Don't Turn Away

1955. A family tests an underground fallout shelter. I guess we've lived through other crisises.

“Trump says killers of protesters will ‘pay a big price’ and urges Iranians to ‘take over your institutions’”
The Guardian

Apparently, the killers of Iranian protesters in Iran will have to “pay a big price”, but killers of American protesters by American authorities get a free pass? I get it. The US has reached Idiocracy.

Reading the news from the US, from the shooting death of Renee Good by ICE Agent Jonathan Ross, to family separations, to people being grabbed at their refugee hearings, to assaults on people and democracy, the FBI raiding a reporter's home, media companies firing detractors of the administration, declarations that the US must "own" Greenland, references to Canada as the 51st state, a narcissist adding his name to memorials to other presidents, cutting funding to not-for-profits, destroying foreign aid that endangers lives, using the Department of Justice as a cudgel of private vengeance, forcing law firms to bend the knee or be banned — all of it — just makes me absolutely livid. I'm only referring to political news from the US, but there are so many other upsetting news stories it becomes overwhelming (the environment, foreign wars, the economy). I had forgotten there's even a name for it: polycrisis. Polycrisis was coined to put a name to what seems like an onslaught of terrible things. What is difficult to see is how interconnected so many of these things are.

From the Guardian:
"Our globalized world is built on interconnecting systems, and when one gets rattled, the others do too – a heating climate, for instance, increases the risk of pandemics, pandemics undermine economies, shaky economies fuel political upheaval."

Which is what makes it so overwhelming. I can feel my blood pressure rising and heart pounding. It’s infuriating. So I’ve just avoided it. I basically went from turning the other cheek to turning my face away in disgust.

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The Weight is over

Hello babies!

On Thursday, February 22, our family had a 9lb, 9oz addition to our numbers. Hardy and hale, we welcomed her into our hearts and minds. It immediately occurred to me that we have some cheese in the fridge I bought for the holidays, which we haven't quite finished yet, and that cheese is older than this kid. Last weekend I baked some cookies that deployed some bananas probably older, and sweeter, than that cheese. 

I concluded that I definitely have some socks older than some other members of our clan. I probably have some underwear older than other kids I've met. I'm positive I have some jeans older than kids that play in the schoolyard behind our house. For that matter, I have some sweatshirts older than our current government – that would be a relatively new sweatshirt. This inevitably reminded me that I have a t-shirt older than some of my work colleagues. It's a bit of merch from Sting's "Nothing Like the Sun" tour from 1988. I'm pretty sure I have another t-shirt from a known Toronto-based design firm, Reactor, that's probably from 1990. They still fit! And no holes. They don't make 'em like they used to.

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Notice my hands

You have to hand it to your hands.

I only ever notice my age when I see photos of my hands. I have an older man’s hands. How did that happen? Where did they come from? I have arthritis in my back, perhaps my knees, and maybe my wrists, but I like a good stretch. My beard is increasingly white, but I like this sagely visage. My hair is increasingly thin, but shearing my hair close is the best haircut I've ever had. I'm apparently shorter than I was a decade ago. That's OK. It makes me closer to the Earth. My eyesight is diminishing, so I look more closely at things and faces. I can't work to music with vocals without a loss of focus, though my hearing is fine, so watch what you say. Standing for too long takes a toll; the knees and hips are not keen on it. Yet seeing a photo of my hands is curiously what gets me thinking about my age.

I take vitamin D when I remember, to compensate for winter’s darkness. I take creatine for cognitive health and to make up for the loss of testosterone. I just started taking collagen for tendon elasticity. I stretch nightly. I practice leg strength so I can still use the crapper on my own in my dotage. I do all these things, so you'd think I was very aware that I'm closer to the ending than the beginning. I guess in reality, you're closer to the end than the beginning the moment you slip into this world. Why would it take seeing a photo of my hands to realize it?

My supposition is thus: I suffer from cognitive dissonance. I acknowledge the fact of my age, but not the meaning of it. When you see a photograph (barring corrupt manipulations), you are seeing the fact. The fact and the meaning are no longer separated by some disconnected synapse. I know that I am getting older, I see the evidence, and accept the meaning.

In my advancing years, I want to be more honest with myself and others. I want you to know something. When Tim Baker of Hey Rosetta! sings about wanting to see his mother's hands against her apron, it can bring me to tears. I can close my eyes and bring my mother's hands into sight. Long fingers with an almost willowy bend. Her hands healed, mended, peeled, cooked, cleaned, planted, and nurtured. That is one of the ways I remember her. Will anyone ever think of my hands?

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Seen in December

We're at the center of the Earth gents, so it's shirts off!

There was a time when I formulated and curated a Christmas watch list, but these days are busier and more prone to finding a moment to sneak in a little screen time. That seems odd given just how much down time there was when I was more prone to being in a prone position, but here's what I saw in the darkest hours of the year.

Elves away!

Prep & Landing: Snowball Protocol
Disney+
The latest in the series of Pixar/Disney Christmas animated shorts with elves Wayne (Dave Foley) and Lanny (Derek Richardson), and their misadventures. The stories revolve around Santa's helpers depicted as paramilitary strike forces, and each Christmas being a memorable campaign. In the context of ICE raids, that doesn't sound so great. The other part of the stories are centred on Wayne's anxiety about getting a promotion and the office politics of Santa's workshop. In other words, it's a very American take on the Santa mythos. 

Dames, not damsels.

Down Cemetery Road S01
Apple TV+
For those of you waiting for the next installment of Nick Herron's Slow Horses, don't worry, Mr. Herron has another reprobate character in his canon of murder mysteries set in Oxford, England. Instead of an exiled MI5 agent, our protagonist is Zoë Boehm (Emma Thompson), a private detective more accustomed to tracking down cheating husbands than uncovering a government conspiracy. A gas explosion in a house without a gas hookup, a missing girl, and the murder of her husband set Boehm and an Oxford art restorer, Sarah (Ruth Wilson), on a perilous path that leads to a remote, abandoned military base in Northern Scotland. Like Slow Horses, the plotting and pace are crisp, the dialogue is sharp and funny, and the characters are flawed and human. If you enjoy Slow Horses, you'll enjoy this.

Go with God, or at least have a clever detective to help.

Wake Up Dead Man, a Knives Out Mystery
Netflix
Like other Knives Out mysteries, this film is a clockwork of curiosities that combines the eccentricities of a Hercule Poirot detective with the complications and characters of a Ms. Marple story. The film is packed with so many notable and recognizable faces you'd be forgiven for thinking it was a SAG convention, but that's all part of the fun. Daniel Craig as Benoît Blanc is in fine form, as is newcomer (to American audiences), Josh O'Connor as Father Jud, the worried young priest struggling with a past guilt and present dilemma. Buckle up, it's a bumpy ride.

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It's all in your head.

I write now of a recurring theme: migraines. I get migraines. Not as often as I used to. I'm sure years ago many of my migraines were caused by stress, then I learned not to worry (or care) so much about things in general. Ta-dah! Fewer migraines! I even joked I had found a cure for migraine. "Have fewer migraines by avoiding migraines!" In reality I only lessened one of the innumerable triggers. Scientists say they've ruled out air pressure changes as a cause, but anecdotally, I don't get migraines on sunny days. Now my treatment for migraines is very simple. Give in. Cry "Uncle." Succumb. Unless you are performing life-saving surgeries, are the sole caretaker for a small child, running a country or planning to invade a smaller country, you can afford to occasionally take a knee and capitulate. It's a lost day on your calendar but the world will keep turning without you.

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