Life in this alternate universe

Image credit ChatGPT

It’s been about a decade or so since I stopped writing regularly here for Headstuffing. 

Life just changed. 

A lot. Holy cow did it change. To the point where it seemed to be a parody of itself. 

Yeah, that’s about the time that Donald Trump came along and won the 2016 election for U.S. President.

And that’s about the time we all collectively fell into this black hole and went spinning on through the worm hole and were spit out into this alternate universe.

Then we had the pandemic. The pandemic that terrified us all into insisting it was true to the point where now we all question just what really happened there? 

A quick note – I have enough friends that got critically ill – close to death – so please don’t think I mean it wasn’t real – but we do have to wonder how the hell it came to be that the whole world agreed to shut down. 

And it did shut down. 

And then it opened back up – but different. You experienced it as well. And I bet for each of us it was very different in very different ways – with vague commonalities – like working from home and finding old masks in winter jackets – and not being able to toss out that left over COVID test kit in the back of your bathroom cupboard under the sink. 

When we did start going back to work in our physical office workplaces – I found myself asking those I hadn’t seen for the last year – much in the same way I would ask “how was your vacation?” or “Did you have a nice weekend?” – I would ask “So .,. how was your pandemic?” 

 Some would tell me about how incredibly stressed they were … others how bored … and others would tell me about the loved ones they lost … and yes … we lost a couple of our work colleagues as well. 

And I would feel like a jerk … because when they would ask me, I would reply along the lines of … “Frigging great, I loved it! After my wife left me and that horrid relationship was finally over and me and my daughters started figuring out how we were moving ahead I met the most incredible wonderful woman – and we joined forces and went through the most wonderful global lock-down together!”

And we did. And that wonderful woman is now my wife. And the pandemic gave us the most unique opportunity to really get to know each other.

I guess that while this alternate universe – now a decade later – doesn’t seem to be very kind to our geo-political or economic wellbeing, it has in fact been a very wonderful decade for me and Jac. But right now at this moment – this week after Easter 2026, this week after the successful landing of the Artimus 2 space mission – this month after the U.S. attacks on Iran are spiraling out of control, our alternate universe seems to be heading to an apocalyptic event that none of us could have imagined having survived the cold-war with the USSR and Russia’s attention is focused on Ukraine – and China seems to be sitting by quietly ready to take advantage of whatever opportunity such calamity could leave behind in it’s wake.

They say that each decision we make – each time were a choice exists – where more than one path is presented to each of us – that there is an alternate universe for each path or choice or decision we didn’t make or take.

I wonder which opportunity it was that brought me down this one.

Even if I knew, and even if I had that opportunity over again, I’ll tell you this quite sincerely – I wouldn’t change a thing.

The time on my hands

What do you do with three weeks off?

That’s my conundrum today as I begin the longest summer vacation I have ever taken.

In this period of global pandemic, there’s no place to go.

When I made the decision to take these three weeks off, our plan was to travel as our new group of five – Jackie and her daughter Mackenzie, myself and my two daughters Alannah and Ashley-Rae. Her family in St. John’s Newfoundland had reached out to invite us all and we all agreed to jump at the chance of such an adventure.

An adventure for sure for me and the Brill Girls, but for Jac and Mackenzie it would be a great visit back home.

Jac was telling us all of the great sites we would see – like icebergs floating down past the oceans edge of town – and the beautiful rolling landscapes – and all the great people she loves that we would meet. And we all got excited. The pictures all look so beautiful.

“We’ll drive” explained Jac, “It’s a long drive but it’s all so beautiful. And we will ride the ferry overnight to the island province”.

“How long does the ferry take?” asked Alannah.

“About nine hours, and I hate boats”, laughed Jackie. “But we will be there for St. John’s three weeks of summer”

So I booked my three weeks and two days off from work or the long trip.

And then the pandemic got worse instead of better.

Now we have rules like wearing masks in public places and social distancing of six feet and social bubbles of no more than ten people and washing and sanitizing everything you touch.

Some of the provinces in our path out east instituted rules like if you enter that province you have to self-isolate for ten days before you can carry on with your trip. How would they be able to enforce that? I don’t know. Do I want to find out? No – not with the kids with us anyway.

It would have been adventure though - like the old Smokey and the Bandit movie. Only we would be the illegal cargo instead of Coors beer.

Imagine us driving down the Trans-Canada highway – reaching a roadblock at the Quebec – Nova Scotia border – a Gleeson-like provincial police officer complete with polaroid sunglasses standing in the middle of the highway with a bullhorn for us to pull over, and Jackie swerving to the right to heading for a flatbed trailer parked on the shoulder with its rear end down on the ground – like the perfect jump ramp – and Jackie shouting to us all to “hang on – this is going to be fun”.

“Yeee-Hawww” I would shout as the SUV flew through the air.

After the airborne Dodge Durango landed with a couple of bounces, she would have to lose the RCMP chasing us on horseback she would ride down into the valley of the median and up the other side of the highway that people heading west would use – swerving between the oncoming traffic – and the moose and elk that just naturally wander out on the highway.

That would be an adventure.

“Now that’s just stupid” Jackie will say when she reads this.

“I don’t know”, I’ll reply “you’re a pretty crazy driver”

“But now we will never know” I would say before she had a chance to get mad.

