Category Archives: Blog Posts

types of writing

The Truth About Yoga

owwie

So I had my little leotard and my mat and I headed out for my Yoga class – imagining myself standing amongst the gang at the next staff meeting and subtly slipping into some divine twisted body shape and everyone “oohing” and “ahhing.” You know, like those women who took 3 ballet classes and are forever standing with their feet in that stupid position so all the women whisper and nudge one another knowingly … “trained as a classical ballerina …..” nod nod…. (except it loses a little bit in the translation when the woman weighs 300 lbs, has on house slippers, black leggings and a baby-doll’)

Still I dream about striking that pose and then I would blush and say, “oh sorry, didn’t realize, you know …hahaha … when you are this supple it just happened sometimes ….” blush blush . It is important to blush when you are making other women jealous . . . it might save your life.

But those classes are damn hard. First of all they play this music that is supposed to soothe you. Well it worked. I was so soothed I was curled up like a little baby on my mat sucking my thumb, sound asleep when the bitch of an instructor woke me and told me my snoring was disturbing the peace and calm of the class. She is a real cow when it comes to noise in class. She said, “We have an iron-clad “no-talking” rule.” And she looked at me like she just knew I was the only one she would have to reprimand. All the way through she kept going “shhhh” to me and doing that little thing with her two fingers closing together out in the air in front of her. I tried to explain , “look lady I am not talking!!”

Don’t know how she couldn’t tell the difference between “talking” and “screaming.” Those poses hurt. Continue reading The Truth About Yoga

Life With Warning Labels.

tough day

Character Building days should come with a warning. Like no-one should ever have to wake up all alone and abandoned to one of those days … completely oblivious that you are about to hit the Serengeti Trail playing the role of the weakest gazelle in the herd while the lions circle. Compassion does not have to be a big production, but the coffee fairy should at least leave you a great cup by your bedside. Maybe someone could brush your teeth for you or something. And of course the entire team from Emergency Relief should be there offering words of encouragement and handing you a teddy bear and a cookie.

A mommy should be on stand by. Continue reading Life With Warning Labels.

The Manual For a Perfect Marriage.

ever after

I could write a book about how to have a great marriage. I could take full credit for the fact I married my best friend. I could talk about it in some way that convinces others that I know and that I am an expert because, look at my success. I could do that and gather up all the focus on me and get involved in people’s lives and tell them how to do it. What would I care, really? After I get past the point where I have dozens of people in my workshops or thousands attending my speaking engagements and buying my book, I don’t even see the cause and effect anymore. I have my reward for being able to put myself out there and gain “fame.”

The truth is I lucked out. I could just of easily have ended up with a psychopath. I could have ended up with an addict or just a ho hum guy who was as bored with life as I sometimes get and so we sat through the years and bored each other to death … literally.  I say “literally” because I see so many older couples who occupy time and space together, but share nothing.  They endure to the end in that state of emptiness. Continue reading The Manual For a Perfect Marriage.

Aussies and Canucks Are Racists?

what did you say I am not a racist. I don’t alter the way that I treat someone based on their ethnicity.  Growing up on the prairies of Canada, I was not exposed to many people of other colours so perhaps that accounts for the reason I don’t see colour.   I had little experience with different ethnicities, good or bad, so when I moved away from the prairies I was open to those relationships.

It has never been my intention to offend someone based on the colour of their skin.   I have been offended by people who do cruel and unkind things, be they any colour.  And I have been treated differently, in a negative way, because of the colour of my skin or the way I look and for what I believe.

I have had complete strangers come up to touch myself or my children because of the very blonde hair, like we were an exhibit in the zoo. I have had people physically and verbally attack me because of my religious beliefs and because of my stand on things. I have been threatened in a store that I was shopping in, where I was the only white person. I have been denied service and left to the very last to be served even though I was at the front of the line. I was again, the only white person. I am sure the people who did those things based on my skin colour did so because they assumed I was racist and they were “giving back” what they felt they had been given. But I was not threatening to them, did not know them, had never done anything to offend “their people.”

When I talked about it, the advice I was given? Keep your head down, do not look at them. If I looked at them I could be considered as being “rude,” and “confronting.” But if I didn’t look at them I WAS being rude. I failed miserably . . . I can’t not see people.

I am tired of all the stupidity regarding this.

My grandfather came to Canada from Sweden. I am not Swedish Canadian. I am Canadian. I have no knowledge of what Sweden is like. I have never been there. I have seen pictures, seen it in movies. I have met relatives from there. I know some of the traditions that my grandfather continued. I have eaten some of the food – most of which I am not terribly fond of. I would never claim an allegiance to Sweden to purport to speak for them or represent them in any way. Whatever the struggles they have had as a people are not mine. I was born in Canada. I led a life of privilege with Canadian struggles that are not even representative of ALL of Canada, but that might be similar to other kids, whose religious, wealthy, grandparents raised them, on a dairy farm on the prairies of Alberta.

