The Art and Science of Perspective

It's another quiet Sunday morning and I'm up earlier than I'd like - I always seem to be - my companion cup of coffee by my side, my thoughts scattered across a multitude of work projects and personal to-do lists; of changing seasons and new beginnings and comforts in the smallest things. The gazebo beckons, but I'm hesitant, though a sit down, listen-to-the-world type morning might be just what I need to still the turbulence inside.

The neighbour's cat pops in through the broken screen on our front door, helping himself to our hospitality and the bowl of dry cat food on the kitchen floor belonging to our resident feline, who allows this with mostly indifference but sometimes makes an effort to display his dominance and reminds the free-loading neighbour who the real boss is. I would fix that screen, but the door is slated to be replaced soon (we hope) with the upcoming renovation - it has been upcoming for quite some time, hasn't it? - and, really, the other cat is pretty darned cute and loveable, and purrs when you pick him up, and you know how that goes...

The boy's football season is underway again, and after 2 games the Falcon's sit atop the standings at 2-0, a great start but they haven't really been tested yet.

He's playing strong-side linebacker and is a punishing defender with amazing closing speed who loves to hit. And you know he's still 12, right? His defensive coach came over from another city team that didn't have enough players to field their own squad this season, and I think the boy has caught his eye. I'm not coaching this year, and it's nice not to be so close to the team; to be able to enjoy the games from the stands and not from the sidelines. I think the distance helps him too, and allows him to develop within his own comfort zone and personality far enough out of our eyes and ears to become who he will be. But it's still nice when he asks for my take on his performance after games and practices, and I try to be a supportive parent first and a former football coach second.

* * *

Spent last Sunday afternoon checking out the touring Da Vinci exhibition downtown. An inspirational couple of hours spent walking in the footsteps of an amazing, inquiring mind. His desire to completely understand his world led to scientific and artist breakthroughs that we take for granted today. A visionary who over 500 years ago had designs for a parachute, a diving suit and tank-like vehicle, also gave the world the genius of his talents with a brush and paint. His detailed notes and sketches of his ideas are fascinating to behold, and his anatomical investigations and subsequent renderings pioneered and forever altered the world of physiology and started us on our journey towards understanding how the human body works.

Say nothing of great works of art like The Mona Lisa or The Last Supper.

We walked through rooms full of recreations of his inventions and mock-ups of some of simple machines that would forever change our world. Things we take for granted today like ball bearings and meshed gears; eccentric cams and pulleys and levers. The boy enjoyed trying to understand how they worked, and you could see his mind's gears and wheels turning as he studied and handled the wooden contraptions.

It was difficult not to walk away from that exhibition in awe of Da Vinci's vision and understanding of his world. As we drove home we discussed what we had just learned and I wondered how many more discoveries were waiting to be unearthed from the everyday around us, and whether another mind of Da Vinci's genius would ever grace our time.

* * *

I was on the road this week for work, overseeing the final weeks of a new retail store build out a couple hours away, while trying to finish 3 more back here in the city at the same time. It's the 'feast or famine' scenario, and even though we knew it would likely be like this, the delays and changes and unforeseen issues that inevitably pop up on all the sites take their toll on me. It's a delicate balance, and it's easy to feel overwhelmed and out of control. The detail oriented perfectionist who understands and respects the designer's and client's needs and concerns but can't deliver as he'd like due to conditions beyond his control, can easily forget that this is all really just business, and solutions will present themselves and things will work out with patience and an open mind.

Especially when it seems the people onsite directly responsible for creating the final product appear not to share the outcome-driven focus and willingness to accept challenges as a means for creative problem solving. Herding cats would be easier most days...

It's nice to return home after a stressful few days on the road where everything gets magnified by your proximity to the situation, back to the familiar surroundings of comforts like your own bed, the slightly worn bearing in the kitchen exhaust fan that squeals just so as you try to nap on the couch, the disorganized desk that calls for you to get it back in order (which you dutifully ignore) and the welcome-home-how-do-you-do of a hot water heater that waited for your arrival before leaking water all over the laundry room floor and the dishwasher that decided you needed to investigate the flashing error code on its display...