Besides, the police would have caught us at the ferry anyway.

So now I’m trying hard to think of what to do for fun on this three weeks of vacation.

“Work on your house Fred” everyone will say.

Everyone will say that.

And everyone would be right. I have a list so long of all the things I need to do – both inside and out. De-tangling it from the past to open it up to the future. Rooms to clear out and carpets to clean or pull out and replace with other flooring. The garage is a horrible collection of things sat down quickly to get them out of the car or another room in the house. A couple of trees to cut down or pull out on the north side of the house. An old car to clean up and sell. A spare room downstairs to clean out to use as my work-from-home office in three weeks’ time. Painting and multiple trips to the dump.

The list is daunting. Overwhelming in fact.

Well, the problem of what to do is solved.

I wonder if three weeks is enough?

You don’t mess with the Brill Girls

Last year, my youngest daughter Ashley-Rae was determined to update her old iPhone to a newer one.

She saved her money for a couple of months and kept her eyes peeled online for a deal. Finally, by the fall she had saved up enough to buy an almost new model and she found a guy online who had what she was looking for. Ash negotiated the sale with the guy online and then came running out to the living room where I was watching television.

“Dad you have to take me over to Jake's Roadhouse for 6:00 pm” she said excitedly.

“Why?” I replied in my typical Dad fashion.

Ashley explained her desire for a new iPhone, how it was the most important issue on the planet, how hard she worked to save her money, and showed me a couple of pictures of the one she found. She was talking so fast she kept running out of breath and would take a deep breath and continue on speaking way to quickly understand some of the important parts.

So I asked her to tell me again – slowly – so that I could understand her and so she wouldn’t pass out in mid-sentence.

She rolled her eyes as if I’m the dumbest Dad in the world and began again – only this time more slowly.

We held the regular discussion about how expensive it was and was she sure she wanted to throw all her money she worked so hard for at this. And of course, being the most important thing in the world – she assured me it was. She then explained – slowly – the arrangement to meet in the parking lot of Jake's Roadhouse.

Skeptically – I agreed. And we hopped in the car to drive to the other side of town to Jake's Roadhouse.

Halfway there – on route – Ashley received a text on her perfectly good old iPhone from this seller guy.

“Dad – he says to meet him at the Smoke and Spice instead”.

“huh” I replied. It’s just down the street but my skepticism was growing.

We arrived at the Smoke and Spice rib joint and she texted the seller guy that we were here. A couple of minutes later – a well-groomed bearded fellow in a silk patterned shirt appeared in the lot – walked past our car noticing us on the way by. He opened his back door and pulled out an iPhone box. Ash and I got out of the car together as he approached. He held out the phone – till wrapped in plastic – and handed it to Ashley-Rae. She in return handed him her savings.

I reached out my hand to shake his and said softly but firmly to the seller guy “she’s worked very hard and saved a long time for that money – if this isn’t legit then I will find you”.

“It’s legit” he said with a smile and handed me a business card for a mobile phone shop in town. “You can always reach me here”.

When we got home – Ashley-Rae took the phone out of the box and started the instructions for setting it up. When it got to the point of putting in the SIM card, her SIM card was not being accepted in the new phone. So we hopped back in the car and took it to the store where Ashly-Rae bought her phone plan. An older fellow my age was working. He fumbled with it for about a half hour and then confessed “I don’t really know how to do this, can you bring it in tomorrow when the manager is here? He will fix it in no time”.

I had to work the next morning but my eldest daughter Alannah promised to bring her.

That morning, while I was at work, I received a phone call from Alannah.

“Dad, the guy here at the store says the phone is stolen”.

“How does he know that?” I asked.

“The serial number on the box is on a list of stolen phones”, replied Alannah.

I reached in my wallet and pulled out the business card the fellow had given me.

“I’ll take a drive over to this guy’s store later and find out what’s going on!” I replied.

“No Dad, I got this. Send me a picture of the card” said Alannah firmly. I did so and sent it to her phone.

“Don’t you be confronting this guy alone. Go to the police” I said.

“We’re on our way there now Dad”.

”I’m walking into a meeting now – but keep me posted okay?” I said.

I was hosting this meeting so I set up the room’s video conference to call the rest of our team in Toronto. Our team had been working together for a couple of years together so while we waited for all the participants to gather in each meeting room, I told them the story of the stolen phone. All agreed it was horrible and showed interest in the dilemma. I told them Alannah was taking Ashley-Rae to police department –and all agree that it was likely useless. And then we dove into the agenda of the meeting.

About fifteen minutes later I received a text message.

’The LaSalle police weren’t interested. Heading to the Windsor police station now’ read the message.

I told the attendees of the meeting the status update and we continued through our work session.

Another fifteen minutes later another text message arrived.

‘A lady officer at the Windsor Police was interested but couldn’t leave right now. So we are heading to the mobile phone store.’

Again I conveyed the message to the group and after a few minutes of discussion – all agreed this was more interesting than our working session. But we continued on with our work. And again fifteen minutes later – I received another message:

‘The guy who was working at the store said this guy doesn’t work there, but he told us he works at the Volkswagen dealership down the street.’

Twenty minutes later my iPhone rang. “It’s Alannah” I announced to the group.

