Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Peeved
This drives me nuts. I went to bed around 11:00 PM. Although that's earlier than usual, I didn't even feel perky enough to read. My eyes felt sore, and I just wanted to close them and sleep. Check the time of this post and you'll know how well that plan worked. I've snacked, played Sudoku, checked blogs, and even reviewed a few old linedances — I want to get back to linedancing soon after a six month absence — and here I am three hours later complaining to you. Thanks for listening.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Bloggers, Mom, and the Kids
In my last post, I made passing reference to the comings and goings in Blogland. That's the main reason why I don't keep a blogroll posted on this site. It became too irksome for me to try to keep it up to date. I do, however, have my own hidden blogroll, and if you have commented a few times, at least semi recently, you're on it.
Back in the summer, however, I made the decision to make some people on my roll inactive. In other words, if they visited, I would return the favour but I wouldn't see them on my regular rounds (which I do make quite faithfully even if I don't always do well at commenting). Of course, it came to pass that almost none of this particular group of bloggers ever came by again. I guess they also only paid return visits, and when I stopped, they stopped. That strikes me as a bit odd, because with very few exceptions, they first came to me. My unwritten rule is that if a new visitor comments, I will try to return the favour. If someone comments a few times, then I add her/him to my list and then proceed to refresh their blogs on a regular basis.
Anyway, the point is (well I'm not sure that I do have much of a point as I'm just sort of free-flowing here) that I kept these inactive links handy up until a few days go. At that point I made the rounds, wished them well for old time sake, and then deleted them. (BTW I may have wished you well at the same time without deleting you, so not to worry. If you happen by on any sort of semi regular basis, you're on the list.)
Life changes, frighteningly fast sometimes. In contrast to this group of bloggers who are still active but not with me, there is a whole other group of other bloggers out there to whom I have have kept and will keep links, even though they seldom write or comment any more. They are the ones who I'm pretty sure would or will still drop by if or when they decide to become active participants one again. I miss these folk: Cathy, Eric, Mimico Dale, Colorado Dale, Dave, PBS, Mapcap, Val and so on (yes, I could probably go on).
As the wheel turns, however, there have been new relationships forged in the past year or so: Ginnie, Pearl, KGMom, Pam, Lorna, Donna, Philip. Chris, Ruth, Chani and no doubt a few others who escape my senile recollections at the moment. I am glad for your presence, however long this relationship may endure, just as I am glad for the shorter list of those who have maintained this blogging endeavour for a long time: people such a Gina, Granny, Lynn, Karla, Colleen, EC etc (and some of these are beginning to wane). By golly Colleen, you have been stalwart!
There's no real point to this post: no denunciation, no rancor. I'm simply reflecting on the multitude of comings and goings, which we're all free to do. There may come a point when we all decide to move on. I have come close to that several times when keeping it all up seemed to be a drag, times when I wondered what to write but felt that I should do so in order to keep the blog somewhat current for those who might click in. It all seems to become a bit chore-like at times like that, but there are other times, when I am anxious and even fairly bursting to record my tiny thoughts. Some of my recent posts such as Onstage, A Touch of Redemption, and possibly The Good Neighbour fall into that category.
In some of these posts, I feel that part of what I do is to leave a bit of a record for my children. I wasn't exactly vaccinated with a gramophone needle (thanks for that phrase, Mom) and don't pass on that much to them orally, but there may come a time when they might want to know what old Dad thought about life. Here, every now and then at least, I leave some small clues for them.
My mother was a talker, and I appreciate many of her anecdotes about family and what life was like for her, Dad, and my grandparents. But I forget too and sometimes wish that she had written it down. She did keep photo albums and write notes in them, and for that I am very grateful, but I wish there was even more.
So ... I'm now going to cease my rambling and end a post that really has neither beginning nor end but is something of a stream of consciousness ... a stream that clearly and dearly requires damming ...
(PS: Sorry if you didn't make it on one the lists of bloggers. That's the problem with doing that. Someone is always overlooked.)
Back in the summer, however, I made the decision to make some people on my roll inactive. In other words, if they visited, I would return the favour but I wouldn't see them on my regular rounds (which I do make quite faithfully even if I don't always do well at commenting). Of course, it came to pass that almost none of this particular group of bloggers ever came by again. I guess they also only paid return visits, and when I stopped, they stopped. That strikes me as a bit odd, because with very few exceptions, they first came to me. My unwritten rule is that if a new visitor comments, I will try to return the favour. If someone comments a few times, then I add her/him to my list and then proceed to refresh their blogs on a regular basis.
