There has been much talk over the years of “the Sixth Sense.” In my past few blog entries (five, to be exact) I explored the five recognised senses known to Man and the Scientific community. However, the existence of the sixth sense is both contentious and compelling.
As a drummer, I have long been familiar and comfortable with the science of numbers; small numbers at least. Scientists have been able to explain weather patterns for generations, and how the moon’s gravity has an effect on our earthly tides, but when it comes to a sixth sense, science backs away, denies its existence, and then tries to justify the bad weather we got when fair weather was predicted. The trouble with science is, they are controlled by popular opinion and government funding.
The “sixth” sense is a slight misnomer at best. It is a blanket statement to describe a number of phenomena; from seeing ghostly apparitions, to “knowing” when one is not alone in a building or room, to “knowing” what the winning numbers will be in a lottery draw.
When my father was in the final stages of lung cancer, my older half-sister woke suddenly one night, (not a common occurrence I understand) to see what she described as our father standing at the foot of her bed, looking at her in a way she described as “longingly.” He said nothing, but just “stood” there, looking at her. When my mother called her the next day, she was not surprised. Mom had called to tell my sister she should come home immediately because it was doubtful Dad would live much longer. My sister came home, spent some time with Dad, and then went back to her husband and children in Ontario. Dad died about three weeks later.
Science would dismiss that as coincidence, yet if scientists were to be as totally analytical and dismissive as they try to appear, they would not even believe in coincidence, since that cannot be quantified either.
A little more than a year after Dad’s death, I was doing some cleaning up in the yard of the house I was renting, and noticed the clouds moving in the sky across the valley. As I watched, I saw the clouds come together and create a formation that resembled Dad’s face. Then the clouds moved slightly, and Dad smiled. Coincidence? Or communication from the other side? Some, perhaps most, reading this will opt to say coincidence, but in my heart I believe Dad came by to say hello.
While on tour in my musical career, I have often been in towns and cities that are unfamiliar to me. Sometimes, I would walk to unwind, and occasionally I would find myself in a neighbourhood that `felt` uncomfortable. Later, someone who lived in that town or city would verify I had been in area where many acts of crime had been committed. There was no way I could tell that these neighbourhoods were questionable, yet something made me sense it was not a good place to be. A sixth sense?
In the same vein, there have been numerous recorded incidents where others, (as well as myself) have left a place, only to have something unpleasant occur shortly thereafter. “I got out just in time.” When asked why they left when they did, that answer can nearly always be paraphrased, “I don’t know, I just felt uncomfortable.” Is this a sixth sense at work?
Many people claim to be able to see into the future; they go by names such as Clairvoyants, psychics, Mediums… they also can see the spirits of the departed, or communicate with them. Often these are carnival attractions or back alley novelties, but there are also many documented cases that are legitimate. The late magician and escape artist Harry Houdini often tried to communicate with his dead mother, finally taking the stance that the Spiritualists were frauds and set about debunking them. After his passing, his wife Bess attempted to contact his spirit with varying, yet unsatisfactory results. Perhaps the most famous and successful Spiritualist to have lived to date is H.P. Blavatsky.
Quantum science tells us that nothing exists until we believe it. Can the spirits of the deceased communicate with the living? Can mortal humans see and predict the future? Can we know when things are about to go wrong? What do you think?
I think anything is possible if we open our minds to the possibilities.
~Still Wandering…
Monday, December 19, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Art of Touching.
Our sense of touch is a magnificent thing indeed. With it, we can tell the difference between hot and cold, sharp and dull, hard and soft; a myriad of textures.
A tradesman can identify objects simply by touch. A musician or painter often talks about the touch on the instrument or of brush on canvas. A touch can reassure; or cause injury. To a blind person, touch is everything. One phone company even coined the slogan, “Reach out and touch someone.”
Watch a baby. To an infant, learning about the world is an experience of touching; when a child encounters a new object or being, the first impression is to touch it. Children soon learn that fingers and toes operate quite differently, and while it is possible to curl one’s toes around an object and lift it, fingers work much better.
