 |
| FAMILIAR STRANGERS AT THE SKI RESORT |
Most of us
notice the same people who regularly ski at the same mountain, wait at the same
bus stop, regularly shop in the same marketplace, or regularly work out in the
same gym as us. Most of us recognize other people in our routines that we frequently
notice on a regular basis but with whom we do not interact. Psychologist
Stanley Milgram, in 1970, coined such persons as “familiar strangers.”
During my daily
routines, I am very cognizant of many familiar strangers. In the mornings in my
building I share the same passenger elevator with familiar strangers. During my
regular afternoon gym time, I share the same exercise pumping iron space with three
or four familiar strangers. And in the evenings when I go for a London Fog at
the Tim Hortons just down the street from where I live, there are always a few familiar
strangers pounding down their Timmy grounds. All these familiar strangers I’ve
mentioned, though closer than complete strangers, do not yet rise to the level
of being an acquaintance.
Reflecting,
familiar strangers have always been part of my occupied public spaces. In grade school, high
school, and university, there were other students in class who I recognized,
but with whom I never conversed. Specifically, I can recall Sharon and David
and Gale, with whom I went all through grade school and high school, and yet,
ashamedly, do not recall ever chatting with any of them.
When I was a
pipeline grunt for several years working the lines in Manitoba, Saskatchewan,
Alberta, British Columbia, and in the North West Territories, there were crew
mates who I recognized but never spoke with. Sometimes we even stayed in the
same isolated work camps, with nary a word between us.
When I was a
high school English teacher, professionally I was close to the other English teachers, but rarely spoke to teachers from any of the other departments,
save for the Physical Education Department -- I was a long-distance runner and
swimmer and so shared the same locker rooms. When I was on faculty at
the University of Regina, I would bump into a few of the other Psychology
profs, but rarely spoke to any of them. (I think this was because I was a
sessional instructor, and not positioned high on academic strata compared to that of a tenured
professor.)
When my kids
were young and taking them to soccer and swimming and wherever, lots of like-minded
parents carting their kids to the same spaces became familiar strangers. On
the pitch or in the pool, there were parents, including moi, clapping and
chatting, but never any real conversations beyond the immediate event.
Familiar
strangers. They are everywhere. They are at Open Mic Night at my favorite downtown
pub, The Cure. Familiar strangers are some of my passer-by consumers when I am out and
about guitar busking. Having a photographic memory for people and events, I know
that for me, having these familiar strangers alongside me does make life, not-so-strangely, comforting.
Oftentimes familiar strangers do happen to connect with one another. When
the intimacy becomes more than just a nod-and-hello, when the phatic
quite-the-weather-we’re-having chat becomes the more inquisitive
what-do-you-do-for-a-living chat, the needle begins to move from stranger
toward friend on the stranger-to-lover continuum.
The American
band, the Hollies, sang about this very phenomenon:
“Every mornin’ I would see her waiting at the stop
Sometimes she’d shopped and show me what she bought …
That’s the way the whole thing started
Silly but it’s true
Thinkin’ of a sweet romance
Beginning in a queue” (Bus Stop, 1966).
There are
no strangers here; only friends you haven’t met yet (Irish poet, William Butler Yeats).
Yes, it can
happen. Perfect strangers can become familiar strangers, familiar strangers can
become friends, and friends can become lovers. And it could happen, too, that a
familiar stranger, who happens to be a picayune president, who has a legion-like
following of toady disciples, and who has decided to reduce friendship to a transactional relationship, could potentially cause an international trade warfare of sorts.
Now’s the
time for true confessions -- the real purpose of this blog post. This blog entry I have written as a respond to the slurs and scatology coming
from the mouth of a boorish president who is known for his
egregious behaviors.
Factoid: My grandmother was an American. She
was Kentucky born and raised and she, along with her family, crossed the
Missouri River from Kansas City, Kansas, to Kansas City, Missouri in a covered
wagon. That was then, this is now. At present, I have two uncles residing in California, and their children
and grandchildren are all Americans, and just like my grandmother, born and
raised in the good ol’ USA. Even with such American family connections, nowadays
nobody in my Canadian family will travel back to America, at least not until Trump has left office.
This is too
bad, too sad, considering that we have been regular vacationers to south of the
border for years! Here are just a few of my cherished spots in America:
 |
| SKI MAP, ALTA, UTAH |
 |
| RIALTO BEACH, WASHINGTON |
 |
| HUNTINGTON BEACH, CALIFORNIA |
 |
| SAN DIEGO BEACH, CALIFORNIA |
Relations
between the USA and Canada are getting grim. Canadians are now boycotting
American booze (my Kentucky bourbon has been pulled off our Canadian shelves), Canadian
snowbirds are canceling plans for their next-winter-vacay in the sunny climes
of Florida and Arizona. All my group-think friends and neighbors are not buying anything stamped Made in America. USA and Canada. Very familiar strangers, and now we are even booing the Star-Spangled Banner at sports events, especially hockey
as of late,
 |
| CANADA- USA FINAL 4-NATION HOCKEY TOURNAMENT |
I shall close this strange case of Donald Trump and Justin Trudeau with a bit of agitprop.
“Let me be perfectly clear” (as I channel formerly disgraced president, Richard Nixon, who now looks not-that-bad when compared to Donald Trump):
WE ARE NOT
BOOING YOUR PLAYERS – WE ARE BOOING YOUR PRESIDENT!
