*Shudder*

What’s up?

So lately I’ve been managing a project not far over the US/Canada border and have been spending 1-2 days/week working in the states – or rather commuting from our house to the site in the states. As a result, I’m getting a fair bit of experience with the whole border crossing thing. The ease of crossing seems to vary day to day. Some days, the US customs officer asks where I’m from, where I’m going, and what I’m declaring and waves me on and other days they want to know everything including a detailed description of what I do for work. The return to Canada is always easier – in fact the past three times have been so easy that it literally takes less time to get through customs than it does to pay the toll at the bridge.

Today, though, was really strange. I met up with a coworker who was carpooling with me and we crossed the border together. We let the customs officer know our citizenship (US and in his case, Canadian), gave her our passports, told her where we were going and what we did for a living. Then she asked “So what’s going on in Canada?” which was delivered in a slightly odd tone – I couldn’t decide if she was asking about some crisis she’d heard about on the radio (“What was all that I heard on the police scanner about something in Toronto?”) or just a friendly “What’s new?”. My coworker finally asked what she meant and was told “What brought you to Canada?” She seemed satisfied with the answer we both live there. Hopefully the next few projects are back in the GTA. This renting cars, driving, and frequent border crossing thing is getting old already. Of course the other side of the project – the one where I work from home 3-4 days/week is something I could really get used to fast.

Impossible Weekend

Okay, the title isn’t entirely accurate. More accurately speaking, what Paul and I did this weekend couldn’t have occurred had we stayed in the Ozarks.

Saturday Paul and I attended our first Guerilla Gardening plant. He and I met about five others at a corner at the border between a fairly quiet residential neighbourhood and a more industrial section of town. The area wasn’t terribly blighted but it definitely could use our help. The organizer cleared our plans with the people who owned the land and then we dug in, making a 2 metre by 2 metre (or so) plot that we planted with a couple of small trees, a shrub, and a number of small flowers. After we added a bit of mulch, watered it, and placed signs asking others to water it we headed out.

All in all it was quite an enjoyable experience. The other volunteers worked really well with Paul and let him help as much as any of the others easily twenty years his senior. Aside from digging large holes in hard soil, he was on equal footing with everyone else and made his contribution. It was very inspiring to do more of the guerilla gardening as well as to sign up with our own community garden to see if we can get a small plot for ourselves as I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. As we did our work, neighbourhood residents walked and rode by on their bikes stopping to ask what we were doing. All were thrilled at what we were doing. It was a definite reminder that we need to get out from our ivory tower here a bit more often.

After going to the planting, Paul and I stopped at a nearby pizza place for dinner. I had heard about this place, which serves not only regular pizza, but also pide, a Turkish adaptaion of pizza, on the CBC’s Beyond Burgers segment. We ordered a pide with all different meats though Paul was not fond of anything but the section with the feta cheese on it. Still, it was a nice place to relax and people watch a bit.

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Yesterday we made our way downtown for our third Pride Parade (if you count the one I watched on the web while Sage was there since Paul was sick) where we watched with another homeschooling family we know. The parade itself was pretty much the standard fare but still quite enjoyable. Here we had a crowd numbering in the hundreds of thousands showing their support for gay and lesbian Torontonians – well, everyone really. Sure, there were the idiots (I didn’t see any), there were the guys who insisted on clinging to and being especially affectionate with their girlfriends the sole purpose being to show how not gay they were. And as usual I found the whole thing extremely moving. Seeing the city vehicles decked in rainbow flags, seeing prominent politicians happily participating, seeing churches declaring their tolerance and even seeing elementary school teachers marching gave me both hope and great gratitude to live here. It is no exaggeration to say that I fought back tears through much of the parade and was not always 100% successful.

Yes, I realize that there is a long way to go here in Canada, and there is definitely even longer to go in places like Pakistan or Iran, or even as close as next door in the US, but I feel so grateful to see a greater tolerance than I grew up with. It gives me hope for the future. I am hopeful even as I realize that much of my perceived change in the world has less to do with the change happening in the world and more with moving not only to a more progressive country but a relatively progressive city within a progressive country.

