Dreaming

   Like everyone, I dream. I'm not talking about the dreams we formulate for ourselves in our waking hours, I'm talking about the things that come and visit  when the subconscious takes over.
   I tend to be able to remember most of my dreams and I seem to dream every night. I have had most of the textbook dreams. I cannot tell you how many times I've walked naked down my high school's second floor hallways , all the times I was trying to cross the railway tracks in agonizing slow motion as the train bore down on me, the many instances when my part in the play was about to happen onstage and I hadn't even read the script yet. Getting chased by the gorilla and trying to evade the men who want to kill me.
   I have also had gloriously wonderful dreams; somehow or other I can skate like the wind and I have to whole arena to myself, the times I am able to will myself to fly, and beautiful women surrendering themselves to me.
   Most of these dreams evoke very strong emotion. I can wake up frightened and gasping or wonderfully refreshed and happy and wanting badly to get back into that dream I was just having.
   The emotions were real, even if the events that provoked them happened only in my head.
   Here's my point. Is what you experience in a dream any less valid than what you experience in the waking world? If, in your dream, you experienced pain, joy, disappointment, fear, exhilaration, or confusion and you awoke embroiled within any or all of these feelings then is that not just as real an experience? If you awoke and your heart was racing with emotion is that not real?

   We tend to use the waking events of our lives as learning experiences and building blocks, whether we realize it or not. If, as the result of a dream, you are able to come to some sort of understanding of something you previously were confused about is this not just as valid a learning experience? If a dream makes you stop and say to yourself "holy crap, so that's how I really feel " then it is as real as anything happening in the conscious world.
   We all have things that have happened in our lives that we deeply regret and would like to have back. In my long list of things a couple of dreams are included--dreams I desperately wished I hadn't had. In spite of the fact that they were just dreams, they have had as profound an impact on me as if they'd been actual events in my life. To me, they were very real. Part of the impact is that I have never sat down and had any of my dreams analyzed. So I think the worst. Consciously, I know that many of us have unsettling dreams that are of little consequence, dreams that an expert would describe as commonplace and natural and not to be fretted over. But until I talk to this expert, my dreams are open to my own interpretation and this is sometimes scary, regardless of the fact that dreams can't make me be a certain way or do certain things I wouldn't do normally.
   The mind is a powerful thing and we know very little about its capabilities. When we sleep, it takes over. My dreams are often populated by people I have never met. They are so crystal-clear in their individuality that it is almost like I am walking down a street somewhere and being passed by strangers. I have no idea why they have appeared to me or if they somehow figure into my life. They do not play huge parts in my dreams the same way the strangers on the street do not play significant roles in my waking life. So I wonder why they are there and what their purpose is. Eerily, I wonder if there strangers out there who have me appear in their dreams...
   I'm headed off to bed soon and I have no idea what's in store for me after I drift off. I would not wish to be dreamless tonight or most any other night, it is fine with me if dreams come. As a matter of fact, it is late in the evening now and I did drift off as I was writing. Out of nowhere, I was with my Dad and we were rummaging around in his apartment, trying to pack his bags for a flight. This was about as far as the dream went before I woke up again.
   It was a very brief, odd little dream but I know exactly where it came from. My Dad will be taking a flight soon, we will be taking his ashes to the west coast in order to fulfill his request that they be scattered in the ocean there. I had not even been thinking of him when I dozed off. Given what lttle we know of the brain and dreaming, perhaps he was thinking about me.
  

Double-double

Tim Horton's

   One way or the other, I spend a lot of time in coffee shops. Almost invariably, they are Tim Horton's but I am not adverse to plopping my butt down in the closest coffee shop there is.
   One of the reasons (and the principal reason) why I spend so much time there is that it almost seems like a work requirement. I drive around the city visiting people our agency supports, assisting them with whatever they need a hand with. When that part of it's done, however, and depending on the person, we head to Timmies.
   Now, long ago I figured out that I was spending way too much money at Tim's doing this. These days, I load up my Tim's mug with homebrew in the morning and carry it around with me while at work. I can then sit with someone in a Tim's and not suffer from guilt pangs that I'm not actually drinking their coffee. One way or another, though, I still end up drinking lots of Tim's coffee.

