Step Over It

 Today I attended a gathering to decorate Christmas trees and I went. I am not one of the usually popular types but that's okay with me. I go anyway. When I got there no one spoke to me, but I began a needed task and went about my business and ignored the cheery greetings I gave that no one responded to when I gave them. I  pretended that all was fine. And it was. I learned long ago that if you are a person who speaks out  the truth when those around don't want it and have attitudes toward you that are unfriendly and even hostile,  you need to ignore their ignorances and carry on. I have learned to trust myself and go about my usual ways in my own way. I am not unkind, but as someone misguided, said to me, "It's not the what you have to say, but the way you say it that offends." I answered by saying, "That's not how I do it, I speak the truth plainly, with nothing offensive about it ." I remain an advocate for plain, straight forward, not rude language but truthful, direct words and that is how it is with me. I do not enjoy listening to someone speaking in cloying terms about a simple truth. As the event went on, I decided on doing what someone in my vein told me to think. He said, "It's like crossing a fast running stream. You pick out the rocks that are solid and true and get across stepping on those." I did. I crossed the "stream" today and was able to enjoy myself while ignoring the rude people who wouldn't speak to me. They enjoyed gaslighting terminology which is not my style and in ignoring their rudeness, I had great time. I met someone there  and we had a terrific conversation. These sorts of people are always to be found. There is always someone like yourself with whom you can discuss in real terms, what truly matters without rude of offensive language. When I left, I waved good-bye to the gathered group who once again ignored my friendly farewell. It did not bother me one bit. I have learned how to cross the streams in life to find those solid rocks that take us across. This is my advice for plain speakers. We speak the truths without shame or reticense. We just have to find the good rocks. 

Farewell Jamie Dixon

 Some people have a natural gift and the world is a better place for it. Sechelt's Jamie Dixon had a laugh that might from now on, be heard in the clouds on a thunderous but beautiful day. Jamie's laugh could be heard for blocks. It came from the bottom of his heart and his was the best of "hearts". Jamie worked for the school district and when he came into a classroom to check the heating or some other system, he shone. His smile was sunshine and every little head in the room, turned toward its warmth. One of Jamie's greatest talents was being able to laugh at himself. Now, that's a big heart if it can abide being the butt of a joke but still be able to find laughter over it. Playing friendly, fun tricks on one another was one way, in our small community up the coast, that people had fun. They weren't mean fun, they were a kind of "okay it's your turn but next time, it will be mine" sort of jokes. When Jamie joined the school district maintenance staff as a young man, the joke on him was a "project" to count all of the flourescent lights in every classroom. Off good-hearted Jamie went, clip board in hand proudly, to his first job task. When he entered my classroom of little ones, it was with a combination of pride and shyness, that he might not interrupt the goings on. He stood at the back of the classroom and diligently counted and then noted on the clip board, every bank of tinted flourescent lights in the room. Then, nodding and smiling broadly, he closed the door behind him to get onto the next classroom. Later, out of curiosity, I asked and learned, that at the end of Jamie's tour of the few schools, at that time in the district, it was Jamie's jokey initiation, but also, seriously his introduction  tour of the many schools he would be working on during his employment. When Jamie learned of the joke, they say his laugh could be heard across the whole peninsula! Today, it's good-bye to a fine man who gave his world, and ours, a gift. His gift will long be remembered by those of us fortunate enough to have heard that laugh. We need more of them these days. Thanks and fare thee well Jamie Dixon.  

Aught For Nothing

As one does in elder age, I began adding up all the routine monthly expenses that I paid in the sixty or seventy working years in my lengthy lifetime. I thought it would be interesting to see what kind of  money I spent and actually never used. One of these situations for which I have received nothing for the most part, is  insurance. My insurance over a  lifetime, adds up to thousands upon thousands and from it I received nothing but a promise that was largely an IF. If the IF amount wasn't used, why didn't I get a rebate or maybe some kind of discount the next year or perhaps a Christmas card?  Nope. Nothing. And furthermore, my insurance cost this year, is increased instead of being reduced even though I haven't used a cent of it. But with not even a thank you note, it will be more this year.  It was used, I assume or they tell me so, but not used by me. I don't smoke, I don't have accidents, I am cautious and careful. My insurance money was used for a whole lot of other people and they didn't send me a thank you note either. When I began totalling the whole amount up, I could probably have paid for the the possible things that might have happened. The only insurance claims I ever got didn't add up to much. I guess I am one of the enormous numbers of people who never use the enormous amounts of money they pay in insurances that they never use or receive for it, a bonus back or a reward for paying all the other people who use it. Talk about doing unto others! Luck? Yes, luck is what insurance is all about.  When luck is involved, isn't that called gambling? Of course, buying insurance is a gamble. Anyone with good sense realizes it. But sadly, the only time one can win at this game, is if something bad happens. What if it doesn't? We accept but seldom ask questions about this kind of thing. Why? 

