Today I am thinking of Canada ... and remembering how it all started for me.

 My family was poor.  My father worked at two jobs saving and saving and saving.   My mother worked hard too.  We lived in a 'skid' shack.  It was one room with a divider - a living area and sleeping area. I remember it was a very small room.  You had to be careful not to stub a toe or whack a shin.

We had lots of food because my mother's family had farms.  We had lots of warm clothes for the winter and light clothes for the summer because our relatives gave us "hand me downs."  We had twelve close neighbours in a circle.  We all lived in the same small one room shacks.  We shared two pit toilets with our neighbours.  We shared one water well with everyone... moms and dads pumping water as needed.

I was very young.  I didn't think anyone else lived any differently.  I took a school bus to a one room country school.  An older girl taught me to print by making letters in the frosty condensation on my black lunchbox.  It was fun.

When I look back at precious photographs that were only taken at family gatherings, on holidays, on our 'first day of school' or on our birthdays, I see happy, smiling faces with everyone wearing starched, ironed clothes and polished shoes.  My mother used a washboard.  Monday was laundry day.  I remember frozen sheets coming in off of the clothes line, sheets that smelled like heaven to me ... although we were not church people.

In the backgrounds of the photographs, I see the grinding poverty.  I see clapboard covered here and there with peeling, faded wall paper.  I see lovingly crocheted doileys covering threadbare second hand sofas and chairs.  I see jack frost gloriously painting the leaky windows.  I remember my father scraping all of the bubbled and peeling paint off of the clapboard outside of the house every summer... right down to wood.  And I remember him repainting our little house.  Every year.

In my mind, I remember Saturday night baths.  I see my mother putting the galvanized square tub in the centre of the living area.  I see my father going out and coming in, going out and coming in, going out and coming in... bringing buckets of water for my mother to warm on the stove.  I see the steam pouring from the tub as 'pickling pot' after 'pickling pot' (the largest pot we had) of boiling water was dumped into the tub until it was full.  I remember immersing myself in the warm (not too hot) water and being soaped and rubbed.  I remember being dried and kissed and hugged.  And I remember my mother putting fresh pajamas on me.  And I remember sitting on my father's knee for a bed time story - he told wonderful stories.  And I remember my mother tucking me into my cosy bunk bed.

Once when my baby sister rolled out of her bunk and fell onto the floor, I pretended I was asleep.  My mother picked her up and comforted her and tucked her back into bed.  The lower bunk used to be mine until she came along.

I think people ask for and expect too much today.  All of that stuff is so hard to keep track of.  The insurance alone will kill you.

"We collect things because our hearts are empty."

                                                            The Heart of the Enlightened  by Thomas Merton

Studio Result:

The best colour for today - for Canada Day 2012 - is Red!

Today I am thinking that we can at least partially blame the invention of the printing press for the death of conversation.   We are surrounded by signs telling us both what to do and how to do it --  signs that give us 'information' that is really unsolicited advice.  I know signs are meant to be helpful, to ensure our safety, etc. etc. -- but so many signs?  Do we really need all this advice?

Conversation:

Oral exchange of sentiments, oservations, opinions or ideas.

­Advice: 

 Recommendation regarding a decision or course of conduct.

                                                                                    ­Merriam-Webster's Dictionary

I saw a sign that said,  "Could you please try and not let the door bang as you enter and exit the building."   A simple conversation between people might have led to a solution for an obviously disruptive door banging situation.... but no.  Easier to just post a sign -- to give advice.  The tone in "try and not let the door bang" sounds like there might be some unfinished business along the path to a solution....

Lately, I have been experiencing a distinct change in the temperament of society.  All and sundry seem to believe they have the right to impose advice.  And, it is no longer a requirement to be polite.  There seems to be a 'no holds barred' attitude empowered by political correctness pervading most communication.

Sadly, I find that more often than not,  a conversation consists of an offer of and then a defense against  unsolicited advice.

I find it wearing and wearying to be barraged with advice more or less constantly. Increasingly, I find myself in a quandary, both longing for and, at the same time, dreading social situations.  This is a great shame.   I'm sure I am not alone.

Recently, I was in a group of people and mentioned a minor ailment - an aside really - and despite begging and pleading with a group member,  "Please, don't give me advice... please no...,"  the person simply had to do so.  My choice in such a situation was to sit in uncomfortable silence until the advisor was finished and thank her or to interject periodically in my defense. Neither option is 'conversation.'

And even more recently,  I was in a group where each individual felt they had to give a detailed account of how they overcame a great obstacle (an obstacle I currently face) --  four people, 10 or so minutes each --  it was exhausting.   The plethora of advice on how I could 'overcome' was dizzying

Opportunities for real conversation these days don't exactly abound so I'm a lot out of practice.

So, horror of horrors, last night, while entertaining, I found myself offering unsolicited advice instead of participating in an "oral exchange of sentiments, observations, opinions or ideas."   

