Design

Design means to plan something to serve a purpose or function. When it comes to kitchen items, the design may be elegant but not truly functional. Take my kitchen and bathroom sinks. Please. Both are square having the lines of a box rather than the former old-fashioned sinks that were rounded. And while they appear very contemporary cute, they are a pain to clean. How many times a week do we clean our sinks? The answer is:  once every day at least. If you cook, and I assume those who eat, cook, you will notice how easily stains accumulate in the corners that some designers deem to be the latest in smart looking kitchens. "Smart", they are not. Even using a rectangular sponge with a gritty side, those corners are not easily done and what they do to fingernails at the same time is not kind. All I am asking is "do designers try out their creations in the real world with real people?". Do the designers who make square sinks call in a flock of testing folk who don't want to spend their kitchen time fretting about getting into the corners to keep them tidy? That's only one of the complaints I have about this sort of solely aesthetic designer. It's like the ones who show mirrored furniture that needs polishing when you touch it or piles of cute and colourful bed pillows to stack morning and night or little collections of pretty gewgaws to gather dust. Hey guys, we need what is easy care please. Sure, let it be beautiful; but practical is more important when you have to live with the frou frou unless you have a host of maids to clean and dust and arrange for you. Design in construction plans for new towers has a place in the complaint department, also. It is understandable that architects are vying for attention, but hopefully developers have the moxie to know what the majority of onlookers finds attractive or not. In the press of late, there is an illustration of a three tower proposal  with bizarre overhanging top floors. The towers, to be over twenty floors up, look, I swear, like three very pregnant women having a chat  about their funny sun hats. When I remarked on the unmistakable appearance of the buildings, someone said, "Oh, they are likely going to change the design". I hope so, because they are taller than any other structures nearby and their "baby bumps" are not likely to go away in nine months if the design is accepted. The Guggenheim found out the hard way how cute, but dysfunctional design, feels. If you've been there, you know what I mean. Or Google it. As you are perusing the art from the rising ramps running endlessly up or down, you are more aware of the curves under your feet than the pictures that look crooked on the walls. If all you had to do inside that structure was walk, all would be well, alas. From potato peelers to parks, design is crucial. Having real people testing the realities with the design before it is built, is the key.  We have to live with design not just look at its artistic merit.

All There Is

The big topic of the "day" is suicide. The taking of one's life or allowing another to assist in doing so, is a heavy subject but one that is very real for some. When a person is dying in great pain and wants to do so "with dignity"and before losing it, is one thing, but for someone who is well physically and suffering from deep depression, surely there is a solution other than taking away the greatest gift there is: life. Hearing this example, a financially successful young man of high intelligence and a discerning sense of justice, say that his desire is to take his own life and that knowing he can, helps him decide more not to, doesn't make sense to me. Life is all we have and all that matters and those whose lives are shortened by disease or some other inescapable event, suicide seems entirely an insult to all that is natural. It's unnatural. All living things strive to live, to grow, to replenish and to contribute to the earth. It makes the "why" of it all. Those who work to destroy that gift are off track and desperately need help to get back on. Instead of pondering the subject, we should be putting every effort and dollar into assisting the horrors of depression that a minority of sad humans are bending  under. Counselling is expensive and while there is a bit of it available for a short time, it simply is not enough. Our medical system often panders to those who take advantage of it to get time off work or to suck the life out of "free" medical care for silly reasons. We've seen this kind of abuse and it's abhorrent. Depression is something strange to me, but I have seen it in other people and it's hard to empathize with when it's not your burden, but it is terribly real to those experiencing it. It is obviously a mental illness and drives those with it, beyond limits that most of us will never know. The bright young man I heard speak of his desire to end his life, was in good physical health and productive in a hugely responsible position, but the burden of his mental oppression was, to him, an impossibility and one that he foresaw as being resolvable through suicide. It is resolvable. He is ill and needs something to make up for what nature did not include in his sad physiology. Whether it is medication or counselling or some other fix, it needs attention badly because he is a man who gives to us. The telling of his sad story, speaks legions and warns us to respect our very reasons for being here. When you think of human beings who are making every human effort to continue living through disease and disaster, who strive to honor their very existence, we must somehow reach out and help these others of us who can't see the beauty in simply being alive.