“Put it on speaker phone – please” they all chanted.

“Hey Alannah what happened?” I asked into the phone.

She told me it was done and I asked her ”Can I put you on the speaker? I have a room full of people all dying to know how this turned out!”

“Sure!” said Alannah proudly. So I hit the speaker button and put it next to the video conference microphone.

And Alannah told the story:

“Ashley texted the fellow and told him the phone was stolen and we were outside with the stolen phone. Ashley told him either he comes out in the lot now or we are coming in and we will make a big noise about it.”

“Hold on”, said the guy.

Shortly the same bearded seller guy appeared from the mechanic’s bay of the dealership. Ashley-Rae and Alannah got out of the car and yelled ‘OVER HERE!’. The seller guy ran to his car. He grabbed a couple of boxes and came over to Ashley-Rae.

“I’m so sorry about this” he said. And he gave Ash two boxes – one was for the newest larger size iPhone in red and the other was a wireless charger. And he asked for the old phone box back.

Ash opened up the old phone box – took out her SIM card and said ‘Make the new one work first!’

The fellow unwrapped and opened the new iPhone box, started it up, answered the few questions on the screen and then put the SIM card in.

“It worked Dad!”

The whole meeting team in Windsor and Toronto erupted in a cheer.

“What was that Dad?”

“That was both Windsor and Toronto rooting for you guys” I replied proudly. “Well done”.

And the rest of two sides of the meeting chimed in with “Way to go!”, “That’s so great!”, and ”Great Job Honey!”

“Thanks!” said Alannah, “You don’t mess with the Brill Girls”.

Just like falling off a bike

I’m trying very hard to return to writing my stories here on headstuffing.

My problem is that there is just too much to say. The world has gotten so strange.

“Just write”, I tell myself. “Just write something”.

You have to start somewhere right?

“Just get back into it”.

Just start typing a bunch of words and it will all come back to you – like falling off a bicycle – right?

What? It’s supposed to be “like riding a bicycle – not falling off one?”

Okay – well which is easier? Falling off, right? No? Well you must be pretty good at it then.

When I fall off a bike the thought before I hit the ground is always “… man this is going to hurt”.

And it always does.

But I’m not going to write about falling off a bike. That would simply be a waste of everybody’s time. Mine and yours. Hell, you probably already stopped reading.

“But what CAN I write about?”, I ask myself.

“I could write about Trump?”

See there’s a problem right there. That’s all anybody talks about anymore.

It’s way too easy to discuss Donald Trump. And it’s way too difficult. How could you come up with anything new that the late-night talk show guys or the political pundits on both sides haven’t already come up with?

Well, let me give it a whirl.

I’m a John McCain conservative.

“We don’t like John McCain because he lost the election – to Barack Obama” say the Trump base. The newly proclaimed “conservatives”.

“He lost because he ran with Sarah Palin” I reply.

“But we love Sarah Palin” reply the Trump base.

And this makes you come to a level of understanding. We should have seen this whole Trump era ushered in when the Republican Party got behind Sarah Palin. “I Can see Russia from my back yard [in Alaska]” – that Sarah Palin.

Ahhhh ….

John McCain was a war hero. He was a prisoner of war (which is Donald Trump’s reason for disliking him – because he got caught). He knew how to reach across party lines, and get stuff done. That used to be considered a huge positive attribute for a politician. To work together with a colleague of a completely polar opposite point of view to come to a mutual agreement to pass a bill that benefits both sides of that opposite polarity boundary. A win-win result.

We used to call it compromise. A negotiation to a positive conclusion. But now we call it concessions. I looked it up the word compromise in an old Webster’s dictionary from 1978 that  I keep still on my bookshelf and it read: “To reach an agreement of mutual benefit by two opposing sides”

Then I looked up the definition on-line. This is what popped up:

“an agreement or a settlement of a dispute that is reached by each side making concessions.”

Concession means ‘give up’. To Concede. Not exactly a positive win-win mentality anymore.

So now, to compromise Is now to concede or give up your position.

And that’s sad.

Both sides of the political spectrum now believe this. And the negotiation tactics of the day reflect this. The left and the right. It either has to be all the way to the left or all the way to the right. The negotiation tactics of today are that there will be no negotiation with “the other side”.

You have to pick a side, they will say. And if you’re not with us then you are against us.

And the pendulum swings back and forth faster than ever before and the faster it swings the higher the end of the pendulum reaches at each swing. More extreme. Because those in the middle of each “your either with us or against us” side keep switching sides because the other side swung just a little to far on that last swing.

Right?

No Left – No right – damn it’s left again, wow did we ever go right, Holy cow the next swing left will really be extreme – and the next swing right even higher.

The momentum of it is hard to stop.

But we have to figure out how to slow this political pendulum down. We need this pendulum to spend more time in the middle.

Or civil war is going to break out.

And this swing of the pendulum is not just “an American condition”. It’s global. You see it across the world.

Look around the globe. Look at the places where the pendulum doesn’t swing it all. It always stays locked in the extreme position. Places like Iran and China. Places like Russia and North Korea to name only a few. Their political pendulums are stuck so high that if it swung on a clock face the pendulum would be frozen at one or eleven o’clock.  

