To thine own self be true

A classic comedy-mystery-romance set in Paris starring the very funny, charming Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn, with strong support cast-acting by Walter Matthau, James Coburn, and George Kennedy. The Peter Stone script is quite entertaining without the usual sex and coarseness of today’s insulting, so-called comedies. Director Stanley Donen keeps a great flow throughout punctuated by the delightful playfulness of the two stars. Highly recommended for anyone who thinks old films can’t be fun and suspenseful.

Halloween dark

Data Integrity Analyst-daughter as Crayola crayon

IT blog guy/Systems Consultant as mad professor

with panda pal (Halloween)

Every day, I read about at least 3-5 major changes going on in the country, Edmonton, and in biz. Today, for instance, My female barber is moving to new digs and parting company with her biz partner. The Filipino boy-cashier I talked to afterward at Shopper’s is only temporarily in retail on his way to a nursing program which has made his doctor-mother proud of his career choice. I told him, “That’s easily one of the best, most important, and necessary jobs in our society. Helping others who can’t do for themselves. Taking care of them, seeing to their recovery and release. Compassion is something hugely lacking in many people and our society these daze. You’ve made an excellent fulfilling career choice.”

On a more mundane level, Scotiabank is cutting 1,000 jobs in Canada with a snap of the fingers, and closing locations in an effort to, greedily, make more money while turfing good, loyal employees–a pattern very common in the biz world these daze. As Dylan Thomas put it, “Hands have no tears to flow”. Think of all the lives ruined and the scramble for what few available jobs remain out there in a downsized employment market.

So two kinds of changes: the good personal ones with risk and potential for growth and personal fulfillment. And the bad ones, usually in biz, waging war on the good responsible workers all for the obsession with the almighty buck. So much for gratitude and empathy (never mind sympathy). (Business) nature red in tooth and claw.

One thing about teaching is that you meet a lot of young people, know them briefly for several months to varying degrees, and then they’re generally gone. I remember being on a Penticton beach during summer break enjoying a sunny day with my young family and then I heard that unexpected voice that sometimes conjures fear in teachers–“Hi, Mr. Davies!” Well, so much for privacy and the inimitable workings of process, quite independently of oneself. I used to be stopped in many different places–on parking lots, in grocery stores, in farmers’ markets, at the theatre, at the symphony, etc. But not as much of late as many of the kids I used to teach turn anywhere from 61 to 28. And last Saturday one found me, stepping fatedly out of the mists at 7/11 when I went, as I am wont to do, to buy the two T.O. weekend papers.

He was simply a big, friendly-looking guy wearing an Edmonton Esks shirt. So I was surprised when he waited and held open the door for me–untypical polite behavior from a 40ish sports fan. “Excuse me sir, did you used to be a teacher?” “Where did you teach?”

And so it unfolded. B. turned out to be as nice, friendly, and curious about my intervening years since 1993 when I apparently taught him, and then he opened up about the big event of his life–as an oil worker in 1999 Ecuador where he was captured and force-marched by terrorists through the jungle for over three months. An amazing story as the media tells it, too. A nice kid from Scona who encountered terrorism up-close-and-personal over a decade before ISIS came to the world’s attention, a young guy who survived until the ransom was generously paid by the U.S. (this doesn’t happen much anymore) before the banditos starting killing them one at a time as they threatened.

It was clear his adult life had been defined and changed forever by that significant media news story somewhere off in the malaria-ed jungles where most of our morning bananas come from. He spoke of his fear of going to Mexico these daze and was amazed at other oil workers who continue to travel to dangerous places in South America, sometimes living in windowless compounds the size of that 7/11, wearing bullet-proof vests. But somehow, B. had remained intact and he laughed a number of times as I commented how ironic and absurd the world was–something he easily concurred with based on his near-tragic, near-fatal interlude of extreme fear.

He shook my hands enthusiastically three separate times–he was very happy to see me after all these years, and I told him I was really glad he had ‘made it’ and that he was obviously a good guy. Although he lives on the north side of town now, he was back that morning on the south side, stopping at 7/11, possibly on his way–I figured out–to his parents (he didn’t speak of having a wife or family of his own). A chance meeting–he had brought the world to me that morning, a distant world that one only typically reads about or sees on t.v.

