Apologetitians

There is a veritable dearth of apologies demanded or given of late in the political world. These apologies are considered the right of some over others as the way to fix or cure certain ills. The other day, I heard on the air waves a person demanding an apology be made by the government because the spouse died at home and the survivor had not been given clarity as to the symptoms of the disease that were professed that this individual said would have saved the deceased's life if it were made known to him/her. I couldn't believe my ears. First of all, why would a so-called radio journalist pick this up as being of concern to  intelligent human listeners. What I questioned was the reasoning behind the complaint. There seemed to be no thoughtful reason for publishing it and certainly no need for the apology. Why would it be the "government's" fault that someone died of physical symptoms that one purportedly had not been informed of fully?  Medical assistance and advice had been given but the word "fully" deemed it an impossible expectation.  How fully is "fully" being that every human body is different thus treatments are unique.  Sad as it all is, this example of demanding apologies for unfortunate situations, made me wonder just how much some of us expect of our government and how much is our own personal responsibility? Are we now expecting government to do everything for us? Are we handing over all of our own messes to deal with to  government to fix, while opting out of doing it ourselves?  And when tragedies happen, and they do constantly, do apologies really fix anything? I argue, not actually. They do cause shame after blame. As a kid, when there were scraps between children, parents often demanded that apologies be made. The kids usually had their own ways of handling the outcomes and even when apologies were forced, they didn't mean much in terms of reality. They were gestures that we learned had to be made but which didn't go much beyond words. Most of the time, apologies exacerbated a situation which was then settled in the "kid" way later when the parents were off the scene. Apologies come in large and small sizes. The big ones are generally government ones with flags and speeches and media microphones and cameras. The small ones happen all the time in the form of the miniscule "excuse me" to the larger, "oh, I am so sorry about that, please forgive me". Seldom do they make true recompense for the harm done. There are the apology "gold miners", however, who go after money and verbal apologies for others less talented. Their lawyers are well employed with media advertising as to how much apologies are worth and that if you don't win your monetary "apology", you don't pay. If you do win, you will pay them a good percentage of your "apology" money.  Apologies are apparently on the marketplace. I can see apologies in courtrooms where somebody has to pay by doing prison time or paying a fine but also having to go further and personally face those they harmed. They must explain in true apology form, according to the dictionary, why they did the harm and how they understand what they did and why they did it and that they regret it deeply and are willing to pay the price. They may be embarrassed unlike we did as kids who made our apology when we punched the bully back for once in its life and felt good about it. 

Apparently Parent

 Parenting has turned into an app. Sound unreal? Of course, you can't turn time back but you can also be brave enough to look back and see what worked and make comparisons. Parenting in some cases is an actual app. It's an app on Mom and or Dad's cell phone and it is said to keep on eye on the kids while the parent is or parents are, both at work. Oh yes, there is usually a babysitter or child minder in  the picture. Somewhere or someone. I can see why in societies once ancient, but still viable, they have the wisdoms of family responsibility taken seriously. The grandparents or some other family member, is given the privilege of child care while the parents are otherwise occupied. It is a "privilege" because what the child absorbs like a little cultural sponge, is not only what you are and were, but also what your line will be. It's a huge challenge to have babies these days when it takes two to make a living what with rents and mortgages. And many parents are single. In our multi faceted multi race Canadian populations, we have examples to follow from those around us. We can see what works and what doesn't. That's one of the benefits of being open minded enough to appreciate our variety of cultures in child rearing. One of the couples I know are elderly and daily they care for their grandchildren either at the home of the parents or in their own home. They have dedicated their lives to that work and it is work. But they love it. Their grand children are very fortunate to have people as surrogates who are of their own blood and background and who are willing to love them and be truly part of their lives. The children are young, still in Elementary School, and thus happy to have such care as  their grandparents teach them and model for them. I can hear what some may say: not all grandparents or relatives are suitable care givers. That can be true. And it is sad that grandparents and other relatives don't always have, nor want to take, the time and effort to put into child care in the parents' absence. Public child care is said to be coming up and one hopes that there is sufficient training and personnel to accommodate the far-reaching importance of it.  Too many individuals want to have babies, but only because they "want" it and not because they have put much thought into what it entails. The idea is lovely. Everyone wants a darling baby, but sometimes the actual outcome doesn't fit the dream. Babies are a great deal of work and time. It isn't all sweetness and giggles. It is tiring and trying and in spite of the great rewards, there is tremendous commitment. Why have a baby and then immediately hand it over to a hired stranger? Having a baby is a lifetime, twenty-four seven "job"  whether you are present every minute or not. A baby is a little person who needs constant reassurance of safety and love and nurturing. That doesn't usually come altogether from paid strangers or a bit of parental time grabbed in a busy day after work. It isn't having supper together and a bed time story. It's listening always, anytime to the child, being there with the child, playing its games and being ever close. It isn't pay the monthly child care bill, dropping the kid off at school or taking an hour here and there, and calling it parenting. It's way more, and doing the way more prevents your offspring, your DNA and that of your predecessors since the beginning of time, from needing a gang as family or taking substances to ease stress or your child weeping into the night with no one to know. A child is full time all the time.   