As we grow, we learn the joys of touching favoured objects; that special toy we treasure, the softness of a warm sweater, stroking a cat or dog during quiet moments. Sometimes, the same type of touch can have different meanings. A playful slap on the shoulder is quite different than an angry slap on the face.
I remember when my father passed away, after the funeral, everyone went back to our house for tea, coffee, and sandwiches. A friend of the family came to me to express her condolences. As she talked, she nonchalantly touched my arm, conveying sympathy, and friendship. It was a gesture that brought great comfort to me at a time of immense sorrow.
Throughout the years, our senses decline, yet for most of us, the sense of touch remains not only intact, but integral. Some of us however lose some of our sense of touch as well. Those of us who have used our hands extensively suffer nerve damage, reducing our ability to feel things the way we used to. Mechanics may not have the dexterity they once had. Those who sew, seamstresses and tailors, lose sensation in the tips of their fingers from repeated needle punctures. Arthritis, carpal tunnel syndrome, bursitis, tendinitis, and many other afflictions reduce one’s ability to use one’s hands and fingers as in the past. Yet those awkward, injured, impaired hands can still offer compassion, support, love and hope to someone in need.
Go ahead, reach out; reach out and touch someone.
~Still Wandering…
A tradesman can identify objects simply by touch. A musician or painter often talks about the touch on the instrument or of brush on canvas. A touch can reassure; or cause injury. To a blind person, touch is everything. One phone company even coined the slogan, “Reach out and touch someone.”
Watch a baby. To an infant, learning about the world is an experience of touching; when a child encounters a new object or being, the first impression is to touch it. Children soon learn that fingers and toes operate quite differently, and while it is possible to curl one’s toes around an object and lift it, fingers work much better.
As we grow, we learn the joys of touching favoured objects; that special toy we treasure, the softness of a warm sweater, stroking a cat or dog during quiet moments. Sometimes, the same type of touch can have different meanings. A playful slap on the shoulder is quite different than an angry slap on the face.
I remember when my father passed away, after the funeral, everyone went back to our house for tea, coffee, and sandwiches. A friend of the family came to me to express her condolences. As she talked, she nonchalantly touched my arm, conveying sympathy, and friendship. It was a gesture that brought great comfort to me at a time of immense sorrow.
Throughout the years, our senses decline, yet for most of us, the sense of touch remains not only intact, but integral. Some of us however lose some of our sense of touch as well. Those of us who have used our hands extensively suffer nerve damage, reducing our ability to feel things the way we used to. Mechanics may not have the dexterity they once had. Those who sew, seamstresses and tailors, lose sensation in the tips of their fingers from repeated needle punctures. Arthritis, carpal tunnel syndrome, bursitis, tendinitis, and many other afflictions reduce one’s ability to use one’s hands and fingers as in the past. Yet those awkward, injured, impaired hands can still offer compassion, support, love and hope to someone in need.
Go ahead, reach out; reach out and touch someone.
~Still Wandering…
Friday, November 18, 2011
Do You Hear What I Hear?
[My advance apologies for the length of this entry]
I cannot remember a time when music wasn’t the biggest and sweetest part of my life. Dad was a guitarist and singer who had spent some time with an early incarnation of Don Messer’s orchestra. He always had the radio on, in the house and in the car. Mom too enjoyed the music from the radio, and could often be heard singing along. The only radio station I heard for years was CFNB in Fredericton New Brunswick, the city closest to where I lived. CFNB broadcast with fifty thousand watts of power, so the signal was always strong. They played a wide variety of music from Pop to Country, Big Band to Polka, religious programming and news… Everything was covered.
In the early to mid 1960s music became more tangible; some students of our school had formed a small band and would perform every Friday at lunch time in the auditorium. The rest of the students would dance, or “cruise” around the perimeter of the room while the hits of the day issued forth from the drums and amps on the stage. It was the drums to which I was most attracted. The drummer, Reg Sansom, was kind enough to share his knowledge, and it was during this time that I began to lose interest in many other things. My drumming career was being born unbeknownst to me.