   Depending on the time of day and what Tim's we happen to be in, I can almost tell you who's going to be there. Not that I know who they are or where they're from but I know their faces and I know just a tad of their daily routine. For the most part, when they're in Tim's they seem happy. Pretty well everyone there does, I've found.
   Tim Horton's seems to have ingrained itself into people's psyches. I used to think McDonalds had done the same thing but I'm pretty sure Tim's has them beat, at least here in Canada. There is something just a touch comforting even driving past a Tim's sometimes, I imagine it would be somewhat like a heroin addict who'd just shot up driving down a long street littered with dealers on every corner, not needing one just now but feeling comforted by their presence, nevertheless. As tourists, even, perhaps in a strange province and finding the local Tim's, we are comforted again by the sameness.

Starbucks

   I don't believe it's only our coffee addiction which drives us to coffee shops. You can always make yourself a coffee at home and drink it. A coffee shop gives you the opportunity to be with someone, or maybe even a group of people and congregate, as it were. Before the advent of this proliferation of coffee shops, neighbours gathered in their homes, on an almost daily basis and usually round about the same time, for coffee. It was more a reason to get together than a hot drink with caffeine in it. I don't think these days that things have changed too much, we gather at the usual times, in the usual places, for the usual drink and it's coffee at a coffee shop. I suspect we talk about the same kinds of things--politics, sports, current events, gossip, etc. We are all bound together in this way.
   Obviously, I am a Tim Horton's man. I have friends that swear by Starbucks. I went to a Starbucks once and was taken aback by the cost and the strength of the coffee. Not only that, I had a hard time with the Starbucks vernacular, sizing-wise. Essentially, though, it is the price which keeps me away. What I did appreciate, however, was the subtle difference in ambiance. The seating pattern was different, the seating itself was a touch more luxurious. For the lack of a better word, the ambiance seemed more refined. As close as I usually get to a Starbucks is when I go to Chapters, the book store. The combination of coffee and book smell when you walk in the door is irresistible. Well, almost irresistible. As I said, I'm a Timmies man.
   As much as the coffee, it is the people you see in the coffee shop. Not only the people you're there with but the people who were already there and the people who show up before you leave. In Tim's there's a pretty wide variety of people frequenting the place, from the well-off to the almost-destitute. And they're all shoulder-to-shoulder, engaged by their togetherness, regardless of the places they all came from.
   The other day I was in a Tim's and in a corner there was a series of pictures of Tim Horton himself. I remember watching him play and I remember him starting up the business. Today, were he still involved with his business, he would be rich beyond whatever his dreams might have been in the beginning. His is a cautionary tale, though, given the combination of drinking and driving which claimed him. But he was a Canadian hockey player, one of the best of his generation, and I have no doubt that this is partly at the heart of what brings us, as Canadians, to his establishment on an almost daily basis. Whether we are old enough to remember him or not.
   I may or may not make it to a coffee shop tomorrow. It is my day off so work will not take me there. It is possible I may end up there in my travels if the mood or, more likely, the sign strikes me. Quite probably I will not look at the experience in quite the same way, given having written about it today. In truth I may never view it quite the same again, as strange as this sounds. Blogging tends to re-focus me a touch, regardless of the subject matter. If all else fails, I may just sit there and think about what else to write about because if you can write about coffee shops you can write about hospitals, schools, cars, bikes, bunnies, and the theory of relativity. I guess.
  
    
  
  
  
  

Storage

   I finished cleaning out our 10X10 storage unit today and everything that had been in it is back in our house. We had had the unit for about a year, in an attempt to make our place look less cluttered as, at the time, it was on the market. Unfortunately, the house did not sell (perhaps it was not meant to) and so no need for the unit and the accompanying cost.
   We are currently faced with a home we can barely move around in and there is much purging to be done. The fact of the matter is that whatever we had in the unit was in there for a year and, essentially, we didn't miss it. You would think the decision to get rid of much of it would be easy. This is not the case, however.

...almost there...

