CHRISTMASTIME: A SEA OF CLOUDS -- A SLEW OF CARDS

 

My cousin, Gord, sent me this SEA OF CLOUDS picture of his sister Karen’s view from her recently purchased lot near Osoyoos, British Columbia, Canada.

Factoid:  I love mountains!  I love the majesty!  I love the mountains because they are antediluvian!

Gord informed me that the Osoyoos locals have coined this view as the SEA OF CLOUDS, and his sister, Karen, has suggested that if you stare long enough into that sky, you’ll eventually see a ship or two!

SEA OF CLOUDS, both picture and caption, is my found Xmas card! In the literary world, a found poem is an unedited quotation from a newspaper or magazine or any print published that when isolated, reads like a poem. The rhythm in the sentence, A DEAD'LY VI'RUS STALKED' THE PLA'NET, for example, has a similar cadence to any of Robert W. Service poems (see The Cremation of Sam McGee).  For the purposes of real time explanation, I just found this sentence from a subtitle in the SPECIAL TIME EDITION 2020.

Being a snappy title guy, I just had to include SEA OF CLOUDS for my Christmastime blog title, and being ever clever and ever literary, decided upon SLEW OF CARDS as a complement. For the rest of this blog entry, as inspired by the Sea of Clouds, I am going to post some pictures of Xmas cards, and some Xmas pictures I found that could be Xmas cards, with the why explanations for each.

ALL of these pictures I present are lifted from my Instagram pages.  Please note that I am not on Facebook.  And the only reason I am on Instagram is because a guy, a guy I taught some 20 years ago in a third year Psychology class at the University of Regina, a guy I have become quite close to over the years, a guy like me (Psyc guy, guitar guy, and portrait artist guy), convinced me to create an Instagram account to show off my wares.  Well, as it happens, my wares are limited to guitar busking, portrait busking, and hiking.  Well (again) as it happens, I follow like-minded people and others of this ilk, too, follow me.  My Instagram account, similar to this blog, attracts people from all over the planet!  Who knew that this blog would grow in popularity to have a readership in 151 countries!  And who knows where my Instagram will go!

Factoid:  I take great pride and offer great bluster with regard to this blog.  In my day job I work exclusively with Level Five Young Offenders, those incarcerated for the highest of crimes, murder, attempted murder, assault with weapons, you get the picture.  Most my evenings are spent in my other occupation, that being a professional hypnotherapist.  And yet, my claim to fame seems to be my planetary busker blog presentation and the tag-along notoriety that comes from writing this blog!

Meanwhile, back at the card ranch …

This was my SANTA 2019 XMAS card …

And now my 2020 SANTA card inspired by my love of billiards.  Here I’ve Santa shooting 8-Ball.  Hmmm … and the 8 ball inspired me to colour Santa black …

The inside of this card depicts Santa’s hand holding a pool cue …

And then I decided to scribble the initials, BLM, on his spectacles.  Hmmm … such scribble action is a significant break from my blinkered past.  Perhaps this SANTA 2020 year is a significant moment in my bildungsroman; a personal appeal for others to recognize and assist those who are marginalized and oppressed and less fortunate.  

Inside every one of my limited edition premiere 28 cards I wrote the following questions:

Who knew Santa was Black?

(Residing at the North Pole, I think he could be Brown and Inuit.)

Who knew Santa’s real name was SAINT SCHTICK?

(I know he loves to play pool -- it's an easy stretch from SAINT NICK to SAINT SCHTICK.)

ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT HUH! … I so love to brag!

As per usual, my brilliance pales quickly when compared to that of the real artisans I’ve met on Instagram.

And I’d love to introduce a couple of them.

This is my favourite Xmas card EVER!  In the picture of a ball decoration is painted a ’55 Pontiac hauling a Christmas tree …

And from this same artist, Nataly Aparina from Moscow, is a Christmas CAT card.  Admittedly I am stunned over how many cat lovers there are in my Instagram guitar and portrait world!

Alyson Moore, a Calgary-based on Treaty 7 land artist, paints some old time lanterns …

And now some more found cards, some festive family pictures sent through Instagram …

My granddaughter, Eden, and her XMAS ORANGE …

My daughter-in-law, Sila, standing at the base of Mt. Norquay in Banff, Alberta.  Sila and Travers (our son) flew from Switzerland to spend Xmastime with us in the Rocky Mountains near Banff.  However, the Covid restrictions placed upon Albertans kiboshed our grand plan.  Travers and Sila are still enjoying the Rockies, while we are stationary in Regina.  They fly back to Zurich early in the New Year.