So So Sew

Sewing is not for the faint-hearted. It requires an enormous amount of patience and perseverance of which I have a short supply when it comes to tiny, delicate movements of digits or even interest in the matter at all. My mother, who was close to genius at stitchery skill, diligently taught me how to sew before I encountered Miss Maxwell of Grade Seven Home Economics class. My mother was of the sewing slickery-trickery thought. Get the job done using short cuts and get the garment on your back as quickly as possible, was her motto. The wearing of the thing was the goal, and not the making of it. That was all very well until I met Miss M and her regime of precise measurement and precision execution according to the text book. There were no short cuts in the index of her small hard covered red manual. Ironically, while wearing a skirt I made on my mother's latest electric model sewing machine, I was forced by the curriculum, to sew an apron which was to accommodate the vagaries of the cooking class that Miss M taught also. And teach she did. We had to show that we could sew a seam on the collection of treadle machine beasts that lined up at the side of her lab. My grandmother had one of these horrific contraptions on the farm and we used to play with it while watching the iron wheel spin. That was fun; this was not. To coordinate foot and hand movements while wrangling the white cotton of the potential apron, according to the dictates of Miss M, was, for me, an impossible task. The apron that took six weeks to make, had uneven seams, a belt that rambled and a hem that hosted random-sized stitches defying the laws of physics. I did get a note of permission stating that I was able to operate the one and only electric sewing machine in the lab, but Miss Maxwell obviously did not approve of such laziness and furthermore it didn't help. I wore the loathed apron only during class and then buried it secretly in the back yard without ceremony when Grade Nine course options freed me from the agonies of Home Economics. Biology with its amoebas and frogs  made a lot more sense to me than basting and button holes. These days I do have a nice sewing machine that sits right next to my computer where I can order lovely garments from New York that I couldn't begin to make even with Mom's tailoring hints. I think there are many others who find it's much simpler and cheaper to buy than to sew. The song I sing is "Where have all the fabrics gone?" It's hard enough now, when you lose a shirt button, to find a store that sells them. As to making my own clothes, sadly for all of Miss M's efforts, it's not going to happen in my lifetime.

Teaming

A team is a group in which members try to become one to achieve a goal. Their "oneness" while artificial, has meaning in that the task or goal can't become a reality because it depends upon the group and its varied talents to be a success. Group dynamics kicks in. Some groups are a natural. Everyone within the group, is compatible and intent upon the task at hand. Other groups are not as happy with that kind of structure but those in it, make the effort. The latter is probably the more common. Sports teams are groups in which there is a hierarchy that sees the few who have the talent and drive to send the ball into the hoop or the puck into the goal or the ball beyond the post and the rest, those who must support that one person. They know that they are not the "star" but the team as a whole can't win unless the hero of the game is assisted. The hero also knows that his/her success depends upon that support, therefore, all are, in fact, winners. It's why teams are all awarded the medals and not just the ones who actually got the points. Teams try to think, act and produce as a single mind toward a successful end. It's an honorable effort. In the team setting, however, there should be space for individuality as well. Good teams welcome input, fairness and lack of ego to get the job done. Teams have a saying: what goes on in the locker room, stays in the locker room. It's generally a fine idea as long as it stays in the locker room. Unfortunately, some teams take this kind of camaraderie beyond the locker room and think of themselves as group superhuman. It is common knowledge that some hotels shudder when a team arrives with its inflated ego intact. Some teams feel that it's okay to go beyond considerate behavior because they are super-human and thus beyond the rules. They can become a destructive, rowdy, loud-mouthed animal of sorts comprised of a bunch of human bodies roiled into one gigantic monster. They are the bane of many hotels, transportation companies and restaurants who try to keep their group clients under some sort of order and warn that if they do not comply, they are banned. We've all been on planes and trains and in hotels where teams arrived and bedlam ensues. Another bad feature of group activity in teams is their  language that they seem to feel is their right, one that goes beyond what they would allow themselves on an individual basis. Amateur teams are worst. The professionals adhere to better behavior because there are deterrents in place such as fines or exclusion. Supporters of some teams can be obnoxious, too. We heard recently of parents of children in teams, cat calling from the stands and actually becoming physically violent during games. Team psychology  tells us that solo persons would never do what those thinking of themselves as "team" would do. It is as though, that kind of individual forgets that he or she is not "the team", but someone entirely responsible for his or her unique actions. You can't hide behind or inside the group and be protected from your responsibilities as an individual. A good coach knows this and should impart it to the team and hope that it is sent on to supporters, too.