   In spite of the fact that we were able to get along without the belongings we'd been storing, I think we both felt that we still had them, and they could be accessed at any time and so, because of this, they didn't seem any less important than much of the other stuff we had retained, but still didn't use either. So, many decisions to be made.
   Storage is kind of a funny thing. There is an ad right in the storage loading bay that says something to the effect of "I don't know if storage is COOL but it's the next best thing!" Now, prior to actually having things in storage, I would never have thought of storage as being cool, either. Oddly, though, I had that exact same feeling, that this was kind of cool, as I began transporting items to the unit. Part of it, I'm sure, was that I was creating space at home. The other part was that it almost felt like moving into a new neighbourhood, with new neighbours. Pretty consistently you run into other people moving their belongings in or out of their units, some units are set up simply as storage while others are a combination of storage and small business. Unit renters are either in transit in the hallways or ensconced in their units, working on laptops, doing inventory. All of this in an atmosphere of peace, quiet and solitude.
   You often find yourself wondering what the other people's stories are, why the need for storage, how temporary is it, did it have to be moved in an emergency? One of our favourite TV shows to watch is "Storage Wars". The show involves a regular cast of bidders who travel around to different storage businesses and participate in the auctioning of storage units which have been abandoned by their owners and defaulted on. The winning bidder then gets to go through the unit and, hopefully, find things of value. It is always interesting to see what's in the units as the bidders are only allowed to view the unit for about five minutes prior to the auction and are not allowed to enter it.
   As interesting as it is to watch, what gets lost is the human story behind each unit. The rest of the world gets to see what once were people's private possessions hauled out for full display. You wonder why the units were defaulted on, there is generally enough wealth evident that keeping up on the rental payments shouldn't have been an issue. Were there deaths, divorces or just plain money mismanagement? Drug deals gone bad? Just forgot to pay the bill? You also wonder how agonizing it must have been for people to have had to have left all of that stuff behind. And then, possibly, to watch it get auctioned off on TV, having the bidders commenting on its worth or lack thereof.


Done

   As I said, storage is interesting.
   It occurred to me today that a storage unit would be a great place to write. Just move in a lamp and a desk and a comfy  chair and go to it, distraction-free. It would be just like having an extra room in the house, only in a different part of the city. And it wouldn't even have to be a 10X10, you could probably get away with an 8X8 or 5X5 even! All this with the proviso that your writing will earn the extra $160-$200 a month you'll need for the unit!
   Hopefully we will have no need for a storage unit again any time soon. If we do, though, I will enter into the arrangement with not nearly the trepidation I did this time. And, if there is a next time, I'm gonna rent 5 extra square feet and write a novel!
   Like they say, storage is cool.
  
  

Tick-tock, tick-tock......

   My knees hurt and my pride hurts. My knees hurt a little more than my pride, which is generally pretty resilient. For that matter, my knees heal up pretty fast, too.

The sport I`ve been playing for almost 45 years

   But it feels kind of different these days, this playing ball hockey a couple of times a week. I used to enjoy it, it didn't seem to matter what kind of week I might have had. Nowadays, though, I don't greatly look forward to heading to the rink and the prospect of staying home with the wife seems infinitely more preferable. Today, driving home from work, I was thinking to myself "thank god there's no ball hockey tonight" and was struck by the newness of this feeling.
   I played twice this week, once as a goalie and once as a forward. We lost both games and have lost every game so far this season. We are a new team with a bunch of guys who've never played before and this quite often happens with new teams. No big deal really, I've played on teams like this before and they always get better. I've played on teams like this before that then went on to win championships. But now I'm tired of the whole process.
   The game I played goal in was the most lopsided one in terms of score I've ever experienced. The score was 15-2 and I actually played pretty well. The other team was the first-place team and they were all over us. Quite often I would make the first and sometimes even second save but then the ball would still be there and because the other team was everywhere the ball would end up in the net.

Me, playing goal. Can`t see the ball, assuming I stopped the shot....

   Regardless of how I might have played, I still have that 15 goals hanging over me. At the end of that game, one of the guys from the other team came up to me and said that they`d been talking about me in a complimentary way on the opposing bench. I guess they were impressed that an almost 60-year-old guy was still hanging in there and playing. This did not provide a lot of solace. Whatever pride I`ve had around playing with the youngsters depended a lot on fitting in with the youngsters. On the wrong end of a 15-2 score and all of the sudden you don`t fit in quite as well anymore.
   Of course, all of this could change by this time next week. My knees`ll feel better and my pride will have had a little extra time to heal. We might win a game. We might play in some close games. I might get a shutout (giggle). I play forward as well and I might get a goal. At this point in my life it wouldn`t take much one way or the other to either keep me playing or hang up the pads for good.
  
    

Jeff

   I'm going to call him Jeff. Jeff is not his actual name, nor is Jeff an actual person. Jeff is actually a composite of several men I know who, due to the nature of my work, need to remain anonymous.

