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But What About Me?

BUT WHAT ABOUT ME? Sally Campbell

A favourite cartoon of ours shows a woman in her recliner, on the phone declaring: “I’m trying to look at it from my point of view”. Such a good reminder of how we actually see the world. When I commented recently to a friend that “individualism in our culture has run amok”, she informed me I needed to write about it. This is a huge topic, so here are a few starting points to consider.

Differences in cultural values lead to differing beliefs about how to orient ourselves in the world, how to deal with conflict, how to be a full person. Intercultural researchers have consistently identified several “value frameworks” that can help us understand cultural difference without judging those different from us. One of these value frameworks is: individualism-collectivism.

The cultural pattern of collectivism is found in approximately 2/3 of the world’s population: it is common in Asia, Africa, the Middle East (West Asia), Latin America, the Pacific Islands and amongst the world’s indigenous peoples. Collectivism emphasizes group values and identity over those of the individual. There is a focus on interdependence and maintaining group harmony.

There are also religious groups that have a strong orientation to collectivism, such as Mennonites.

The cultural pattern of individualism is found in the other 1/3 of the population: it is common in what is generally called the “West”, which includes northern & western Europe, Canada, the US, Australia and New Zealand (not including these nations’ indigenous populations). The value patterns in individualistic cultures emphasize personal goals and identity rather than group identity; there is a focus on independence and individual rights over group responsibilities.

It’s important to remember that within-culture variations exist within all cultural groups. There are people who behave like individualists within collectivist cultures and vice versa. As well, personal attributes, conflict norms in the larger community, and situational factors such as recency of immigration, affect how people will act. We are all “ethnocentric” to a certain extent, meaning that we interpret the behaviour of others (of different cultures) using our own cultural standards.

Individualism can show up in our struggles with our identity, our desire to “get ahead”, all the many influences encouraging us to realize ourselves. These are not bad things in themselves. This value pattern expects a child to become more and more independent with the years.

Autonomy is considered a sign of maturity. Moving out is a good thing. People from more collectivist worldviews generally don’t strive for or promote independence; they recognize and value their interdependence. They may sometimes complain about the pressure for conformity, expectations from their families and communities, even the lack of privacy, but their sense of belonging is intact. They are not expected to grow up and leave. They are expected to grow up and contribute to the well-being of the whole.

Mediators encourage people to recognize the value of relationship and the inescapable fact of our interdependence. We need to connect with others for our well-being. So many people struggle with loneliness, a sense of isolation or even alienation, yet remain extremely reluctant to acknowledge they need others. After all, a “mature” person is autonomous, right? They have what it takes to go it alone. The song “My way” is telling in its tone of pride and dramatic braggadocio. A loss of face for the individualist is personal. It’s not about others, it’s all about me. For the collectivist culture, a loss of face is much broader. One person’s bad action reflects on the whole community; that accounts for the protocols, the hierarchical nature and the deeply ingrained expectations of many such communities.

I see individualism as driving the difficulty people in our general culture seem to have in imagining the larger human community as our community. We have great loyalty and willingness to serve those close to us – in our family, in our neighbourhood, in our community even, but somehow those who are “different” from us don’t matter as much. Mostly this is kept quiet; it is simply understood.

Some of the work of aging into true elderhood involves expanding that sense of who our community is. And yet, many older people do just the reverse – they close off from the world, narrow their vision, and retreat to the imagined safety of their small universe. Yes, we are in deeply troubling times, but maybe older people have always thought the world was easier and simpler “before”. Things do become more complicated as we age! And yet, it seems to me the challenge is to expand our hearts, not close or harden them. We can learn from the collectivist orientation that each and all of us matter, and we matter equally. We really aren’t separate from others; we are one part of a living, breathing whole organism and we all belong to each other. That’s what indigenous people mean by “All my relations”.

(next time: Part 2)

Drifting Off

Drifting off:

by Mr. Unknown

That moment of quietness

That still, peaceful place

A day is put behind you

Gone, without a trace.

Laying cozily in your bed

Your eyes begin to close

Now you see only darkness

Just like out the windows.

The next moment is history

When morning comes around

For, drifting off into your dreams

Feels safe and sound.

Phoenix Riting! – September 21st, 2023

Phoenix Riting!