When the Beatles came to North America and appeared on the Ed Sullivan show, followed by the other Rock ‘n’ Roll acts of the day; The Rolling Stones, The Hollies, Johnny Rivers , etc I was glued to our television set. I watched every act I could see. Our school’s student council brought bands in regularly to play for Friday night dances, which ran from 9:00 – 12:00. I got to see many drummers during my school days and several of them became friends and, like Reg, were generous with their knowledge.
When I began playing in public, all thoughts of having any other occupation quickly faded. I was completely enthralled with drumming and soaked up anything I could learn like a sponge. In my early twenties, I had the opportunity to study from a professional teacher. He moved away before I could learn much and the little bit of knowledge he had imparted only served to make me want more and resulted in frustration. It would be a few years until the opportunity again arose to study. Eventually I managed to learn to read music well enough to teach myself through books available at music stores. A subscription to Modern Drummer magazine proved to be an invaluable resource as well.
As time passed, I began using the knowledge I’d acquired to teach others. It was in this capacity that I met a young Mi’Kmaq chap who was related to the Drum Keeper for one of the Traditional Drum groups in our area. A few short years later, I was invited to co-produce a CD of this Drum group’s music. When the CD was released, I was asked to join the group.
It was a short step from drumming at Pow - Wows to drumming at Healing Ceremonies. I learned the Sacred Healing Songs and participated in many Healings.
At that same time, I was introduced to the works of Peter Kater and R. Carlos Nakai via the soundtrack for the TV mini-Series “How the West Was Lost.” I began exploring other “New Age” music and the healing properties of music, both rhythmic and ambient. I delved into the writings of Mickey Hart and Joseph Campbell. The route began to branch off into religions, philosophies and much more. As I began to explore these avenues, I discovered the Tibetan Singing Bowls and Buddhist Tingshas and Meditation Bells. Music from Stephen Halpern, Hennie Bekker, Suzanne Ciani, Constance Demby, Steve Roach, Paul Winter and so many more was constantly in my CD player. Then Dr Andrew Weil weighed in on the subject along with Kimba Arem. They described how all life is vibration, and sound, as vibration, can disrupt or re-align our body’s natural vibratory patterns. Of course, I realized this to be true as soon as I heard it spoken, and realized also that everything we hear has an effect on us and the way we feel. Realizing the need for personal Healing and Transformation, I began to use music in my Meditation; soothing, relaxing, re-vitalizing sounds to realign my vibrations.
As my explorations continued, I discovered the music of Deva Premal, Snatam Kaur and Jai Uttal.
Sound can also have negative effects. After the end of World War Two, many people in Britain displayed adverse reactions to hearing a siren. The sounds of Industry can cause nervousness, tension and anxiety. I believe that some music, such as Gangsta Rap can incite violence, and of course, there is the “Brown Note;” the infamous note discovered by the Moody Blues that when slowed down, oscillated, and reversed, can cause one’s bowels to move. They wisely have not revealed what note that is, or by what degree it is slowed or oscillated.
When we examine sound and how it affects our minds, emotions and bodies, we must then examine our very words and the effects their vibrations have upon us. Even in joking, many phrases can be harmful. Choosing our words carefully can be a wise move, but many of us are too busy talking to actually think of the effect of what we say.
We all know the effect of sound in movies; it creates tension, pathos, joy, or longing, to enhance the mood of the scene on the screen. This is all very intentional, and in many cases, the soundtrack is available on CD. Many soundtrack CDs are as successful as the movie from which they come.
Besides music, the sounds I prefer to hear are the sounds of the natural world; birds singing, bees, water (especially rivers flowing) and the other sounds that occur naturally and are not man-made.
My many years as a drumset player have taken their toll as well; tinnitus developed and steadily grew to where conversations are difficult at times, awkward on a regular basis. I hear sounds, but not always distinct words; the frequencies muffled and compressed. I recently drove away from a drive—through due to the frustration of not being able to distinguish the words spoken by the store employee.
Whether sound is important in your life or not; whether you are soothed, aroused, frightened, or reverent, sound will have an effect, either directly or subliminally. Take some time and examine how various sounds affect you. Go for a walk in nature and listen, really listen, to the birds as they call to one another. Do you hear silence as they become aware of your presence, or do they realize you pose no threat? Observe the sounds the trees make as the breezes pass through the leaves or needles. Can you distinguish one tree from another by sound alone? There are differences, you know.
