Thoughts from an Italian Restaurant

I had dinner last night with a few childhood friends - one I've know since my teenage years at camp (in from the States with her husband) and two others who go all the way back to grade school.

My friend from camp (let's call her "Jennifer"), her husband, and their two sons had spent most of the week in the area and told us all about their adventures: CN Tower, Grey Cup Game, Leafs game, Hockey Hall of Fame, a well-appointed Airbnb in Liberty Village, long walks downtown, great restaurants, sports bars, and so on.

I remarked at some point how great this "Toronto" of which she spoke sounded: "I really should visit some time".

Funny how we can get so used to being in a place that we lose sight of how great that place is. I take a commuter train in from the suburbs every day, I work in the building that sits on top of the Hockey Hall of Fame, the CN Tower is on full display from my office window, and I have hundreds of world class restaurants big and small, expensive and not, a short walk from my building. But I don't even notice that stuff anymore and I choose the food court every day because it's fast and easy.

Nothing new in any of this: I'm not the only one who loses sight of the city around them and needs to be reminded how great it is by people who visit from elsewhere; and I'm certainly not the first person to call it out.

But David's posts are never really about what they seem to be about. As someone once told me, David's posts are like an onion (I think they meant that after you read them, you can't get the smell out of your fingers for the rest of the day - or something like that).

The real insight that struck me this morning as I took the train in to work is that lifelong friends are like the city you live in. You get so used to them, that it's easy to lose sight of how amazing they are and how vital your relationship with them is. (Same goes for family, of course, but I didn't have dinner with family last night - this is about friends).

It takes American visitors to open my eyes (again) to the city around me. And it takes a far too infrequent get-together with people I've known most of my life to remind me of the cherished place they have in my heart. (And even then, I don't realize it until the next morning).

Sometimes it's months (and it's occasionally been years) between times that we're together, but every time it's like the needle on the record player slipping back into the groove over which it's been hovering since I last heard the music, and the melody continues like it had never been interrupted.

And to continue the sappy analogy, the music that's playing isn't them...it's us. It's me.

Signing off now before I ruin your breakfast. Speaking of which, I have to run down to the food court and grab something.

...David

Penguins vs. Seals

If you're reading the title of this post and thinking that today I've chosen to write about the rivalry between the NHL's Pittsburgh Penguins and the California Golden Seals, man you're old. They last played on March 13, 1976 (a 4-2 win for Pittsburgh).

But this post does have something to do with age and generations.

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of visiting my eldest daughter in Vancouver (beautiful place, lousy hockey team). While there, one of her good friends invited us over for a dinner party and I found myself in a room with some really nice 23-29-year olds.

Somehow, at some point in the evening, the topic of seals came up. Suddenly, I was confronted by a prejudice of which I had theretofore been unaware. At least one of my daughter's friends HATED seals. Seals! Seals? How can anyone hate seals?

I was aghast. Seals are my favourite.

As a child, I spent long hours at the zoo watching the seals. Whatever weather, whatever time of year, seals were one of the few animals that would be active, playful, fun, engaging, and engaged. Bumbling idiots on the land, and sleek, graceful and majestic entertainers underwater. My spirit animal? Maybe. (Although I was always a bumbling idiot in the water - because my parents never bothered to teach me to swim as a child - and sleek graceful and majestic on land).

Later in life, when I first got out to San Francisco, I saw mounds of seals at Pier 39 lying one on top of each other, soaking up the warm summer sun, occasionally barking their pleasure at the world. I remember thinking to myself at the time, "What other animal enjoys the simple life as much? Why can't I kick back and take that much pleasure in being with my peeps and just loving life?"

So what did this kid have against seals?

I asked.

In 2005 (when some of these people in the room were 12-ish) March of the Penguins debuted. 

The following year gave us Happy Feet.

For these kids, at a young and impressionable age, the movies were teaching them that seals were "horrible and evil" creatures (to paraphrase the person to whom I was speaking that evening).