The Fall Faire was cold! Windy! Brrrr! I set up my tent to do readings, but abandoned it because there was no point, the wind would blow the cards away. Confession: I didn’t want to work! I have never had the opportunity to enjoy the Faire, browse the vendor stalls (I bought a bucket of basil for drying), hear the music, explore the exhibits, and visit with friends.

 

Best of all I watched Zucchinigeddon, the amazing hi-tech zucchini races that happen every year. Excitement! Thrills! Tension! It was so much fun, and I entered fully into the spirit. My favourite zucchini, a fanciful armoured creation that was much faster than it seemed it ought to be (created by Beatrix), won! I did wonder why the White Rabbit (bus zucchini with flashing lights) didn’t race; was it just for show?

 

Island children (with maybe a little help from parents) made forty different fantastical vehicles from zucchinis. Some were truly massive, some quite tiny, some elaborate sculptures and some stripped down and practical. It was great fun, helped by a very kind gentleman in front of me who voluntarily stepped back to offer my 5′ self a clear view.

 

Despite the cold, a very large crowd showed up. The field was jammed full of parking, more than I’d ever seen at that venue. The lineup of cars crawling to turn into the Farm went nearly to Strachan Road – nobody wanted to miss the parade.

 

There were a couple elements missing at this year’s parade, but with other elements added… bagpipes instead of the marimba band, for example. Also missing was Queen Ben this year, who traditionally led the parade. Amani Marimba, a many-years staple at the Faire, wasn’t able to make it, so a bagpiper led the parade, and it was really quite stirring–I enjoy a good bag of pipes. Well done. The floats were fun–the Dragon Boat(less) crew were having an especially great time!

 

The theme this year was ‘Friends and Allies.’ The only parade element I saw that specifically spoke to that theme (aside from the fact of being friends and allies) was a large orange pumpkin person twined with beans and corn–the Three Sisters. Clever Reina!

 

Of course, there was music–including yours truly. But so cold! It made guitar more of a challenge than usual, as my fingers stiffen up in the cold, but I think I pulled it off, and no one else seemed to have difficulty. It was a very fun day for all, despite blue lips and shivers on the part of some in the audience. Those who had the foresight to bundle up were much better off.

 

And that winds up another frantic busy summer season on Hornby–now begins our slow descent into winter. I will be taking another road trip during the first couple weeks of October, to be back in time for another recording session at the Barn. I hope to hit that brief sweet spot for travel, between wildfires and snow.

 

I hope you are all prepared for the season’s change; be well.

 

That’s what I think. What do you think? email me at phoenixonhornby@gmail.com

 

The Flash of Real – Helen Grond

The Flash of Real

We are so much more 

than the words we speak.

Without uttering a sound,

a universe of information 

emanates from us.

We have ears to hear

and eyes to see.

We also have a subconscious 

that gathers every detail

without prejudice.

When we are confronted with fake,

we must rely on our inner mind to 

sift through the details,

our conscious mind can’t see.

The true intent becomes clear,

as we get to peer behind the mask.

The flash of real is blinding.

We cannot unsee what we just saw.

We cannot unhear what we just heard.

We cannot unfeel what we just felt.

Giant Pineapples

Should I or Shouldn’t I

CS# 05943451

March 27th, 2007

Should I or Shouldn’t I?

This morning as I was leaving for the day’s work Furry asked me if I could leave behind  with him my journal. This journal. He was instructed by the on-duty C.O. that upon checking out, the staff up at ‘Records’ would be able to make a copy of the passage I wrote of him. Once done, I was told that it would be returned by 6:00 pm this evening. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I twice looked to the on-duty C.O. for assurances that it wouldn’t go mysteriously missing. This journal means everything to me. As a matter of fact, I’m beginning to think that it’s the whole reason that I’m here. The information I’m compiling in these pages, though at points meandering and at other points lacking substance, is proving to be an irreplaceable account of jail house life. With as close to a guarantee as I could get in such circumstance, I complied. Upon my return at day’s end my journal was sitting on my bed along with a note from the Fur Dog. It seems that contrary to what he was told, they wouldn’t allow for the copies to be made for him. Instead he left me details on where to send him a copy myself. Something I’ll have to write out for him in a letter. In his parting note he signed off, ”You made me think different of peaple (misspelled and scrubbed out).. humans. Dog out, woof, woof.  P.S. Find your place to piss in the doghouse! Peace out.