   I work for a human services agency here in London and we support people with developmental challenges so that they can live as independently as possible in the community. I just wanted to let you know some of the things I do for Jeff, who is one of the people our agency supports.
   I visit Jeff on a regular basis and make sure that his apartment is reasonably neat and tidy. I give him direction around this and a lot of the time I pitch in and help as Jeff is a guy and is kind of wishy-washy about having a clean apartment. I spend some time helping with Jeff's budgeting and banking. Sometimes this is a struggle as Jeff is not always sure he wants my help with this.
   I try and co-ordinate medical appointments for Jeff--make sure he gets in to see the dentist, the doctor, the psychologist, the foot care professional, the eye doctor, etc. I do these things as they arise, on a regular basis.
   Government forms are always fun, helping Jeff fill them out, running around, finding all the other forms you need just to fill out one form.
   I talk to people like Bell and Rogers and London Hydro, just to make sure Jeff's got the right channels and features and it's pretty confusing sometimes following up on stuff Jeff's already done.
   In the past, I've helped Jeff with lawyers and court cases.
   I've talked to travel agents and arranged for haircuts.
   This is just a partial list of some of the many important things I do for Jeff.

   Jeff, on the other hand, just wants to get laid.

   Yep, he wants to have sex with a woman. A real live one. Kind of like the ones he sees on T.V., maybe the ones he sees downtown. He'd like to be lying there next to one of those women he sees in the magazine ads and he'd like to be able to run his hands all over her, slide inside of her and share his orgasm with her. It is one thing he has never attained and it seems like it is the one thing which is just beyond his grasp.

Kind of what Jeff is all about....

   The one thing he wants and, arguably, needs the most  is also the one thing I'm not going to be able to help him with.
   Oddly enough, I was never trained to be able to provide this, the one thing that would make his life....well.....good.
   I can direct Jeff to places he can go if he wants to learn the rudiments of sexuality. There are groups which will focus on the appropriate ways to approach women. They will describe what not to do and say around women. They will discuss places you can go to meet women.
   These are all fine but none of them will get Jeff laid and, honestly, that's what he's about. He's all about getting laid the same way any man is about getting laid if he's never been laid!
   I remember the feeling. I remember being happy with most of my skills and my circle of friends and my job but I had never been with a woman and, because of this, felt elementally incomplete. And, after finally having accomplished this lofty goal, I remember thinking "okay, this is good, I can go on in the world now!"
   Because Jeff is a composite of people I support, he is also non-verbal and physically challenged. So the two of us don't talk about him getting laid but from what I hear from some of the female staff that have known him, he's kind of about getting laid, as well. Good for him! Well, sort of "good for him" because his chances for getting laid are non-existent. Sort of like Jeff's.
   As an agency, we try and go out of our way to provide people with the important and valued essentials of daily living. The government helps, at our request, in supplying the money or wherewithal to provide these things. As long as the person doesn't get laid, as the result! In the Netherlands, the government, realizing the quality of life issue, supplies sex surrogates for physically and intellectually challenged people. This is what we should be doing in Canada.

Not the kind of  Escort Jeff had in mind...

   Of course, this would be controversial. Generally, anything to do with sex is. In this particular scenario, there would be a minefield of moral, ethical, legal and legislative issues to be addressed. In the current environment in Ontario it is difficult to access funds to provide any support to thousands of people on waiting lists who just require only the rudimentary forms of support I described at the beginning of this blog. Let alone hiring sex surrogates!
   This is an issue which has been bothering me for some time. When Jeff and I talk about it, I try and be as supportive and non-judgemental as I possibly can. Jeff seems to feel guilty  even thinking about sex and I spend a lot of time reassuring him as to how normal this is. We have talked about hiring an escort. This, however, gets back down to money and Jeff, like most people on disability pension, is on a pretty tight budget. Where I work it would not be uncommon to occasionally run across a long itemized list of a supported person's budgetary requirements. What would be uncommon is if anywhere on that itemized list "escort service", "massage parlour" or "Jeff getting laid" showed up!
   And there are more than just "Jeffs" in the same predicament. There are "Jennifers" and "Paulas" and "Colleens" we support who are just as entitled to satisfying and fulfilling sexual encounters, as well.
   I talked before about what a minefield all this would be, attempting to procure goverment-assisted sexual surrogacy for people who are differently-abled. Part of that minefield would involve ensuring there was a system in place so that the people we support would be safe, navigating this world of paid-for sex.
   Sex is such a multi-faceted thing, awash with emotional and societal issues and every attempt would have to be made to assert that Jeff was entering a paid-for relationship with the full understanding of what that relationship was and that there was no coercion involved on the part of either of the two (or three, or four) people involved. Knowing Jeff, there would also have to be an assertion on everyone's part that this was okay.
   Every once in awhile, the staff group gets together to talk about Jeff, how his life is going and what his needs are. Quite often there ends up being a list of tasks that need tackling and this list gets divided up and tasks are assigned to people. My plan is to wait until the end of one of these meetings, when they ask if there's anything else that needs talking about, and pipe up with "Okay, so how are we gonna make sure Jeff gets laid...?"
  

