it. My coworkers used to laugh when I told a lie. Everybody knew I was lying. So why bother trying? What I was good at, was obfuscation and misdirection. Damn, I’m good at that! And that is not an arrogant statement of superiority. It is simply my means of getting around things I am uncomfortable with.

A friend had just come back from spending an obscene amount of money at a salon for a new haircut. She was obviously very pleased with it and asked me what I thought. Now I care very deeply for this friend and I would never do anything that would cause her any kind of pain.  Unfortunately, I was not in a position to keep my mouth shut because I had been asked a direct question. So, I answered in the most indirect manner I could. I simply told her that it was an incredible look. I didn’t say it was an incredibly good look.  She looked like her hair had been cut by an eight-year-old with dull scissors high on crack cocaine. I’m not kidding. And I wasn’t lying. It happened many years ago and we laugh about it now. She did eventually see the humour.

Politicians are known for their lies and it is expected by everyone. I find that difficult to understand. I don’t like being lied to. Especially when it’s done openly and everybody knows it’s a lie! And yet it seems to be the way we live our lives. We expect those around us to lie to us. I’m one of those naïve people that expects others to tell me the truth. I don’t know why am surprised when I find out they haven’t. But I am. Look at advertising. Now these people are good. They lie so well you don’t know it’s happening. Case in point…

A very large chain that sells hamburgers recently laid the claim that their beef is grass fed. I won’t use their name because that would be unkind. But here’s my question: what were they fed before? They haven’t told a lie. But they’ve taken a statement of truth and elevated it to gospel. I see cows in the fields all the time and their faces are in the, oh I don’t know, grass! Cows have been eating grass since they crawled out of the primordial slime several million years ago. And the methane which is produced from that grass is one of the contributors to global warming. I’m just saying.

Words are wonderful to wander through, to play with, to communicate. But they can also be used to confuse, to manipulate and to harm. We all need to watch what we say but sometimes the mistakes that we inadvertently speak are the basis of some of our best humour. And we all need a good laugh. Especially these days.  So please, accept my words in the spirit in which they are given and enjoy.

My Airport Antics

I was reading a friend’s blog the other day (tidalscribe.com) and she was regaling her readers with her airport experiences. It made me think of the times I’ve had, well, issues in an airport. My biggest and most traumatic experience was when my father’s plane crashed in 1978. He survived.

Then I guess the one that stands out most was the time I thought I was going to be arrested for transporting drugs. It was August 1978, I was a Boy Scout at the time (they would go coed at a certain age) and we were travelling to Alberta for a National Moot. Think Jamboree. Groups were travelling from all over Canada and I think a few from the States and we are going to meet in Pincher Creek, Alberta for three days. My group thought we would go a little early and camp in the Rocky Mountains and then make our way down to Pincher Creek.

It was a great idea. We had to travel in uniform for insurance purposes so think of seven or eight 17-year-olds in Boy Scout uniforms descending on an airport. We stood out. For years my mother had been supplying us with hot chocolate that she would make herself because it was great when you’re camping. You only had to add water. This was over 40 years ago and I don’t believe they made hot chocolate that you could just make with water.  To make things easier, she put the powder in plastic baggies. There were probably about 20 double bags and then she put them in a flight bag.  None of us thought of the optics. As we were going through Customs it suddenly became very apparent why the Customs agents were taking an inordinate amount of time investigating that flight bag. I moved back in line a few paces. I wasn’t carrying the flight back.  It all worked out when somebody stuck their finger in the bag and tasted the hot chocolate.  They realized it was not cocaine and we were allowed to board the plane. I never did that again.

Then there is the time, many years later, I was travelling to Washington DC for a wedding with my mother. My father had declined the invitation. It was for people we didn’t know but their relatives were cousins that my mother had not seen in 60 years. They were coming from Belfast, Northern Ireland and I was anxious to meet them as well.

When my father’s plane had crashed, it was in a DC9.  I called the Airport to inquire as to what kind of plane we would be using and I was informed it was a 727. When my father dropped my mother and I at the airport and we collected our tickets, my father’s face looked odd. I didn’t question him at the time. We got on the plane and got comfortable and I reached out to read the little brochure in the seat pocket. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the plane I was sitting in was a DC9, the kind my father had crashed in.

We made it to Washington in one piece but I was a wreck. First place I went was the bar! We had a lovely three days and I met some incredible people. It was on the flight back that things got even funnier. We were not sitting in a DC9, we were in the promised 727. When we were packing for the weekend, I had asked my mother to pick up a book for me to read on the plane. Obviously, I was in no shape to read the book on the first flight but now I was relaxed and I reached for the promised book. It was called No Highway by Nevil Shute about a plane with a fatal flaw that’s going to crash and nobody knows about it. Thank you mother.

Oh, and the funny look on my father’s face? He had noticed my seat number, it was the same seat he was sitting in when his plane crashed. Who says life is boring?

Ah, Airline antics . . . .

 

 

The Nothing Poem

 

 

I have nothing to say,

No wisdom to impart.

My mind is a blank,

I have nowhere to start.