And as much as I can’t stand advertising, I was glad to see the number of corporate sponsors at the parade. There were floats from all of the major banks, Air Canada, Motorola, and dozens of other major companies. Why am I (of all people) glad to see ads? because it does a great job of showing what the current social climate is here. The companies realize that it is not going to cause any significant loss in business by supporting the pride parade and even marketing directly to gay and lesbian people. Yes, marketing is sleazy no matter who the target, but it is a pretty good barometer in this case.

After the parade (which, by the way, lasted over two and a half hours!), Paul and I headed over to Church Street to see the family pride section and see what booths were around. The most notable thing about the family pride section was its location – in a schoolyard. And no, there were no baptists picketing either. The activities were all aimed at a crowd a bit younger than Paul but our going there accomplished one thing – we found the roasted corn stand so the trip was worth it. After eating our corn, we were both burned out on crowds and decided to join the river of people that was Church street and head towards home.

One thing Sage and I talked about when we got home was how different Paul’s life up to now is different than ours growing up. Paul, has no elementary school memories about being cautioned about how not to be a sissy, being told he was gay if he wore green on Thursday (I never knew what that meant – and what to do if St. Patrick’s day occurred then?) and being taught early on that there was a stigma to loving someone the same gender as you. He has only an abstract idea of even why there is a pride parade (curious yourself? History may be found here.), and didn’t really see anything at the parade as shocking or even worthy of a snicker. He didn’t notice the topless men, topless women, or even the occasional totally nude person wandering around. He took no notice of couples of men or women together, men dressed as women (or vice versa), or even the six foot tall woman with a completely shaved head except for an electric blue ponytail coming out of the top of her head. In fact, the only thing that got his attention enough to point it out (other than the waterfights that are a trademark of the parade) was a transvestite devil with black wings – it was a cool outfit after all.

So given all that, then why do we think it is important to take Paul? Well, aside from the good time that we all have, I want him to know that, should he decide to spend his life with another man or wear a skirt and a fabulous hairdo, that there is support out there, and that that support begins within his own family. Sage asked me long before we had Paul, how I’d feel if our child were gay or lesbian. And I admitted that I had a few concerns. I had zero concerns about him personally. My concerns were all about how cruel so many people can be from practically the age they can talk. And at the same time, I want him to grow up to be sensitive and compassionate and not be one of those cruel people.

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Last week was also a great week for meeting new people. Early last week, Sage and I met a couple of podcasters on their way through to Kingston and had a great time hanging out. A couple of days later, on my way home from work I stopped off to meet another long-time reader of this journal. I’ll respect everyone’s privacy by not divulging names, but let me just say again how much I enjoy getting together with people I’ve known for some time online. I’m so bad at meeting complete strangers and don’t really do small-talk that well either so my first hour with a complete stranger is extremely awkward. I feel much less awkward meeting new people I’ve already gotten to know some online. It helps to know that there is some common ground, and what to expect also. Of course there are a few drawbacks. I’m bad enough about telling the same stories over and over to people as I forget what I’ve told to whom, but it is even worse with an online journal. At least with real life relationships, I can sometimes remember who I told what to, but with readers, I don’t always know what I’ve written, what the reader might have read, what emails I’ve sent to them, and what Sage might also have said to them either directly, or in an entry/podcast of her own. So if you do meet me in person someday – forgive me, and feel free to stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

Photo Theme – From Kim

One of the things I did over at Myspace was to do a themed photo project that Kim came up with. I had quite a bit of fun with it though Kim and I ended up being the only participants. That said, if anyone else is interested in doing something like that give me a shout. I’m definitely up for it.

 

Kim suggested starting a photo theme of the week with this week’s theme being “Freedom”.  I looked through many of my photos and of course I almost chose the cliched (for me anyway) image of the yurt.  However, in addition to wanting to avoid being totally predictable, I wanted to choose something a bit more meaningful.

The above picture, is, indeed still from the yurt years.  But in many ways, it represents not just freedom in the sense that we experienced overall while living there, but this time in my life was probably the most free time I have ever known.

