Newton’s 3rd Law of Motion states for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. That’s how I’m feeling about technology at the moment. For all the wonderful things technology has provided for us, there are also many annoying, frustrating, inexplicable and downright idiotic aspects. My current beef is with a new set of hand held phones. For a number of reasons I prefer these to using my cell phone at home. The hi-tech recharge base is adorned with a ridiculous number of buttons. When all of the buttons are active, I doubt I would even need to have an actual conversation. The phone would do it for me. As soon as it rang I was getting a plethora of vocal messages. This device must be a relative of Hal. Hal, if you recall, was the computer in 2001: A Space Odyssey that took over everything. No doubt a precursor to AI. I immediately turned off all vocal functions on the phone. That allowed me to use it in the traditional manner with me in control, until… I get way too many calls from unknown numbers including long distance codes. If I don’t recognize the number, I let it go to voice mail figuring if it’s really for me, they will leave a message. I have also come to expect the long distance calls to be spam or scams. Again, unless I happen to recognize a particular number, I don’t answer. You can’t be too careful these days. Here's what happened. Remember, I disabled every possible vocal function on the phone. One day one of those unknown numbers came in. I have my phone set for 6 rings before it goes to voice mail. It rang 6 times when Hal spoke saying, “enter your access code.” What the heck was that? It kind of freaked me out. Maybe it was a one off glitch and I would check the manual if it reoccurred. For the next several days it was business as usual,. Then a call came in. After 6 rings, Hal asked for an access code. Another freak out. I went through the phone’s manual with a fine tooth comb. There was nothing about this weird function. Not a word that could possibly explain why this was happening. Nothing. Nada. I asked a couple of tech savvy friends about it. They had no explanation either. Strangely, bizarrely, seriously creepy, Hal was showing up more and more frequently. Enough was enough. Newton’s 3rd Law was in motion again. My equal and opposite reaction was to bring Hal to his demise. I unplugged the phones and packed them away. Fortunately, I kept the previous set and reactivated them. Now, when the phone rings, I answer. If not it quietly goes to voice mail. Wonderful. I do wonder what that was all about. Why ask for an access code? What was it then access to? Is AI beginning to run amok? Many questions. No answers. We live in interesting times. Comments Welcomed.
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I don’t know if you are familiar with the song, “Hooked On A Feeling” by Blue Swede. Every time I hear this song I am hooked on the feeling I get from two of the lines and the music. The 2 lines being, I’m hooked on a feeling. I’m high on believing.” There is more to the second line, but I use my own words to finish it. Anyway, I am suddenly hooked on a feeling that I want to write. This unexpected desire to write is unusual for me. Since it’s my main creative endeavor, I find writing is more obligatory than pleasurable Although, I do occasionally have fun with it. Now, here I am with the desire, but no subject matter. Tell me, did you ever get a feeling about something, but couldn’t quite define it? That’s where I am. I’m going to take a pause and consider where to go from here. Okay. I’m back. Here’s the thing. Our brains actually have an aspect that is always in need to know mode. We want answers. We want to know the whys and wherefores. However, we may not always get those answers. My question then is, so what? What if we don’t know the whys and wherefores? Perhaps a little uncertainty now and then is not a bad thing. What if we just flow with the not knowing and see what happens? That’s what I came to, just enjoy being hooked on that feeling. If it leads somewhere that’s fine. If it doesn’t, that’s okay, too. Comments are welcomed. Wabi Sabi was mentioned in a post about what seems like months ago. I said I would offer a better description of this Japanese philosophy of aesthetics and way of life. “In a few words, one could say that wabi sabi is the beauty of imperfect things. Of course, that would be overly simplistic explanation for such a deep and profoundly rooted notion in the Japanese spirit. Something between an artistic concept, a philosophy of life and a personal feeling, wabi sabi is everywhere In Japan, wabi sabi is imperceptible but everywhere: a crack on a teapot, the wood of an old door, green moss on a rock, a misty landscape, a distorted cup or the reflection of the moon on a pond. The term wabi sabi is composed of two kanji characters. The second part, sabi (寂) is said to date back to the eighth century, when it was used to designate desolation in a