Notice that these places are all the same places led by regimes where the leadership in control will stop at nothing to enforce their ways? They concede only the bare minimum to avoid a populous overthrow – like we saw in the Asian Spring era earlier in this decade. And they enforce with an iron fist.

But they all eventually fall. All that hold too tightly to power eventually lose their grip – and fall to their demise. The higher up the pendulum, the farther the drop.

Left or right. It doesn’t matter. And Those on the left will say the examples I gave above are all on the right. And those on the right will disagree and say those examples are all on the left.

No negotiation. No compromise.

Compromise means concession now, remember?

And this has happened throughout history. The result has always meant the downfall of every civilization that has come before. Every empire before us has fallen or greatly diminished to less dominant state.

Power will shift. But to others who simply want to attain the control. Sometimes on the same side of the pendulum, and sometimes all the way to the other side.

At some point we have to re-embrace the original definition of compromise. We have to get back to looking for win-win solutions to our problems.

We all have to recognize each other again. Or maybe we all need to start recognizing each for the first time?

It should be as easy as riding a bike. All it takes is balance, eh?

But if we can’t find our balance, we will fall off that bike.

And if we all fall off, man is that going to hurt.

Crazy Times

It’s a beautiful day here on this 2020 Mother’s Day.

The world seems so green and lush and healthy with the deep blue of a clear sky, the yellow rays of sunlight and the colours of the flowers springing up through the ground.

It’s hard to believe the world is sick.

Well, not the planet - but the global population of humans that inhabit our world remain under a stay in place isolation order of varying degrees.

It’s crazy.

You’re living through all of this too, so I won’t bore you with those details you already know.

As for our little family, a lot has changed.

My wife Darlene and I have have separated now for two years, amicably and there is no reason for anyone to shed a tear on our behalf, as it has a been a very positive experience for all.

My two little girls - Alannah and Ashley-Rae are now 19 and almost 18 respectively and have both become quite accomplished young women in their own rights.

And some eight months ago I met one of the most special people I have ever known and fallen madly in love with her in the process.

During the last nine weeks of pandemic self-isolation I have been working from home, my laptop set up with three monitors and a keyboard in the corner of the living room, with the honour and pleasure of working with a fantastic team on one of the most exciting projects of my career - using Microsoft Teams and Zoom to collaborate we meet online several times a day.

Alannah has successfully completed her first year of college, and Ashley-Rae participates in online classes and course material for the remainder of her senior year. If anyone in our house has suffered from the self-isolation mandate during this pandemic it has been Ashley-Rae. Her Senior Year Prom cancelled, her final year of both high school softball and dance team competitions eliminated, she, like most other high school seniors is constantly impacted by a string of disappointments.

The next disappointment is likely to be the cancelation of this summer’s travel fast-pitch softball schedule. The majority of the team’s schedule slated to play in both Michigan and Ohio in a time when the opening of the U.S. - Canada border to non-essential traffic seems highly unlikely until at least the fall, it appears apparent that this season will be another casualty,

Given my age nearing sixty, my daughters have mandated I do stay home - no shopping - no visiting - except to visit Jackie and her daughter Mackenzie - who is the same age as my two daughters - I am now homebound.

I’ll admit I spend a lot of time with Jackie, either at her beautiful home a few miles away, or here at our modest little homestead.

But there is so much unsettled in our world right now.

There are a lot of questions that will be decided by the laws of economics as the world awaits the opportunity to reopen after this shut down.

Will we ever return to a normal office work-life again is will it be the new norm to work from home? Given that there will likely be a six-foot separation rule when businesses try to move back their traditional workplaces - will that reduced optimization of office space make I cheaper to have staff work at home? What will the productivity rates of people working from home be?What will these shifts really mean to our local, provincial, national and global economies?

Will we ever enjoy going to restaurants, movie theatres, shopping malls and such places ever again? What happens to music concerts and professional sports events now?

Or will we simply open up and go back to life exactly as we left it?

To me, it comes down to confidence levels - at several levels. From the global level to open up borders depending on national confidence levels, the more local levels to determine what the safest number of people to gather in one place will be, and our individual confidence that interacting with our world is safe enough yet.

But certainly there is still great opportunities out there for those who have the skills to chase them. We are already seeing some - such as delivery services - from food to purchases - even entertainment. And the realization that we reached our technology level just in time.

And other new opportunities will arise - the most notable in my mind is to offer the skill to help companies and corporations figure out how they will pivot their business practices to survive in this new world.

But will we see the end of professional sports? The end of arena sized music and entertainment concerts? The Theatre? Will we ever again celebrate events with parades and fireworks? And how can the way we take care of our senior citizens change - because nursing homes and long term care facilities definitely need to be overhauled.

What can we afford to do?

Who knows? I don’t. But I suspect we will never again be able to feel comfortable in large crowds - at least not without masks and gloves?

But I think it’s safe to say that if your industry supports health care, delivery of goods, or any kind of internet based transactions or home improvement services, you are likely to boom after this. But manufacturing has no option but to further automate using robotics.

Our world - I believe - will be different.

And I hope that the impact to your world is more positive than negative.