Last night, I pondered whether to include Furry in what has become a custom for me. Writing a send off passage in honour of those departing. I certainly had my reasons not to. It is not as though we were close by any means. But in the interest of being complete, the interest of rendering as full a texture of my experience here and not disregarding my observances of Sean’s contribution to this place, I chose otherwise. And for that, this was rewarded. I’m glad I made the decision I did.

Shucking Oysters: Sleepy Time, Beddy Byes

Shucking Oysters: Sleepy Time, Beddy Byes

Alex Allen

I’ve noticed lately that many of us are not getting enough sleep. It seems every second person I talk to has been up since four in the morning. Is there something going on? After a little research, I found it usually starts with the business of relieving oneself in the middle of the night. Once that happens, it’s over. Lie wake until the alarm goes off. Or worse, finally fall asleep just before the alarm goes off, which is my nocturnal pattern. And the incessant thoughts … who wouldn’t want to spend their nights contemplating consciousness and the morphogenetic fields of quantum energy?

Just type “sleep better” and you get 159,000,000 search results. 17 Proven Tips, 6 Tips, 20 Ultimate Tips, 8 Secrets, 15 Science-Backed Tips, and on and on. I know a few people who take medication to fall asleep. As we know, most pharmaceuticals come with a two-page side effects disclaimer. Sleeping medications are no different: dizziness, drowsiness, abdominal discomfort, dry mouth, headaches, and strange dreams. 

According to the Sleep Foundation, replacing your old mattress can improve the quality of your sleep by up to 55%. Given the bedding standards on our islands, this is important. We started out with a dead lumpy futon; when one of us got out of bed, the other would roll into the middle. Then there was the guy who sold us a $300 “top of the line hotel mattress” that was so springy, the first night I thought we were in the middle of an earthquake. (I think that mattress was from the honeymoon suite.) Finally we invested in a brand new firm mattress from that place with the really catchy jingle. I highly recommend the investment. After all, think how much time you actually spend in bed. According to the Sleep Matters Club, the average person spends about 26 years sleeping in their life which equates to 9,490 days or 227,760 hours. That’s one third of our entire lives spent asleep in bed. And not surprisingly, we also spend seven years trying to get to sleep — a total of 33 years or 12,045 days.

According to a report, about 30% of Canadians have insomnia. Being severely sleep-deprived can be compared to consuming excess alcohol. For example, staying awake for 18 hours is comparable to having a blood alcohol content (BAC) of 0.05%. The BAC increases to 1% after 24 hours of no sleep.

The Mayo Clinic among others, recommend that we stick to a sleep schedule, watch what we eat and drink before bedtime, have a restful cool and dark environment, and manage our worries. And stop using electronics at least an hour before bed; the blue lights stimulate your brains, not your sleep. 

Long ago I tried Sleepy Time tea, which is a joke. Sure you fall asleep, and then you wake up hours later — to relieve yourself. Instead of sheep, I used to count how many lonely bachelors there are. Then I switched to dogs. Start at the ferry terminal and work my way up Mount Road. I was exhausted by the time I got to Central. I tried a mantra: sleepy time, beddy byes, sleepy time, beddy byes….over and over. And then the alarm went off.

 

I once had a neighbour who had a rooster that would cock his doodle at 12:00 am and continue on for another three hours. After over a week of sleep deprivation I thought I was going insane. Which is not too far from the truth. A 2018 research review examined 21 articles on the correlation between time spent without any sleep and symptoms of psychosis. Based on results gathered from 760 participants, the researchers noticed that people start experiencing the first symptoms within 24 to 48 hours of not sleeping. These symptoms typically include: distorted perception; anxiety and irritability; not feeling like yourself and loss of time and sense of orientation. The review also suggested that symptoms of psychosis rapidly progress as more sleep loss is experienced. The good news, sleep deprivation psychosis is typically not permanent and can be resolved by getting some sleep. It kind of explains homelessness and mental challenges.

Bon vivant, Gayelord Hauser, recommends “mental cocktails” for deep sleep. The recipe must have five ingredients: some sound, some sight, some taste, some odour and some touch. “For sound I take the soothing theme of a lullaby, the lullaby from Erminie which I have always loved. For sight I go to the little front room of my home so far away in New York, and from the south wall I take a picture of Renoir, a picture of a peaceful man, an elder, sitting under a tree outside a rural inn-door. For taste, I use the remembrance of tree-ripe peaches as I picked and ate them in Taormina only a few short weeks ago. For odor I add a gardenia from my California garden. And for touch, I add the remembrance of the cool, refreshing waters in which I swam just two days ago— the waters of the Mediterranean.” He mixes these things that he loves and have always given him pleasure, things he associated with peace and calm and relaxation. Hauser assures us that our mental cocktail will help us sleep and have sweet dreams too. 

