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My old computer has been around for a while. Being a professional computer geek, I bought a box several years ago that was as close to the “bleeding edge” as I could afford, and overall, it has been a good system. I’ve gotten a lot of use out of it without having to do any serious upgrades. Even so, it’s time to move on, so I ordered a new system for myself. I whipped out my trusty plastic yesterday and ordered a new HP computer. I booked the day off today to wait for the courier.
Silly me.
In the interest of preserving my sanity, I called my pal in Montreal for a tracking number to find out some perplexing news. Apparently, my system isn’t due until March 12. That’s two and a half weeks from today. It’s perplexing because my orders usually arrive overnight. I didn’t think I’d have to wait more than two weeks. I could walk to Montreal in that time to pick it up myself.
As I mentioned in my profile, I’m allergic to large corporations, and my adverse reactions are well founded. Apparently, my sales rep has to call his shipping department, and wait patiently for a reply. He has sent emails and made a few calls while I sit here in Toronto fuming about taking a day off for nothing. I can’t do much about it except bug my sales rep. He’s in the same boat as me. He likes to make sure I’m happy because that’s the nature of salesmanship. Keep the customer happy, and the customer will come back for more. I just wish shipping and receiving got the message.
I can’t wait to hear the convoluted reasoning behind this mix-up. When all is said and done, I could have had lunch with Sassinak instead. That was an appointment I could have kept, and it would have been much more pleasant than waiting for a courier. Should I have brunch or wait for a nonexistant shipment?
Where’s Mr. Godot when you need him? Maybe he’s having Eggs Benedict with the courier at Maggies.
***
Big corporations mean big problems. Apparently, my computer is sitting in a warehouse in Vancouver. The rocket-surgeons in shipping and receiving were going to wait until the backordered video adaptor was in hand March 12 to ship the whole thing. I have two monitors and a memory upgrade that I can stare at until the computer itself arrives next week. So much for booking the day off.
I went to my weekly class this evening with D. She’s a rather unique woman who teaches pilates and bodywork. In addition to that, I’ve been pursuing the study of meditation and breathwork with her. It has been a very productive and rewarding relationship.
I’m a bit high strung. Sassinak will vouch for me. In fact, a lot of people will. Since I started learning meditation techniques from D, I feel like I’ve turned a page of sorts. I still lose my cool on occasion of course. The good news is, those occasions are fewer and farther between. Nobody likes a ranting and raving lunatic in their midst, and I really dislike being the one ranting and raving. It’s one of my least favourite attributes. If you’re feeling stressed out, then I wholeheartedly recommend you learn some meditation techniques.
The added bonus to this work is my discovery of the healing power of the human mind.
A few years ago, I started noticing arthritic pain in my hands. As soon as the cooler weather of late September and early October came along, I was digging into my cold weather gear to make sure I had a pair of gloves to prevent my hands becoming cold and unresponsive. I wasn’t too happy about the prospect of arthritis, and I started looking for answers. I tried glucosamine sulfate. I looked into other dietary supplements. I talked to my doctor about it. Nothing seemed to help much. It bothered me to do the things that make me happiest, like playing saxophone. The prospect of losing manual dexterity wasn’t pleasant to say the least.
Sassinak started her pilates teacher training a few years ago, and she convinced me to help out by being her first subject. I’m glad I did. Since that time, I’ve pursued studies with other instructors, and especially with D, who is one of Sassinak’s favourite teachers. Over time, D has helped me get into something called “Continuum”.
If I were to describe it to you, you’d think I was off my rocker. Continuum is the study of breath, sound and movement. Even D told me at the outset that I might find it very wacky. It’s very esoteric, and I’m sure a lot of scientifically minded folk would dismiss it as pure madness. I probably would have myself, except for the fact that it has worked wonders.
One particular session comes to mind. In one evening, I managed to completely cure the symptoms I had been feeling in my hands. The dull aching has not returned since that time, and it has been several months. The reasons for this amazing transformation have eluded me. The only thing I can figure is that I have somehow managed to repair or create new neural pathways in my hands. The doctors would likely dismiss my conjecture, but they didn’t feel the dull ache in my hands for several years, nor did they experience the rapid and complete turnaround in my health either. Whatever happened doesn’t really matter, because my hands are much happier.
Here’s where Plan B comes into action. The doctors at St. Mike’s have had enough of me, and I’m not due to see them for a few months now. They don’t really have any suggestions about my sensitivity to light, except to wait it out. They’re just glad I’m not blind. I’ve been working on my head, and my still fragile optic nerves. With D’s help, I’ve been able to focus on the damage to my vision, and the ensuing light sensitivity. It has been several sessions, and I suspect that I won’t realize a miraculous turnaround like I had with my hands. Even so, the work is helping. I admire D for her concern, because it’s so genuine. She’s the real deal.