This is a picture of that guy I mentioned at the top of this blog post.  Dustin is that guitar guy, that portrait guy, that Psyc guy, that guy who encouraged me to join Instagram.   

2020.  The year of Black Lives Matter, the year of Corona Virus, yet another year of Trump chaos, turned to be a great year for Dustin and Veronica and their soon-to-be-bambino-member of the famous Ritter Family Band!

And in case you’re reading this blog entry on BOXING DAY, I offer just one last card for 2020 …

 

2021.  HERE WE COME!

2021.  AND WE’LL HAVE FUN, FUN, FUN

 ‘TIL HER DADDY TAKES HER T-BIRD AWAY …

BRILLIANT HUH … to end with yet another found poem.

MERRY XMAS, EVERYONE!

 

    

 

THE PENCIL PROJECT: ENHANCING PEOPLE’S LIVES, ONE PORTRAIT AT A TIME

 

AEDEN, A FAMILIAR STRANGER AT ASCENDANT MARTIAL ARTS

TAVIN, A FAMILIAR STRANGER AT THE BRANDT HOCKEY ARENA

Being a busker, I spend many summer hours on the street.  My busking accoutrements are simple: a twelve-string guitar and blues harmonica, and oftentimes a didgeridoo; other times and as often, a sketchpad and pencil for portrait drawing.  Because I spend so much time on the street I have become somewhat acquainted with a number of familiar strangers.  Familiar strangers, a social psychology phrase, are those people one seems to cross paths with during the same time frames every day with a rather disproportionate amount of frequency.  For examples, I am referring to those strangers standing alongside you waiting for that same morning bus; I am referring to those strangers sweating in that same gym during your noon workout; I am referring to those strangers sipping coffee in that same coffee shop where you socialize on evenings. Reflecting on this phenomena, I’ve determined there to be a behavioural social stratification help explain the roles these strangers play in my busking life.

Being a pseudo-academic writer, I’ve decided to stack these familiar strangers into six strata:  consumers, stragglers, pickers, panners, peddlers, and buskers.

(The following characters and events are real; the names of the characters are not.)

• CONSUMERS ….

Consumers are those passers-by who toss money into my guitar case as a gesture of their appreciation for the music I provide.  I spend a couple days a week busking at Shoppers On Broad where PATRICK is a frequent flyer.  Patrick, fortyish, offers enough snippets of information for me to confidently bracket him as being very middle-class.  He says he is early-retired because of a disability (his disability is not apparent).  Whenever he is in proximity he always stops to chat and always tosses a toonie into my guitar case.

Oftentimes I see NELSON when I am spending a Saturday busking in front of Value Village.  Like Patrick, Nelson always stops to visit.  Nelson is usually accompanied by two or three of his teenage children, who, too, are friendly and chatty.  Nelson and his kids always throw lots of coin into my open guitar case.  

• STRAGGLERS …

Stragglers are those who just seem to wander about almost aimlessly in downtown Regina. There is LINUS, who is noticeably overweight and noticeably noisy. Linus seems to spend his daylight hours meandering downtown Regina, screaming at cars, screaming at trees, and yelling at people with his repetitive rants.  I’ve been around him enough times to know that his rages are always about three themes: government, immigrants, and Indigenous entitlements.

And there is MR. BOND, a former youth worker extraordinaire.  Mr. Bond, once the quintessential metrosexual and super fit, is now unkempt and overweight.  He strolls throughout the downtown section espousing science fiction conspiracy theories.  The last time I listened to him, he was explaining his design plans for a compact submarine, which he insisted was “not that hard to build.”

Another straggler is the skinny and vascular DANCER, who spends many hours stepping lightly (and heavily) to the Def Leppard tunes pounding from his boom box.  When resting between his dances, Dancer is promoting to anyone who will listen, the restoring of Wascana Lake for public swimming and a plan for undoing the public health masking mandate.  Dancer, of course, is among those downtown protesters in both voice and sign insisting that COVID-19 is a hoax.