It’s been weeks and I am still tweaking my mental cocktail recipe. A dash of Bach or a dollop of Chris Luno Ibiza mix? A sprinkle of Pachena Bay tide flow or the Wyeth print on my studio corridor? A Fire Cracker Volcano Roll with spicy tuna, crab meat, avocado, seared spicy tuna, yam fries with yuzu mayo, unagi sauce, and Korean spicy sauce? Or Crabby Bob’s Crab Platter with crab, oysters, mussels, clams, prawns, swimming scallops, garlic butter and seafood sauce? The odour? Sage and Sour flower or maybe Indian spices heated in a frying pan. And touch? Still debating on my dog’s fur or the smooth surface of an Arbutus tree.

In the meantime, I think we have over 100 dogs on Hornby. 

Routines

CS# 05943451

March 24th, 2007

Routines

I suppose I have an established routine when it comes to my smoking. I mean aside from the obligatory timing of it. You know, after meals and such. This routine is that I go to my room, don my coat and then proceed for the great outdoors. Once finished my butt, I return to my room and shed my outer layer of red. Coat goes on. Smoke gets smoked. Coat comes off. A routine I’d like to think is not so out of the ordinary and certainly one not so conspicuous. But alas, in this place it is. 

Friday night at present and the range is engrossed in a movie. For a change, I’ve decided to watch along. Feeling the urge for a smoke, I get up to engage in my routine and I can’t help but sense Jerry’s eyeing me as I do. Emerging from my room, coat on, I sift through the guys seated willy-nilly just outside my door. As I pass Jerry he makes effort to small talk. “How’s it going?” I respond, “not bad,” without breaking stride. Immediately, he gets up and heads to his bed space at the opposite end of our range. I don’t know. It just struck me as odd timing, so I stopped to confirm my suspicions and picked up the movie I had just put down. I stood in my coat with one eye on the flick and the other down the hall to see if Jerry would re-emerge. A minute later, he returns to the dining hall/movie room wearing his coat. Rather than sitting himself back in his seat, he saunters over to me asking, “Do you have a smoke I could bum?” I couldn’t believe it! Bad enough that it is only Friday, five full days before the next canteen. Bad still, that he looks past my growing disdain. Even worse that I sense his constantly sizing me up. But to top it all off, he most presumptuously goes and grabs his coat and puts it on BEFORE even asking me IF I’ll give him a smoke! The gall of this guy leaves me flabbergasted! I’m accustomed to variations on this theme but they only occur Tuesday and Wednesday. Friday is completely lame. And what the hell do I do, but give him a fucking cigarette?! If I can’t learn to say ‘NO,’ he sure as hell won’t learn to stop grinding me. This much became apparent with this latest episode. I did put off a most obvious look of dismay before capitulating and, while outside, I did my best to freeze him out as he lamely went on about the weather. Despite my cooling mood towards Jerry, I worry that I’ve stumbled upon another routine of sorts. He went to fetch his coat upon spying me undertake my routine for christ sakes. And I noticed it as plain as the bars that remind me of where I am. Good God! 

Tomorrow’s Saturday and a new day begins. Full of nic-fitting. Just as one spends less money when they have some over when they do not, so too is the rhythm of the nicotine craving. When you have tobacco, you’re more at ease. You partake more methodically. When you don’t have tobacco, you’re ill at ease and you crave it incessantly. Hence this whole dimension I perceive to Jerry’s come on. It is truly irksome. The question will be, ‘Can he take the hint? Develop some pride? Conjure up some willpower or find someone else to lean on?’ One thing is for sure. I can’t, nor do I want to, support someone’s habit for five full days. I may as well quit myself at that rate. Either that or learn to say ‘NO!’ My problem with standing my ground with such a simple word, coupled with his now unabashed abuse of my kindness, is that eventually I will back him off in no uncertain terms. That, I fear could cause problems that I never asked for, by simply trying to facilitate someone’s need. It will be very interesting to see how this progresses… or digresses.