If you’re at all interested in this stuff, then look at http://www.continuummovement.com/ for a better overview than I can provide. This web site describes the work of a woman named Emilie Conrad who stumbled onto these ideas and introduced them to the world. It’s timeless and timely knowledge. And, as flaky as the concepts sound, they work.
Plan B is in play. I’m sounding off, breathing and moving.
Grendel and Dingo
Grendel’s girlfriend Dingo came over to visit. It’s nice because it’s Valentines day. Forget that Hubris and the Mighty Doll were here too. They’re just humans. When dog love is in the air, there are all sorts of strange odours.
Tiff says any holiday that is all about love, flowers and chocolate can’t be all bad. I suggested the addition of single malts, and she figured that wasn’t a bad idea either.
Happy Valentines Day everyone. May Cupid fire one of his arrows into yer keester.
While reading the program for the Roy Hargrove concert I attended last night, I discovered some saddening news. Michael Brecker has died. He was only 57 years old, and died as a result of leukemia on January 13.
For those of you who don’t know, Mr. Brecker has been an outstanding contributor to the modern music scene, both as a leader and a sideman. He had something like 900 recording credits to his name, and I’m certainly not alone in the world when I say he was one of the greatest. Where many jazz musicians disappeared due to the advent of rock music, Brecker held his place as a top notch soloist no matter what genre he played in. He could play the extended forms of modern jazz. He was equally at home playing rock music where the role of the soloist is to distill fully formed ideas into short and succinct solos that don’t interfere with the brevity that rock demands.
Michael Brecker’s solo albums stand out as some of the most interesting and progressive new music of the last 20 or so years, and his name was already established before he began releasing albums under his own name. Anybody who can hire the likes of Pat Metheny, Jack Dejohnette, and David Holland to accompany him has got to be technically prodigious. It wasn’t just his amazing facility with the instrument though. He approached the tenor saxophone with a melodic and rhythmic style that was all his own. When he took a solo, there was nothing to stop him. His rhythmic drive was like a freight train. There was an irresistible inertia to his playing.
I have to say that I’m glad I had the opportunity to hear him perform live last year. He was touring with Roy Hargrove and Herbie Hancock at the time. The group stopped at our own Massey Hall to perform. The high point of the night was Michael Brecker’s solo with his EWI (Electronic Wind Instrument). The EWI looks like a black box the size of a hardback book with some keys and a little nozzle for breath input. It’s an odd looking synthesizer controller. In Brecker’s hands this unusual instrument was anything but a toy. He triggered drum sounds, bass sounds and other synthesized noises that soon filled the entire hall with a funky, infectious music that enthralled the entire audience. It was remarkable, just like Michael Brecker.
If you’ve got the money, run out and purchase every Michael Brecker recording you can find. It doesn’t matter which one, because every one I’ve ever heard has been plain excellent. The man did not keep company with slouches or pretenders.
Music has lost another champion. Rest in peace Michael.
“If the answer is infinite light, why do we sleep in the dark?” – Paul Simon.
I’ve always thought about the different levels of perception that people have. Some of us have sharper hearing than others. Some of us have an eagle eye. Some people have finely tuned tastebuds. Others have a good nose for scents. A few of us can repair Swiss watches, and lots of us hammer nails. Whatever senses we cultivate, it seems everyone’s abilities vary. None of us are identical, so how can we measure sense perception and compare it with others?
I went to another concert last evening with Hubris. Both of us admired the music, because it’s just impossible to dislike Colin James and his Little Big Band. The horns had great charts, the rhythm section was flawless, and the staging was excellent. Jame’s choice of songs was wonderful, and his singing and guitar playing are simply fantastic. While the lighting was certainly well done, due to my weird colour vision, and my sensitivity to bright light, it proved interesting in relation to my long standing questions.
With my partial colour blindness, I found that a lot of the monochromatic lighting schemes that they used made a lot of details disappear for me. Like entire instruments and people on stage. My former eagle-eyes have been pretty seriously changed, and within the past few weeks, I’ve had to start rethinking my attraction to visual stimulus. My capacity to appreciate colour and detail has changed so much. I’m wondering if my perceptions and thinking are bound to follow suit.
I have enjoyed the visual arts for many years. A photograph or a painting could catch my attention quite easily. I have a habit of slowing down to examine details in nature and human constructs with an almost childlike fascination. It never bothered me that people thought I was weird or eccentric. Details are good. If you don’t notice the details, what the hell are you doing?
Since my eyesight was damaged, the details are harder to notice, and my desire to keep up with them has to be countered by a need for visual rest. It’s one of those double edged swords. Sometimes I can only work on the computer for a few minutes before the dimmer comes on, and at other times, I can manage for significantly longer periods before visual input gets difficult. Even at the best of times, however, I’ve got to think seriously about my light intake. My eyeballs have a finite duty cycle, and light is both pleasurable and detrimental.