“What are the odds?” I ask myself when these sorts of dramatic moments occur in an otherwise peaceful life these daze. And I continue to go with the flow of processes apparently separate from, but periodically interwoven with my own. I was witness to another’s story and it worked for him positively as much as it did for me–reopening my eyes to how close we all are and sometimes remain despite the upheavals of time and geographical separation. It, too, was a matter of the significant past come to bear unexpectedly on the flow of the placid present in a memorable, unforgettable way. An important, necessary contact had occurred when and where least expected.

We parted to carry on with our biz and I picked up my papers, ironically, with the latest news on the Parliament killer and ISIS on the front pages. But I shall likely never peel another Ecuador banana for breakfast in the dead of incoming winter without remembering that powerful one-time human contact with one of the many good kids I used to be fortunate enough to teach at Strathcona High School in a galaxy far, far away.

Flash to the future and a screen-kid from today, retired, being loaded onto a wheelchair, (as a result of a sedentary screen lifestyle) for a retirement home bus heading out to the mall for a day trip, recalling his/her rich fulfilling life, sitting in front of screens 24/7 (“Thanks, Mom and Dad”), never going outside to play when s/he was a kid, forever divorced from Nature, but now thinking, as s/he spends mere minutes outside, between the bus and the home, all the life and myriad possibilities s/he never lived or ever got to enjoy in this too-brief, ephemeral, real, physical life.

Regardless of one’s own knowledge and imagination about myriad human possibilities, there is little one can do for others who are hopelessly self-mired, self-limited and mindlessly limiting of others, let alone their own possibilities.

It is hard to live a life in the stars when one’s prevailing modes are fear, conventionality, self-denial, and self-delusion about one’s self, one’s roles, larger purposes and meanings, true self-actualization, and real, authentic freedom. (The hazards of living unnecessarily small and in self-made manacles.)

On his way out of New York on his way to his adopted home in Paris, the Woodman did manage one of those funny movies that Sandy’s fans and the aliens had asked for in his least-liked signature classic Stardust Memories.

To begin with, Hollywood Ending has much of the ad-libbing Allen himself was renown for in various past characters. It is cynically about the American film industry which he has weighed in on for decades in many other films. It has numerous good supporting character roles and performances which frequently lift his pictures to a higher level; in particular, all the women’s roles in Hollywood Ending accurately cover a gamut of female possibilities and types. And this comedy has a number of other familiar themes that Allen has visited and revisited before. That and some strong quotable lines and stinging, pointed ones as well, in the familiar style that many real people talk in: carping, complaining, angsting, trivializing, and so forth.

Allen himself as Val Waxman (a takeoff on Canadian comedian Al Waxman’s name–and by the way, there are several good satirical lines about Canada), a director wanting to make a comeback, is a bundle of neuroses which naturally leads to his psychosomatic blindness during the filming of his ‘great’ noirish-comeback-movie-turned disaster. Allen does a number of very funny pratfalls a la Chaplin and comic situations built around his temporary symbolic blindness.

There is also an ongoing, underlying love story about Val being reunited with his former wife-film producer Ellie, convincingly played by Tea Leoni,  in addition to Val’s humorous encounters with shallower, flawed, but believable other women. There are strong funny scenes such as blind Val’s visit to nymphomaniac-actress’s dressing room, his fall off a scaffolding in the background of one scene, his shot-in-Canada commercial, and a visit to his alienated son who eats rats in musical performances and who has changed his name to Scumbag X.

There are numerous shots at Hollywood and California style–Treat Williams is excellent as Val’s slick rival and George Hamilton punctuates the overall pointless shallowness of the film world Val is repeatedly forced to compromise with. And the ending, ironically, mirrors what actually happened to Allen himself and why he left the States for adulation and greater support and freedom abroad. The crazy surprise ending mirrors the sudden, unexpected, irrational blindness that besets Al midway through the movie. and the seeds of Orson Wellesian greatness that had been hoped for and predicted which come absurdly true in a comically-logical decidedly old-school-movie that is genuinely entertaining; ironically, unlike so many of the recent European Allen films with the exception of Midnight in Paris, itself a successful gem about the wisdom of following one’s heart. (Which Val does in this movie and which Woody has always done in his life apart from others and his audiences.)