Leaving

Trees lose their leaves or needles every year. Yes, even evergreens that look ever green but lose their "leaves" too, just as all trees do, naturally. We humans, as we age, lose as well, but more slowly and as some, less gracefully. I don't take the negative thought route, but appreciate all the small losses that we elders discover, as natural sheddings, just as trees shed their leaves. Trees will grow new leaves, but we humans, inspite of our hubris, don't reclaim our youth or "new leaves". Still, we can find grace in how we give up our "leaves". We can leave with humour, smiling or laughing, even, at what we believe are losses. The losses are natural and understandable and can, if we try, be accepted. Unfortunately, there are elders who refuse the opportunity of graceful aging and rant and rail and make attempts to try in vain, to look or behave or boast about not being able to do what they once did, or how once beautiful, they appeared.  And that's okay because, it's what some need to do. Not everyone regards getting on in years as a bad situation. It's a natural situation and is much easier if felt, as does a tree, in dropping it leaves. One by one in beautiful colours the tree leaves fall and display their event of aging and the former joys in perfect autumn golds, orange, red and yellow before they become the sustenance of the next generations' foliage. Our human hearing, sight, and all the senses we valued so that we could work well and quickly and efficiently without too much effort or pain, do gradually fade and their loss can be as easily acceptable, because our bodies are simply wearing down. Trees in spite of what some think, age and die, too. Think how many beats your heart has had to work at pumping fluids in your body: days and nights and months and years and decades without a thought or effort on your conscious self. Think of the nerves and muscles and tendons and joints and layers of skin that have served you year in and year out since you were a tiny infant. We should smile instead of frown, over wrinkles and sagging and layers of rich fat that once gave us energy to work, rear familes and attract loves. We had such happiness even over the bad stuff, didn't we? Now it's time to let go, but still try to look and be our best without bitterness,  like the trees that we see in all their glory this late autumn.

Author Ego

 Authors, especially famous ones, often are bloated with egos inflated by their fame.   Yes, they are read. Yes, they are adopted and adapted in their style and topics, by the world at large in various languages and at media hype events. Most of the world's noted authors are humbled by how they "got there". They are famous but fame doesn't necessarily mean excellent writing. With as many writers as there are subjects, one can find the famous in the Canadian penning arts: fiction, non-fiction, poetry, biography, auto-biography.  Each author writes about his or her topic and becomes notable in that particular genre. I listened to this well-known author  today who was being interviewed in a podcast, whatever that means other than "the radio", and while I will not divulge the writer's personal information, I will say that it led to learning that the age of the writer who is in the mid-eighties greatly offended me with its sheer ego. I am concerned with agism as most of my fellow elders are because it is the new and sadly ignored latest prejudice on the globe. It is also the one that the world has decided to turn its back on due to a rampant switch in human concern to finances over humanity. Nonetheless, this famous author didn't help the situation in pointing out on air, that great writing in Canada began with their particular works. This person, this individual's self- praising rant was difficult to fathom. I was horrified that someone who carries a certain load of responsibility as but one of our famous Canadian authors, should so  blatantly display such a dearth of conceit as thinking itself as the acme. This writer gained, to be blunt and honest, most of its fame through entertainment cameras out of the US. While the guts of the shows to do with this author's work are the author's ideas, indeed, one must credit the entire media including the actors and advertisers and other writers who plumped up this author's book to allow that fame that happened, to be given the credit. I was embarrassed by the writer's tone which bespoke an inflated egotistical overage, as the conversation ensued at the interview. I have read many of our finest Canadian authors, past and present, who are in the same fiction genre, as this author and are certainy equal and even surpassing the talent of this particular writer. For any author to assume such obvious self-adoration publicly offends my Canadian reader's sensitivity.