Listen closely to the sounds of the voices you hear. Are they coloured with anger, fear, or frustration? How does the sound of a loved one’s voice differ from a casual acquaintance? Do you recognise the calming effect of the voice of someone like Thich Naht Hanh or the Dalai Lama?
No matter what you are hearing, I hope you find Joy and Happiness within.
~Still Wandering…
I cannot remember a time when music wasn’t the biggest and sweetest part of my life. Dad was a guitarist and singer who had spent some time with an early incarnation of Don Messer’s orchestra. He always had the radio on, in the house and in the car. Mom too enjoyed the music from the radio, and could often be heard singing along. The only radio station I heard for years was CFNB in Fredericton New Brunswick, the city closest to where I lived. CFNB broadcast with fifty thousand watts of power, so the signal was always strong. They played a wide variety of music from Pop to Country, Big Band to Polka, religious programming and news… Everything was covered.
In the early to mid 1960s music became more tangible; some students of our school had formed a small band and would perform every Friday at lunch time in the auditorium. The rest of the students would dance, or “cruise” around the perimeter of the room while the hits of the day issued forth from the drums and amps on the stage. It was the drums to which I was most attracted. The drummer, Reg Sansom, was kind enough to share his knowledge, and it was during this time that I began to lose interest in many other things. My drumming career was being born unbeknownst to me.
When the Beatles came to North America and appeared on the Ed Sullivan show, followed by the other Rock ‘n’ Roll acts of the day; The Rolling Stones, The Hollies, Johnny Rivers , etc I was glued to our television set. I watched every act I could see. Our school’s student council brought bands in regularly to play for Friday night dances, which ran from 9:00 – 12:00. I got to see many drummers during my school days and several of them became friends and, like Reg, were generous with their knowledge.
When I began playing in public, all thoughts of having any other occupation quickly faded. I was completely enthralled with drumming and soaked up anything I could learn like a sponge. In my early twenties, I had the opportunity to study from a professional teacher. He moved away before I could learn much and the little bit of knowledge he had imparted only served to make me want more and resulted in frustration. It would be a few years until the opportunity again arose to study. Eventually I managed to learn to read music well enough to teach myself through books available at music stores. A subscription to Modern Drummer magazine proved to be an invaluable resource as well.
As time passed, I began using the knowledge I’d acquired to teach others. It was in this capacity that I met a young Mi’Kmaq chap who was related to the Drum Keeper for one of the Traditional Drum groups in our area. A few short years later, I was invited to co-produce a CD of this Drum group’s music. When the CD was released, I was asked to join the group.
It was a short step from drumming at Pow - Wows to drumming at Healing Ceremonies. I learned the Sacred Healing Songs and participated in many Healings.
At that same time, I was introduced to the works of Peter Kater and R. Carlos Nakai via the soundtrack for the TV mini-Series “How the West Was Lost.” I began exploring other “New Age” music and the healing properties of music, both rhythmic and ambient. I delved into the writings of Mickey Hart and Joseph Campbell. The route began to branch off into religions, philosophies and much more. As I began to explore these avenues, I discovered the Tibetan Singing Bowls and Buddhist Tingshas and Meditation Bells. Music from Stephen Halpern, Hennie Bekker, Suzanne Ciani, Constance Demby, Steve Roach, Paul Winter and so many more was constantly in my CD player. Then Dr Andrew Weil weighed in on the subject along with Kimba Arem. They described how all life is vibration, and sound, as vibration, can disrupt or re-align our body’s natural vibratory patterns. Of course, I realized this to be true as soon as I heard it spoken, and realized also that everything we hear has an effect on us and the way we feel. Realizing the need for personal Healing and Transformation, I began to use music in my Meditation; soothing, relaxing, re-vitalizing sounds to realign my vibrations.
As my explorations continued, I discovered the music of Deva Premal, Snatam Kaur and Jai Uttal.