• PICKERS …

I am labelling Pickers, those who regularly pick through the garbage cans and other litter receptacles for returnable bottles and cans and other recyclables. The TWINS have been around for as many years as I have been busking.  Every half hour or so they are in Tim Hortons line after their tandem team sorting through the downtown litter containers and bins. The Twins are well over six feet tall, soaking-wet-with sweat skinny, and identically bespectacled.

Twenty something, SQUIRREL, ever shiny with her bright dyed hair, bobs and weaves and scurries from trash can to dumpster to recycle bins.  I have heard nary a word ever from Squirrel.

• PANNERS …

Panner is slang for panhandler, being those begging with outstretched hand soliciting for spare change. There are many panners plying in downtown Regina. Of them, C’MON is the most confrontational.  Always aggressive and intrusive, the ever whining C’mon sounds the broken record as he insists people donate money to his leg rehabilitation.  C’mon has the disgusting habit of rolling up his trousers to expose the abundance of open sores oozing from the calf and shin on his right leg. 

STARBUCK pans at Tim Hortons.  He has an uneven gait and a long and unkempt beard. Whenever a Timmy’s patron offers to buy him a coffee, Starbucks always states he is panning only for money to buy himself a coffee at Starbucks (hence the nickname I assigned to him).

• PEDDLERS …

Peddlers are those mobile humanoid vendors who sell directly to persons among the pedestrian sidewalk traffic.  LACEY sells beaded bracelets and MISTER MEDALLION sells leather patches and necklaces.  Both are generous to me, having tossed their wares into my guitar case.

• BUSKERS …

Buskers, my second favourite stratum (consumers being my first favourite), are of my ilk.  PETE, who hales from Ontario, between his strumming and singing crappy covers on his guitar, is noted for his bluster about his self-proclaimed past fast-life stage fame.  Sadly, Pete has a reputation for his body odour ripeness, and a notoriety for his limited song choices.  

In much contrast to Pete, is ALBERT, who is truly a talented and serious busker.  I have personally invited and shared the Bushwakker stage several times with Albert these past couple years.

And now to my point: Being a self-professed BUSKOLOGIST, I’ve an idea to help all street people, including of course, all of those mentioned above.

My snappy blog title, THE PENCIL PROJECT: ENHANCING PEOPLE’S LIVES, ONE PORTRAIT AT A TIME, shall, too, be my book title.  YES!  My plan is the offering to draw a pencil portrait for these "street" people, in exchange for oral autobiographies explaining how they arrived at their current condition.  And then to academically document this pencil project as an ethnography (an anthropological term referring to the participant-observer style of research), and to peddle the final manuscript until it becomes a bestseller.

Really?

Yes, REALLY! And here are my reasons why …

Where did my life go? I am 69 years of age.  My wrinkling skin is becoming less flexible; my platinum hair is lacking fresh pigment. Too, my body is suffering certain wears and tears that are noticeably taking their toll; my physical appearance is just an apparent reminder that my time is finite. Outwardly I project this. Inwardly, I reflect on this.

Hmmm.  All of us eventually succumb to this final truth of our mortality.  However, such a truth seems more urgent and offers more angst for those of us who finally find ourselves standing near the edge of the dock. 

Dear reader, if you are younger than 69 years of age, standing and waiting unwittingly in the line behind me, you may want to take heed.  Ahead of you in this queue is the unknown.  When sometimes your impatience encourages you to stand upon your tip toes, or sometimes encourages you to peek through the pickets, offering glimpses of what is waiting in the front for you, is not uncommon.  Such a fascination is the curiosity gap designed to continuously haunt us about the collective fate of our humanity.  

For further explanation I shall offer the maxim, To live is to suffer.  This is the skinny of Zen.  According to Zen, our suffering only ends when we end.

Whilst I’ve still time in my typical narcissistic fashion, I need to embark upon a project that first, enhances my life; second, enhances the lives of others; third, offers some notoriety toward my personal legacy.  Delusional, delusional, delusional I am not.  Is not every one of us capable of a worthy project and then writing a bestseller about it? 

My imagination is my inner life.  I can easily imagine starting and succeeding with the PENCIL PROJECT well within the time constraint I’ve left to live on this planet.  Such social projects are rather easy to accomplish, especially when compared to the more personal and pedestrian ones such as losing weight or quitting smoking.  

For a very intimate example, while I’ve still the breathing time, I plan to pursue my sporting of six-pack abs, another inner life imaginative. 