A simple slip-and-fall in the kitchen could be a life-changer for a child and his/her family. You simply don’t want to see a child hurt significantly on your watch with a child in trust to you–lots of responsibility that way. And no one ever wants to see a child have a serious accident or to be in extreme, unnecessary pain, quite often due to a fluke, bad luck or a guardian’s momentary letting-up during a watch. For that reason, it helps to do a kid-proof inspection of all rooms kids will play in before they visit. This requires empathy, imagination, and seeing the rooms from the child’s point of view. (A tall order for some adults.)

One other observation regarding kids today, who have so few choices and are protected to the nth degree by overcautious, controlling parents. This in an age when kids are never seen in yards or on the streets outside of school hours or during school vacations. Many kids today simply and limitedly/limitingly live life indoors with far too much sedentary screening. It is important to get them moving, to get them outside, and to give them healthy alternatives to limited/limiting, copout-parent-self-serving, mindlessly-foisted screen-obsessiveness.

Hereabouts, when grandson comes to visit for a day, he has non-screen choices right from the get-go. Often he chooses to walk around and see what’s in the house, asking questions or using different things with permission and minimal supervision. As said before, so much of kids’ lives today are limited and unfree. Giving them choices (rather than directing their play and interfering too much with their autonomous flow) allows them to explore and try out things and to learn new stuff. This gives them a lot of confidence and more independence, guaranteed always.

It does help to cater to whatever current interests (e.g., stickers) and then having a supply of these materials on hand. And then, importantly and necessarily, they can play by themselves often without adult help. A variety of different playthings or activities (e.g., blocks, drawing with big crayons on big sheets of paper) gives more choices; again, under those circumstances kids will find their way. They likewise should not be restricted to one area or room in the house and should also be offered the opportunity to go outside, feed the birds, water flowers, pull favorite animals in a wagon, kick a ball, use a toy lawnmower, etc. there are myriad possibilities embedded within whatever context. And so what if some of these things cost, godforbid, MONEY! (Uh, like what are salting our money away for priority-wise?)

Yes, and it’s important to talk to them when you are close together, commenting on things, explaining, showing, demo-ing, asking them questions, letting them talk in their own developing language (e.g., waddy for water) rather than correcting them to become neurotically-fearful, granmmatically correct adults way before their time or any imagined adult-imposed mandatory need. In other words, adults have to let kids be, to try, and to experience as freely as possible. (When adults try to impose on kids, they need to ask themselves why. Often it is to simply make the kids carbon copies of their own frustrated, unfulfilled dreams, or of their own limited selves.)

Each child is unique and potentially his/her own person unless some adult controls too much and interferes with what ought to be a free natural process as long as possible. As William Blake pointed out, in Songs of Innocence and Experience, shades of the prison-house will close in soon enough and often enough later on.

And so for grandparents, it’s really about being a facilitator, collaborator, bud, and supporter. There is to be found the best of grandparenting. ‘To do for’ someone younger, close to yourself, who can significantly benefit from it, is about as good as it gets, as one ages. And there is nothing better or finer than a happy, free child in process.

Blog entries are copyright by entry date, Richard Davies. If accessing site from Internet, activate any photos not showing automatically, by clicking on any picture frame. Then, despite Caution, safely click “Continue to this website”–pics will then emerge. When loaded, click upper left-pointing arrow twice to re-enter entire website with all blog photos now displayed. Individual pictures can then be enlarged as wished by clicking on each photo per se.

As I continue following the flow of “the world comes to me”, I’ve met some interesting people of late. One of them is Kadrush Radogoshi who immigrated to Edmonton from Kosovo a couple of years ago. In his own country, he was a teacher who found himself in trouble with the fascist authorities running amok in Serbia, Bosnia, and Kosovo. He was jailed for a long time in solitary confinement and the government tried to break his mind and spirit.