The next question though - when this is all over - will be “did we handle this right?” A lot of retrospective about self isolation and personal distancing will happen - after the crisis - after we are immunized - if we are ever immunized. There will be a lot of finger pointing and blaming. And the current great divide between the left and the right will likely grow larger - as will the divide between the have’s and have not’s. And conspiracy theories - already appearing - will fire dispute in that each will claim that the other is lying or covering something up.

And the scientists will be monitoring closely how this incredible reduction in human activity has allowed this planet we live on to heal. That should be interesting. Or even more concerning - depending on what we find out.

It’s bound to happen.

It’s who we are.

And these are crazy times.

Rolling Around the Sun

This big blue waterlogged rock of ours keeps spinning around the sun.

I guess this means that time just keeps moving forward, one second after the previous one. Baby steps along.

It did so before we got here. It will continue to do so after we leave.

I find time so fascinating. It is the only man made invention that was here before we got here and will continue long after we are gone to no longer measure it. Even long after our water logged rock and our blazing sun. Even after the Milky Way galaxy that our sun orbits is gone.

It hurts my brain to think about this.

Time that I am speaking of is the measurement of consecutive moments and knowing where we are in that measurement.

Others – much smarter than I – talk about it as an entity – relationship with and a dependency on gravity. The stronger the density of gravity – the quicker time passes – supposedly proven by using atomic clocks to compare time between the earth’s highest peaks and at sea level, several nanoseconds of difference between the two.

Is that really proof, or a flaw in the mechanics of an atomic clock?

I think of this as people I know and love pass away. It’s part of that conceptual question of “what happens when we die?”

Do we continue to exist? Or is it the same thing as turning off and unplugging the living room lamp?

Well, I certainly am no Einstein.

But all things of nature are so perfectly designed. Perfectly balanced. Perfectly fit to fulfill a role. Leaves on trees stretch out to receive the sun, or collect the rain. Seeds from those trees dispersed by wind or animal or both to extend be reborn after the parent tree dies, and rots away, becoming the nutrients needed for the next generation of all things around it.

So why would our being – our soul – be any different?

We have no math to prove it. No scientific experiment to shed even a hope. We do have legends, and antidotal accounts that demand it is true. Our religions tell us it is true. But we have nothing scientific to back it up.

Our existence on this planet, our cognitive awareness that we are here and our interaction with the world and the thoughts – thoughts is the key word – our perception of what we see and smell and taste and feel, combined with our emotional responses – that’s what makes us … us.

It’s brilliant. So if everything else produced by nature is regenerated again – lakes to gas to clouds to rain to water as food to lakes again as an example why would we just assume that the lights go off when we die?

That seems too easy an answer. But scientifically it is the only conclusion we can make so far.

We have no data to support anything else.

I used to have a boss named Bob. Bob would never say that we didn’t know anything or couldn’t do anything without adding the word “yet” to the end of the sentence. It was always a challenge to learn. The subtle instruction was “go figure it out”.

I loved working for Bob.

And I don’t believe the lights go off at the end. Maybe our consciousness doesn’t continue in a manner that remembers the existences before – maybe it all gets rewired – re-used somehow. Maybe we do get planted elsewhere. Around and around again and again – waiting for the right opportunity to develop to exist.

Just like our big rock spinning around the sun, once molten lava, then drenched with water, then frozen, then thawed, then green with life and then the next thing – whatever it may be. And whatever it may be again after that. And after that again.

We just really don’t know … yet.

And before I close this – please do not pummel me with comments about heaven or hell or reincarnation. Those are ideas, perhaps even theories. And their truth to you is directly related to the amount of faith you have in those beliefs.

I am not here to debate or even question your faith. Honest.

I’m just reiterating that as a collective, we don’t know …

Yet.

But when we pass away, then will we know?

I sure hope so.

Conceding the Gap

It’s interesting how the generation gap makes itself evident every once in a while.

Sometimes it’s even kind of awkward.

One evening after work last week, I was unwinding with a drink, my iPad, and a Bluetooth speaker on the back deck by the pool. I have tons of old music loaded on a media server that sits in the living room, but no matter how much music I add, I never seem to find the music I am in the mood for at a given moment. I never really know what I'm in the mood to hear until I hear it.

Such was the case this evening.

So I switched the setting of my app to simply play random selections in “shuffle mode”.

One song comes up from a live Bruce Springsteen concert album. You can hear the cheers and crowd noise in the background and then the base guitar kicks in hard with a familiar repeating riff interrupted by the smash of drum and cymbals  between each. And then the Boss starts in …

I’m driving in my car …

I turn on the radio …

I start pulling you closer …

At that point my youngest daughter Ashley-Rae comes out, bored from a summer day with nothing to do, and sits down beside me.

“Ash, this is a great great tune … listen …” I said to my fifteen year old who thinks music before 2012 is too old to be bothered with.

I hit the double arrow icon on the tablet to start the song over. The crowd noise rises again as it did before, and Ashley-Rae sits patiently to humor me.

I’m driving in my car …

I turn on the radio …

I start pulling you closer …

But you just say No ….

You say you don’t like it …

But I know you’re a liar …

Because when we kiss … ohhhh …

Fire …

“Dad, is this song about rape?” asks Ashley-Rae.

“Huh? What? No …. No no no”, I stammer … shocked at this twist, not sure if she’s teasing me or seriously asking. “No this about when a man … you know … and he thinks the girl is playing hard to .. you know …”

And I stopped.