 

My pens are all dry,

And the pencils are broken.

My computer is napping,

I am really heartbroken!

 

This is not who I am,

With nothing to say.

I’ve always got something,

To speak every day!

 

Perhaps it’s my time,

To throw in the towel.

To live without words,

It all seems so foul.

 

Not bloody likely!

I’ll say this to you,

This was a blip,

I know I’ll pull through!

 

I’ll wrestle my demons,

And make them give way.

Cuz I ain’t done talking,

I’ll get back in the fray!

Are you offended yet?

Read on,  I’m sure I will find a way to offend somebody. Or at least those who are always looking for something to offend them. Maybe I got all the good readers who are offended in the same way I am, by people who are easily offended.

Why do we judge the past based on the sensibilities of the 21st century? Are people not aware that the time was different back then? Was it right? People thought it  was for that time. How exactly are we going to be judged in 100 years, in 50 years? Are people going to be offended by our idiocy? I cannot answer that. But I can tell you that we will be judged. If it was wrong in the past, let us change it now and for the future. That should be how we are judged.

We are offended when people don’t agree with us. We are offended when we infer their words to different meanings other than was intended. We are offended when we don’t get what we want . And yet why aren’t we offended by racism and hatred and bullying? These are issues that should get our blood boiling the way we let loose when we are offended. And yet we don’t. Hatred is something we will never truly get rid of but we can find out why we hate. I hate some foods . (Which I will not mention here because there are people that actually like these things and I don’t wish to offend.) But how can I hate a person when I don’t know them? How can I hate a country that I’ve never been to? How can I hate an idea when I don’t even know what it is?

And yet people hate for the most obscure reasons. ‘Her eyes are blue.’ ‘He doesn’t like cats.’ ‘I don’t understand what they are saying.’ I wonder what would happen if  we took the time to look past the things we don’t like? I wonder if we would find someone that we might actually care for?  I wonder if someone looked at me and decided to hate because they didn’t like the colour of my hair?  When will we stop hating the unknown?

Children are not born hating. Bullies do not spring up out of nowhere. These are learned behaviours and they are taught by adults. The entire world has a responsibility to its children to put a stop to the negativities they grow up around. I know this is a simplistic idea and certainly the whole world cannot be fixed by the snap of my fingers but just because it can’t all be fixed at one time, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t start.

A Remembered Past

A Pinecone and a Leaf,

Lay next to each other.

Knowing full well,

There would not be another.

 

With a chill in the air,

They remembered their past.

The warm summer breezes,

And evenings that last.

 

They danced on the wind,

And played in the rain.

They did it at first,

And then did it again.

 

Life is for living,

So, that’s just what they did.

From dusk and through dawn,

They played like a kid.

 

But time has its limits,

We know this is true.

They living will die,

To make room for the new.

 

A Pinecone and a Leaf,

Were unlikely friends.

May they be remembered,

For starting new trends.

 

 

 

The accompanying photograph was provided by Dan over at nofacilities.com. He and Maddie are most generous with the fruits of their walks. Thanks Dan!

 

An Art Form

 

A Pinecone and a Leaf,

Lay all in a row,

I think they were shivering,

And waiting for snow.

 

The days now grow colder,

And the sun, not so hot.

It seems winter is here,

And that’s what we got.

 

I know I should be thankful,

To experience four seasons.

But the truth of the matter,

Defies all of my reasons.

 

I want warm but not hot,

With the gentlest of breezes.

Sunshine each day,

Well that truly pleases.

 

I want rain after dark,

To water the flowers.

Not hurricane like,

But sweet calming showers.

 

I know what I’m asking,

Can never be done.

But dreaming’s an art form,

And it’s my kind of fun!

 

A Pinecone and a Leaf,

Lay next to each other.

They started this poem,

And maybe another…

 

 

The accompanying photograph was provided by Dan over at nofacilities.com. He and Maddie are most generous with the fruits of their walks. Thanks Dan!

A Tale of a Tail

 

This is a tale of a tail

Attached to a rat

Who wanted some cheese

That belonged to a cat.

 

Now our cat loved to play

All day with a string

But it had been taken

By a dog who could sing.

 

And the cat knew the dog

Just wanted a bone

That belonged to a man

Who lived on his own.

 

But the man was annoyed

That his home had a mouse

Who scurried around

All over of the house.

 

If the mouse could be caught

Then the bone would be tendered

The string would drawn

And the cheese would be rendered.

 

Horrid the deeds

Would need to be done

Death and defying

Was the character of none.

 

So the tale of this tail

Will end on a high

In the house of the man

They all settled for pie!

Religions

Catholic and Anglican

Episcopal and Jew.

Different religions,

For me and for you.

 

But what is the religion,

In the heavens above?

What is the label,

We practice thereof?

 

The words that we speak,

The songs that we sing.

Are all in the honour,

Of the one who is King.

 

We sing songs of faith.

That is the beginning of hope.

Because only together

Will we finally cope.

 

Understanding will come,

We’ll be suitably awed.

Because life is the religion

Of the one we call God.