Disconnecting and checking the dishwasher's electrical and water supply/drainage lines is straightforward mechanical logic rooted in science. As is the replacement of the worn hot water tank's temperature/pressure relief valve. Identify the problem, locate the required resources to correct said problem, then proceed through the necessary series of actions to solve said problem. Managing others to do the same or similar on a jobsite within a myriad of fluctuating timelines, external conditions and agendas under the constant constraints of time and money takes a different set of skills and a different mindset. And a huge dose of patience and an ability to and willingness to work well with others. Some days I have them. Some days I don't so much.

I didn't make it to the gazebo - not yet anyway - but I've found some solace in the week's events. Da Vinci reminded me that art and science aren't separate entities but rather share a relationship within the framework of form and function. Perspective is the key to understanding in all areas, whether it be trying to solve a logistics issue on a commercial jobsite or the reason why gallons of hot water are running across the floor. How you view a problem directly determines how you will find a solution for it. Da Vinci was blessed with the ability of exceptional perspective and it allowed him to uncover many mysteries of his world. He used it to create amazing works of art and a multitude of scientific inventions and designs that helped get us where we are today.

The familiar comforts of home and family, whatever they may be for you, can and should be used to better frame your perspective of the world, from which you can move forward confidently and with purpose, knowing you can solve the problems you will undoubtably face. Identifying those issues and solving those problems is really a science. Finding comfort in the face of those problems and issues?

Well, that parts the art.

A Gardener's Lawn

It's Tuesday, it's cloudy, and we need rain. Of course it's no guarantee that we'll get any moisture out of the system currently hovering over us, and the cracks in the yard are getting larger and more numerous everyday. Some neighbours are watering religiously, trying to maintain that lush green lawn that normally takes little management beyond weeding and mowing, but this year they are fighting mother nature, and she usually wins. Lawns in the shade seem to be doing well, but those in direct sunlight are scorched and brown and dusty, to the point where we wonder if the grass will survive and grow again next year

We know better.

Grass can look after itself. It has millions of years of history on it's side to attest to it's tenacity and perseverance. Give it a little water and some bright sun shine, and it will grow, slowly at first maybe, but then it sends out roots and establishes new plants and over time sets in and turns a brown or black landscape green. Yes weeds are a natural part of that process; establishing more quickly than the seeded grasses, holding nutrients in the soil and preventing everything from blowing into the neighbour's yard. Over time the grass fills in and with help from a careful gardener whose timely plucking of the undesirable, naturally occurring vegetation, shifts the balance in favour of the grass, and a lawn is born.

Of course a weed-free lawn is the perfection, and only exists in the mind of the gardener. The reality is something altogether different, and involves a war-like arsenal of tools and chemicals or back-breaking stooping and pulling. A constant struggle to one-up mother nature and her amazing ability to keep hiding dandelions and thistles amongst the blades of grass.

Yes, grass can look after itself, but it finds a natural balance with other plants and species in a confined space; a natural harmony that escapes man's quest for perfection and order.

It's like my desk.

I like a clean desk, with its organized spaces and open flat surfaces upon which to spread files and plans and papers; the filing drawers filled with neatly arranged and properly labelled folders, everything and anything available to me at a moments notice with minimal effort and maximum efficiency.

Let's backtrack.

I like THE IDEA of a clean desk. Just like the gardener likes THE IDEA of a weed-free lawn. But I seem to have more paper dandelions and thistles on my desk these days than lush green lawn spaces of organization. If I try with enough effort, I can convince myself that my desk is a natural balance of work harmony, a glorious scene of colour and foliage, ripe with blooms and life, a thing of beauty to be treasured and admired as I sit and enjoy the surroundings.

Yes, I can be delusional with the best of them.

Spent the weekend back home - small-town, childhood-memories, home - celebrating the 25th wedding anniversary of my brother and sister-in-law at a come-and-go-tea at the local Senior's Centre. Rows of tables and chairs set out to welcome old friends and neighbours, with trays of cookies and dessert squares over by the barrel of juice; the silver industrial-sized pots of coffee and tea on the other paper-clothed table in front of the Centre's kitchen pass-thru window with a plate of teaspoons and ranks of cups stationed to their right, the staple of a community gathering, constantly filled and refilled over the course of a summer afternoon.