We’ve all had tired eyes from not enough sleep, staying up too late, smoking too many doobs, or driving too many kilometers. It happens, and most folks with normal vision just rest their eyelids a few minutes, and go on with things. It’s a different story for your humble author.
I hope I don’t sound like I’m complaining. Perhaps I am a little. What interests me is how I may adapt to these altered circumstances. How do I relate with the world through my senses now that one of them has been compromised? Have my other senses been “tweaked” due to my visual loss. I did think so when my eyes were at their worst. Now, I’m not so certain. The more likely result seems to be that I am just paying more attention to the remaining senses. And maybe, that’s a partial answer to my original question.
Perhaps all of us, unless we’re “broken” are usually endowed with a fully developed sense capability, and it’s only through time and conditioning that we either learn to ignore or pay attention to the senses. It may be a more internalized thing that governs how we use our senses. Working on the internal side of sense perception might be the only thing we can do to sharpen our senses. It has more to do with the way our brain processes the information rather than what we think we detect with our senses.
Some good has come of this new found attention though. I’ve got a new found appreciation for people with disabilities. I certainly have found a different speed for some activities. I find that I dislike crowded spaces and all the pushing and shoving that goes with it much less. I prefer to take a slower pace rather than being the one barging through. Sass will still complain about the pace I keep on the open sidewalk, but I’ve noticed that my behaviour in a busy space is a little more measured. Cautious might be the right word. I am not lacking any mobility, and because my vision rebounded as much as it did, my gait is a lot less asymmetric.
Big changes in a really short time. I knew why, but being the details oriented guy that I am, I wanted to know more. I knew my senses were off kilter, and I adapted quite rapidly to limited eyesight. The adaptations weren’t all good. I talked to D and S, at their respective pilates studio. Both of them noticed that my movements had become a little more awkward when my sight was dark. My left side which is usually my stronger side, was a little more inhibited. I got hunched over slightly because my visual field was so limited. My left foot planted with a sudden jarring effect. It was an interesting time. As a student of movement, it was an ideal situation to study real-world conditions. How do our perceptions affect us, and how do we affect our perceptions?
Ultimately, I’ve had a great lesson in not taking any sensory input for granted. My appreciation of my remaining senses is greater, and I’m slowly learning to cope with a dimmer, but still beautiful world. I still don’t know the answer to my questions, but I’ve got more data to consider.
I got the approval of my eye doctor to drive again. He said my distance vision was good enough without need of corrective lenses, and the blind-spots that I still have are not an issue. The latest field test shows a significant improvement since the darkness of early January. The dark spots overlap, and the human brain (I have one of those) is quite good at compensating for small defects like that. Sass knows a woman with big blind spots in the center of her eyes, and she can drive an automobile. The occipital lobe rocks! Off I went.
I headed up to Barrie to see my old chum Zip on Saturday morning. The sun was bright, and the high albedo of the snow added to the overall glare. I didn’t fare too badly with my upscale sunglasses on. The sunglasses were worth the somewhat extortionate price. Polarized glasses are my new accessory. My old friend and I sat down to a lovely breakfast at Mom’s Restaurant. The former Montreal Canadien’s player Shane Corson invested some dough to get the place going apparently, and it’s worth a visit if you’re hungry in Barrie. Nice friendly service and tasty home-style food.
Zip and family are doing well.
From Barrie, I headed west through the Nottawasaga River valley to my mum and dad’s home facing the Niagara Escarpment. They’re doing well despite the bitter cold and the blowing snow. My brothers are doing alright too. Mike’s french is still kinda pathetic but he’s at least he’s still working at it.
I also had the pleasure of bumping into the Mad Sailor’s younger sister. I filled her in on the current state of my eyeballs, because the rumour mill has been working overtime. It’s important that everyone know I’m back in the game. I come from a tight knit group, and even though we don’t see each other often enough, we try hard to keep in touch one way or another. I hadn’t seen the Mad Sailor’s Sister since last summer, but she had heard I had been blinded. Bumping into an old friend is not unusual, and finding that word has preceded you is less so.
Saturday night, I went to my Aunt and Uncle’s 50th Wedding Anniversary party. It is always a cause for celebration when you find couples that have stayed together for that long. Time marches on, but love survives all difficulty.
I think I’d like to ease into driving a car again after cruising to Collingworld and back. This first drive since my illness was a little hair raising, and I wasn’t entirely at ease behind the wheel. I didn’t have any close calls, but I was a little uncomfortable. Drifting snow and large amounts of glare are hard to handle at the best of times. When you’re more sensitive to light, it’s even more difficult. I relish the idea of having the sun higher in the sky and some lovely green colour to absorb the excess sunlight. Springtime will be nice to me, because the sun will put me at less of a disadvantage. The peepers will have healed some more, and Mother Nature will be busy rebuilding the foliage. I can’t wait.
I’m going to kidnap my friends and go for breakfast at Ted’s. The top in the convertible will be down. Be ready.
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