Sound can also have negative effects. After the end of World War Two, many people in Britain displayed adverse reactions to hearing a siren. The sounds of Industry can cause nervousness, tension and anxiety. I believe that some music, such as Gangsta Rap can incite violence, and of course, there is the “Brown Note;” the infamous note discovered by the Moody Blues that when slowed down, oscillated, and reversed, can cause one’s bowels to move. They wisely have not revealed what note that is, or by what degree it is slowed or oscillated.
When we examine sound and how it affects our minds, emotions and bodies, we must then examine our very words and the effects their vibrations have upon us. Even in joking, many phrases can be harmful. Choosing our words carefully can be a wise move, but many of us are too busy talking to actually think of the effect of what we say.
We all know the effect of sound in movies; it creates tension, pathos, joy, or longing, to enhance the mood of the scene on the screen. This is all very intentional, and in many cases, the soundtrack is available on CD. Many soundtrack CDs are as successful as the movie from which they come.
Besides music, the sounds I prefer to hear are the sounds of the natural world; birds singing, bees, water (especially rivers flowing) and the other sounds that occur naturally and are not man-made.
My many years as a drumset player have taken their toll as well; tinnitus developed and steadily grew to where conversations are difficult at times, awkward on a regular basis. I hear sounds, but not always distinct words; the frequencies muffled and compressed. I recently drove away from a drive—through due to the frustration of not being able to distinguish the words spoken by the store employee.
Whether sound is important in your life or not; whether you are soothed, aroused, frightened, or reverent, sound will have an effect, either directly or subliminally. Take some time and examine how various sounds affect you. Go for a walk in nature and listen, really listen, to the birds as they call to one another. Do you hear silence as they become aware of your presence, or do they realize you pose no threat? Observe the sounds the trees make as the breezes pass through the leaves or needles. Can you distinguish one tree from another by sound alone? There are differences, you know.
Listen closely to the sounds of the voices you hear. Are they coloured with anger, fear, or frustration? How does the sound of a loved one’s voice differ from a casual acquaintance? Do you recognise the calming effect of the voice of someone like Thich Naht Hanh or the Dalai Lama?
No matter what you are hearing, I hope you find Joy and Happiness within.
~Still Wandering…
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Here's Looking at You!
I began to develop myopia when I was about eleven years old. It happened so suddenly, my father thought I was making it up, but after some of my teachers brought it to his attention that I wasn’t seeing the assignments on the chalkboard so well, he decided to take me to the Optometrist.
It was determined that I would need glasses, and even though my vision had deteriorated drastically in less than a year, there was no need for concern. “It happens frequently” my parents were told.
The first few years I wore glasses were a period of “on again, off again” experiences, since they kept getting broken. Because my parents couldn’t just take them to the mall for repairs, I would often go for weeks or sometimes months without them. Walking around in a blurry world is awkward, but I noticed my sense of hearing changed. It didn’t get better per se, but I was able to distinguish sounds with more accuracy. I could hear tires approaching and tell whose car it was.
By the time I had turned fifteen, I had learned how to not have broken glasses, and life settled into a sort of “normal.” When I was in my mid twenties, I got contact lenses and wore them for years until it was decided that to proceed would be detrimental to the health of my eyes.
I value my sense of sight; a gift from Creation that has allowed me to gaze upon heart-stopping beauty.
We all enjoy a sunrise or sunset; a rainbow after an afternoon or evening shower; the colours of the autumn leaves, and many of us have sights that are our personal favourites; a favourite place that holds special memories or brings a sense of peace and comfort. I have such a special place, a turn in the Nashwaak River in the village where I grew up. Sitting on that river bank, my life becomes whole again, the troubles seem to float away, with the ripples on the water. [Check out the attached video to share my bliss.]
Sight can also offer warnings. I have seen movement from the corner of my eye while driving and applied my brakes in time to avoid a collision with another vehicle. I have likewise been able to avoid attack from various dogs, people and falling objects while walking.
Sight can be descriptive: There are people who are not articulate enough to describe something, but can sketch it out and make others understand it. We can recognize our friends from afar by the way they move, or the colour of their favourite piece of clothing, or some other distinguishing feature.