We visited with familiar faces and caught up with old friends and gazed around the room trying to place the as yet unrecognized, wondering if we should know them, if we ever did know them, and with hushed lean-ins, whispered queries to each other hoping to prop up fading memories of a different time. The children, dreading an afternoon trapped in a ancient museum of a place, all had their electronic comforts close by, likely texting each other a table or two away, but eventually the nieces and nephews broke through the boredom and conversed and laughed, the younger set chasing around the perimeter, burning abundant energy until crashing for a well deserved nap later; the older set even playing cards, while the guests of honour worked the room and shared congratulatory conversations and listened to and told the same old stories.

A digital photo slideshow on an infinite loop played in the background, showcasing the couple from their childhood years through to courtship and marriage and into the family stages, a lifetime's worth of memories compressed into a few minutes of ooh's and aw's and remember-when's.

The wedding album from that day 25 year's ago sat on a table near the Centre's entrance, and a quick thumb through before the guests arrived confirmed that we were all kids back then; skinnier, with more and bigger hair, and very questionable fashion choices. The children of course loved that. The boy was amused that dad ever looked like that and thought it terribly humorous to continually remind me all afternoon - of course I pointed out that he has my genes, and karma's a bitch, so tread lightly young padawan. Enjoy it while you can.

I looked around the room at the faces of people I once knew, and of those I still do, trying to find the order and neatness of the event which my brain craves. Some faces are gone, missing in time, the reminder that fate plays no favorites; others have remained mostly unchanged from how I remembered them, many more have changed beyond memory, and some have grown into those of their fathers or mothers. I watched the children of friends, themselves becoming adults before my eyes, and time stood still for awhile and the voices around me faded away and I saw a room full of energy at every stage of life, a constant process, marked only by the effects of time.

It wasn't that long ago we were the ones chasing each other around the room, or those bored beyond belief in that self-centered ego filled world of teenagerdom, and the pictures prove we most certainly were those wide eyed kids in the tuxedos with the big hair and the stiff poses, and it seems like yesterday we had the toddlers in tow, and now we're the ones closing in on milestone anniversaries ourselves. Soon we'll be the faces of those couples and individuals shaking hands and giving hugs and wishing the happy couple well.

Like the slideshow on the projector in the back of the hall, a lifetime gets reduced to minutes of memories, the smiles, the moments captured and remembered forever, treasured, admired. Time carries us along on it's journey, and the distant forgotten moments are left behind, like the gardeners weeds plucked out of the lush green lawn, removed in hopes of creating the perfect ordered life. But we know the weeds are there, just like those stray dandelions and thistles hiding under the blades of grass, and the wise gardeners know it's the contrast between them that makes the lawn seem more vibrant and fuller.

Happy gardening.

Much ado about Nothing

Do you hear that?

Right. Neither do I!

That's the sound of a very quiet early Sunday morning of a long-weekend, and I have nothing to do. Nothing planned, nothing pressing, and most importantly, nothing work-related rumbling around my stressed brain fighting for priority, needing sorting out, sucking all my energy and creativity in the process.

It's a bit disconcerting actually.

I'm not used to nothingness like this.

I know it's what I long for and want so badly during those times of peak focus and frazzled commitments, but finally realizing nothingness is so foreign that I feel ill-prepared to deal with it.

I know that's the point; to not deal with it, to just let it ride and be in the moment, i get that! But understanding the process and adapting to it are two totally different things.

The past few weeks have been extremely stressful - work has been a series of scheduling and rescheduling trades to accomodate delays and unforseen site conditions, working the phones with supervisors and site personnel and owners and designers and inspectors while watching a schedule disappear before my eyes and mediating between all parties to resolve the conflicts and bring the job in as quickly as possible, as effectively as possible. The homefront wasn't so dramatic, though after a couple weeks of having the family away, it took some time to readjust to the additional demands of my time and attention which work had already maxed out.