I tend to view our yurt experience as not just “the yurt years” as other readers might, but also in several separate phases within those years.  The picture above is of our first kitchen at the yurt – a simple fire, a discarded oven grate, some cast-iron pots, and a plastic coffee maker.  Unseen  in the picture is a small piece of sheet metal which I would use to shield the fire from the rain for those far too numerous times that I was called upon to cook in a downpour.

This photo was very likely taken during our first June there.  It would be my first summer without a real job.  Sage made a few hundred dollars a month doing some freelance work, and I made $20-40 here and there fixing peoples’ computers.  Often the computer repair job paid in food as well.  One client would invariably feed me a big home-grown traditional American meal of meat, potatoes and veg (all from their farm), while others instead of feeding me, offered me quantities of fresh catfish that we would then cook on this very fire.

At this stage in the game I wasn’t working during the day at all and so what I did with my day was fairly open.  Aside from taking care of Paul, and feeding Sage and I, hauling water and dealing with compost, I could do as I pleased, writing in the journal, exploring the woods, climbing the nearby “mountain” (too small to really be called a mountain).  So basically, my day was as free as most adults can hope for.

Why did I choose this over some of the later yurt years photos?  Photos where you might see a gas stove, or our used car (graciously given to us by a friend), laptop with wireless internet access, or our stacks of library books from the library 90 minutes away?  Because as we added these things to our lives, we needed more money.  When we first moved there, we could literally get by on $300/month.  However, as we added these new “luxuries”
we also increased our operating costs.  Eventually I took on some consulting work that paid well but brought deadlines back into my life.  (In all fairness it wasn’t that bad.  At first I gave them the strict guideline that I’d work no more than 10 hours/week.  This went up to 20 by the time I left.  Granted, I could do much of that in the hammock or on a road trip to Florida but still…)  All my life, one of the most clear examples of freedom in my life was freedom of choice – to wake up when I want, and to spend the day as I wished.  (how bourgeoise, I know) I was as close to that particular vision of freedom as I could be.

At this time I was also free from disillusionment.and cynicism.  At this point I had a fairly optimistic view of how the yurt years would go.  It was a vision of harmonious living with the people we shared the land with, the finding of community and like-minded people, and the ease of day to day life without a job getting in the way.  Over time, those dreams were left behind and I felt increasingly isolated and ready to leave.  Financial freedom was still there but mental freedom was not.

Today I’ve come full circle.  My bourgeoise ideal of freedom is no more.  I am now working 40 hours/week again to pay living expenses to live here in Toronto where I’m hoping the more traditional definition of freedom (as in “Exemption from the arbitrary exercise of authority in the performance of a specific action; civil liberty: freedom of assembly.” - dict.com.) is not dying as quickly as it appears to be south of the border.

The end of the myspace experiment

It was fun while it lasted but I just don’t see where I am going to go with that. So I’m going to move my one unique entry from my myspace page to here and cancel it. Sorry, Kim, you’re on your own.

Blurry Morality

So Paul has wanted a garden for a while now. He has about 8-10 plants growing in his bedroom at the moment but I’ve hoped to get him started outside. There are alottment gardens throughout Toronto but the trick is getting space and then getting a fence built without having a car to truck all of the appropriate parts to the site. So this year we couldn’t quite pull it off. However, I had an idea that perhaps we could get involved with the Guerilla Gardening group and work with them to both beautify our city and get Paul some plants out in the world he could visit. Sounds like a good idea, right?

Wrong.

It was a good idea until Paul realized that it can be technically viewed as “against the rules”. On the one hand I’m thrilled – he’s got a good sense of right and wrong and feels good about following it. On the other hand, this is, in my opinion, one of those situations where the rules aren’t ever really enforced (the city of Toronto donates compost, cops are said to smile as they walk by the gardeners, and all in all it isn’t something people mind unless you’re out there planting non-native plants in parks (which you shouldn’t be).

So my dilemma is this. I could kick back and enjoy Paul’s sense of right and wrong, or I could argue with it and possibly undermine my own future authority by saying “there are times when it is okay to break the rules.” It’s a tough line to walk. After all, I don’t want to encourage his doing actual wrong (stealing, drugs, violence, etc) by saying that it is okay sometimes to break the rules if you think it is right. Likewise, though, I don’t want to raise a child who might be afraid of civil disobedience – a sit in, or similar nonviolent protest for instance – when there is something he thinks is important enough to warrant it. Part of why we homeschool is to teach Paul to feel free to question authority, after all.