“Dad, no means no”.

“Uh yeah – yes it absolutely does … “ remembering my audience is my very pretty fifteen year old daughter that I am very proud to hear say this back to me.

“So is this song about rape?”

At that moment the neighbor lady across the corner came to the back gate announcing her arrival with “Hellloooo?”

Perfect timing. I jumped up and hurried my way to the arbor gate and let her in. She was asking to borrow a garden tool. I found it surprisingly quickly in the shed and as I was handing it to her I asked “Hey do you remember an old Springsteen song … “I’m driving in my car …”

“I turn on the radio …” she continued and she sang the next two lines as she did a little dance.

“Ashley-Rae just asked me if that song is about rape …”

The nice neighbor lady looked up at me surprised. “huh?” and she started to sing the next lines … “ohhh … gee … I don’t know … it’s such a great song … how do you handle that?”

At that moment that I realized that whether or not we thought it was a great song or not didn’t matter.

“ASH” I yelled, hoping she was still outside.

“Oh hi miss Melinda”, she said as she appeared around the corner.

“I asked miss Melinda, and she agreed that the song is about rape”, I said and the nice neighbor lady played along by nodding, accepting her new stance, understanding why.

“Okay” said Ash as she spun back around to go back in the house. “Too bad though, it’s a pretty good song”.

Oh and Four and a Wedding

My daughters’ fastpitch softball has been over for about a month now. The season ends way too soon for me.

This was the year they would have more talent than any other year before. A team of strong bats, and team of strong defensive players. But for some reason the team never got on that roll we were all waiting for.

Both my daughters played for this team.

A team of 16 year old's with the exception of my daughter Ashley-Rae who didn’t turn 15 until the final week of the provincial championships.

Ash had a break out year, earning outright the second base position. And moving up to the top half of the batting order. She made clutch hits, she made clutch plays.

Alannah – my eldest – did not pitch her best this year. She blamed a tough school year, her new part-time job, and my inability to catch her pitching practice due to a leg infection I fought off the first half of summer.

Excuses. Teenage girls.

There were some highlights – at least for me as a sideline dad.

There was the beautiful double plays from Alannah at third to Ashley-Rae at second to McKay at first. I got one of them on video – well – I have the ground underneath the plays on video – I was too busy watching.

There was Alannah’s home run – which I also have on video – a hard swing at a fastball up around the letters she caught square on the barrel. In the video it looks effortless – all she was looking for was a line drive for a base hit, but it flew over the right center field fence with barely an arc.

There was another game in Toledo – the girls playing an elite Michigan team – down by three – with Ashley-Rae hitting a line shot off the fence in left field to bring in two runs – followed by Alannah hitting a line drive the opposite way to right off the fence to bring in two more – one of them being Ash.

Great moments for this Dad.

In my years of being a Dad on the sidelines I have mastered the ability to cheer humbly for such things – cheering for the team, not for my girls – I do that privately with them when it’s over. And never to be the loudest parent cheering. The humbler the better.

This year we also had some coaching challenges. One of the coaches was the boyfriend of the manager. Our manager was and still is a great player in her own right in her own day, and just now coming into her own with this squad of four years together. I hold her in the highest regard. One day she was running the bases as the team was working on those “where to throw the ball under what circumstances” situation defensive skills sessions. In a run down, one of the girls tried to make her throw too quick and caught the manager right in the mouth. A hard thrown ball, the manager couldn’t hide her pain. As she went to the side to recover, the boyfriend coach gathered the group into the middle and used every swear word in the book to chew the group out for this accident.

Every word you could imagine was used.

Every parent attending behind the fences heard every word of the obscenity lased diatribe strung together as only swearwords can be that makes no sense but gets the anger across.

That was never forgotten.

In the following weeks – one night sitting outside the hotel in Toledo, I asked the boyfriend coach about this over a beer.

“I have been to many clinics and workshops and listened to many great coaches talk about being a great coach”, he said justifying, “and they all say that you should be very supportive during games – but a real prick in practice”.

“And you think this works then?” I inquired – suggesting he should re-think his pontification.

“I have coached elite boys in hockey and baseball …” he started.

“I have coached and raised girls”, I replied, “and that shit don’t work with girls”.

“Well it’s getting late”, he said, and went back inside.

I tried.

We had yet another challenge this year as well. My wonderful cousin whom I consider a niece although she considers me a cousin was getting married. We received the invitation the summer before, and my girls – never having been to a wedding yet – were very excited. The date was a Sunday in late July.

It was in Kitchener, Ontario.

Shortly after we received the wedding invitation, the date was announced for the next provincial grand championships. It was that same weekend – the final games to be played on that Sunday. But which town in Ontario was going to host them was still unknown.

“It’ll work out – it always does” I told the girls, because it’s true.

In late April the decision was made that the Grands would be held in Stratford – a tiny town known to the world for its Shakespearean plays … and yeah … it’s the home of Justin Bieber.

Stratford is only 45 minutes away from Kitchener. And since hotels in Stratford in the summer are so hard to get – we would stay in Kitchener.

“There ya go”, I said to the girls.

“Great Dad, but we will be playing Sunday, we are better team this year, and we always make it to the Sunday final bracket”.