Something had to give.

And unfortunately, like is usually the case in times like these, its the ones closest to you that take the brunt of the fallout. Not on purpose of course, but we tend to give strangers more room and understanding when we're stressed, than the people who are always there for us, the ones who tirelessly support us and put up with our annoying habits and personality quirks that make us who we are - even when we aren't being distant and sullen and quiet. Throw in feelings of being overwhelmed and pulled to your limits, and yeah, it doesn't always make for a relaxing, peaceful existence.

But if you're fortunate, and have someone who will call you on your behavior when you've gone into your shell, or whatever it is you do when you retreat from everything and everyone around you while you flail at your world; someone who is willing to tell it to you like it is, who is willing to be patient and understanding and be there for you - but not sugarcoat things - if you have someone like that beside you, you'll be able to discuss those things that are troubling you and together find a way through them, guiding each other as need be, until you find your footing once more.

And then, with your clarity and focus restored, you'll be able to handle life's stresses the way you were meant to, and suddenly you'll find yourself on a quiet, long-weekend Sunday morning, sitting in the shade of the gazebo, coffee in hand, thinking about your world with nothing to do.

Except remember and be grateful for the people around you who are always there for you, even when you feel isolated and alone. The ones who care so deeply and perfectly and effortlessly that make it possible for you to feel like there's nothing you can't do.

The Waiting Room

"What if the rest of society ran the way your Doctor's office ran? You'd never get anything accomplished unless it happened by chance or you managed to wait long enough for something to occur. I think half of all illnesses could be eradicated if you didn't have to spend three hours in the germ-infested waiting room beside the child with what sounds like TB, or the woman who appears just slightly beyond quarantine. Certainly we'd all be less bitchy and our blood pressure would be much lower if somehow physicians better managed their client times."

I wrote that Thursday while seated in my doctor's waiting room, after having just checked in, and mere moments after having accepted my fate of waiting upon being told he was running "...at least an hour and a half behind schedule."

It's easy to be put out when you have an appointed time, and the keeper of that appointment is behind. It's easy to, but we shouldn't. We've all been taught to "do unto others as we'd have done unto ourselves" but doesn't it seem like that doesn't apply to family physicians? It seems they do it on purpose, a control issues perhaps, you say, asserting their supposed superiority over the common-folk. Or maybe they just book too many patients for the time available, knowing that their day will stretch into the evening, your plans be damned.

Maybe.

Friday morning I returned to the clinic to have bloodwork done - a routine to see where we're at with these migraines, which for the record, have been near non-existent in the last three months - the lab opens at 8:30 and there were already 3 or 4 patients waiting in the room when I arrived moments after the official opening time. The walk-in portion of the clinic doesn't open until 9, but that doesn't stop some walk-ins from arriving well before, hoping to get that first appointment slot so they can get on with their day and maybe get relief from their ailments or answers to their questions.

On this morning a young woman was already filling in the information sheet on the clipboard in anticipation of being the first one in, though no clinic staff were to be seen - though the lights behind the reception desk were illuminated. When the lone staff member finally appeared back at the desk from down the hall where she had been prepping the exam rooms, she was pounced on by the waiting woman, demanding to see the doctor.

"I'm sorry, the clinic doesn't open until 9 o'clock."

My ears perked up. This should be interesting...

"But I've been here since just after 8, waiting." Her voice already had an irritating tone, the type that develops from years of experience and use, and her body language screamed impatience. "And why do I have to fill out this form everytime I come her, don't you have my information on file?"

"I'm sorry, but the doctor isn't in yet. And if you have been here before as a walk-in and not a patient, your information is not kept and recorded in a permanent file, this sheet gets added to the previous file"

"Well, when will he be here?"

"I don't honestly, know." came the receptionist's reply.

"Well that's just stupid! Why can't he show up for his shift like everyone else? If the clinic opens at 9 he should be here..."

And off she went, berating the receptionist until she realized she wasn't being listened too, so she took a seat in the waiting and room and continued her angry critique of all things wrong with society to her boyfriend (God help him) who seemed amused by her take on things, and nodded in affirmation when she turned to him for support of her position. It appeared she'd been angry for a good portion of her life and wasn't in any mood to change that just yet.