Now, I love penguins too. They too, at the zoo as a child, were a go-to animal for me any time of year. They too, bumbled on land and flourished underwater. They too entertained. They too seemed to be generally happy with their lot in life (although I of course recognize that zoos shouldn't be their lot in life and they probably hate it).

But I never EVER thought of penguins as the good guys and seals as the bad guys just because some seals enjoy the occasional penguin. Penguins eat fish, don't they? If seals are villains because they eat penguins, shouldn't one also conclude that penguins are villains because they eat fish? Or don't fish count?

I say we retreat from vilifying animals for doing what they must to survive. And instead, let's look at ourselves - humankind - and our seemingly innate tendency to pick sides, to get righteously indignant about the behaviour of one side or the other, and to hate for no good reason at all.

Love thy penguin. Love thy seal. Love life.

Condemn those who hate wherever you encounter them. They are the villains, not the seals. And certainly not the donkeys or the elephants (look it up).

(And no, daughter's friend, I don't mean to imply that you're a villain of any sort. I thought you were sweet and a great friend to my daughter. I loved dinner and enjoyed the company. Sorry you have a shitty bottle opener. I meant to buy you a new one but the weather in Vancouver was lousy and I was only there a couple of days so I didn't get everything done that I wanted to. Your pal...David.)

We've Found Our Place at the Heart of Complacency

There's a lesson to be learned in all of this about complacency.

Maybe that's getting lost in the fallout of the US election, maybe it's not. But I won't assume.

Complacency about the real problems plaguing large segments of society: There are clearly a whole lot of people who feel like their leaders don't care about them any more and were fed up with being ignored.

Complacency about people's support: Within the party that lost, many of their "faithful" felt ignored by their own candidates who took their support as a given.

Complacency about the democratic process: Voters who could have made all the difference chose to assume someone else would make that difference for them. Or sulked about their preferred candidate being defeated and left the hard choices to others.

Complacency about the importance of leadership: Surely there are still amazing leaders out there somewhere... but why would they choose politics and the limelight that comes with it in an age where they know they will be caught, tried and convicted for anything they've ever done anywhere anytime in real-time without any chance to explain, where their family members will be scrutinized in the same way without mercy, and where the prevailing desire is to tear them down and destroy them rather than enabling them to lead?  

Complacency about the responsibility of media: An entire industry stopped doing it's job because ratings were more enticing than integrity.

Complacency about individual rights and freedoms: For all. Not just for the few who share your beliefs, your looks, your gender, your socioeconomic status, your sexual orientation, and your neighbourhood. It feels like a lot of people are losing sight of the first one - the right to believe what you believe - in righteous indignation about others who have lost sight of all the other ones.

Complacency about the truth: The truth is out there; unfortunately, it's every truth that anyone wants to find. Shouldn't we be most appalled by the assault on the truth? Have we even noticed?

It's Remembrance Day once again. Time to remember the people who fought and continue to fight for what we have. But let's not just remember the people...let's remember what they fought for.

And stop being complacent about all of these things.

Halloween 2016 - Evil Gets All Dolled Up

The little girl awoke with a start.

Something was stirring in her bedroom... and through her now squeezed-shut eyes she saw that a red glow had replaced what should have been the tranquil darkness of night.

"Oh no," she thought, "not again."

With a barely audible whoosh, she felt the air around her suddenly heat up, heavier than the moment before with an unmistakable flow towards her bed, where she now lay trembling, pillow over her head, clutching her favourite - and only - boy doll, Liam.

Just then, the sound of uncountable tiny skittering feet sent chills ratcheting up her spine. She could imagine the claws and feet and antennae and pincers and stingers that were making that sound, slowly dragging themselves directly towards her from the direction of the intense heat across the room from her.

Now the sound was also on the wall beside her.

And over her head.

And under the bed.

Scuttling...

Crawling...

Slithering...

Creeping...

But worse (as if anything could be worse) there was something else under the bed. Something much, much bigger: A presence she felt as much heard. Something inhuman dragging itself out from the dark.

"G-g-g-o-o-o aw-w-w-ay", she moaned, daring a timid peek out from under her covers.