Politically

 It isn't unusual to see news articles by one group or another demanding millions of dollars be donated by government for their cause.  They present cases of why they want and need it. They don't present plans on how it can be achieved. That always bothers me as a news reader. It's easy to demand that kind of money but where does it come from? Really. We pay our taxes, at least most of us, and that large lump of money is spent by those we elect in our fair democratic process. It's the way we work in this country. Unfortunately, other sets of people in the country seem ignorant of the fact that there is only so much money but they want more without saying how, in order to meet their specific needs. They want it and who cares where it comes from, is the message. Just as in our own homes and families, we dole out  what we have carefully to make sure that everyone is satisfied but that no one suffers. But when I read news reports of these demands by very worthy people to meet their important issues, I feel kind of frustrated. It feels personal that every lot of people don't have what they need to meet all of their needs. While I want to be helpful to my fellow human, I am just another commoner, paying out in taxes each year, as much as I can. I pay it faithfully hoping that it goes to those who have concerns about themselves, their families and their cultural hopes. In Canada we pride ourselves in diversity and each of our many peoples who are now Canadian but wanting to continue respecting their roots, have differing needs. Sadly,  the fact that we all came to this land and settled here alongside those who were here first, we owe to each other caring and concern that everyone is safe and comfortable. But there just isn't enough to satisfy every need to its end. Our society is comprised of those who "have" and those who "have not" and that is just a fact worldwide. It takes heartfelt consideration to deal with that fact. We are all human first and then have differences that are okay and equal. The differences enhance our existence. There should, in all the richness of this land and peoples, never be those who suffer. That's how politics came to be.  The job of the politicians we elect, is to give primary attention to solving poverty and injustice. It's not an easy task and furthermore when politicians enter the field, they are certain immediately, to find the down side in which, even though they may be hard working and diligent in trying to solve the mountain of problems they confront daily, they are criticised and badgered and defamed for even the most minor things. Hopefully, they are also praised for their good works in what they have taken on. Wearing a nice expensive suit and sitting in a glorious parliamentary setting is not the normal day's  work they do, but it's the one the media shows us. The suit may be the only good one they have and was bought for use to look fine for the photos.  We like to look "good". But they are really  office workers who sit for long hours responding to the needs of their constituents and attempting to find ways to satisfy all the requests and demands. They are talkers, yes, and know how to behave in public lobbying settings or media interviews. They learn decorum and protocol through patience and experience. Good politicians have to speak carefully because every word that comes out of their mouths is sliced, diced and often taken apart and "re-assigned". Their pasts are examined under the media microscopes to the finest detail. They are often hounded by reams of reporters each vying with the other for a snippet of something to impress their editors. It can be a  politician's flip of a hand, an idle or often private word, an expression, a gesture or an aside. It's all grabbed and often coloured and taken out of context by lesser struggling media types. I think politics must be the most difficult work one can choose and the kinds of people who choose it are alone. It's something to think about.  Fairly.

