Human beings are tribal. They are hard-wired to value sameness, not otherness. Tribes fashion cultural habits and artifacts to emphasize their belonging (and in consequence differentiate themselves from the others). These differences took generations upon generations to build; they are not easily extinguished or assimilated. Nor should be.
I don’t know if Francine would describe herself as a virtuous person, or someone consciously seeking to live a more virtuous life. I doubt she had a ‘top six’ list of virtues she aspired to, but I do believe she was naturally virtuous in two or three domains. And these are the things that, for me at least, make her an exceptional person: generosity, tolerance, sense of humour.
For months and months I have watched in dismay these pro-Palestinian demonstrations on continuous display through our various news media and on-line sources. To me it beggared belief that so many people, and many of those rooted in traditional western values, could so naively misjudge the true objectives of the Hamas terrorists over the legitimate aims of Zionism.
Nothing prepared me for this. NOTHING. So now what? Clearly, Brian was now on the Dementia pathway. But also I’m on the pathway of a pain that doesn’t heal and crying in the shower doesn’t relieve.
Book covers are intended to summarize in an image the theme of the book, draw some connection with the title and together, hopefully, invite the prospective reader in. In most cases I was very pleased with the covers of my books, but, it has to be said, I’m quite unsure whether the covers made any difference in the sales of those books.
The apostrophe signals to the reader that expected letters have been left out (but not forgotten): I suppose when people began to take on names, Gronk didn’t need to say, ‘that stick hims’, he said, ‘that stick Jons’ and later it became ‘that’s Jon’s stick’ with that Johnny-come-lately apostrophe stuck in the middle. But what did he say about Gus?
The 2024 Paris Olympics has raised a number of questions in my philosophical mind, not for the first time. And the questions also raise troubling dissonance.
This July is the tenth anniversary of the start of Marlene’s journey with cancer. Ten years is a long time to grieve. But grief never goes away, it just gets quieter.
Canada Day, despite the clumsy ring of the word on our tongues, should be a hallowed day of reverence, gratitude, appreciation, and celebration. Instead, vacuous tv and radio personalities juvenilely wish us all ‘Happy Birthday, Canada’. It is to weep.
So it is that despite living with my Filipina partner for more than five years – more apart than together – my patterns get perturbated each time she joins me in Canada. It’s like the first time all over again. But different.
I’ve never been one to sleep on a plane, nor even in a car; even with the aid of a glass or two of wine, dimmed cabin lights, elevated levels of nitrous oxide from the other sleeping passengers, I don’t sleep. I squirm, and turn, and shift my weight yet again, trying to find some comfortable position for just a few hours. And it’s not just to have the health benefits of the needed sleep, but to have the relief of a few hours of unconsciousness from this interminable flight.
Here we are now in the third week of our seventh tour in The Philippines and the observations continue to pile up, some as echoes of 2018, some fresh and offering new perspective. Here are the Chapters: Checkers and Chess; Eating Order; Jasmine’s Graduation; Filipino Wedding; Montezuma’s Revenge; Mount Mayon Vulcan.
Philippines is a third world country, not as desperately poor and backward as many African and Asian countries but nevertheless dramatically different from prosperous Canada. Five years and five tours later it is just as desperate a scene as it ever was but somehow no longer shocking. I think to myself, familiarity doesn’t breed contempt, but it does bring acceptance of a sort.
I took a last glance at the eclipse, nodded to my neighbours, and the sky, and took myself back to my desk. This eclipse business had stolen many hours from my productivity goals working on R3 of ‘Alex’ Choice’.
Christmas is fixed in our minds because it is fixed in the modern calendar – December 25, but with Easter, we have to look it up. The date is slippery, it falls somewhere in late March, more often in early to mid-April, but we never know for sure – we have to google it. Easter Dinner is a moveable feast.
If it wasn’t for William Shakespeare and his Julius Caesar, we probably would have no idea of this ancient Roman calendar marker. I suppose that’s a credit to the power of the cultural arts – to imbed memes in the societal landscape.
Even so, I hazard to guess most people, if they know anything at all about the Ides of March, know only that it portends foreboding.
The recognition that the calendar needed reform because of this calendar creep was centuries in the making. And who was the genius who figured this out and lobbied for the change? It wasn’t Pope Gregory, nor Phillip II of Spain – they just brought the political clout.
February 14 is Valentine’s Day, that curiously celebrated day for romantic love, when the rituals of courting begin, or reset. We think of Spring as the time for awakening love interest, so why St. Valentine’s Day in mid-February, surely two months short of Spring Fever?
In this sense, the adage, ‘don’t let excellence be the enemy of the good’ applies. It may also be variant on the Nike slogan: if a thing is worth doing, do it.
The concept of quality, and its derivatives – poorly, well, good, badly, worth doing – are largely subjective, and as such there is a certain relativism in the terms.
Every author, surely, wants to be ‘good’ writer, but this illusive standard can be soul destroying.
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