“It’ll work out”, I promised. “It always does”.

The week before Grands, the girls played in a warm-up tournament in Brantford, Ontario, the home of The Great One … Wayne Gretzky.

At sometime early in that tournament the coaches were warned for “chirping the umps” from the bench. It was the boyfriend coach – the one who was being supportive of the girls during games. Balls and strike and safe and out calls were all being questioned.

After that first game, the team received a “bench warning” sometime during that first inning of each game following. The word was out, the umpires were not putting up with this guy.

Games were played – more lost than won, and we exited Branford early Sunday morning.

The next weekend – we headed to Stratford.

The truck was loaded down with ball equipment and canopies and lawn chairs and coolers and medical bags and suitcases – and dress bags and make-up kits and suit bags. Twice our normal cargo – because we had a big wedding to go to.

The first inning of the first game, our pitcher was throwing fine, but no strikes were getting called on close pitches. The boyfriend coach chirped. The bench warning was administered. These were the same umpires from last weekend.

The Saturday afternoon game came due. The girls had to win this game to earn a spot into the Sunday bracket. A record of three losses and no wins of course put them below the cut-line. A win here might still get them in to the bottom seed.

In the first inning – they hit our starting pitcher hard, and after she took a hard line drive off the knee cap, she was done and injured on the bench. Alannah came into pitch – knowing that she would not get a strike called unless she threw it right down the middle of the plate. Balls on the corners, drop balls and risers were all called balls. So as hard as she could she threw fastballs down the middle. And they hit her all over park too.

Finally the boyfriend coach said something about a pitch that caught the inside corner. The ump stepped from behind the plate and took two steps towards the dugout and said “It was this far inside“, holding his fingers an exaggerated distance apart.

“Sure it was” mumbled the boyfriend coach.

“You’re outta here!” screamed the ump who whirled around with his arm in the air.

The manager stepped out to try to talk to the ump – but before she got both feet on the field he whirled back around and yelled “You too!”

With both the manager and the boyfriend coach gone, our remaining two coaches – both with more experience alone had than most of the opposing managers and coaches in the tournament, led our girls to a comeback – rallies were countered by the other team’s rallies. Great defensive plays on both sides. And the gap was being closed by our girls. But no close calls went our way, and the strike zone for our pitchers remained the size of a keyhole. And in the end – our girls fell short. But not for lack of trying, and not for lack heart.

And it was over. They were done on the Saturday afternoon.

And in the car, Alannah muttered “well, at least we know we can go to the wedding”.

“I told you it would work out darlin’, it always works out.”

The wedding was awesome, but that deserves a story of its own. 

The Smoke Obscuring the Horizon

Where there’s smoke, there’s confusion.

North Korea is threatening. So is Iran. The Middle East tensions are now global. Racial tensions have reached a boiling point again. Something’s up with Russia, but for now it's speculation.

And our climate is changing.

And the rich are getting richer.

The history revisionists have their quills wet with ink, wanting to rewrite what the world already went through to make it more palatable to the masses.

Where there’s smoke there’s fire. And man, there’s a lot of smoke.

Man there’s a lot of confusion right now.

Where there’s confusion, people make blind choices. The smoke of the confusion is blinding.

Blind choices make one search out a side to join. There is safety in numbers. You have to say you agree with one side or the others views – facts are dismissed as alternate facts – you have to buy in before you can join a side.

Man the water is really murky. The media forces the people to make murky choices.

You either like team CNN or you like team Fox News. Or you have given up on both.

You read, but the papers and the new media of the internet make you choose the same teams.

People who were moderate now are taking firmer stances on the left or the right – succumbing to the forces pushing them there.

The common definition of what is right and just is now not accepted as right and just for some. The Alternative Truth.  Ignorance is complimented by laziness. Thinking is just too hard. People beg to be told what to think.

The real truth lies somewhere down the middle – and we all know that. But to go with the flow, the path of least resistance takes one down the road in quest of the approval of the side you chose, you dismiss what you know as reasonableness.

Reasonableness is just not sexy. Reasonableness doesn’t sell.

Extreme sells.

Say all this took place on a stage. A world full of actors. A global play, or a global wrestling match and the world is the ring. Twists and turns of plot. Overacted and deliberate but grandiose wresting moves and dirty foul play.

It all makes reasonableness look boring.

But say you could look down on this stage. Remove yourself from the scene. Perch yourselves above it all – sitting on a rock in a cool breeze as you watch the world unfold. And you quietly contemplate what it is you are really witnessing.

Is this the start of the end?

The pot on the stove is starting to boil over.

People are pissed. On both sides. All over the world. People have had enough of what was. They want what should be – again based on the side you have chosen to dictate what should be.

Is this the crossroads that will determine what kind of people we become? Yes.

Does America traverse this crossroads alone? Or do we all get caught up in the wake. Do we all go through this metamorphous together, or do we all change based on how the falling dominos impact us directly.

We all go through it together.

What will this world look like when we come out of this change? What is the world my daughters will grow up in?

Will this world make it through this?

There’s a lot of rash threats flying around out there.

And there’s a lot of people vying for attention.

All thoughts are now broadcast worldwide in a mere second. Twitter and Facebook and Instagram are the new network news. And everyone is an anchorman.