poetic way. From the twelfth century, the term evolved and referred more precisely to the delightful contemplation of what is old and worn. It was also used to talk about the beauty of faded or withered things. Sabi could also mean “old and elegant”, or “being rusty”, with an untranslatable impression of peacefulness. The term wabi (侘) only appeared in the fifteenth century to designate a new aesthetic sensibility closely related to the tea ceremony, which referred to the general atmosphere and to the objects used during this formal service. The definition of wabi can be traced back to loneliness or melancholy, to the appreciation of a serene life, far from the urban hustle and bustle.” Wabi Sabi is about appreciation and acceptance, striving for excellence rather than perfection, finding happiness in the simplicity and impermanence of all things. Of course, there is much info about Wabi Sabi that can be found on - where else – the world wide web for anyone interested. For great depth and history, I’d recommend taking a glance at japanobjects.com. Comments are welcomed. There I was, stuck with this expensive duvet cover that I couldn’t get off my bed fast enough. There was no shaking the images of birds, papayas and oranges floating around in my head. How did my friend and the store owner not notice they were part of the pattern? I was obsessing about this to say the least. The store policy was credit or exchange only. This could have worked out had the expiry date not lapsed. Perhaps I will try to sell the birds and fruit. Several days later I was out with my BFF who understands my quirks and eccentricities including the color thing. I felt prompted to take one more look in the store of my recent purchase. Something strange, mysterious, yet pleasant happened. The store owner brought a series of duvet covers that were not part of the dozens I saw previously. Where did these suddenly come from? Three appealed to me, but the price was prohibitive. Then, there it was. The exact color I had in mind and a Damask floral pattern. Nary a bird or piece of fruit to be found, and within my price range. Mission accomplished. But wait. The cover is a Queen size for a double size mattress. One would expect plenty of overhang all around. Nada. How was this such a misfit? Oh, no! Will I have to do a return? Had my visits to this lovely linen store turned into crazy town? My daughter stopped by the next morning to take a look. She asked what was described to me. After I told her, she said they got it right this time. Whew! I showed her the length shortage. She asked where the zipper was. It was at the foot of the bed where I always placed them. She turned it around, putting the zipper on the side. It never occurred to me to try that. Why would I? I’d always put the zipper side at the foot of the bed. Wonder of wonders! It suddenly fit properly all around. And, the pattern worked any which way the cover went. Go figure. Okay. Now I look forward to where the next adventure my quirks and compulsions take me. Comments welcomed. As mentioned last week, my intent was to offer some of the main points of Wabi-Sabi. I am postponing it until next week. A situation came up with duvet covers that prompted me to write about obsessions, quirks, oddities. You know, those delightful character eccentricities that make life so interesting. I apologize up front for the length. I neither enjoy writing nor reading long blogs, but… My duvet cover obsession has been going on for over a year. Thoughts of getting a new cover had been rattling around in the recesses of my mind even longer than that. I had very specific colors in mind. In addition it had to have a pattern free from geometric shapes, critters, and food items. One of my quirks is that I cannot have any of the afore mentioned on any décor item in my home. Don’t get me wrong. I am a big fan of birds, fruits and veggies in real life, just not on any form of ornamentation. A floral design is acceptable. I began the quest last Spring searching every store that sold bedding in the greater Toronto area. Everything I looked at was flawed in some way. For example, one was absolutely perfect until we caught sight of birds. I simply cannot sleep when I know there are birds flying around on top of me. I never realized how many duvet covers had birds, butterflies and dragon flies as part of the motif. There was also a fair share of fruits and geometrics to be found. Eventually, I gave up deciding to wait until the next year, which is now. I started out about mid-Spring. Once again I scoured every place that sold bedding. I kept running into the same issues as the previous year. Close to giving up, I decided to visit one final bedding and linen store. I was accompanied by a friend who along with the owner did their best to describe the colors and patterns of the myriad of duvet covers. Their kindness and patience was greatly appreciated. Finally, there was one that seemed to fit my requirements according