The source of the heat - a hole in the corner of her room, just feet away - was a spiralling inferno of red and orange, filling the room with an unearthly glow and casting shadows that danced all over her.

And the opening to who-knows-where - was spewing forth not just horrible insects and reptiles and rodents, but something not of the earth that she knew... something with wings and glowing red eyes and... fangs? Were those fangs?

She tried to scream for her Mom and Dad but couldn't get a sound out of her terror-constricted throat.

Instead, unable to close her eyes, she took in the rest of the room. And her horror reached new heights...

Her dolls! Her prized collection of ceramic dolls! They were...rising...standing(!)...in the places around the room where she'd last kissed each of them goodnight (as she did every night, ever since the last time).

These were the dolls that were supposed to keep her safe.

The ones her parents bought her to ward off the things that they had dismissed as the workings of a child's imagination.

And now they were caught up in this nightmare too.

Rising.

Inching forward.

Sprays of red (blood?) across their faces.

Even Annabelle - last year's Christmas present, life-size and huggable, last seen lying at the bottom of her toy box at the foot of the bed - even Annabelle was now upright, lurching around the box trying to find a way out...empty eye sockets, white hair...not exactly the Annabelle she knew, but Annabelle for sure. Because she was talking - as Annabelle did - with twisted versions of the loving words she'd say when you pulled her string: "Why won't you play with me? Now you're making me ANGRY..."

That was all she could take. Back she went under the covers, reciting in her head the words that the 'doctor' had told her to use if she ever had an 'episode' again: "I am real and these things are not. I am real and these things are not. I am real..." But she stopped mid-chant as she felt movement on the bed with her, something crawling across her covers. Something with sharp claws.

This time, she managed a feeble scream - maybe loud enough(?) for Mommy and Daddy to hear - "he-e-lp! He-elp! HELP!"

She didn't dare get out of bed (even if she could will herself to try) because the thing under the bed was now halfway out and scratching at the carpet right where she would have to put her feet.

Then, at last, a sound from outside her room. Her Mom's footsteps coming to the door? She braved a look in that direction: "Mommy?"


No.

It wasn't Mommy.

At least...it wasn't her Mommy...her loving mother who had tucked her in and kissed her goodnight not so long ago.

It wasn't Mommy...was it?

This thing was stiff and staring without seeing, but it wore Mommy's pyjamas and held her beloved childhood teddy bear, the faithful bedtime companion that she had always clung to before the last time.

 She squeezed Liam even more tightly...

And then a horrible thought struck her, and she looked down at the thing in her arms...her favourite - and only - boy doll Liam... and he...he...turned...his...head towards her with bloody tears glistening on his cheek.

His lips moved and a soft sound came from his ceramic throat:

"Trick... 
Or.... 
Treat..."

Happy Halloween!

On Holding Hands

With all three of my daughters, the first time we held hands was within moments of their birth:
Daddy offering an index finger to a skinny, naked, newly-formed person; daughter instinctively grabbing on for dear life (and it's not often those words "grabbing on for dear life" are said and literally meant); and Daddy, again, wrapping the rest of his hand around her tiny, perfect fist.

If there's a first imprinting moment between father and child, it's got to be that one.

Then there's the learning-to-walk phase too soon later. Again, holding on for dear life, the fledgling walker grasps Daddy's hand and wobbles and stumbles and teeters sideways, then forwards, before Daddy's other hand swoops in to restore order. And then, too soon later, one hand is enough. And then no hands (a celebratory moment of independence that also brings an overwhelming melancholy), and my daughter no longer needs my hand to make her way in the world.

But she really does. And we hold hands to cross the street. And when it's dark and scary. And when it's crowded. And when it's cold. And when we just want to because it's comforting and safe. For both of us.

And then, I remember with each daughter, a moment where it's more exciting (for her) to only hold hands when it's a must. I reach for a hand, it comes, and then it's gone again because it can be. Like getting jilted, but not like that at all. Just the new normal.

And then, a golden era of holding hands again because she is still young enough to be seen doing that and old enough to relish the bond and choose it over the available freedom.