Any thoughts? Are any of you homeschooling (or non-homeschooling also) parents addressing this in one way or another?

More on my trip

As I left New Jersey on what had to one of the most beautiful days of the year, I found myself somewhat reflective. This trip to New Jersey, while nominally a business trip, also was a visit. I realized, as I passed through the clouds, that I had managed in this trip to pay a social call to myself – the me of ten years ago.

The first hint of this was when I was driving out of Edison on my first day in town. The weather was stunningly beautiful: sunny, clear and with a cool almost autumnal breeze – just as that area always remains in my mind. The illusion was so complete I almost expected to hear news on the radio of the latest bill that Clinton signed into law. At the same time I was able to crawl back into my own head somewhat circa 1996 and it was an interesting trip.

My head was a different place to hang out in in those days. There was a bit less anxiety both on a personal and global level. I had not yet developed the sense of outrage at the US government (yes, even then, there were things to be really upset about) and really at the entire world for failing to get their act together and just get along for a change. I was more playful, adventurous, and spontaneous. Back then, I would take a 50 mile detour on the way home from my work (the job already 85 miles from home) just to bring takeout from a favourite restaurant home to some houseguests and it would be an adventure, not a chore. I notice also that I had much more of a sense of wonder at the world and things in it as well. Now I still have that sense of wonder, but at the same time it is tempered with a very healthy dose of cynicsm.

At the same time, I also noticed more of a drive towards self-improvement. I was interested in learning how to cook new dishes, planting a garden in the back yard, and reading books on meditation, self-improvement, and self-sufficiency. I dreamed of someday following bravely in the footsteps of Helen and Scott Nearing. Of course in the interest of full disclosure, all was not wine and roses then. Sage and I were far worse with money, I was incredibly stressed at my job and worked insane hours, and were as likely as not to spend a weekend playing the latest Nintendo game as reading a decent book. Whoever said that hindsight is 20/20 was only talking about the parts we choose to focus on.

I realize now that after the failure of the yurt years experiment…Wait a minute. As an aside, I was going to try to find another word other than “failure” to use there but it is telling, I think, that I chose that word. Anyway, after embarking on and erm…concluding the yurt years experiment, that in some ways I have been left without a long-term goal and am at the moment trying to reconcile corporate values and my own personal values. I’m doing fairly well at the balance, but as far as having some greater goal – that something to work towards in the future, I haven’t really had one since moving to the yurt. And frankly, truth be told, I don’t really know what that goal would be were I to be forced to choose. I do know, though, that it isn’t going to work every day with 3 weeks holiday every year and a week off for Christmas. Not that I mind doing it – I am enjoying this job more than any I’ve had, but I am certain that there must be something more than this.

I actually started writing this with the intent of having it be a positive sort of entry, as overall that’s how the experience felt and continues to feel. I’m not really sure how this ended up taking the downward turn that it has. Sorry about that. Anyway, the positive point that I wanted to make was that this trip, by putting me in nearly the same mindspace that I was in back in 1996 made me realize that that space was attainable again. My current state is one not of metabolism or age or the state of the world today so much as a habit – a pattern of thought that somehow I managed to get myself in to. The trip served as the mental equivalent of opening the windows in a stuffy room. I aired the place out and realized that I kind of like it in here.

So I’m going to try to keep this mindset for a while – think a little more positively and probably start on the self-improvement train again – try to break out of the usual patterns and perhaps create some new good habits and find some more ways to have more fun at the same time.

Flying home.

Well, like George Bush, I too travel incognito. I am just about to head home from a two-day business trip to central New Jersey. Workwise it was a run of the mill trip – nothing outstanding. On the other hand, it was interesting on a personal level to go back to an area where I spent a great deal of time working back in the 90’s. Some things changed while others seemed very much the same.

Somehow while I’ve been gone, they’ve renamed the Houston airport to the George Bush Intercontinental Airport. I realize it is named after GB Senior, but it still sounds like the dictators who can’t wait until after they die to start naming things after themselves. I also noticed as I went through Newark airport that Hooters restaurants must have come out with an airline while we were gone – Hooters Air. Fortunately, things have not yet sunk to the level where that could have stayed in business.