to the description. I bought it, brought it home and placed it on my bed. It seemed to be okay, although I was not entirely sure. To digress for a moment, it is worth noting that colors along with everything else in the universe, have their unique energies. Although, I am no longer able to see things, I can feel the energies of colors, which Is why I may be so particular. Some may say fussy and annoying. Thus, I had that scintilla of uncertainty about this cover. Back to the story. A few days later my daughter and granddaughter came by for a visit. I invited them to see my new duvet cover. They took a long look and asked what I was told about the colors and pattern. Apparently, it turned out not to be what I believed it to be. And, horror of horrors, on the sides that hung down there were – wait for it – birds and fruit. Bleepity bleep bleep!! Okay. I’ve written enough for now. Please come back next week if you want to know the rest of the story. Sorry, Wabi-Sabi, I have to put you off for yet another week. Comments are welcome. No one is perfect, which is why pencils have erasers. Good enough is good enough. So why do we mess things up by trying to be perfect? There might be some fear involved – fear of making mistakes, fear of disappointing ourselves or others, fear of falling short, fear of success, etc. It may come from our judgement about our worth. It may be about an image (only in our own minds) we created for ourselves to live up to. Whatever the reason, it is a recipe for continual disappointment. What can we do about it? The answer may be simple, but not easy. For me, I can trace this back to my childhood. I got messages from certain family members, both verbal and through body language, that I had to always be the best. This was a tough message to be carrying around in my head. It caused much distress through high school and university. What made it worse, is that I knew I was not always the best which kept me from participating in certain activities. Fast forward to the present, I decided there was another side to this story. A new mindset and a new story line was in order. Here’s how my new story goes. I have reframed “being” the best to “doing” my best. If I do my best each day knowing my best will vary from day to day., that is perfectly good enough. Another part of this new story has to do with mistakes. As I was growing up, I never got the message that it is alright to make mistakes. It is alright to be wrong now and then. What I know now, of course, is that mistakes can be a good thing, They are how we learn. Mistakes have led to some of the world’s great discoveries. Anyone who has never made a mistake likely never took a risk or tried anything new. Mistakes are just an aspect of being human. It’s been very helpful using sound bites from this story such as everyone makes mistakes, it’s okay to suck at something, there is no shame or guilt being imperfect, accepting that good enough is good enough. The whole truth is that everyone of us is perfectly imperfect. I am reminded of the Japanese philosophy Wabi-Sabi which is a concept that motions us to constantly search for the beauty in imperfection and accept the more natural cycle of life. Next week I will do a deeper dive into this wonderful philosophy of life. Comments are welcomed. Let’s see. Where was I? Oh, yes. It was about the shock of Petal Plumblossom blowing in my window with the wind . A quick recap, if you missed Part 1. I was intent on exercising my whimsy muscle which had been inert for too long. You know what they say. If you don’t use it, you lose it . At the same time, I was keeping an eye out for any muses who might deign to pay me a visit. I opened the window to get some fresh air, when the wind blew in with the fancy girl fairy, Petal Plumblossom. That’s where the story left off. Let me tell you she was as surprised (understatement) as I. We just looked aghast at each other for a moment. Then, I introduced myself and explained that the other neighborhood fairies occasionally come here for tea and petit fours. From their chatter, I assumed that she was who she is. She confirmed my assumption. Seriously, it was obvious going by her haute couture and haughty airs. I invited her to stay and have tea with me. Since I was not expecting guests, I did not have petit fours to accompany our tea. I was able to offer homemade cookies which delighted her. Apparently, homemade cookies were a delicacy in her world. To make a long story short, preferable to making a short story long, I will leave out all the juicy stuff for now. I will say we had a very lovely and enlightening conversation. Things and beings are not always what they appear to be on the outside. P.P. (Petal Plumblossom) gave me permission to tell her story whenever I was so inclined . I must confess I had made assumptions about P.P. from listening to the gossip of the other fairies. When we assume, it makes…well, you know what it makes of us. There are times when it