Indeed, narcissistic, this is my current fitness goal, and is certainly a time-and-age restricted challenge.  For anyone to actually attain a six-pack thorax is considerably daunting.  Just look around.  Such exhibitionists sporting such are very, very rare even at the gym, never mind the beach.  My imagined pencil project is likely far more to succeed than my imagined mid-section project, even though my self-history is proof that I’ve a penchant for both portraiture and personal fitness.

FACTOID:  I AM NOT A BRUTTO TEMPO PORTRAIT BUSKER.  I shall dispatch upon this pencil project just as soon as the weather permits, which means I'll begin in Spring 2021. In the meanwhile, this wintertime, I shall continue my pencil portraiture for persons as those (two) pictured atop this blog post.  I shall draw persons I meet in the places of sport, rather than on the street.

Keeping the maxim, to live is to suffer in mind –

I’ve not (yet) the desire for my suffering to end!     

 

I GOTTA BE ME: BUT WHO AM I?

SELF-PORTRAIT

According to both William Glasser, author of REALITY THERAPY and Yuval Noah Harari, author of 21 SOLUTIONS FOR THE 21^ST CENTURY, we humans think in stories.  Glasser insisted that everybody has a story to tell, and Harari insists we live according to the stories to which we continually attach ourselves.  Well it just so happens that I’ve lots of stories to tell; however, today I shall limit these stories to those having themes to provide for the reader (and myself) just who I am, or rather, who I think I am.

Who am I?  Hmmm … as long as I keep identifying with the constant streams of thoughts and self-characters that keep popping into my head, I think I know exactly who I am (at least at any given time).

Factoid:  I am a self-aggrandizing aggregate and I’ll attempt, in this blog entry, to explain why.

Who am I? I am a writer. 

I am a published author (A WISHBONE EPISTOLARY, Toronto University Press, 1985).  Hmmm … but that was long ago.  Right now as I type the second and third drafts of this blog; after which I’ve three more of my original stories to scratch off my to-do list:  THE CREEK (an adolescent science fiction novella once published several years ago but now am thinking of publishing online), SCHIZOPHRENIA: THE SHADOW SUITE (an autobiography searching for a publisher, including of course, a publisher online), THE CROSSING (a rather racy vampire novel to be revised just one last time before sending somewhere), and NEIL’S MNEMONIC DICTIONARY (a dictionary of a thousand words and associations to remember those words, and too, to be revised yet again before searching for a publisher).

THE CREEK (BOOK COVER)

 

Being a writer is a very solitary and often times lonely occupation.  As an undergraduate English Literature major I fancied myself a poet.  As a poet I wrote at least a hundred poems and with great effort and disappointment managed to get none of them published.  In later years, as in “now” years, I’ve opportunity to somewhat redeem my bard self by being a locally recognized singer-songwriter balladeer on street corners and bar stages.

As a young high school English teacher, I would get published every now and then in certain magazines with topics related only to scuba diving and skiing.  Magazine articles on these two topics had to be physically experienced before putting pen to paper.  Such adventures are always fun, but writing about them not so much.  I liken it to one of my favourite sayings, “I used to love hiking until I joined the army.” 

As a writer I have this blog, PSYCHOLOGY BUSKING A LA WORDSWORDS, and have a work website, NEIL CHILD HYPNOTHERAPY, for my private counselling practice.  For my blog I used to regularly write one entry per week, then as I got busier with my private practice I have submitted an entry only about once a month.  As for my hypnotherapy website, I do revise it now and then (more “then” than “now” though).

Who am I?  I am a guitar busker.  

Yesterday I stood and strummed and blew my harp for an hour in front of the main door at Value Village.  Typically, when I guitar busk I do so for approximately an hour and a half and no longer than that at any particular buskspot.  If the day happens to be sunny and the consumers munificent, after the hour and a half I’ll pack up and mosey on to another buskspot and thrum and harp for another hour and a half.

A COLD DAY BUSKING

 

When I busk with my guitar and harp I fancy myself as a Bobby Dylan wannabe.  Cap-a-pie I present with messy hair, a pair of shades, a white t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and always wear my hiking boots.  I thrum either my Seagull 12 string or my Gold Tone banjitar, and always in concert with my usually C or sometime G or Am harmonica.Who am I? I am a portrait busker.