The previously mentioned spot on the river bank or sunrises etc are but a few examples of how sight can bring us joy and peace. I love the sight of a well set table before a meal, even if the food has yet to appear. A well-kept lawn, especially if large trees are integrated, often makes me pause to enjoy the sight. Cars, motorcycles, drumsets, animals, architecture, can all be sources of enjoyment for me. However, these are subjective, and certainly not all examples have the same effect. It is odd how one building or car can strike my fancy, take me into a state of near reverie, while another of similar style gets barely a glance.
The same goes for people; especially those who are revered for their good looks, such as the celebrities on TV and in films. Sometimes I agree with these assessments, other times I do not. Yet, I know many “ordinary” people who have beauty beyond description. In some cases, a person may have no particularly outstanding physical beauty, but the beauty of their personality or spirit becomes associated with their appearance. This inner beauty is often so profound that the external body takes on a radiance that would be lacking otherwise. When such a person comes in sight, it is as if a Hollywood red carpet has been rolled out. The sight of a cherished friend can warm my heart and turn a bad day into a memorably wonderful experience.
Conversely, there are people who we are not overly thrilled to see. Their presence fills us with negative feelings, depression, fear or even loathing. Usually again it is not that they are ugly (some really attractive people still manage to make me feel disgust) but that their personality becomes associated with their outward appearance. Over time, I begin to feel apprehension at the appearance of said people.
Looking into the eyes or upon the face of someone very special, seeing a friend on the sidewalk or in the mall while shopping, gazing at a stunning sunset or a forest of autumn leaves, window shopping for a new car…. These are just some of the ways our sense of sight can bring us pleasure. What does it for you? What are the things you look at that make your heart skip a beat or take your breath for a moment? I’d love to hear from you.
~Still Wandering…
It was determined that I would need glasses, and even though my vision had deteriorated drastically in less than a year, there was no need for concern. “It happens frequently” my parents were told.
The first few years I wore glasses were a period of “on again, off again” experiences, since they kept getting broken. Because my parents couldn’t just take them to the mall for repairs, I would often go for weeks or sometimes months without them. Walking around in a blurry world is awkward, but I noticed my sense of hearing changed. It didn’t get better per se, but I was able to distinguish sounds with more accuracy. I could hear tires approaching and tell whose car it was.
By the time I had turned fifteen, I had learned how to not have broken glasses, and life settled into a sort of “normal.” When I was in my mid twenties, I got contact lenses and wore them for years until it was decided that to proceed would be detrimental to the health of my eyes.
I value my sense of sight; a gift from Creation that has allowed me to gaze upon heart-stopping beauty.
We all enjoy a sunrise or sunset; a rainbow after an afternoon or evening shower; the colours of the autumn leaves, and many of us have sights that are our personal favourites; a favourite place that holds special memories or brings a sense of peace and comfort. I have such a special place, a turn in the Nashwaak River in the village where I grew up. Sitting on that river bank, my life becomes whole again, the troubles seem to float away, with the ripples on the water. [Check out the attached video to share my bliss.]
Sight can also offer warnings. I have seen movement from the corner of my eye while driving and applied my brakes in time to avoid a collision with another vehicle. I have likewise been able to avoid attack from various dogs, people and falling objects while walking.
Sight can be descriptive: There are people who are not articulate enough to describe something, but can sketch it out and make others understand it. We can recognize our friends from afar by the way they move, or the colour of their favourite piece of clothing, or some other distinguishing feature.
The previously mentioned spot on the river bank or sunrises etc are but a few examples of how sight can bring us joy and peace. I love the sight of a well set table before a meal, even if the food has yet to appear. A well-kept lawn, especially if large trees are integrated, often makes me pause to enjoy the sight. Cars, motorcycles, drumsets, animals, architecture, can all be sources of enjoyment for me. However, these are subjective, and certainly not all examples have the same effect. It is odd how one building or car can strike my fancy, take me into a state of near reverie, while another of similar style gets barely a glance.