The Other Woman

The "other" woman is often simply a choice by a male who should have  known better, or at least, by a man who neglected to go about the matter in a rightful manner. Love, even illicit love, is a complex situation, and there are emotions all 'round. But for some reason, society blames the woman part of the scenario, as  the perpetrator of evil, while the male gets off as having been entrapped. Is that because a female is the "weaker" of the sexes, and less likely, in the minds of the offended, to retaliate? "Oh, the poor man was simply tempted by the wiles of that wicked woman" or "Poor fellow; he fell into her tender trap." You've heard the same stories, no doubt. But sad as it may be, especially if the situation breaks up a marriage, off-limits affairs are not someone falling into a trap. Someone walked into it. It's  a time to ask "why" rather than flinging blame about. There is always a reason, even if it seems unreasonable or illogical. But those who are hurt, angry and upset are too emotional to stop to  examine the causes. And there always are causes. Things are said and done in the heat of rejection feelings on all sides, that can become indelible. And while later on, when the matter is thought out and the remaining shards are sorted out, some sort of closure is finally achieved. Or should be. One example I will use because the parties are gone, was that of the relationship of an older couple who lived nearby.  Both he and she were widowed and lonely. They met and eventually decided to live together lovingly. Everyone in the neighborhood was pleased to see these two elders happy once again. They smiled and waved as they walked hand in hand down the street. They spoke lovingly and respectfully of their former partners, but their children, now grown well into adulthood, were not as generous. Behaving like spoiled youngsters having tantrums, they ranted and blamed especially the woman, as taking advantage of their father. They accused her of robbing them of "their" family home and their mother's things that had been promised to them. The poor couple felt attacked and tried to allay the fears, but the family couldn't seem to understand that the home was not theirs. It was their father's, and the possessions within it, were his, not theirs. The woman in the house had no intention of not seeing that they got their mother's "things". She loved the man, their father, and not what he "had". The family even broke into the home when the couple was away, and absconded with many of their mother's items. It was theft! Not content to do that, they gossiped about the woman and tried to ruin her reputation. It didn't work because no one in the small town regarded the new relationship as anything but a joy for each of the elders. The couple forded on, however, and did marry, but the man's family continued to thrash about and make trouble constantly. It didn't work because the couple enjoyed many years together and  found that in their love, they renewed an interest in travelling and having many unique experiences they wouldn't have ventured to do if they were alone. The Other Woman is just a woman loving the man who chose her. Love comes in all ages.