Anyway, the point is (well I'm not sure that I do have much of a point as I'm just sort of free-flowing here) that I kept these inactive links handy up until a few days go. At that point I made the rounds, wished them well for old time sake, and then deleted them. (BTW I may have wished you well at the same time without deleting you, so not to worry. If you happen by on any sort of semi regular basis, you're on the list.)
Life changes, frighteningly fast sometimes. In contrast to this group of bloggers who are still active but not with me, there is a whole other group of other bloggers out there to whom I have have kept and will keep links, even though they seldom write or comment any more. They are the ones who I'm pretty sure would or will still drop by if or when they decide to become active participants one again. I miss these folk: Cathy, Eric, Mimico Dale, Colorado Dale, Dave, PBS, Mapcap, Val and so on (yes, I could probably go on).
As the wheel turns, however, there have been new relationships forged in the past year or so: Ginnie, Pearl, KGMom, Pam, Lorna, Donna, Philip. Chris, Ruth, Chani and no doubt a few others who escape my senile recollections at the moment. I am glad for your presence, however long this relationship may endure, just as I am glad for the shorter list of those who have maintained this blogging endeavour for a long time: people such a Gina, Granny, Lynn, Karla, Colleen, EC etc (and some of these are beginning to wane). By golly Colleen, you have been stalwart!
There's no real point to this post: no denunciation, no rancor. I'm simply reflecting on the multitude of comings and goings, which we're all free to do. There may come a point when we all decide to move on. I have come close to that several times when keeping it all up seemed to be a drag, times when I wondered what to write but felt that I should do so in order to keep the blog somewhat current for those who might click in. It all seems to become a bit chore-like at times like that, but there are other times, when I am anxious and even fairly bursting to record my tiny thoughts. Some of my recent posts such as Onstage, A Touch of Redemption, and possibly The Good Neighbour fall into that category.
In some of these posts, I feel that part of what I do is to leave a bit of a record for my children. I wasn't exactly vaccinated with a gramophone needle (thanks for that phrase, Mom) and don't pass on that much to them orally, but there may come a time when they might want to know what old Dad thought about life. Here, every now and then at least, I leave some small clues for them.
My mother was a talker, and I appreciate many of her anecdotes about family and what life was like for her, Dad, and my grandparents. But I forget too and sometimes wish that she had written it down. She did keep photo albums and write notes in them, and for that I am very grateful, but I wish there was even more.
So ... I'm now going to cease my rambling and end a post that really has neither beginning nor end but is something of a stream of consciousness ... a stream that clearly and dearly requires damming ...
(PS: Sorry if you didn't make it on one the lists of bloggers. That's the problem with doing that. Someone is always overlooked.)
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Onstage
Saturday night find found Cuppa, Thesha, and AC (that's me) driving almost an hour through a snowstorm out to the tiny hamlet of Maberly. The weather was bad enough that Cuppa was all for turning back, but either my stupidity or doggedness (take your pick) prevailed, and we finally reached our destination. The occasion was to be my participation in my first instrumental concert ever. It took me over sixty years but not sixty-one years to make it onstage.
Those who have hung around this blog for awhile (and my goodness haven't there been great comings and goings in blogland?) will know that I, in what may have been a fit of dementia, began fiddle lessons just over a year ago. Then, this past September, I joined (sort of joined) the Blue Skies Community Fiddle Orchestra way out in Maberly (no, not Mayberry, Andy). When I add the phrase sort of to joined (above) I mean that I and three other beginners were rehearsed separately in a prep group. We learned the same repertoire as the others but not all of it and at a slower pace.
On Saturday evening we preppies joined the main group for their annual Christmas concert (yes, a Christmas concert on January the fifth). That's me (below) in my back row seat about a half hour before it all began. I was hidden so deeply back there (bald, smiling, to the left of centre) that I was almost never to be seen again, which was fine with me. (Due to the conditions, it's a very poor quality shot, but it's all that Cuppa was able to manage. I was out of flash range, so shutter speeds were slow and the photos blurry.)
Although I did more sitting than playing, I joined in on five pieces while two others that I knew (to some degree at least) were shelved at the last minute due to time constraints. I managed to play two of the five, Schottis fran Gelda (part of which is in the clip below) and Silent Night (where I even played harmony) fairly well. However, in all honesty I must confess to making some errors in the other pieces.
If you have played the very short video clip, you've quickly come to understand that we are a very amateurish ensemble. You know it, the audience knew it, and we players know and knew it. But we had fun; I think everyone did. There was a kind of joy and exuberance, and isn't that a large part of what music is supposed to be?