The same goes for people; especially those who are revered for their good looks, such as the celebrities on TV and in films. Sometimes I agree with these assessments, other times I do not. Yet, I know many “ordinary” people who have beauty beyond description. In some cases, a person may have no particularly outstanding physical beauty, but the beauty of their personality or spirit becomes associated with their appearance. This inner beauty is often so profound that the external body takes on a radiance that would be lacking otherwise. When such a person comes in sight, it is as if a Hollywood red carpet has been rolled out. The sight of a cherished friend can warm my heart and turn a bad day into a memorably wonderful experience.
Conversely, there are people who we are not overly thrilled to see. Their presence fills us with negative feelings, depression, fear or even loathing. Usually again it is not that they are ugly (some really attractive people still manage to make me feel disgust) but that their personality becomes associated with their outward appearance. Over time, I begin to feel apprehension at the appearance of said people.
Looking into the eyes or upon the face of someone very special, seeing a friend on the sidewalk or in the mall while shopping, gazing at a stunning sunset or a forest of autumn leaves, window shopping for a new car…. These are just some of the ways our sense of sight can bring us pleasure. What does it for you? What are the things you look at that make your heart skip a beat or take your breath for a moment? I’d love to hear from you.
~Still Wandering…
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Try it, it tastes like Chicken!
It is said that if you plug your nose and close your eyes, you will not be able to distinguish between an apple and an onion when biting into them. I don’t have any basis for this comparison since I’ve never tried this experiment, but I do know that when I have a cold and my nose is plugged, food loses its taste.
Science has verified what we already mostly know; that taste is dependant largely upon smell, so since these two senses are so intrinsically tied, it makes sense that they be the first two in my series.
As a pre-schooler, I was a very finicky eater; my mother tried nearly every trick in the book to get me to eat. Having endured many health issues during her pregnancy and being told by doctors that it was possible I would not live, she was determined to keep me alive if for no other reason than to prove them wrong, so when she found the few foods I took a liking to, she fed me those constantly. Over the years, I was coaxed and cajoled into trying other foods and today have a much larger menu than I did fifty years ago.
However, those early experiences have left me with limited flavour preferences. I am known to loathe anything sour or bitter, but recently have begun to accept a few new flavours. The sour of vinegar is less unpleasant now than in years gone by. I prefer sweeter tastes, and preferred such things as peanut butter and jam sandwiches, ice cream, and baked goods until well into my adult life.
It was also decided at an early age that I enjoyed meat. Beef, pork (and ham) and chicken were all staples in our household, and I ate with great vigour. As in many maritime homes, the staple diet at our house was “meat ‘n’ potatoes” with a side vegetable. My parents were fortunate enough to have enough land that they could plant a small garden and grew many vegetables such as beans, peas, carrots, corn, and potatoes as well as lettuce, tomatoes, squash, cucumbers etc. and stored them in a cool room in our basement. This garden was not a health or lifestyle choice but one of finances; it was simply cheaper to grow their own than to buy at a store or supermarket. Still, my choices were limited despite the availability of home-grown vegetables. I really wasn’t fond of them.
There was something about pasta that resonated within me as a youth, and the choice of topping was typically a tomato base with meat added. Today that is still a much favoured meal for me.
In some cases, I partook of tastes simply in order to “fit in” as many teenagers do. While I hated the taste of beer, I drank it to socialize with my friends. I eventually developed a taste for it, but again, I think it was what it did to me that I sought rather than the taste.
Sometimes we are forced by circumstances to try new flavours. Once I became a professional drummer and was on tour for extended periods of time, I would find myself in situations where “eat or go hungry” was the order of the day. In this manner, I learned to enjoy Chinese, Thai, Indian, and Greek food. When my spousal unit began to develop health problems in the late 1980s, we began to look at our diet and made a conscious effort to eat more organic, more beneficial foods, some of which tasted like nothing I want to taste again.
I think we are as intrinsically drawn to the food of our upbringing as we are to the familiar surroundings of where we spent our youth. My father was a prolific salmon fisherman, and caught as many as legally possible to store in our deep freeze. Trout were also a favourite staple in our diet. I can see now that this was again probably financial but it was good food and plentiful at that time. However, to this day, surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean, I prefer freshwater fish to seafood. It’s just what I had become used to.