I chuckled at her immaturity and air of superiority that allowed her to make herself look like a complete boob in front of a room full of strangers, and duly noted life's ability to give me exactly what I needed at this moment. I looked at my phone, at the passage I had composed just the day before in this very waiting room, and let the lesson sink in.

Sometimes it pays to bite your tongue and let things be what they are, without wading emotionally into the middle of the events before you. Time has a way of bringing things into clearer focus, and in that light, maybe waiting isn't such a bad thing; indeed maybe we could all use a bit more practice at it.

And maybe, just maybe, that's why at your Doctor's office, it's called a waiting room. Only in the Grand Scheme of things, it's life's lessons we're waiting for and not just the doctor.

Garden Stories

It's a beautiful summer's morning this early Sunday morning, and I share the quiet stillness with only a few song birds. Even the wind is silent, save for the odd rustle at treetop height, those upper brances currently crowned in sunshine, the long cool shade below keeps the morning dew on the grass.

A cup of coffee enjoyed in moments like these, helps one slow down to a more natural rythym; a return to center for the soul after the hurried week of 9 to 5, which for most has become from morning till night. Watching the little garden spider weave its perfect web between the jewel-like shine of the stained glass dragonfly and the the smaller golden gazing orb in the flowerbed, you wonder if nature intended for clocks to be invented, for time to be captured and kept prisoner in an a never-ending spiral. Is there a deadline for that web? Penalties if it doesn't get finished before the shadows slip past and it takes the full assault of the midday heat?

I suspect we all crave control, of even the smallest details in our lives, and it's that craving, that desire for certainty in something, anything, that brings about our quest for peace of mind. But maybe it isn't 'peace' of mind we seek so much as the ability to know that whatever we are doing right now is what we should be doing, not worrying about any of the multitude of items on our lists of things to do, those yet undone actions that if left unthought of might threaten to topple our day.

Afterall, all we really NEED to do in the next moment is breathe.

Beyond that we have choices of actions, a 'choose-your-own-adventure' book that becomes the story of your life. For some it helps to believe that no matter which page they choose next to turn, the outcome of the story remains unchanged; predetermined before the introduction. For others every turn of the page leads to new discoveries and an abundance of possibilities, and though they know not where they may end up, they've learned to never ask what-if about the choices they've made, knowing you can't be focussed on the road ahead with one eye in the rear view mirror.

Most of us however, are more likely oblivious to the pages in our story; that we even have the ability to turn them at all, instead we're mired in the day-to-day details that create a story of survival, instead of writing a tale of adventure and discovery. And feeling powerless and not in control, we flail, instead of taking certain action, and find ourselves hurried and stressed and exhausted from our struggles.

Just breathe.

And then decide.

We have that power at our command, every moment of every day. It's our constant companion, available whenever we need it, whenever we feel lost or swamped or all alone. Take a step, a baby step at first if you're unsure, but trust that you are heading the direction you need to move. Secure in the knowledge that you are making a choice, a decision that will open doors of possibilities and adventure, if you are willing to see them. Every moment is overflowing with opportunity.

Seize it, and like my little garden spider, let's see what kind of amazing web you can weave.

The Sounds of Silence

A great summer thunder storm rolled across the prairies this afternoon; the churning skies rumbled off in the distance and grew darker as they approached. It went from clear and sunny and hot and humid to overcast and hot and humid and completely still in a matter of minutes. And that stillness is as ominous today as it was when you were a child and summer lasted forever and when you realized and felt the wind stop and the world grow silent you stopped too, and listened, and watched and you knew you were in the presence of greatness.