I think that fun and fellowship were perhaps the chief function of music for a long time in our history. People would come together, play together, and celebrate together. Unfortunately, this aspect is something that has been lost to some degree in modern times as song has largely evolved into performance art. As most of you well know by now, I like good music and fine performances too, but there's also something to be said for honest, participatory music.
To some extent this whole fiddling venture that I'm on feels like I am reclaiming something of my heritage. I can picture them, my forebears, back in England and Ireland participating either directly or as listeners in some sort of amateurish musical get together. And a small part of me feels that I am joining with them in a similar kind of melody. I do understand that I'll never be any good by any objective measurement, for even if I had the talent, which I don't, it's really too late for me to develop it to any degree. But playing brings me some joy and satisfaction regardless.
(PS: After that last paragraph, I feel it prudent to inform you that I don't exactly commune with my antecedents in some sort of mystical and magical daily ritual. It's just a passing feeling or thought that I sometimes have.)
(PPS: In case you're wondering, the weather had abated for the return trip and all was well: much to Cuppa's relief although she was not wholly pacified until we parked the car in the garage.)
Those who have hung around this blog for awhile (and my goodness haven't there been great comings and goings in blogland?) will know that I, in what may have been a fit of dementia, began fiddle lessons just over a year ago. Then, this past September, I joined (sort of joined) the Blue Skies Community Fiddle Orchestra way out in Maberly (no, not Mayberry, Andy). When I add the phrase sort of to joined (above) I mean that I and three other beginners were rehearsed separately in a prep group. We learned the same repertoire as the others but not all of it and at a slower pace.
On Saturday evening we preppies joined the main group for their annual Christmas concert (yes, a Christmas concert on January the fifth). That's me (below) in my back row seat about a half hour before it all began. I was hidden so deeply back there (bald, smiling, to the left of centre) that I was almost never to be seen again, which was fine with me. (Due to the conditions, it's a very poor quality shot, but it's all that Cuppa was able to manage. I was out of flash range, so shutter speeds were slow and the photos blurry.)
Although I did more sitting than playing, I joined in on five pieces while two others that I knew (to some degree at least) were shelved at the last minute due to time constraints. I managed to play two of the five, Schottis fran Gelda (part of which is in the clip below) and Silent Night (where I even played harmony) fairly well. However, in all honesty I must confess to making some errors in the other pieces.
If you have played the very short video clip, you've quickly come to understand that we are a very amateurish ensemble. You know it, the audience knew it, and we players know and knew it. But we had fun; I think everyone did. There was a kind of joy and exuberance, and isn't that a large part of what music is supposed to be?
I think that fun and fellowship were perhaps the chief function of music for a long time in our history. People would come together, play together, and celebrate together. Unfortunately, this aspect is something that has been lost to some degree in modern times as song has largely evolved into performance art. As most of you well know by now, I like good music and fine performances too, but there's also something to be said for honest, participatory music.
To some extent this whole fiddling venture that I'm on feels like I am reclaiming something of my heritage. I can picture them, my forebears, back in England and Ireland participating either directly or as listeners in some sort of amateurish musical get together. And a small part of me feels that I am joining with them in a similar kind of melody. I do understand that I'll never be any good by any objective measurement, for even if I had the talent, which I don't, it's really too late for me to develop it to any degree. But playing brings me some joy and satisfaction regardless.
(PS: After that last paragraph, I feel it prudent to inform you that I don't exactly commune with my antecedents in some sort of mystical and magical daily ritual. It's just a passing feeling or thought that I sometimes have.)
(PPS: In case you're wondering, the weather had abated for the return trip and all was well: much to Cuppa's relief although she was not wholly pacified until we parked the car in the garage.)
Friday, January 04, 2008
A Touch of Redemption
Cuppa and I had a day in town (i.e. city) today. Of course we had several shopping errands to attend to, but we also took in a movie and a later dinner, and I need to tell you about an incident that occurred at the theatre.
Entering the complex right behind us was a somewhat older couple. The lady was pushing the gentleman in his wheelchair, and the guy was pushing a good-size oxygen tank. We held the doors open for them as they navigated their way inside, and they expressed their gratitude for this very small courtesy. We went on our separate ways, or so I thought, but I immediately encountered the same couple at the entrance to The Gents. The lady looked at me somewhat pleadingly and asked if I would mind navigating the gentleman into the loo.
Actually, I was delighted, and you will soon know why.
