How’s That Working?

Did you notice that no one can BS their way through anything anymore? Someone pulls out the phone and Wikipedia and Google sort out the details. So why do we trust them?

I have a friend (a regular blog reader) who dislikes texting because it’s so impersonal and hard to read nuances of meaning with just straight words. At least that is between two people who know each other.

Why the bloody hell are world politics being shaped by Twitter? Really? Who fact checks before they shout out their opinion? Seems anyone can say anything and start a significant spiral of events. Take that idiot south of our border; the one we should build a wall across so he can’t see us. Now Saudi Arabia is after us. I truly don’t understand why more thought isn’t put into these words that have power. My words in Twitter rarely get a response. The odd like button.

Talk about like buttons, “they” say that Facebook feeds you items based on your like buttons. Is it true or not true? I used to use my cell phone for it but have decided it just upped my devise usage so at the end of the day I spend a timed 15 mins on the computer. So I often miss news or is that just because Facebook has decided I’m not to see their stuff? It’s very true that you see the same 20 people’s updates regularly and others you rarely see unless you go looking. How many thousands of people work for Facebook and troll through each person and adjust whom we see and what advertisements reach us. I know it’ all about algorithms but it’s annoying.

It’s spooky how you can look something up on your lap top and then on your cell you get an advertisement for that item. It’s like we are constantly being tracked and monitored. Like our freedom to chose which friend we chat with is scrutinized.

I know two young woman who have signed out of Facebook but are still on Instagram. Owned by the same company but it’s seems vastly different. Funny hash tags. Pictures. You chose who you follow and you see their photos chronologically. The odd advertisement here and there but they are easy to ignore.

I know there are a ton of other social media sites out there. I see names but I have no concept at all what’s in, what’s cool and what’s hot; so to speak. I’m not sure I intend to find out.

In fact some days I feel like giving up on keeping up via social media. Now our staff scheduling is done via a closed group on Facebook and email. I usually see the stuff about 24 hours after it is pertinent as I don’t do emails on my phone. I look at Twitter if my power goes out so I can get the SPower update for my area.

I’m also at a crossroads when it comes to blogging because Facebook will no longer support my posting on the site with a direct link. I have stuck up my blog addresses there and suggested that following the blog site would be the easiest way to know if I post. It’s no doubt I will have a lot less readers without an easy link to follow. Which has lead me to examine many aspects of blogging for the last two weeks.

It has lead me to examine why I write and who I wrote for. I love words, I love writing what flows through my brain onto the screen. I love connecting with my readers through my words. I love leaving my “mark” via my thoughts.

I have a few regulars who leave comments and check in regularly. That’s working for me. Turns out those followers will read my words. The rest of the rest of the World Wide Web will perhaps see them occasionally. So be it.

Bernie

Just under the wire

Early last autumn I commenced making something that really had no major timeline (in the foreseeable future at that time) but had been a concept in my head for about 3 years.

I’d work a way a bit and then set it aside. Then one day it all went to hell in a Continue reading

Here’s the Thing

So here’s the thing. What do you do when you blow a commitment? Try and pick up the pieces or just like walk away? I had thought tonight was the night to catch up but it’s not. Other stuff called – time sensitive things like Continue reading

The “Belle”

Sometimes the first attempt at a new task results in a sense of frustration and let down when it doesn’t go as well as planned. The choice then is to give up or go back and revise the process to find success.

I’m excited to report that I didn’t need to Continue reading

The “Story”

They sat, side by side, anchoring the material together alongside their sisterhood. Shaded from the autumn heat by the veranda, their cane chairs creaking as they stitched. The quiet conversation lost to the sound of the crispy colourful leaves rustling in the breeze. The scent of fall in the air hidden by the tantalizing aroma of the turkey roasting in the oven. Much earlier in the day the brothers had dispatched, with minimal wasted movements or chatter, that job. Now they were tidying up after the harvest season and anticipating how tasty supper would be.

Thanksgiving on the farm meant turkey and dressing but also apple salad, turnips and pickled carrots. The pumpkin pies, handcrafted by the mother, were cooling and the morning milk had been separated for whipping cream. The likes of which could not be found in a store, ever.

The farm sits nestled back from the road with the tall red barn beckoning the prosperity that these second generation farmers were enjoying.

100% of what I have written is conjecture except that implies someone like an expert witness who can draw conclusions. What I’ve written is a romantic vision of my ancestral home deep in the heart of Midhurst County Ontario.

The two women on the porch are my grandmother, Jean Boady Spence, and her sister Eunice. In the fall of 1916 they would have been intently sewing on her trousseau and wedding gown as her wedding was set for January 1917. Her mother, that my dad remembers as grandma Spence, would have been overseeing their activities. Were all four brothers still there, of that I’m uncertain. I’ve never done a World War I search to see if Ernest, Harvey, Jim or John served overseas but being from a farm perhaps not. I don’t recall any family stories from my dad or uncles about relative in the trenches.