The Underworld

 Millions of us live in a multi-story building but few of us, live on the top floor. Top floors are touted as the ideal spot and they cost more than all the units underneath. My realtor told me that top floors and bottom ones are the most desirable. I'm in neither. In days of yore, the top floor housed the upper strata of servants in fine houses. That is where the nanny, the tutors and companions resided in their tiny, sparsely furnished domains. Below them, trod the owners of the manor and below that were the real workers: cooks, butlers, maids and footmen. The people who served those in the middle. These days of elevators and security and towers that take years to construct, the top floor is the most expensive part of the glass and concrete heaps that people call home. Now that the average joe resides in a multi human dwelling, owing to expense and the economy that continues to evolve upwardly, there are small and large implications occurring.  One of them is living under another's living space and knowing that individual in  ways that are unspoken but very much there. Few apartment owners sit around listening to every move but every move can be heard.  In most of my dwellings, I have been on the top floor, none of which were the "penthouse". I lived there glibly thinking that because I was on high, I had all the privacy anyone could wish for. Consideration of your fellow towerites meant wearing soft shoes or slippers and avoiding  flushes until after six in the morning. The latter isn't a rule that makes sense to me. One such place I know of, houses two thousand people and no one knows anyone else living under the same roof. They are all working types who live by the same rules and regulations as their fellows. They come and go about their daily business, perhaps nodding in the elevator or hallways as they pass. One would think that meant perfect privacy. Not so. Like many truths that are unspoken, they remain so, while at the same time, are blatantly loud. Let me explain. My present space is under another elderly couple who lives above. Although we say "hello" or "how are you" as we pass, we expect no further conversation. We assume we know nothing about one another because we "keep to ourselves".  Again, not true. I cannot help but hear my neighbours above. I don't listen deliberately, but as I go about my day, I recognise their footsteps: the woman's, the man's, their visitors' and occasionally, the workmen's. I've been here for three years and although the party above doesn't party, I know a great deal of private matters about them. I know when they rise, cook in the kitchen, go to bed, use the "facilities", launder, vacuum, have visitors, slide their glass door, sneeze, cough and I think, snore. There is ample building soundproofing but the layer designated to do that work, is not infallible. Thumps, water swirls, door shutting, droppings on the floor all happen even when I do not listen, they register in my mind. I would prefer to hear nothing at all but the crows, seagulls, planes and traffic outside, but inside, the closest sounds are inevitably inevitable. From footsteps alone, I can assess even emotional aspects at times. Slamming of doors, stomping of feet, cheery greeting runs and falling down sounds all have meaning. Silence is also a "sound" telling me if my upstairs folk are home or away. If I compiled all of these sounds in a time frame and mulled over them, it would tell me my lofty neighbours' stories. I am no snoop, nor are you, but if you are a tower dweller, you understand what I am saying. We don't have our own roofs or patches of dirt, but we, too, are part of the human society that must care.

What Wedding?

 Thought I would "bite" and go to the bridal gown page in The fashion mag that I love to laugh with. More than a dozen photo frames later, I came to some conclusions. If weddings which are freaky enough already being nothing but copies of what The magazine touts, the so called "dresses" prove their silliness. I can't see anyone wearing the dresses this fashion "icon" presents as wearable. First of all, they cost enormous amounts that would feed whole starving villages in some countries. The visual fact of most, is laughable.  Let me describe. One was without a slip under the lace that was rather nice. What bride would parade a naked or near naked body, no matter how skinny she dieted for, down the aisle under a transparent thing of little white flowers and leaves in front of all of her relatives, old and young, and then make promises to God? The next so-called dress with great sails of stiff fabric flying out many feet from her body could physically not get down an aisle. Perhaps the dress with acres of feathers from some long dead innocent birds might be able to set wing and get there. Another dress with so much frou frou, it wouldn't allow anyone to walk beside its voluminous widths since the garment was expansive enough to fill a gym. The next few hilarious garments were so freaky that I am sure some clowns are running to hide their bareness behind a bush somewhere in the vicinity of the big tent. And "the big tent" just  happens to be yet another "bridal" gown. Then there is the whole matter of what a wedding is now. It used to be a celebration in which two young people much in love as yet untested, would be surrounded by their kin who supported their union with a happy feast in honour of their coming life together. These days, it's a show party that costs the choice between owning a home or throwing it for as many people as they can stretch their money. There is a new television show that offers this stupidity of some misguided individuals to choose a party instead of a home. But it is a choice. There are couples who live together as married for years, sometimes decades, until they can save up enough money to hold the pretense of what used to be a true wedding. Then there is the infamous wedding dress. It, a bundle of cloth worn only once, costs a huge hunk of money. It ends up in a box in storage. But that is not all. Often in the fashion show style, there is a change of the bride's garments during the day, adding to the expense. The purpose appears to be designer advertising.  As to the party, reduced even in Covid times, and zoomed, it becomes another large chunk of plastic card if not bank account drainage, in hopes of stunning everyone who wolfs the food down, in order to out-class every one of their other married friends' excesses. What used to be a couple of sandwiches and a cake with maybe a glass of wine, is now a well studied presentation not just of food but of flowers everywhere with fancy chairs, silver, china, the best champagne and chef glup on a plate that goes on for hours not to mention the tiny tidbits of caviar with booze and bags of gifts for the guests. And naturally the event starts a day ahead of time with the hairdressers doing their routines, the planners and chefs and make-up artists and music specialists and venue providers and entertainers and on and on and on. Then there is the day-after celebration with breakfast and the couple making more photo shoots. What? What is a wedding? What has it become? And why on earth is it necessary to have it, when most of the newly weds have their own cute children running in and out largely ignored during the affair. Don't know about you, but it makes me wonder what we have become.