Love the Glove!

      I've seen the commercial three or four times now. It shows men wearing a variety of different kinds of gloves and talking about how much the men love wearing those gloves, for a variety of reasons. We're talking hockey gloves, golf gloves, those kinds of things.
   The kicker comes at the end of the commercial. Apparently the one kind of glove that terrifies men, however, is the surgical  glove used for digital rectal exams. These exams are part and parcel of the fight against prostate cancer. Simply put, they involve having a doctor insert a couple of fingers into your rectum in order to reach up and feel the prostate gland for irregularities and size.

   Men tend to be squeamish about this, for some reason. We generally have been able to avoid foreign intrusions to our bodies, apart from dental instruments perhaps, for most of our lives. We have not had the same opportunities women receive on a regular basis to have our legs up in stirrups and our private parts bared to the world. Generally, it's a part of the body we don't even want to have to deal with ourselves, let alone have someone else poking away down there. I think also there is a male macho tendency to think of themselves as impenetrable, both emotionally and physically. A digital rectal exam hits hard in both areas.
   If we let it.
   And there's really no reason why we should. Men are out there dying for no reason other than they were misinformed about the disease or were aware of some of the preventative measures and refused to make the appointment. Out of all the reasons there might be for a life to end prematurely, let's not let misinformation or macho misgivings lead us there!
   I have had digital rectal exams many times. It is pretty well standard procedure for a man in his fifties, if he's having regular physicals. My doctor has also regularly filled out requisitions for me to get PSA bloodwork. PSA stands for prostate-specific antigens. These particular antigens are proteins that can be measured and, depending on their levels, can be indicative of the presence of prostatic tumours.
   Part of the problem with digital exams and PSA testing, though, is that neither one is definitive in a diagnosis of prostate cancer. Digital rectal exams are only able to access the front and a little bit of the sides of the prostate gland. PSA testing sometimes will produce false positives and negatives or miss the presence of cancer altogether. That is why it is so important to have both, on a regular basis, to obtain a baseline, if for no other reason.

colonoscope

   Another procedure in the battle against prostate cancer is the colonoscopy. This involves being mildly sedated and having a long, slender colonoscope inserted through your rectum and and up into your colon. It has the ability to not only take a picture of the inside of your colon but also obtain a biopsy of anything suspicious-looking. Generally, a colonoscopy is something a doctor would recommend if any of the results of your regular PSA and digital exams suggested that there had been a significant change in your prostate. I have never had a colonoscopy but I have accompanied people to them and they are not that big a deal, believe me.
   Of course, none of the above is really "pretty". But it is necessary, if you're a man in his forties or fifties who has a family and/or friends depending on him being around in his sixties and beyond.
   Talk to your doctor and find out what your risk factors are. Talk to your friends who might already have had any of these procedures. Chances are you'll find out their experiences weren't that traumatic.
   My advice to all you other men of a certain age out there is to love the glove, don't fidget 'round the digit, don't let the hand be banned and let the finger linger! Being a man sometimes means you have to be a man!