While I was gone, also, the powers that be (corporate and government) seem to have both developed a sense of irony – either unintentionally or not. Yesterday morning at breakfast I watched CNN’s “Inside Your Business” the sponsor of the show? AT&T. Then just a few minutes ago, after clearing security, I walked past the private booths where they do the more…erm…intimate inspections. The jolly poster on the outside of the booth proclaimed “Security: It’s in Our Hands”

It’s always interesting to go back and visit places you only have vague memories of. Sage and I went maybe 4-5 times to Edison, NJ – a predominantly Indian suburb not far from New York City. In my mind it was a vibrant bustling place that stretched for blocks and blocks with lots of pedestrians, music playing and lots of delicious food. So I made a bee-line for there Sunday afternoon – first trying to go visit Madras Gardens over on Route 1 – where we had our first, and in my opinion best, dosai. Sadly, after several minutes driving back and forth, I realized that it had closed. So I went over to Oak Tree Road where we also spent some time. What I found was not blocks and blocks of vibrant neighbourhood, but bumper to bumper traffic, a handful of pedestrians, no music, and a couple of restaurants. It was still fun, and I had a delicious meal at the Chowpatty Vegetarian Restaurant but everything seemed smaller and more subdued. Except for the cars – they were more plentiful, noisier, and smellier. All in all I prefer Toronto’s Gerrard Ave.

That said, I did enjoy the food. I’m pretty sure that the demographics there are very different than in Gerrard or at Finch and Weston in Toronto. At Chowpatty I found food from Gujarat – something I have yet to find in Toronto. I was able, even, to order a plate of the best karela (bitter melon) I have ever had. The menu had all of the usual south and North Indian dishes I love but also well over 10 that I had never heard of. The same was true at lunch today when I went for lunch at Sukhadia Gokul. There I was able to get a Hyderabadi chilli pepper curry that I’d only ever been able to find in my own kitchen, a delicious baked rice dish and spelt rotla (flatbread). There may be another trip down here required sometime soon and if so I look forward to going back there.

All that said, I still had Sage’s Edison, Edison story stuck in my head.

Plane will be leaving soon. Maybe more later…

Soundscapes as music

On more than one occasion as I walk around Toronto, I have had the feeling that the city was just one gigantic musical soundscape, albiet one with some nontraditional instruments. I, in my travels from subway to platform to street to bus, acted the mixer, crossfading between the samples. The Quiet American is, I think, someone else who understands this feeling. This is demonstrated in his recording Vox Americana – a piece composed of field recordings he made in Vietnam.

Be warned, this is not the music to put on during a cocktail party, this is foreground music that deserves your full attention. The pieces on this CD (well, it’s a CD if you burn it anyway) are extremely evocative. In fact, I have to second the recommendation of the composer and insist that you wear headphones and give the pieces your full attention.

Once you’ve finished, go back and browse his site some more. He has a number of other projects worth checking out. Probably the most well-known project would be the one-minute vacations podcast – a collection of listener-submitted soundscapes from around the world.

Now I’m off to listen to one of his collaborations – this time with his wife – Annapurna: Memories in Sound.

Always look on the bright side.

I came across a web application designed to make motivational posters using one’s own images and text and couldn’t resist this one. Sage somehow manages to complain about Toronto summers even though they are significantly cooler, weeks shorter, and most of all, we don’t have to carry 150 lbs of water down a 500′ long narrow dirt path 1-2 times/day.

I guess if she were so inspired, she could make one reminding me that while it may be cold here in the winter I no longer have to gather wood, sleep on a rug on the floor next to the stove and wake up 1-2 times every night just to keep the fire going. Incidentally, the sleeping on the floor earned me the nickname of “dog by the fire” but it had its practical side. I couldn’t sleep in the bed with Sage and Paul because Paul would wake up at the slightest movement (and want to nurse, often making Sage hungry enough to want another meal at 3:00 AM). So I found that lying on the floor put me in the warmest part of the house, and also let me wake up to feed the stove without having to also feed everyone else.