Higher/Hire Education

Today's radio discussion revolved around the usefulness, or not, of a university education and whether one's experience toward earning their degree, really has significance in later life. And while I gather, it does, there was criticism by those interviewed. One person said that his education was mainly to learn how to learn, and the other one said that she found it meant a great deal socially, but not in assuring her of a job. My degree,  achieved some many years ago, was special to me, in two ways among others. First, it ensured more salary, and second, it gave me satisfaction that I had achieved one of my life's goals. The first benefit was real, the second, personal. A university degree is a many faceted matter. These days, it doesn't assure more money or even a job, because modern success is about quantitatives. How much you earn, rates higher than being an intelligent conversationalist. Money breeds money, and those with a lot of the stuff can afford to shoo their kids off to university. The rich kid doesn't have to worry about spending lots of time on the essays and projects, because there is no essential job to slave on, evenings and weekends. Their energy and time goes into the luxury of assignments, thus higher marks in many cases. Some of the rich kids even hire the poorer ones to write their material. It's a fact, though not a pretty one, and certainly one that needs a closer look. Which one, the rich or the poor student, appreciates his/her education more? That's a no-brainer. How useful is an education, then? Some people say, you can't get any job without a degree. Most jobs today, are earned through something called "pull". "Pull" is the selling of oneself. Your claptrap, your clothes, your charm to enchant your future employer, is well-known and there are how-to classes in this method. On the other hand, employers train themselves, or others, to see through the sham.  "Pull" includes being rich to begin with. I know a couple of young people in their twenties who were gifted with ownership of very large companies to "cut their teeth on". I kid you not. They owned huge holdings in development through parental teaching and money.  Of course, the economy depends upon the rich, therefore, we average citizens don't do a lot of complaining about that. Rich people can be very pleasant and generous in their way, but their goal is to pile up as much money they can, as cheaply as possible. The bottom line.  Complain all we wish, we live in a society that runs in this manner, but it leaves out too many people with great potential when higher education depends upon who will be the doctors, lawyers and so on. Please do not think that scholarships and bursaries do it. Debt does it for the rest of that student's life. I propose that we give all of our students who want to try, a basic university education at least for the first three years. That's a goal that is achievable. Young people, by that time, should have a grip on the Humanities and can move into something they see as a contribution to the world outside school. First of all, high school could be shortened. When I was a teacher in one, I could see places where "survey" subjects were a waste of time and too little emphasis was put on Composition and Literature. When a person with a degree cannot spell and express itself, something is wrong. "Pale" and "pail" are not the same thing; a glaring error I saw recently, written by someone in a high political place. And yes, there is status and greater eloquence achieved, in having a university degree no matter how many "street educated" folk deny that fact. It shows. Beyond high school, with a degree, adult students should be able to function using their language and ambitions toward  goals that are meaningful to aid the rest of society. These goals should be of a high standard and show respect for all other human beings and the natural world, and be given to something more than merely making stacks of money to spend on ridiculous trivia.

Widow's Desire

It doesn't take much to be happy even though you are a confirmed widow. I should explain the "confirmed" word. When you are of-an-age, you aren't going to find a knight in shining armor or a Tarzan swinging down from the trees. In fact, you are more than likely not to find a man at all. They like the "younger stuff" not that it works out after the bloom period.  And while old men are beautiful in their attentiveness and constantly repeated memories, widows usually prefer, shall we say, "dating" rather than trips down any aisle. Sock washing days are over.  But there are compensations that allay the meanness of loneliness, and I don't mean quilting. I happen to enjoy mixed company simply for variety in conversation. I had a great marriage for decades and a lovely boyfriend after that, too, ended in death, but now that both men are gone, I find there are other joys to keep me going. Today was one of those delights. The sun shone and it was warm enough to lower the convertible top and hear the song of the lark on my way to grocery shopping.  Lark song to me, is the world's most perfect music. Grocery shopping can be an adventure if you let it. I am a list-maker and when I reach my favorite store, I do a great deal of pondering over each vegetable to find the perfect one. I study the toilet paper section to find the best buy. Today another woman and I did a long assessment on that matter. She finally came up with the lowest price for highest quality, and I think we saved at least a whole dime between us. The vegetable department is very fine research lab, too. The bananas are simple. Get the green ones. Pineapples and kiwi fruit are more serious. They have to smell ripe and be softish and you would be surprised how many people enter the arena of this sport and do a lot of sniffing and poking. Today they were too hard and thus, stayed in the bin. The fruit ,not the people. The raspberries were fine though. The holy meat department required much pondering. Barbecue time has arrived and professional-style grilling is begun. While kebabs are fun, serious people in the matter of the tenderloin  require expertise. The butcher was called in. At over twenty-dollars a whack, you don't want to play a guessing game with your steak. We went on for some time before I ended up with a thick tenderloin to be cut into wee ,but perfect, specimens of the ideal steak. Salt and pepper only, please. No need to soak the thing for hours in muck to tenderize it. Finally, I ended up at the flower department. What is a happy day without flowers for the house? Then the wine store beckons and lo, the usual reliable choice wins out yet again. Then it's off home and the unpacking routines with an ending of a bit of the wine and a chunk of savory cheese with feet up. Ah, life is not all that bad - even for an old widow!