I'm there now with my youngest. We're walking anywhere, it's safe, it's bright, and I subtly offer my hand with a sweeping gesture (that could easily be pulled back if rejected, without betraying that anything had happened) and there it is: Her hand given freely and happily without any good reason but the closeness it brings.

What's nice about having been here before is that I can savour the few years of this that I have before the onset of pre-teen and teens, and the mortification of being caught holding Daddy's hand (or later, being seen with him at all) when friends are around.

When that happens, I'll be crushed again but I'll know that it's just a thing replaced by sitting close on the couch watching a show, or sad and lonely phone calls in the night when she just needs to hear Daddy's voice, or working in the same room just to be in the same room, or hugs when we see each other and leave each other. I'll take what I can get.

But it will never be easy to watch any of the three hold someone else's hand. And I won't be able to get a word out, I'm sure, if and when the day comes that someone else is taking their hand in marriage, and I've been asked to say something uplifting and joyful despite a breaking heart.

Still...always there...through each daughter and each phase, is and will be my wife's hand. We joined hands in marriage, we had these three daughters together, we watched them grow, and we've had to say our (temporary) goodbyes to the girls over and over again.

All of which leads me to one simple thought: There is no greater blessing than to have someone's hand you can hold onto for dear life.

What's Your Air Travel Personality Type? Take this simple quiz...

I recently had occasion to fly with my wife and a couple of neighbours. It made me realize how different people can be very different air-travellers. Based on that experience, I devised this simple quiz to help you identify your own ATPT (air travel personality type), the ATPT of your fellow traveller(s), and how to cope during those times when varying ATPTs travel together...

The Quiz

SECTION A. Online Check-in

At what time do you do the online check-in /seat-selection for your flight?

1. The second the clock strikes 24-hours prior to the flight (with help from the alarm I set for precisely that time).
2. When I get around to it, or at the airport if I haven't had a chance to do it earlier. 
3. Wait. There's a way to check in online?

SECTION B. Seat Selection

When do you select the seat you'll be sitting in?

1. At the time I purchase my ticket, and I'm always in 12C if I'm flying coach. If my admin screws it up, I choose the seat when I check-in online.
2. I take what I'm given, then ask at the airport if there's anything better.
3. Wait, I get to choose my seat?

Given your preference, what seat do you choose?

1. Aisle, so I can get off the plane asap. 
2. Window or aisle, but it doesn't really matter to me; I'm content either way.
3. The one the flight attendant brings me to when someone tells me I'm in the wrong seat.

And given your preference, what row?

1. As close to the front of the plane as humanly possible. Exit row if nothing else good is open.
2. Not too far up and not too far back, but it doesn't really matter to me.
3. The one the flight attendant brings me to when someone tells me I'm in the wrong seat.

SECTION C. Customs, Immigration and Security

Which description / duration best fits your experience with Customs and Immigration?

1. Nexus/Global Traveler, 2 minutes.
2. I wait patiently in line, but it's usually only about 20 minutes.
3. Is that the part where they ask you to take off your shoes? That takes a while if I've got laces.

How about Security?

1. Nexus/Global Traveler/TSA Pre, 2 minutes.
2. Another line, but it's also usually only about 20 minutes. Not bad.
3. Oh, that's where I have to take off my shoes. I like to wait until I get to the front because they have a helpful person there to tell me what I have to do. They give me a little bag to put my shampoo in, which I like to keep because then it doesn't spill into my suitcase. They make me put my phone into the little bin thing. Oh yeah, and my laptop. And the shoes of course. Silly me, I always seem to forget to take my water bottle out of my bag before it goes through that x-ray machine, so I have to stand there and finish it. I'm not sure how long it takes, but the last time a guy behind me said it was taking a century.

SECTION D. Boarding

At what point during the boarding announcement do you get up and join the boarding line?

1. Get up? I'm on my feet already and moving as soon as I hear the recorded pre-boarding announcement click on.
2. I wait until they've called my zone and the lineup has died down a little.
3. I usually wait until the announcement starts, so I know it's time to go to the bathroom.

What's the first thing you do when you arrive at your seat?