Unfortunately, advice givers -- including me --  are woefully unaware their evangelical efforts  disguised as conversation contribute in an insidious way to an increasing alienation between individuals and groups in society.

So I will have to do better.   And it's simple.

One of the wisest people I ever met sagely counseled:

  "Never give advice... especially when someone asks for advice!"

That way, you can enjoy a real conversation.

Studio Result:

The best colour for today is Rose Madder Genuine.

Today, I am thinking about jealousy.

I had an interesting experience. During a lighthearted banter with someone, her final retort was, “the Lord your God is a jealous God.” It was a signal the conversation was over.

But it really caught my attention.   So I did some digging.

There’s lots of talk in research about how the ‘jealous’ God is like a faithful and passionate bridegroom that watches over his betrothed.  So if he is jealous – it’s a ‘good’ and righteous jealousy.

Other writings concentrate on differentiating jealousy from envy and how jealousy is usually good but envy is almost always bad.

Others spoke of the Hebrew word having been mistranslated into English - it really means zealous.

Still others emphasized the importance of taking into account the culture and context of the time when the words were originally written:

“God’s attributes… tell us something about the feelings, yearnings, and customs of the people during whose lifetime they are ascribed to him.  The texts, which in the Old and the New Testament were culled from a doubtless much greater number of extant texts, belong to societies that disappeared long ago….”

Hildegard Baumgart   “Jealousy – Experiences and Solutions”, 1985

So ‘jealous God’ could be interpreted in different ways.

All I know for certain is that in our post-post-modern world, although I often hear people quoting from the Bible to emphasize their points, it is the ‘literal’ meaning of the text that is most often used.  Curious, because paradoxically, our current western intelligentsia is adamantly anti-‘literal.’  

Fundamentalism, accompanied by a literal interpretation and understanding of ancient scriptures, is the second greatest fear of our age (the greatest fear being ‘aging’ itself).

Funny hey?

The majority of Western literature we are asking today’s students to learn about is grounded in a culture of Christian thought.  But we do not teach about Christian thought in our public schools.  And religious studies courses are optional courses in our universities.  So how are those who study, or more importantly, those who teach, to interpret the text beyond a ‘literal’ understanding?  

As it stands,  all we expect people to know at present is that a “jealous God” is a bad God. 

After all, everyone knows that ‘jealous’ is bad.

Studio Result:

The best colour for today is Sap Green.

Today I am thinking about opinions.

Today I was asked my opinion on an issue - public school education...  how to fix the system.  It's a big topic in the news these days.  Now, I am not an educator.  Most of what I know about public school education is what I have learned through personal experience... my own education... the education of my children... educational experiences shared with me by others... that's about it.

I find it exhausting that everyone is expected to have an opinion on everything.  In order to have an opinion, you need to prepare, to find out about the topic.  You should do research.  You should think about it.  Ideally, you should discuss the topic with others and then finally come to a conclusion.  That takes a lot of time.

But this 'expectation' that you 'must' have an opinion is so pervasive that we are subliminally coerced to express opinions on pretty much everything despite the fact that in most cases we are woefully unprepared to state our case.

Or overprepared....

I remember I had an ailment of some kind that required medical attention.  I made an appointment with my doctor.  And then I prepared for the appointment by doing copious amounts of research and arriving at a probable diagnosis.  The doctor issued me into the examining room and said, "What is the problem?"  And I told her.  I explained everything very carefully including the onset and progression of the symptoms as well as the probable diagnosis.   After I was finished, she said,  "That sounds pretty good to me, I think you probably have it figured out."  I felt quite pleased with myself. 

Then she said,  "You don't mind if I have a look, do you?"

After you have invested so much time and effort developing your opinion  -  done so much work that you are satisfied your opinion is correct  -  you run the risk of forgetting you are not the expert.

There's where the danger lies.

Socratic Intellectualism is not so popular today in our climate of suspicion of everyone and everything... but perhaps there is some wisdom here:

"...Only a fully accomplished expert in any field who can claim knowledge or wisdom of that field ... can train others to do the same...."

                                                            The Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, Second Edition

Studio Result:

The best colour for today is Quinacridone Gold.

Today I am thinking about water.  

It is raining and drizzling and wet and late autumn.

There is a little bridge over a winter creek that I must cross to reach my studio.  When I was thinking about building this bridge, I thought a slightly elevated and curved profile would be more lovely to look at.  It was summer.  And it was dry.  

Now it is almost winter - and everything is watery.  The creek is roaring along nicely under the pretty curved bridge.  But the bridge is very slippery - wet cedar. 

I should have built a flat bridge. This grates on me. 

"The supreme good is like water, which nourishes all things without trying to.  It is content with the low places that people disdain.  Thus it is like the Tao.

In dwelling, live close to the ground.  In thinking, keep to the simple...."  Tao Te Ching Translated by Stephen Mitchell

Studio Result:

The best colour for today is Ultramarine Blue Deep.

 My tall blonde Dad serving food in World War II - Daniel Kroshewsky (d. 2000).

 May he rest in peace.