The world now truly is a stage. And yes, we are now truly are all actors.

But I wish I could read ahead in the script and see how this all ends.

But it’s just too damn smoky and too damn murky.

The masses will follow the path of least resistance. You see the path, it always flows downhill. If the flow builds up to much speed it will crash at the bottom.

And then, only then, will the world come to a more common conclusion. 

Ode to the Eccentric Computer Programmer

I’ve been in the IT industry for 30 years now.

The most memorable people I have worked with have been software developers.

I’ve seen the change from guys wearing white short-sleeve dress shirts with pen protectors in their breast pocket and thick black rim glasses punching holes in cards and running them through card readers to compile the code to run on the only computer in the company or institution, to guys wearing ear-bud headphones listening to their playlist of death-punk rock as they pound out code on the keyboard and reviewing it on the top middle monitor out of six that wrap around their workstation.

And while it seems like these guys are totally different, they are in fact the same guy.

They don’t live in the same world we do.

Their view of art is code that compiles cleanly the first time and passes every unit test without fail. 

They dare the testers on the QA team to find a bug, and offer them a reward if they do.

They tell jokes using binary code and tape them to the office fridge, taking joy in the fact that nobody else understands it, let alone gets the punch line.

They stay late. They come in early. They would rather be at their workstation than out in the world of social interaction. They decorate their workstations with strange posters and knick knacks of comic book heroes and science fiction space ships. They greet you with the Vulcan salute of the raised hand with the middle two fingers spread apart.

They speak perfect Klingon.

They only venture out in public when a new Star Wars movie is opening, fully dressed in their best Darth Vader, Storm Trooper, or Jedi Knight costume – but they look nothing like the character. And the weeks afterwards are spent dissecting the movie, where it betrayed the historical knowledge of that universe, and how they believe it should have been scripted.

These people are different.

They are committed.

They should be committed. But we need them.

I have known so many of these guys.

They care little for the real happenings in the world.

They do not pay attention to or are oblivious to the office politics that arise in every IT department.

They are loyal to the systems they create, not to the leadership of the team. And they will defend their creations to the death if they have to, often grabbing the nearest light sabre at their desk to defend themselves, leaned against the wall next to the skate board they rode to work that day.

And when you do convince them that there is really and truly a bug in their code, using rational they understand and test case scenarios targeted specifically at that trouble spot, they have it fixed before you can return to your desk, and unit tested, and promoted to the staging environment, and they appear as you sit down with your fresh cup of coffee that you poured on your way back from your desk expecting you to test it right there and right then to prove to you that it works – and for you to take back all those mean nasty things you said about the quality of their compiled application.

If they could, they would promote right into production. After all, to them, it’s more important that the world uses their code in perfect condition than any of that pomp and circumstance layer of protocol, process and paperwork that a production release entails.

“Just let me deploy it”.

And they debate the requirements that you gave them, and explain to you again and again how your requirements are really wrong, and this is what the code is supposed to do.

And when there is a problem someplace else in the system, an application that is not theirs, they dive into that problem like a wake of vultures attacking a now dead possum on the side of the road – looking for the bug, and telling the unfortunate programmer responsible how to fix it, and sharing between them the comments of how stupid the bug was to begin with.

And they hate peer reviews.

I love these guys.

But it’s hard to keep these guys around.

They move on. Usually for the next most exciting project they can find, or for an environment that sees their odd behavior as pure genius. They want cool stuff to work on, and your respect of the obvious fact that they are the very best there ever was.

They rarely move for the money. Or the benefits.

These guys can drive you nuts.

If you should find yourself out in public with these guys, like at a Friday lunch at the local hangout, or a team building night out at the local watering hole, you will find yourself quietly sitting, looking at your watch or your phone, waiting for this genius to finish regaling you with their word by word dialog re-enactment from the scene from Star Trek Wrath of Khan where Spock dies inside the chamber that powers the warp engines and Kirk watches helplessly outside.

And in that restaurant, this brilliant programmer will end their re-enactment by screaming “KHAN!!!” at the top of their voice, and once they get their breath back, state “I love that scene”.

They don’t make movies about these guys. At least not where they are the central character. Who would pay to watch a guy sit at a keyboard, staring at a monitor, shaking their head to the beat of the guitar silently playing through their ear-buds.

Okay, there was Zuckerberg in The Social Network. But he was rarely at the keyboard.

And he’s a billionaire.

A rare find to see the guy who wrote the code wind up in charge and with all the money. Ask Bill Gates or Steve Jobs who wrote the code.

So Zuckerberg is an anomaly.

There should be a story about a team of these guys – all as eccentric as I have described – faced now in a world where there is no electricity or computers – and they have to survive.

I’d pay to see that movie. Even before one of these eccentric fellows put it up on Kodi to stream for free.

Now, before I get an inbox full of women saying “Hey, dipshit, women are programmers too ya know!”, let me just say that in 30 years, I have never met an eccentric female programmer. They have been brilliant, but not eccentric. They are highly organized persons who can juggle many things at one time, understand the requirements without you having to specify them, and their code compiles and runs as perfectly as their male eccentric counterparts.

But I haven’t met even one yet that is nuts.

And these guys are all nuts.

And I love them for it.

I just don’t want to have one for a roommate.