1. I turn on the entertainment system so it can start loading. While it's doing that, I take out my at-seat package (containing a crossword puzzle, pen, book, earphones, credit card, ...) and put the rest of my stuff in the overhead. By the time I sit, my movie is ready to go.
2. I tuck my bag neatly under my seat, sit down, put on my seat belt and await further instructions.
3. I sit down and wait with all my stuff in my lap until another passenger shows up and tells me I'm in their seat.

SECTION E. In-Flight

What do you tend to do during the flight?

1. I watch as many movies and/or TV shows that fit in the time allotted. (Neat trick: if the seat next to me is empty, I start a second movie on that seat's screen and keep it on pause until I'm done watching the first. Also, going to the airline's website beforehand to find out what movies are on can save you from making a bad choice in the heat of the moment).
2. I read the nice magazine they give you in the seat pocket and watch as much of a movie as I can. I sometimes fall asleep.
3. I just sit there and stare straight ahead.

How often do you go to the bathroom during a typical flight?

1. Once - as soon as the seat belt light goes off and before the service carts come into the aisle.
2. Once or twice. But if I've got someone sitting next to me and they're asleep, I'll just hold it. 
3. Wait. There's a bathroom? 

Scoring and what to do about it

Obviously, there are three ATPTs. Those for whom the first answer in each section is the right answer ("Type A"), those for whom the second answer in each section is the right answer ("Type B") and those who shouldn't be travelling and for whom the third answer is consistently right ("Type C").

When forced to travel together, most Type A's can bypass their Type B and Type C counterparts using mechanisms like Elite Status, Elite-privilege Credit Cards, Trusted Traveller Programs, and (when all else fails) sheer force of will.

Type B travellers are fine travelling with others, no matter their type.

Type C travellers don't even know notice the other types of travellers as they make their way on their epic journey through the airport and onto the plane (to the Type C, a Type A is a ghostly figure speeding by leaving only a small gust of wind and a high-pitched buzz). Sometimes, their fellow travellers are handy for watching the Type C's bags when they go to the bathroom at boarding time.

When A's and B's travel together, B's need to understand that they can't and shouldn't try to keep up with the A's. Best to stay out of their way altogether.

B's and C's are more compatible, as both are easy-going about the whole experience, but B's need to recognize the C's vulnerabilities and guide them as best they can (lest they get trampled by the barely visible A's).

When A's and C's travel together, it's not good, and when they are married, it is a recipe for disaster. The C shouldn't be offended when I abandon her as we arrive at the airport only to meet up again after the flight is over.

Happy travels!

The Trade

I had a subway token, but I no longer take the subway because I now live in the suburbs. So I made a trade with someone in my neighbourhood. For the token, he gave me a book he had just finished reading.

I read the book and then I didn't need it anymore. So I made a trade with my sister. For the book, she gave me a DVD.

I watched the DVD and then I didn't need it anymore. So I made a trade with husband-and-wife friends of mine. They have a young child, so I threw in some babysitting. For their "movie night" they gave me a Starbucks gift card.

I don't particularly like anything at Starbucks, so I made a trade with a co-worker. For the gift card, he gave me a bottle of red wine that was dropped off at the office for him by a client.

I'm not a big fan of reds, so I made a trade with another neighbour who knows lots about wine. Apparently, this was a good bottle so he gave me a pair of his baseball tickets in exchange.

I couldn't go to the game that night, so I sold the tickets on StubHub for a lot of money (I guess they were good tickets).

Yesterday, as I was heading for my train home, there was a guy sitting on the street asking people for a subway token. Everybody was walking by and ignoring him.

When he wasn't looking, I slipped the money I got for the baseball tickets into the cup in front of him.

Inspired by my middle daughter's foray into the Bunz trade-based community (bunz.com). The slogan on their website is "You Can't Buy Happiness But You Can Trade For It" (capitalization and punctuation is their fault). Also inspired by the story that I thought must be an urban legend, but apparently is true (albeit a bit dated): http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/from-paper-clip-to-house-in-14-trades-1.573973.