On sunny and windless days, I love to draw people’s portraits on the street.  Such portraits take no longer than fifteen minutes and I charge ten dollars for each.  Packing a sketchpad and pencil is much simpler and considerably more portable than packing a guitar.  A portrait busker I’ve decided, is considered to be occupying higher strata than that of a guitar busker.  It’s a simple optic.  Guitar buskers are a dime dozen whereas street portrait artists are rare revered.

FANNIE (OUR FAVOURITE DREAM BROKER)

 

TANYA'S LAST DAY AT THE YMCA

Sometimes (often times) a guitar busker is likened to a beggar with a guitar; whereas, a portrait busker is admired to simply being studio artist taking his ware to the street.

As a busker I am somewhat, or rather quite a lot, delusional.  I’ve always imagined buskers as being that western stranger-rides-into-town romance and adventure aura.  I have busked with my guitar and pencil throughout Western Canada, in the Netherlands, in Ireland, and Morocco.  I fancy myself as a planetary busker and delusional in this regard.  As a planetary busker I am an artisan filled with wanderlust, unfettered and ever on the move.  My reality is that I’ve obligations, both social and financial at home in Canada.  Packing and exiting my present situation would require much more than a guitar load of gumption.

Who am I?  I am a hypnotherapist. 

In my past I’ve been a Reality therapist, a Solution-focused therapist, a Cognitive Behaviour therapist, and sadly, an Eclectic therapist.  Now my private practice I’ve restricted myself to being only a hypnotherapist.  I LOVE BEING A HYPNOTHERAPIST.

SITTING AT MY COLLEAGUE'S DESK

 

Most of my clients are catalogued into one of three big bread-and-butter issues:  Quitting smoking, losing weight, getting a good night sleep.  This was especially true at the beginning of my practice.  Now fear of public speaking, fear of flying, and fear of bugs are commonplace; as our sexual and relationship dysfunctions are, too, very commonplace.  Not as common but consistent, I’ve been counselling clients through memory recalls and even past lives regression.  (Being ever braggadocio my best successes to date are those quitting smoking, those recalling childhood memories, and most recently, those wanting to regress to a past life!)

I’m likening hypnotherapy to that same optical strata as the portrait busker.  Therapist, like guitar players, are a dime a dozen; whereas, hypnotherapists, like portrait artists, connote a much rarer talent and intellect in the mind’s eye of the beholders, so to speak.  (I shall qualify this right away.  The dime-a-dozen metaphor is not necessarily appropriate. Guitar buskers are really a dollar a dozen – therapists are really a hundred dollars a dozen.)

Who am I?  I am a fitness freak. 

My freakiness has natatorial beginnings.  In the 70’s I was a swimmer (I was a swimming and diving instructor for over ten years).

And then in the 80’s I became a serious long-distance runner (I even wrote my Master’s thesis in Psychology on running).  In the 90’s, especially, I became a weight lifter (my Master’s thesis, too, included a snippet on exercising with free weights).  At the turn of the century I began training as a martial artist (first Kenpo Karate, then Taoist Tai Chi, and for the last fourteen years, Bang Muay Thai.)

TRAINING AT ASCENDANT MMA GYM

 

“Training as a martial artist” is misleading.  I train not for fighting but for fighting techniques. I simply love the technique of fighting – I hate the actuality of fighting. For example, in Muay Thai  sparring sessions I choose always not to participate.

Keeping fit, I hike lots.  Like busking, I have hiked the Canadian Rockies, the French Alps, the Irish Gap, and the Moroccan Atlas Mountains.

HIKING IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES

 

Who am I?  Hmmm … as long as I keep identifying with the constant streams of thoughts and self-characters that keep popping into my head, I think I know exactly who I am (at least at any given time).

Who am I?

WRITER. HYPNOTHERAPIST. BUSKER. MARTIAL ARTIST. HIKER. 

ME ME ME ME ME … I GOTTA BE ME … 

I GOTTA BE A SELF-AGGRANDIZING AGGREGATE COMPRISED OF SEEMINGLY DISPARATE HOBBYHORSES WHICH ARE ALL QUINTESSENTIAL TO MY VERY BEING.

 

 And now ... Who are you?

WHOEVER YOU THINK YOU ARE ... 

I AM SURE YOU ARE AS DISPARATE AS I ...