The thunder crashed louder and louder as it quickly enveloped us, the greys turning to purples and greens - colours no sky should ever turn - and then the temperature dropped; an icy cold front in the middle of a summer's day; a reminder that you are not in control no matter how much you delude yourself into thinking you are, or should be. Then those huge drops fell. Great, big, massive bucketfulls of water in single drops the size of water balloons. Then faster they came, and then the sound on the roof was not just of an aerial assault of water, but a more solid, sinister sound; the hollow knock of frozen water, hail, marble-sized and smaller, and it looked like it might be snowing - if it wasn't July - though that's never stopped Mother Nature up here before - and you looked out the window in anticipation, with a joyful anxiety, a curious stare from safety, as the pellets bounced and popped and rattled off the gutters, the gazebo and the garden of flowers.

And then, just like that, it was done.

Silence once more.

Then the clouds drifted, parted, and disappeared as the sun returned to brighten the afternoon and bake the rain and hail into the ground, evaporating more than absorbing, and you knew how hot and sticky it must be out there, and you dared not leave your quiet, air-conditioned womb.

School's out for the summer; the streets are quiet in the mornings - no mad rush to get them off to that scholarly jail, no yellow busses on the roads. The backpack returned overflowing with the contents of a grade 7 locker - I'm sure we could return that dictionary if we tried - it hasn't been cracked; and those gym clothes in the green sack? I'm not touching those. The boy can wash them - if they don't walk away on their own beforehand.

Stacks of homework and assignments - some we've seen, and others are news to us - we're becoming more at ease with being shut out bit by bit when it comes to school and friends and teenagerdom - we're still engaged in the boy's life, it's just now he has more ownership of it than before, and we respect that and attempt to foster that respect so it flows both ways. The report card, in all its sanitized informative passages tells us the bare minimum of how he did this past year - though we know in which subjects he excels and which ones he'd rather not have to face. He's got a Math and Science brain, though he's not convinced all Sciences deserve his equal attention yet. He has a wonderful vocabulary and creative mind - he just hasn't found his inner voice or confidence to be able to write it down.

It will come.

He has the same teacher for most of his courses in the fall that the had this past year - the benefit of the Grade 7/8 splits at the local junior high. His English teacher is his Math teacher and French too - as well as a few others - and she knows what he is capable of when he applies himself - a parent's ally she is - and she'll ride him and nurture him as if he were her own, and he will grow to her challenges, and one day he will thank her, though he may not acknowledge her role for years.

He'll find those gifts one day in contemplative silence. And I think he'll smile as he looks back on these days. When summer seems to last forever.

Silence. It can be a warning of dangers ahead, or it can signal a period of refuge, relaxation and rebirth. Like the empty halls of school over the summer, the silence speaks loudest when there's no one there to hear.

Talk about Renovations!

What do you think? Not bad huh? A little bit of paint and trim and you can make even an old blog look like new!

Okay, okay. You got me, it's not a renovation. I haven't been up nights, working till the wee hours trying to get the last bit of mudding done, or the final piece of moulding over there in the corner to fit just right. No, I haven't been painting and finishing stuff. Nothing like that really.

In fact, I didn't even think of remodelling.

I just moved.

That's right. Moved.

You see, I'm not really here. I'm actually over there but you just can't tell the difference yet. Confused? Sorry. It's about to become clear (I hope!)

You see when I started writing this I didn't know where it was going to take me, or where we'd end up. I wanted to document the changes we were proposing for the house, and I have, but I've also discovered that I need a voice to let those other randomreidings out, and at times they can overshadow the renovation stuff. They are very important to me, but so is the house project, and so I've decided to carve off the renovation chronicles and give them their own space - someplace where it will be easier to follow the progress and see what's what.


Chicobuilds

That's what I've called it.

I've copied over the posts from randomreidings that are about the house or mostly about the house, and that's where the new information and pictures and bitching about the project will take place.

Back here, I'll free up some room to explore other things, like why some people think it's okay to throw cigarette butts out their car window. Or why KFC thinks 2 chicken filets, 2 slices of bacon and 2 slices of cheese is actually a meal? and why you couldn't have made up a better name for Weinergate if you tried! Who knows? I may even get back to more snarky commentary if the spirit moves me.

I hope its the spirit and not all that pineapple...

Let me know what you think, what you've liked about the past, and what you'd like to see in the future. Challenge me, make me think, and let's see what kind of trouble we can get into together.

C'mon, let's go stir it up.