Bloggity-blog-blog-blog!: Part Two

   In my most recent blog, I talked a little about "Neanderings"and its interaction with its readers, how they arrive at the blog and how spread all over the world they seem to be.
   I talked about how occasionally people arrive at the blog simply by doing (generally) Google searches. I even gave a weird example of a phrase that someone typed in.
   Every so often, though, someone arrives at "Neanderings" by typing in a question relating to some pressing and serious issue facing them.
   One person typed in "how to say goodbye to your child moving out". Doing this took her to a blog I wrote called "Saying Goodbye". I wrote this blog in response to a request by my sister, Jayne, who at the time was facing the prospect of one of her sons heading back out west. I guess she thought it might make a good topic and at the time I was looking for something to write about. Now, I haven't the slightest idea whether the blog was at all helpful to either Jayne or anybody else who might have read it. It is kind of like trying to find the right words to say to a person who's just had someone in the family pass away--nothing seems really too appropriate or helpful.
   Now, however, there was a total stranger out there in the world who wanted advice on something. In attempting to seek out this advice, they had ended up on that particular blog. I have no idea whether they took one look and got the hell out or whether they sat and read the whole thing through and appraised the value of the advice. Following that, I have no idea whether they found any of the advice at all helpful.
   The scary part for me is that I never really thought of "Neanderings" as anywhere a person might go looking for advice, of all things. I always tend to think of it as somewhere for me to indulge my own flights of fancy, jumping all over the place in almost a stream of consciousness manner. While it occurred to me that the things I would say might be judged, I never thought they might be considered as authoritative in any way shape or form!

   Okay, here's something even scarier. Twice, someone arrived at "Neanderings" by going to Google and typing in "corporal punishment on the bare". Now, I'm assuming the person meant to add the word "bum" or "bottom" or "buttocks" to that sentence but Google came up with something before they had the chance. Typing in this phrase took them to a blog I wrote called "Corporal Punishment". In it, I briefly mentioned once when I spanked one of my kids on his bare bottom. I then went on to talk about the perils of different forms of punishment and/or reinforcement. The gist of the blog was that it was better to talk to your kids than hit them, but that you needed to talk to them in the right way or you could do just as much damage. The scary part is that here was another stranger wanting advice or an opinion on something as serious as corporal punishment and part of that decision-making process took them to "Neanderings"! I truly had never counted on things like this happening and it has forced me to intently consider the things I write here. The fact that I always kind of try and do that anyway now almost seems secondary.
   Anyone can do a blog. You don't have to be smart, authoritative, good with the language, funny, wise or even know what you're talking about. You only need to be able to type. Sort of. Your blog can look like crap and still contain wonderful things or it can be all fancy, glossy and slick and yet be meaningless. Hopefully, as readers are flitting about from blog to blog they are discerning enough to realize the things they are reading are really only opinions, observations, musings, rantings and ravings. In the middle of all that if you find anything that rings true then file it away for future reference.

  
  

Bloggity-blog-blog-blog!

   Hello there, reader, where are you from?!

   One of the things that has made blogging so enjoyable for me over the last year or so has been the realization that people from all over the world have looked at my blog.
   Perhaps not read it, or liked it very much, or had any desire to follow it....but they have looked at it. And that's a start.
   From what I've been able to tell, they've gotten there a variety of ways.
   Most have done me the honour of clicking on a Facebook link I've occasionally posted. Some people have searched on Google Image, clicked on a picture they liked and presto, they're in to the blog! Some have typed phrases into a search engine and arrived there that way. Some "follow" the blog and receive e-mails whenever a new blog is posted and get there in this manner.

   I must admit that some people, I'm sure, arrive here by accident-- they saw a cool picture somewhere, clicked on it and it brought them to "Neanderings". Those people might not have stayed long, perhaps because they were eager to find what originally they were looking for. Hopefully, though, the "accidental" visitors found a little something interesting, even if by accident, and returned later.
   As I mentioned before, some readers have arrived here by typing phrases into search engines (generally Google) and then had "Neanderings" offered up to them, along with, I'm sure, many other websites. And some of these typed phrases have been very interesting! One person typed in "the sound of screeching". It took me a long time to figure out why the hell this might have taken anyone to "Neanderings" and then I finally figured it out--I'd written a blog months ago, entitled "Collisions", wherein I described the time I totalled my car and went on to talk about how the whole experience had gotten inside of me. And in it I mentioned the screeching of tires! Hence the connection.
   Quite a few viewers have typed in combinations of my name and "neanderings", in what seem like legit attempts to find my blog. I was quite surprised to find out that "neanderings" is an actual word--I was pretty sure I'd made it up and that it was totally original. Sadly, however, it is not. "Neanderings" is actually a woodworking term used to describe the use of hand tools, rather than power tools, for woodworking projects. It, as well, is derived from "neanderthal". Who knew?! I'm sure probably more than one carpenter type arrived at MY "Neanderings" thinking he'd found a like-minded woodworker friend out there, only to find he/she was dead wrong!
   But the most unusual phrase I've come across that brought someone to "Neanderings" was "all i care about is 2 things sex and rollercoasters". This seemed absurd and perfect at the same time! What the heck kind of a blog do I write, anyway?