Memorials Not Good-byes

There are too many memorials to go to these days. Aging does that. In some ways, you become used to saying these sorts of farewells even though you don't like the idea of doing it. Most of us don't look forward to the celebration of life or memorial date, but we don our blacks and off we go. Entering the doorway is daunting. We gird up on our courage, and go inside. Immediately, we see people we know, and suddenly, it all feels right. We greet warmly and shake hands and yes, laugh over old times, and maybe wipe away a tear or two that escapes. But we all know why we are there, and somehow, we welcome the joy of being with others who feel the same way that we do. Usually armed with a mug of tea or something stronger, we take our places and are treated to either, or both, talks and pictures of the person now gone, and certainly, tales. The stories are amusing and often revealing. We share. We truly do "share"( a much over-used term, but one that fits perfectly) at a good celebratory memorial. Seeing the pictured face of the one we once knew, makes us smile and recall the private memories we have had. Everyone has their own personal moments to recall, that are theirs alone, and special. We hold these secretly close in our hearts. There are speeches and funny tales and tributes, and in it all, we learn things that we didn't know about this person we thought we knew so well. We are surprised and grateful to enrich, yet again to further our lives, with this new knowledge. We feel that somehow all the dead of yore, are with us, having been called to take part in the event. Those who speak actually do address the individual who is being honored at the celebration of life. The sharer looks up, and smiles and talks to who is gone, as though they lived. And somehow they seem to live. How close to life is death! And later, refreshments  are taken about the room, the memorabilia seen, both real and virtual. Those we have not seen for a long time are back again to celebrate this special life, and we feel that we are re-connected as recollections are traded. The old times have caught up and it's okay to revel in the review of them. Good memories and a few not-so-great, are disinterred and there is laughter and chuckling and even a few snickers, but it's all in memory of someone who mattered very much in our lives. We feel that the departed has somehow come along kindly to keep us all together in his/her memory, and that death in this way, is conquerable.

Dreamer

Dreaming, whether it be day or night is a satisfying thing. To me, it makes the idea of a heaven entirely possible because each night, I go into dreams that take me to places that are  real in every detail. The flowers, trees, blades of grass and rocks in the gravel, waves and seas, skies and meadows are places to run and fly over and wade or swim through. There seldom are, if ever, nightmares, but the experiences make stories. Those who have died people my dreams and we speak to each other, we eat and laugh and sing and run and even fly together. They are part of the escapades. When I awake, I know that I will see them again in  dreams. Some of the people are new and others are old friends or relatives or workmates. In my dreams, I am able to taste and smell and feel, using every sense and controlling them. My dreams are in vivid colours and can happen in any parts of the world I have visited and also, some that are strange and unknown environments. Sometimes events occur that take up what was unfinished in the last episode or are the same, but changed in some way. Often I am reluctant to wake up because I want to finish what we began, be it a sea-going trip or a climb up a mountain or a drive on a roadway, a fight or flight. The houses are always different, some humble, others palatial. They have many rooms and are often furnished grandly or completely empty, but all of them have stairways. As I work my way upward, I look out the glass of the window landings. The buildings are often strange ones. I explore and find interesting objects and furniture inside. In some buildings, there are dramas happening that I become part of. I take my dream folk with me. The most satisfying dreams are those when I speak to people who are long gone. We have opportunity to catch up on what has taken place or we discuss present situations. Advice is given and taken. Rarely, but so, I am given a secret phrase that solves all of the world's problems in one swoop and I determine in my dream to remember them so that I can repeat the line, but so far, I have never remembered, try as I might. Likely, that's a good thing because I can't see a few words doing such a gigantic piece of work. Yes, as I have heard others say, there are tunnels that twist and turn going somewhere to an ending, but I always know that there is an end with light and that when I get there, the trip is worth it. I have yet to go beyond that lighted exit, however. By now, the amateur psychologists and philosophers will have analysed me and have sounded my past, present and future, but it doesn't change a thing because once again, tonight, I am off on another dream adventure.