I helped the guy get his chair, himself and his tank into the large cubicle for those who require extra space. It was during this struggle that he informed me that he had been normal up until two years ago. I'm not sure what I said to that, but I'm fairly certain that it must have been something completely inane. Before he locked himself in, however, I seemed to surprise him by declaring that I would wait to help him back out when he was done. The exercise did take him awhile, long enough that his wife came to the door the door to call after him. I stuck my head out and assured her that everything was under control and that I would assist him when he was ready.
Well, I did just that, and they were both extremely thankful. But not nearly as thankful as I.
For it must have been slightly more than two decades ago when I let a similar opportunity slip by. It occurred in yet another theatre. As is my unfortunate habit during movies, at some point I was forced to excuse myself to attend to ... er ... details. While ... er ... attending, a handicapped man entered in his wheelchair. Back then handicap access wasn't up to today's standards, and the poor guy had a mighty struggle to get himself situated into a normal-size cubicle.
What did AC do to help to his fellow man? Absolutely nothing! It wasn't so much that I was being callous as that I was caught off guard and couldn't quite seem to fathom the proper course of action. Bathrooms do tend to be somewhat private places after all. However, I have felt badly for my dithering inaction for lo these twenty-plus years.
And that's why I was almost ecstatic to be gifted with this opportunity. The universe gave me another chance to do the right thing, and this time I was up to the task. It felt a little bit redemptive to tell you the truth. No ... actually it felt a lot redemptive. In fact, I feel wonderfully blessed!
The movie? Believe it or not: Atonement.
(And although it's really got precious little to do with this post, I declare it to be a film well worth seeing.)
Entering the complex right behind us was a somewhat older couple. The lady was pushing the gentleman in his wheelchair, and the guy was pushing a good-size oxygen tank. We held the doors open for them as they navigated their way inside, and they expressed their gratitude for this very small courtesy. We went on our separate ways, or so I thought, but I immediately encountered the same couple at the entrance to The Gents. The lady looked at me somewhat pleadingly and asked if I would mind navigating the gentleman into the loo.
Actually, I was delighted, and you will soon know why.
I helped the guy get his chair, himself and his tank into the large cubicle for those who require extra space. It was during this struggle that he informed me that he had been normal up until two years ago. I'm not sure what I said to that, but I'm fairly certain that it must have been something completely inane. Before he locked himself in, however, I seemed to surprise him by declaring that I would wait to help him back out when he was done. The exercise did take him awhile, long enough that his wife came to the door the door to call after him. I stuck my head out and assured her that everything was under control and that I would assist him when he was ready.
Well, I did just that, and they were both extremely thankful. But not nearly as thankful as I.
For it must have been slightly more than two decades ago when I let a similar opportunity slip by. It occurred in yet another theatre. As is my unfortunate habit during movies, at some point I was forced to excuse myself to attend to ... er ... details. While ... er ... attending, a handicapped man entered in his wheelchair. Back then handicap access wasn't up to today's standards, and the poor guy had a mighty struggle to get himself situated into a normal-size cubicle.
What did AC do to help to his fellow man? Absolutely nothing! It wasn't so much that I was being callous as that I was caught off guard and couldn't quite seem to fathom the proper course of action. Bathrooms do tend to be somewhat private places after all. However, I have felt badly for my dithering inaction for lo these twenty-plus years.
And that's why I was almost ecstatic to be gifted with this opportunity. The universe gave me another chance to do the right thing, and this time I was up to the task. It felt a little bit redemptive to tell you the truth. No ... actually it felt a lot redemptive. In fact, I feel wonderfully blessed!
The movie? Believe it or not: Atonement.
(And although it's really got precious little to do with this post, I declare it to be a film well worth seeing.)
Thursday, January 03, 2008
The Good Neighbour
I know, ya gotta wonder how many snow and snow-shovelling related blogs I can come up with. But please bear will because it's winter here: quite a winter after the past few milder years. In case you doubt, by way of contrast I have pictures such as this one from mid-January last year which reveal almost no snow. And since I can't recall seeing an accumulation such as this since I was a boy in Montreal, surely I can be forgiven my present obsession?
Anyway, this really isn't about snow per se; it's about The Good Neighbour who lives across the street. I have mentioned her more than once and already presented you with a picture, but here she is again (below).
I guess you can tell by looking at her beyond-rosy cheeks that it was quite cold that day, but she still came over to blow our driveway out. She doesn't confine herself to performing this good deed to us but goes up and down the street cheerfully helping many. When someone asked her if she was making a lot of money doing this, she replied that she wasn't but that she was making a lot of friends.