   As I mentioned, the blog's been viewed all over the world--the last count was at 35 different countries. Now, you have to remember that I figure that a lot of people get there by accident and a lot of the countries have had one page view so it's not like I'm widely (or wildly) popular all over the world. The vast majority of the blog's audience are from Canada, naturally enough. Second and third place belong to the U.S and then Russia, of all places (still can't quite figure that one out...) and after that places like England and Germany, where I actually have some Facebook friends. It's still pretty cool, though, to check the stats and have places like Estonia, Saudi Arabia, China, Latvia and Luxembourg pop up!
   Post-wise, for the longest time blogs about my Dad's struggle with Alzheimer's and then his ensuing health issues and death were the most well-read blogs. I think that they became somewhat like a book or movie series, insofar as when you had read one you were somewhat compelled to read the next one and then the one after that. I also think that they were easy to identify with, many of us have had parents or other relatives go through much of the same stuff. Since my Dad's passing over two months ago, people are still reading those blogs, just about every day. The most popular blog of them all has been the one about Christopher Hitchens, entitled "Death of an Atheist". This blog gets 4 or 5 views a day, not sure why, and it might be one of those examples where people click on a picture of Hitchens and it automatically takes them to "Neanderings".

   If you title a blog "Sex" and post some provocative pics with it, you get a huge readership, right off the bat! Although I try not to use that trick too often...
   These days, I'm trying to figure out whether to start posting ads on my blog. My emotions are very mixed over this question. The last thing I really want is for people to come to my blog, see a lot of commercial stuff and then leave, never to return. On the other hand, I could use the money. And it's not so much the money but the fact that I spend so much time blogging that I almost feel responsible to try and generate some income out of it. I rarely ask for feedback on things I post but if you're any kind of a regular reader I wouldn't mind an opinion on this one, thanks!
   So that's about it for now. If you live anywhere in Africa, thanks so much for visiting, it helps the world map immensely! Anybody from Antarctica would be cool, too! Talk to you all again soon! 
  