I have never taken it upon myself to speak for that group, of which I could be considered a part of. If someone in that group was accused of a crime, I would not feel the need to speak to it as if I had some special understanding of their guilt or innocence.   I would not think I could speak to the circumstances of anything about their lives really. “My people,” picking from all the groups you could assign me to, have good and bad people that operate in all kinds of life’s arenas. There is no huge paintbrush to colour them in one solid anything.   “My people,” are not always right.  They are not always the victims;  they are not always innocent.

I have never spoken up for any white person who has been accused of a crime just because they share my skin colour. I have not done it even when I have been aware of people who were falsely accused or killed. I have, however spoken up for people I know, situations I know, issues that are important to me …. but never based on race.

We are so hogtied with political correctness that we never seem to get to the heart of the issue of anything anymore. EVRYTHING gets swallowed up in accusations of racism or freedoms. Years ago I wrote an article where I said that individual rights have to comply also with the greater good and survival of the whole. If each of us are so busy claiming and fighting for our own individual rights, there is no other outcome except for us to all be at war with each other.  My completely self serving rights are eventually going to infringe on yours.  I may not want to stop at a traffic light because I have an important meeting to go to and so I drive on through, not caring that by so doing I could possibly take away from several other people’s rights.  Others might need to be somewhere as well.  Other people may want to live or to live free from any physical disability caused by my choice.   There is NO way for human beings to survive if we approach life that way. It is only when we each take it upon ourselves to recognize and uphold the rights of everyone else, with everyone else doing the same, that the right of the individual are protected.

What we see today is the isolation of every group and of individual trying desperately to hold on to their rights, in acts of war against one another. The police and the racial targeting is a perfect example. No officer should ever racially target anyone. If people are killed or mistreated because of their race, THAT has to stop. But we don’t stop it by completely trashing all police officers.

I am not allowed to call an African American “black” or “negro.” And yet I am constantly referred to as “white” or “caucasian,” both terms that correlate with the first two. Why is it ok for me to be referred to with those two type of terms ? Why is offensive for me to use the terms when I describe them?  African Americans call each other “nigger” but I am not allowed to use it because I am not African American. When you have a set of rules imposed against a group because of their colour – isn’t that racism? Only in this case the “white” person would be the victim. If I said that there was a term that African Americans were not allowed to use, I would be in real trouble.

Here in Australia, Aboriginals are Black. New Zealand has the famous “All Blacks.” There are other races that are considered “Black.” They are not Americans. “African American” is not an effective term. Most African Americans who reside in the USA are generations removed from anyone living in Africa. They are Americans. Isn’t that the point? Do we need to have separate terms? We don’t feel the need to identify a”white” person we are referring to by defining them as red-heads, blondes or brunettes, so do we have to refer to human beings as black, white or brown, etc??

As a Canadian I am frequently referred to as a “Canuck.” Americans are often called, “Yanks.” Australians are “Aussie’s.” We call each other that, we laugh about it, we embrace it . . . .   I always thought of it as kind of an affectionate way of referring to one another like when your family gives you a nickname. I considered it to be a good thing, a sign of friendship. Almost every country in the world has a shortened version of their name.  But if you call someone from Pakistan a “Paki,” suddenly you are being racist.  How does that work?

My point is none of the names we choose make sense to use and none of the ones we do not allow make much sense not to allow.  My point is we all come from different parts of the world with different experiences and I can’t possibly know or understand your struggles anymore than you can understand or know mine.  You can’t expect me to, and I am not going to have you make them mine. I am not going to live my life holding everyone’s else’s struggles, sensitivities and insecurities up like a light standard to forever control my life.  I am not throwing offense or racism all over the place.  If you happened to find some, then IT IS NOT MINE!.  It belongs to someone else.

Expecting everyone else in the world to think and act exactly like you do is arrogant.  I am not “African American” so I cannot understand what their life is like, but guess what?  I am not American either.  The race problems in the USA are part of their history but I am willing to bet that many of the people who preach about how they are offended that I don’t live as if “slavery” was part of my history, don’t know much about the plight of the Japanese in Canada?  Or the forced institutionalization of our First Nations people?  What do you know of the French-English struggle in Canada?  Not much?  I wouldn’t expect you to.

When land has been destroyed, has been used for garbage or perhaps a house exists where people were murdered or tortured, we most often respond by removing the house, tilling the land under and building a garden, a new house, or a memorial. We “cut out” the visual reminder and replace it with one that is healthy and beautiful, one that aids in the healing.   The twin towers in New York City are a perfect example.  Why can’t we do that with this situation instead of staying fixated on the stinking mass of garbage that has been dumped, the building that housed mad men, the instruments of torture and the bodies of the dead?

There is no healing if we are forever going to stand around and look at the wound, picking at it, never letting it heal. Move forward. We are all human beings, period. We choose to live in love and peace. Perhaps if we start from that premise, believing in our goodness instead of seeing negative intentions everywhere, we can begin to heal.