I also know that my Bompa, Henry Norman Dunn, was born in Ontario and moved west with his brother, Jo in 1904. How he met my grandmother my mom and I do not remember if indeed we ever knew. We do know he went east to marry her and returned in the spring to Ogema, Saskatchewan. But sometimes the barren facts seem so sparse that I like to daydream of stories and scenes from their life.

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Which begs the question of why I never asked my Nanna her life story. She died when I was 22 so I had ample opportunity but somehow at the time it didn’t seem important. So now I am drawing out stories from my mom, looking at my scribbled notes from talking to my dad and hitting the internet to see what it says. Apparently it’s good to have a unique name.

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But now the details lay lost in time. Tidbits remain have forgotten half remembered by a few relatives. So much becomes blurred as time marches on and yet the old photos remain. Sadly there is no one to point out who is who. But is it important?

I find myself grappling with this question on a threefold front.

As a new grandmother I wonder what will be remembered of my life and times after I am gone. Will our grandchild(ren) know how her grandparents met or where they were married? What info will have been passed along and what will have slipped away into dust.

But I’m not being just morbid here because sharing and knowing your family history is like your own tree of life. And the second front demonstrates that. My dad’s younger sister moved to British Columbia in the early 50’s so her children didn’t get to do family suppers and holidays with a big family. They weren’t, intrinsically on an absorption level at the dining room table, exposed to the same amount of family lore. I started back down into the family tree because of a request from my BC cousin. Her mom is gone now and so when she needed some info for her son’s upcoming wedding she turned to the prairie cousins. I had the info because I’m interested and love the bigger “longer” picture backwards.

Which is why, on the third front, I’m saddened. On my mother’s parental side we’ve had world wide reunions since the 1980’s. The England Canada visiting started during the second world war with my Uncle, continued with his cousin to Moose Jaw and then my mom to England in the 70’s. Our Bowyer Bradford side was having a family gathering in Riverhurst and when two Ontario cousins and the English/Auzzie cousin showed up a world wide theme was born. Every five years we travelled somewhere; Australia, England, Ontario or good old Moose Jaw or Riverhurst. No one this year wanted to host in Ontario and I was seriously tempted to myself even though it would be hard from a distance. We created such good connections from our reunions and fostered ties that were forged before 1900 in Bottisham England.

Four generations of Bradford’s

I guess times change and people move on. If we keep the individual family connections up then Baby A will remember going skiing at her grandmother’s cousins place in Castelgar or Spencer will remember getting together with Felicity in Liverpool. Those threads of memory can bind us together.

Bernie

Inventor’s Idea?

It all started with an old picture and an ice pack. Which indeed seems kind of random even for me as I write this. The ice packs have been getting a serious work out at our house in the Continue reading

Zoomer It

If you think I’ve lost my marbles with the title I can tell you I’m not making this up. It’s a real word and a growing industry. Seriously. Zoomer.

A boomer is a zoomer if they want to be. Well why wouldn’t you? Who wants to be an old boring boomer worn out with no zip from too many years of work.

Look at the cover of the Zoomer magazine, which I borrowed from the outpatient clinic lab waiting area (still with my long work story maybe later tale) and tell me this isn’t an industry waiting to explode.

There is a carful of boomers around every corner. We are the biggest demographic and apparently we are going to bankrupt the country when we all want our pensions. We’ve worked hard and don’t want to be old yet. We embraced technology, for the most part says the woman trying to master the three remotes in the basement, and don’t want to go out to pasture yet. So we created a new category and have zipped ourselves into it.

Now I borrowed the magazine because I wanted to read the article about anaesthetics and elderly patient. Purely from a professional interest to see if the main stream media is saying what the docs I work with are reading and what I see in the real world in the “theatre” ( fancy word for operating room).

And then today, somewhere in one of my feeds, I saw this article below. I couldn’t find the actual link for it but it does quote the WHO. And in essence it’s saying that boomers are now zoomers.

So there you go except for one thing.

And with ageing does come wear and tear on the “vessel” that we use to zoom around in. And today I feel older than the above mentioned chart classification of young. Mostly because I had my arthritic thumb joint injected because the pain is interfering with work and life. Of course the long-term issue is that I have less strength in it which is probably more significance than the pain but that’s not what this blog post is about.

This post is about staying fit and active. Being the kind of grandparent that gets down on the floor and plays. It’s about keeping up with technology but not being ruled by it. It’s about pacing ourselves while still challenging our own status quo.

Now excuse me while I stop pecking away with one hand and go ice my hand. Stop in with your comments and opinions about your “demographics” and mantras!

Bernie