Bullies

   I am ashamed to be a man some days. Most of the time I am not but every so often I have to admit, in the face of what I see happening in the world these days, that men are not a subset of humanity I am proud to be a member of.
   I have felt this way for a long time. I suppose the seeds of this were sown early on in a youth that was frequented by bullies and the macho posturing of adolescence. It is not that I was constantly being terrorized by them but bullies, like rogue elephants, are out there cutting their wide swaths and it is essentially impossible to avoid having to interact with them at some point.
   What grated on me was the power they had. They had the power to break things I held dear, they had the power to chase me down, the power to make me say things I did not believe, the power to change my way home. They had the power to humiliate me and my friends right in front of ourselves.
   In retrospect, we gave them more power than was warranted, obviously. As an adult, it is now a little easier to see bullies for what they were--as kids who simply were doing their best to cope with generally difficult, and, at worst, horrific conditions at home. However, when you are flat on your back, hands pinned, and the only thing that will end your torment is when the bully sees you cry it is difficult to imagine then that there are areas in his life that are horrible and over which he has no control, either.
   At a staff meeting the other day, there was a presentation on domestic violence. It was very informative, with stats showing its prevalence and results and who the main perpetrators are. It also centred on a recent case in southwestern Ontario in which a woman, Sandra Schott, who'd been domestically abused by her husband over a long period was then murdered by him. A short video was shown in which the woman's friends and family talked about all the warning signs they'd missed, while watching this relationship unfold, tragically.
   The presenter went over the list of typical warning signs. As I sat there and listened to them it was difficult not to think of a personal friend who seems to be on a similar path with an abuser in her household. In this particular case, it is not the typical spousal abuse situation but the perpetrator seems, in fact, to have usurped the spouse's role. He engages in most of the behaviours listed as being typical of abusers--slapping and grabbing and hitting, secrecy, control of the woman's ability to communicate with supportive friends, creating situations wherein she is forced to tend to his agenda, forcible confinement, verbal abuse and presenting himself as happy-go-lucky and engaging to the outside world.
   This friend of ours lives in fear of physical harm from this man and has found it necessary to adopt measures to minimize the risk to herself when she is alone with him. Counselors and friends have urged her to get the police involved. Her emotional attachment to this man makes this nearly impossible. Barring police involvement, there is very little natural consequence for him and he seems to be aware of this. It is difficult to not see this whole situation escalating to even more dangerous levels.
    One of the things that makes it difficult for us as observers is that this woman is very perceptive and intelligent. She has also been connected to a system that understands the dynamic in this case and is willing to help. She seems to have opted out, however, in many ways. Her friends are more concerned for her than I think she knows.
   It is very difficult to maintain the status quo with this man. As another man myself, it infuriates me to either watch or hear about him engaging in some of these abusive behaviours. The sense is, though, that if we don't "rock the boat" it will go easier for this woman when she is alone with him again.
   Here is part of the problem; my gut feeling is that I would like to take this man by the scruff of the neck, pin him up against a wall and get in his face like no-one has ever done before. But what would that be, apart from a frustrated man wanting to relieve his frustration in a violent, coercive way? Me, a man, doing the very thing I find so repulsive in other men!
   So, as I stated at the beginning, I am sometimes ashamed to be a man. I am also sometimes fiercely proud to be one.
    I remember sitting in a hockey dressing room with one of my kids many years ago. It was after a game, the kids were getting changed and groups of players and their parents were filtering out and going home. There was a single mother in the dressing room whose abusive ex-husband had been at the game. It was clear that she was terrified of him and it was also clear that she was beginning to panic at the prospect of being suddenly alone in a dressing room with him out there somewhere, loitering around. It got to the point where it was only her and me left in the room with our kids and she was beside herself at this point. Even though my son and I were ready to leave, I told her I would stay until she was ready to leave as well. The relief on her face spoke volumes. Me, I was feeling quietly heroic.
   But there was another angle on this. The abusive ex, who apparently was under some kind of court order to stay away from this woman, was also a man with a hockey background who had been recruited by the team to assist with some of the coaching! At the time, it seemed as though the male hierarchy on the team conveniently ignored the spouse-abuse issue. So, though I was quietly heroic, I could have been justifiably heroic and raised a stink. But I didn't. And I don't think that a lot of men do, when faced with similar situations. I am ashamed, not that I did nothing in that hockey dressing room, but that I didn't do more.
   Not all the male staff who viewed this domestic violence presentation felt comfortable with its tone and some of the stats being spouted. I gather that the feeling was that it was very slanted and anti-men. As a man, sitting there and viewing the presentation, it was somewhat uncomfortable, on different levels. Statistics generally don't lie, however. The lady presenter did say that not all the perpetrators of domestic violence are men. It's just that the stats clearly present men as being at fault in the vast majority of cases.
   As a man, this seems like a safe world to live in, for the most part. In my late fifties and still fairly active I figure that I would be totally defenceless against about 5 per cent of the adult population, should I be physically attacked. Against the rest, I would lose a lot of fights but hurt a lot of guys going down.
   This is not the same for women, obviously. I'm just pulling a stat out of the air but I'm guessing that any one woman would be defenceless, more or less, against half the adult population.
   Thankfully, I don't think many of us run our lives based on stats such as these (as unscientific as they were) but we also need, as men, to understand the underlying effect of this. In a world that may be set up to be legally, morally and ethically equal for both sexes it needs to be remembered that physically there will never be the accompanying equality. When it comes right down to it, women will be at risk.
   How much at risk they will continue to be hinges on our ability to recognize the warning signs of domestic abuse. Having recognized the signs, it is then contingent upon us to state our concerns and be supportive.
   We must also arrive at a place where we feel we can openly contest misogyny and bullying in all its forms, whether in the form of domestic violence, workplace abuse, sports violence,  schoolyard confrontations or in all other areas of our daily lives. This will never be easy, especially not the first time you need to do it. The value of it, though, is immeasurable. And the second time it will be easier.

   Bullies and abusers thrive on elusiveness and anonymity. Part of the task at hand is to strip that away from them. At the same time, it is fair to acknowledge that they became this way as part of a process. This process needs to be understood as well. It needs to be traced back to its beginnings, analyzed, and understood as much as possible. We then need to do our utmost to ensure that we recognize this in our (and all) children, from the earliest moments possible, in order to minimize its future effects on them. And the people in their lives.