takes common sense and humility to defer to those with more knowledge about a situation or person. There are other times when we ought to pay attention to our Spidey Sense and recognize there is another side to the story. That was the case with P.P. There was definitely another side to her story beyond fancy clothes and fancy airs. When she saw that I was genuinely interested and trusted I would not judge her, P.P. shared her story. Although she gave me permission to tell you her story, I’m thinking that her story is not the story. The story may be more in the lessons learned and things to remember about what is really important. Eeyore, who was a downer donkey most of the time, had his moments of insight . One of these insights is worth the mention here. “Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.” Comments are welcomed. A couple of weeks ago I gave myself permission to cancel this blog. Seems that having released the pressure of a self-imposed weekly commitment has created space for me to continue a little longer. I am currently on the lookout for whimsy and muses. Either one would provide the impetus to keep going. For a little while, anyway. Let’s go for whimsy. Even though it has been elusive for some time, whimsy is a part of my nature. Besides, the muses are unreliable and unpredictable. They come. They go. They have their own agenda and time lines. If by some stroke of good fortune the muses detour from their flight plans and land in your home, you might get a big burst of creativity. However, we have no influence over how long they stay. Personally, I have found nothing that might entice them to stay a goodly while. Believe me, I have tried all manner of bribery – special baked goods, the finest coffees, teas, wines, full control of the TV remote and all my devices, etc. Nada! If it is their fancy to stick around and help you, well, that’s great. Otherwise, you just have to be happy with what you do get. Now, back to whimsy. The cool part about whimsy is that it is always nearby. We just need to be open and notice. For example, if you are very still, you might hear the appliances chatting amongst themselves. You might hear elves tap dancing on the roof. You might discover a wizard residing in one of your closets. The possibilities are endless. I just opened the window. The wind blew in with Petal Plumblossom riding on it. I’ve had visits from the neighborhood fairies before. Never Petal Plumblossom. She is the fancy-girl fairy who is often the subject of fairy gossip. She wears fancy clothes, fancy shoes, fancy hats and flounces around with her fancy airs. The other fairies find her rather irksome. I was quite shocked by her arrival. I thought it must be a mistake. Perhaps the wind took a wrong turn. To be continued… Comments are welomed. We can be grateful for so many things in so many ways. We each feel it, express it in our own particular ways. Whatever way it works for us is all good. This morning when I was doing laundry, I suddenly felt grateful for my washer and dryer. That one thought, one feeling led me down an interesting, fun path of appreciation. I decided that today would be Appliance Appreciation Day in my household. I actually went around to every appliance – washer, dryer, computer, AC, radio, phones, stove, refrigerator, TV – and gave a thank you to each one. I also included hot and cold running water. Sound a little goofy? Maybe. However, it made me take a global look to be aware that so many around the world are not as blessed. Whatever fills our hearts with gratitude is a good thing. I also found that old Irving Berlin song to be true – “If you’re worried and you can’t sleep, count your blessings instead of sheep. You’ll fall asleep counting your blessings.” It works. Comments are welcomed. Surprisingly, especially to me, I’m back. At least on a week to week basis. Self permission does wonders. Happy May Day. May Day is celebrated on the first of May around the world. While it is a Northern Hemisphere spring holiday, it also coincides with International Workers’ Day. Whether the beauty of spring season in May or the importance of labor, May Day is a fine time for celebration and good thoughts. Following is a little ditty which has that feeling of stepping full on into Spring. The First of May by Annette Wynne If I could stay up late no doubt I'd catch the buds just bursting out; And up from every hidden root Would jump a tiny slender shoot; I wonder how seeds learn the way, They always know the very day-- The pretty, happy first of May; If I could stay up then, no doubt I'd catch the buds just bursting out. After 5 years and 9 months of never missing one single Monday, I have to admit that the well is running dry. Most recently I have taken a few thinking breaks, pauses or whatever you want to call them, for 2 reasons. The first is feeling like I have little of consequence to say. Secondly, I felt if I took a real break, I might never start up again. The second reason