(I found this video today, a couple of weeks after I wrote this blog post.   It covers a broader scope and talks about swearing, PC talk, etc but it is pretty much the same sentiment)

 https://youtu.be/KbG8DvRKoJw

Fathers, Children Need Them. What is Wrong With Us?

How many women play games with their child’s father, long after the split up and divorce, these women are still so fixated on “getting him” that some cannot move on and have a healthy relationship with anyone else. EVERYTHING is about the partner who is no longer with them. Hating them takes up their whole life and causes them to do everything they can to poison the child against that parent.

Years after the break up they are still telling anyone who listens that all the problems their child suffers with are caused by their father. If a child is not improving a couple of years after being removed from their “horrible father,” then perhaps the problem was not the father, but the mother.

When women go out of their way to cause problems or involve themselves in their ex’s life years after the split, for the single purpose of creating drama and problems for him, someone needs to be asking some serious questions about the mental state of these women and their suitability to be responsible for raising any child.

What A Real Friend Would Do.

a real friend

Is that really what a friend is? Is that really what I expect from a friend?

Is a friend someone who supports you no matter what? Sounds like a cult more than any real meaningful exchange of mutual respect between two people. Do we really expect someone else to like and agree with everything we think, say and do, no matter what? How is that even possible?

The world is full of groups that operate on that basis. At the first sign of anyone not going along with the “group,” they are “out.” And people are not usually happy to just to allow them to move on. It is more likely to be a cost similar to trying to get out of a gang or the mob. Sure, you live to tell the tale, but the group exacts its pound of flesh in the process.

People learn to sit down and shut up, to never say what they actually think, because the threat of the loss of the friendship hangs ever heavy over their head.

“If you were a real friend, you would not do (insert anything you like here).”

“If you think that way, you are not a real friend.”

“If you don’t support me then you are not a friend and you are a liar.” Continue reading What A Real Friend Would Do.

Zero Tolerance For Bullying.

zero tolerance

Zero tolerance.

You hear a lot of the schools talking about their stance on bullying but what exactly does it mean?

When I hear that, I expect that to mean that should someone bully, they will have to leave the school. There is no excuse for it, no allowance for it to happen, and the school will protect all the students by making sure none of them are ever bullied, BUT, if it should happen, they will take responsibility, learn from it, and remove the bullying child OR insist that child get professional help that results in a change of behaviour. One incident -warning with help offered, second incident – they are gone.

It is not about zero tolerance for a child.  It is about zero tolerance for the act.  Too often we disallow important discussion on subjects because we lose sight of that subtle distinction.  We are not enacting discipline because of who did it, we are enacting it because of what was done.  Anyone who chooses that action would receive the same treatment.  It isn’t even about law or justice, it is the inherent right that every human being has to exist and participate and remain safe.  Those who choose actions that takes away from that sense must be removed.  And then, it is not up to the school to fix the offender or police their actions, it is up to the parents to get the child the help they need. Continue reading Zero Tolerance For Bullying.

A Fly In My Eye

a fly in my eye

This morning I was sitting at my computer stewing over a minor problem that is probably not important to anyone but me, but had been weighing on my mind.

I was getting more frustrated. I wanted to spend my time writing but instead I was worrying and my worry was just taking me round and round in circles. I was grumpy. I was stuck.

And then this miniscule little fly thingy showed up and started doing what most flies seem to do with me …head for the eyeball, up the nose, or into the ear. You have no idea the envy I feel for those who seem to be able to confine flies to their faces or arms, in the closed areas where there is no access to your brain. I am sure they want to eat my brains. That is what my brother always told me and I believed him. Don’t tell me he was lying. If your force me to give up this then I have to give up the good things he told me, like once he said I was destined for greatness and I even though he was drunk, I need to believe that he saw something in me.

Usually I can make sweeping hand grabs at the little things and get them in short order but this one was clearly double jointed and escaped my every effort. It was so tiny that I could not follow it in the air and even though I have to accept it could have actually been a normal sized, or even very large fly, and it was my eyesight that failed me and made it impossible to catch him …. I just could not get the darn thing.

It was an all out launching of war in the room. It kept buzzing me and dropping on my skin for just a second and taking off and disappearing before I could even think about raising my hand to swat it. Every time I rearranged things and thought I could get writing, there it was again reminding me I was its prisoner.

After a few minutes I had surrendered any hope of being able to write and I was sitting in my chair swatting wildly in the air with both hands – each coming and going in different directions, standing up and sitting down and swearing trying to get the damn annoying little fly. And then I realized the window was open and my neighbour was standing in her yard looking over to the house with a look that kind of went somewhere between fear, mild horror, and real concern.

I closed the window as quietly as I could.

I got up and walked out of the room and got a drink of water and just looked out at the garden for a few minutes. One of my birds hopped down onto the back of one of our chairs to give me a little song and a head nod. It made me smile.

And when I came back into the office and sat down in my chair the little fly was gone.

Or perhaps it was just my attention on it that was gone.

Well played universe, well played.