Just stepped out for a late night butt, given how cigarettes are clearly on my brain. ‘Routine,’ after all. I’ve been writing away all evening and realized it’s now 1:20 am!  Adorned in my red overcoat neath the dull amber hue of the lone light in the courtyard, I found myself reflecting on this whole ‘jail’ thing. There’s little doubt most everything about this place sucks but, after having endured over two months of incarceration, I can say from experience that the routine that revolves around smoking; craving it, its scarcity, the grinding that lurks around every corner, is the biggest strain of all. If everybody could take care of themselves in this respect, life here would border on tolerable. Ah, but I guess that is what makes jail, jail! 

Damn! 

My momma told me there’d be days like this.

Comox Valley Waste Management

Phoenix Riting! – September 14th, 2023

Things have quieted considerably (as anticipated) with the advent of September. Most businesses remain open through the shoulder season with reduced hours, and we are tapering off more gently than in the past. The Farmer’s Market continues through Thanksgiving; a small core of hardy marketers will make their wares available in the Copse, but not I! After this next market, I’ll dismantle my tent and set it up for the Fall Faire, and then I’m finished for the year. I admit, I’m going to miss it.

After a busy and satisfying blur of activity, our winter leisure season, busy though it is in its own way, can be anticlimactic. “Is that all there is? Where’d everyone go?” There will be meetings, of course, radio shows, events, some semblance of social activity, but it’s a lonely season. We’ll settle in, adapt, adjust, as we do, but there is a pang. I personally love the cyclic nature of life on Hornby, not just the seasons of nature but the human seasons too, the rising of human tide over the summer followed by the ebb of winter. Walking the length of Big Tribune Beach in the off season when you’re the only living human around is quite the feeling, and I wouldn’t miss it, but adapting takes time.

On a more difficult subject, I’m struggling with a response to what I learned in last week’s Grapevine editorial, that I had been publicly accused of transphobia in the DIBB, without my knowledge. I never saw that conversation as I was not tagged in it. I don’t know what was said, nor the reason for such an accusation. The definition of ‘transphobia’ as I understand it is, expressing or inciting violence, fear, hatred or disgust toward trans people, which I have definitively never felt or done. My issue, as I have clearly stated, is not about trans people but rather the right to freely discuss changes and ramifications of the rule of law in this country, and the impact on other vulnerable groups who are not being considered.

TIG has been criticized in the past for airing controversial opinions, ‘anti-vaccine,’ ‘conspiracy theories’ and the like, while the editor has, quite correctly, defended the right to free expression within the limits of clear editorial guidelines. Nothing printed in this paper has so far engendered the punitive reaction that my little column from July has. There have been real-world repercussions to the editor for publishing my words of ‘hate,’ while at the same time I’ve received several private expressions of heartfelt support for my ‘sane, fair and balanced’ approach. For these, I am grateful!

Laws passed swiftly can and do have unintended consequences. The punitive silencing of public conversation about feared or actual consequences does not suppress the conversation, but forces it underground, where it festers, distorts and can become real hate on both sides. I fear the potential backlash to our current extreme ‘zero-tolerance for opinions’.

Most ordinary Canadians are confused and full of questions which have no answers except top-down definitions and slogans. Folk are told, in effect, “Because we say so, now shut up.” It’s shocking, the vehemence with which these new rules are enforced, not only by law, but by social pressure and public opinion. Simply raising the subject for discussion is not only discouraged but actively forbidden and punished. What on earth is going on? Questions merely amplify when they go unanswered.

Here’s one problem: we are arming the CPC with exactly what they need to step in with a change of government which would bring sweeping changes in the law. For those of us who are not political conservatives, this is frightening. Remember the Harper regime? The rollbacks of environmental protections and rights? We need to talk.

No law is written in stone in a democracy, and suppression of expression merely empowers the pendulum to swing hard and far. Nobody wants that except actual bigots, who obviously exist. But broad brushstroking anyone with an opinion or questions as a ‘transphobic bigot’ does no one any favours, most especially trans folk. Cognitive dissonance is the rule these days, but pretending the issue away will not prevent a backlash.

I have faith in the power of community. I believe in inclusion, which means everyone, not just the people who agree with me. Real inclusion is not possible without speaking and listening. There is a middle ground between extremes, and I believe that is where the truth lies, but it takes work to discover and implement it. I don’t know how we can manage that, but we have to start opening our minds to people we believe are wrong and listen for the common ground.

Thats what I think. What do you think? Seriously. Email me at phoenixonhornby@gmail.com