Bravely, Kadrush left his home with his family for a new life in Canada, to learn English at Norquest College locally and to begin publications in English. He was an established author in what used to be the Yugolslavia area and had done many books. I met him through the Stroll of Poets which he subsequently joined, and discovered an excellent poet who sometimes wrote in the romantic vein much like myself. I had the pleasure of reading his latest manuscript and he asked me to write a brief review of it, which I was happy to do–a copy of which follows. Enjoy the review and look for this volume when it comes out.
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An Edmonton Orpheus

Kadrush Radogoshi is an established Albanian poet whose latest book, Palimpsest through Orpheus’ Traces, is inspired by the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, one of the central myths of Western civilization. The romantic poems in this unified collection are connected by the author’s preoccupation with seeing and poetic vision. For him, though, language is the way to beauty; as he puts it, “The word has a beautiful eye”. Indeed, the eye per se is the musical instrument the poet recurringly ‘plays on’ in order to describe and elaborate the many moods and moments of poetic inspiration. This is, in turn, reflected in many key poem titles such as “Orpheus’ Essay on Eyes”.

The music and musical themes of the poems also become the underlying argument of the author’s thesis; as he says, “The only proof/About the beauty of the song”. Radogoshi aims for beauty as relief from the ugliness and conflicts of the real world which backgrounds and underlies this particular poetic quest. He desires the fresh start of another book, another working ‘paper’ or palimpsest–to transcend that real world via hymns to the possibilities of love and beauty. And thus, the resonances of the old classical myth are recreated in his this poetic journey and the poet’s own soul.

The poet takes the reader to “a romantic corner on the horizon/Beyond bars, beyond wires” of that real world–transcending the limits of hate, political repression, and violence he once himself survived in (specifically, in Kosovo) before coming to Canada to begin a new freer life, reflected in the principal quest of this important collection. He chooses to express “The blossomed rose in the exotic garden of vision” in lieu of a diminished modern world where true or traditional heroes the likes of Odysseus have gone, as he says “missing”.

The soul of the poet, his adopted Orpheus persona, looks to and for Eurydice who symbolizes, variously, his missing self/elusive ideal love/desired woman as well as the source of poetic inspiration in his life and for this particular project. Along the way, he seeks the courage, persistence, patience, and strength, and hope to pursue her and the special unique vision he is passionately articulating throughout this book. But always, the book returns to the “myth egg” or source of traditional poetic inspiration–the possible models and timeless possibilities that Orpheus and Eurydice still offer people, lovers, and writers alike today. Always too, there is the recurring theme of remaking or idealized transfiguration as symbolized by this key line: “You turn into a Star”.

I should also mention Radogoshi’s skilful use of water and fire imagery to complete the desired ritualistic cleansing and transformational powers of love, again reflected in such pieces as “When I Used to Wash Your Ardent Eyes with Dew” and “The Sacred Fire”. As the latter title suggests, all the associated sanctity and holiness of platonic love at work and play here. The way into a life of stars, though, is chiefly through the ‘Gaze’–the beholding of the idealized love of Eurydice: “a love coming out of legend”.

Make no mistake, Palimpsest Through Orpheus’ Traces is very much also the plight and quest of the average modern Western person alienated from the best and most beautiful aspects of the old Western civilization, especially its lofty views of love, art, and beauty. Radogoshi’s journey is also personally his own, ending with the poem: “Orpheus’ Last Journey”, itself a mirror of the poet’s transition to Canada and his new still-in-process freer life contrasted with his conflictful past, as well as his recent writings in English which now include this book.

And though this variation of the Orpheus-Eurydice theme has come to an end with a large concluding vision and Radogoshi himself has physically and innerly arrived elsewhere, he has long been and continues to be a significant, inspired poet, similar to Orpheus, who learned his unique aesthetic ‘chops’ from his formative past experience: “The existential geometry/Is easily learnt from the plane/But not its esthetics”.

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“What a man essentially is is revealed by the record of what he has done, and by what he is trying to make of himself at any given moment.”–Northrop Frye, “Myth I”