gives me the greatest consternation. Diving into blogging offered the opportunity to exercise my creativity. Since I lost my sight, other options that I might have enjoyed were no longer a consideration. So blogging became the thing. My first thoughts were would I be able to follow through on a regular basis and if I got started and wanted to take a break, would I just let it go altogether? I decided to go for it and jumped into the deep end. After 5 years and 9 months, here I am. The most important thing was actually giving myself permission to take a break. Just. How long of a break is unknown. maybe a week? A couple of weeks? A month? Maybe no break at all. The freedom I feel from giving myself that permission could be all I really needed. We’ll see. (A clearer picture of this situation is in the previous posts Getting Started and A Rag Bag Of Hobbies.) Comments Welcomed Sometimes everything gets out of sync. That’s me this week. Nothing particularly bad occurred. It’s just one of those things. Maybe something astrological is going on. Maybe I stepped on a crack in the sidewalk. Maybe I wore the wrong colored blouse on Tuesday. Maybe a whole lot of things. I suppose, when you come down to it, none of those things matter. The point is that I am a little discombobulated. Consequently, I am taking a pass this week. I’ll say no more because as Dr. Seuss puts it: “So the writer who breeds more words than he needs, is making a chore for the reader who reads.” Hope you all have a great week. Comments welcomed. We forget sometimes, maybe often, how deeply our thoughts, words, and actions impact the people around us. We can take conscious responsibility for how powerfully our choices impact those around us. We get to choose how we want to show up when we walk into the coffee shop, take our seat on public transit, or call customer service. We have the option to recognize and revere our shared humanity, and be present to one another. Here is a little poem that embodies this point. Small Kindnesses By Danusha Laméris “I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you” when someone sneezes, a leftover from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying. And sometimes, when you spill lemons from your grocery bag, someone else will help you pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder, and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass. We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here, have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.” Comments are welcomed. The calendar has flipped once again. Some days it feels like the months are zooming by. April has been one of my favorites. That is due in part to my daughter, granddaughter and some very dear friends being born in April. What else about April? The truth is that my creative juice compartment seems to be temporarily empty. Thus, I’ve decided to simply share William Wordsworth’s poem, I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud as it focuses on one of April’s delights. I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. Comments are welcomed. When you read this, it will have been one week since it was written. It is more appropriate to last Monday, but I wasn’t inspired until after I received my Random Acts of Kindness newsletter. What was March 20 all about? Not only was it the first day of Spring and the International Day of Happiness, but also International Story Day. It was the first time I learned about Story Day. Everyone has their own unique story. Perhaps, each of us could recall a time when we were the recipient of an act of kindness that impacted our lives. I began looking backwards to see if there was one act that stood out. I must say, that I feel so grateful to have received many acts of kindness throughout the years. Each one of them truly touched my heart. One fairly recent one popped into my mind that I will share. I had been downtown and got a cab for my trip back home. Normally, the distance I was travelling would have run up the fare to at least $25 not including a tip. The cabbie and I had a really nice conversation about happiness, having a good attitude towards life and the inherent goodness of people. I don’t recall how that conversation was initiated, but it doesn’t really matter. When we finally arrived at my building and I asked what I owed him. He refused to take any money. I was seriously surprised and tried to protest. He would not take the money. It was one of those micro moments of positive connection, mutual good will and kindness. That moment in time was a reminder that underneath the layers and facades we have accumulated around us, there is a core of goodness, compassion and kindness. Anyone or anything that can restore us to that core, even for a moment, is a blessing. Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the blossoms, Kind deeds are the fruits. ~19th century rhyme Comments are welcomed. |
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