What a great and refreshing attitude!
I wish more people had it — Good Neighbour's fantastic attitude. Of course, some do, but can't display it so obviously. For example: it was just a few years ago that I did my bit by frequently shovelling-out our neighbour's place in Sarnia and sometimes two neighbours. But these days, to keep Cuppa's worry-level at minimum, I confine myself to my own driveway. And because of Good Neighbour, I don't always even have to do that. By contrast, after our first big storm, there was another neighbour (and I use the word loosely) who plowed his lot with a plow attached to a riding lawnmower, which must make it easier than blowing, don't you think? But you know what? He just did his own place and went back inside without glancing to the right or left. I wonder how much joy he gets out of life?
While I never expect Good Neighbour to clear my snow and while I can enjoy shovelling my own moderate amounts, I am always appreciative of her good deeds. It's not just that it saves me some labour (although there is that), but it gives me a warm feeling about my fellow humans. And I am becoming rather fond of experiencing warm feelings in the midst of a cold winter.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Psych Job
New Year's Day and it's snowing out — again! I cleared the driveway this morning before heading to the kids' for brunch. When we returned three or four hours later, there was more than there had been earlier. Good Wife assumed that I would rush back outside to clear the drive off again but I haven't, for I am rather hoping that Good Neighbour with the blower will come by. She was out when we drove in, but I don' know if she still is. Whatever the answer, she hasn't done ours — yet — but I live in hope.
After reading previous posts, you would be forgiven for thinking that I love and live to shovel snow. In point of fact I don't or not always anyway, but I can usually condition myself to enjoy the activity. However, I was speaking with Althegal, my younger daughter who has a degree in psychology and is working on her Masters, yesterday and she opined that I was experiencing a phenomenon known as Cognitive Dissonance. It is her opinion that my brain is tricking me (in a sense) into enjoying a repetitive, boring, and unpleasant task. Apparently, there are studies to support this kind of occurrence.
While I concede that she might be correct in her assessment, I am inclined to humbly disagree. I think it's an act of will on my part. I will myself to develop an attitude that will result in me enjoying the chore as much as possible, and I try to perform said task in a way that will increase the likelihood that I will, in fact, enjoy it.
I don't think that's my brain playing tricks on me but visa versa. I know that seems to be impossible — to trick my own brain because, by default, it seems pretty darn paradoxical to claim that I can use my brain to trick my brain. But I say that it's a complex organism up there above my neck and that I I have the ability to choose to use the willpower that I can muster in one part of my grey matter to affect how another part of my brain perceives the task. Maybe I'm really using my conscious brain to affect my unconscious brain, which may, in point of fact, be opposite to the occurrence Cognitive Dissonance, but I guess I should leave those ruminations to the experts.
Regardless! I do rather hope that Good Neighbour will still happen by in the next hour or so because old AC is rather tired on this New Year's Day and would love recline in warmth with a good book. But I rather doubt that will be my lot and that I will quite likely be forced to psych myself up again. And I can do it, by golly.
After reading previous posts, you would be forgiven for thinking that I love and live to shovel snow. In point of fact I don't or not always anyway, but I can usually condition myself to enjoy the activity. However, I was speaking with Althegal, my younger daughter who has a degree in psychology and is working on her Masters, yesterday and she opined that I was experiencing a phenomenon known as Cognitive Dissonance. It is her opinion that my brain is tricking me (in a sense) into enjoying a repetitive, boring, and unpleasant task. Apparently, there are studies to support this kind of occurrence.
While I concede that she might be correct in her assessment, I am inclined to humbly disagree. I think it's an act of will on my part. I will myself to develop an attitude that will result in me enjoying the chore as much as possible, and I try to perform said task in a way that will increase the likelihood that I will, in fact, enjoy it.
I don't think that's my brain playing tricks on me but visa versa. I know that seems to be impossible — to trick my own brain because, by default, it seems pretty darn paradoxical to claim that I can use my brain to trick my brain. But I say that it's a complex organism up there above my neck and that I I have the ability to choose to use the willpower that I can muster in one part of my grey matter to affect how another part of my brain perceives the task. Maybe I'm really using my conscious brain to affect my unconscious brain, which may, in point of fact, be opposite to the occurrence Cognitive Dissonance, but I guess I should leave those ruminations to the experts.
Regardless! I do rather hope that Good Neighbour will still happen by in the next hour or so because old AC is rather tired on this New Year's Day and would love recline in warmth with a good book. But I rather doubt that will be my lot and that I will quite likely be forced to psych myself up again. And I can do it, by golly.
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