While today I enjoy a much wider variety of foods and flavours, I still remember the foods my mother used to prepare. Food can evoke many memories and associated emotions. Food can offer comfort during stressful times, and food can become a reason to socialize.
Bon appétit!
~Still Wandering…
Science has verified what we already mostly know; that taste is dependant largely upon smell, so since these two senses are so intrinsically tied, it makes sense that they be the first two in my series.
As a pre-schooler, I was a very finicky eater; my mother tried nearly every trick in the book to get me to eat. Having endured many health issues during her pregnancy and being told by doctors that it was possible I would not live, she was determined to keep me alive if for no other reason than to prove them wrong, so when she found the few foods I took a liking to, she fed me those constantly. Over the years, I was coaxed and cajoled into trying other foods and today have a much larger menu than I did fifty years ago.
However, those early experiences have left me with limited flavour preferences. I am known to loathe anything sour or bitter, but recently have begun to accept a few new flavours. The sour of vinegar is less unpleasant now than in years gone by. I prefer sweeter tastes, and preferred such things as peanut butter and jam sandwiches, ice cream, and baked goods until well into my adult life.
It was also decided at an early age that I enjoyed meat. Beef, pork (and ham) and chicken were all staples in our household, and I ate with great vigour. As in many maritime homes, the staple diet at our house was “meat ‘n’ potatoes” with a side vegetable. My parents were fortunate enough to have enough land that they could plant a small garden and grew many vegetables such as beans, peas, carrots, corn, and potatoes as well as lettuce, tomatoes, squash, cucumbers etc. and stored them in a cool room in our basement. This garden was not a health or lifestyle choice but one of finances; it was simply cheaper to grow their own than to buy at a store or supermarket. Still, my choices were limited despite the availability of home-grown vegetables. I really wasn’t fond of them.
There was something about pasta that resonated within me as a youth, and the choice of topping was typically a tomato base with meat added. Today that is still a much favoured meal for me.
In some cases, I partook of tastes simply in order to “fit in” as many teenagers do. While I hated the taste of beer, I drank it to socialize with my friends. I eventually developed a taste for it, but again, I think it was what it did to me that I sought rather than the taste.
Sometimes we are forced by circumstances to try new flavours. Once I became a professional drummer and was on tour for extended periods of time, I would find myself in situations where “eat or go hungry” was the order of the day. In this manner, I learned to enjoy Chinese, Thai, Indian, and Greek food. When my spousal unit began to develop health problems in the late 1980s, we began to look at our diet and made a conscious effort to eat more organic, more beneficial foods, some of which tasted like nothing I want to taste again.
I think we are as intrinsically drawn to the food of our upbringing as we are to the familiar surroundings of where we spent our youth. My father was a prolific salmon fisherman, and caught as many as legally possible to store in our deep freeze. Trout were also a favourite staple in our diet. I can see now that this was again probably financial but it was good food and plentiful at that time. However, to this day, surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean, I prefer freshwater fish to seafood. It’s just what I had become used to.
While today I enjoy a much wider variety of foods and flavours, I still remember the foods my mother used to prepare. Food can evoke many memories and associated emotions. Food can offer comfort during stressful times, and food can become a reason to socialize.
Bon appétit!
~Still Wandering…
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
On the Heaven-Scented breeze....
I used to feel like blogging a large percentage of the time. I’d jot down ideas and later expand them into blog entries. But this summer I feel too private for that. I’ve turned inward and isolated myself (and my emotions) from others.
Part of that is that I feel somewhat unfocused a lot lately, and part is because I think I just put too much “out there” too often. But I think I am beyond that; for a while at least.
At night, many people in this community like to sit in their backyards and make bonfires. Part of this is to make smoke to keep the mosquitoes and blackflies at bay while part I think is the call of our ancestors who used to make open fires to cook food and for protection from predators. (Today the predators are other humans it seems) Frequently, the wood of choice is ocean driftwood, salty, pungent and somewhat unpleasant at times. Tonight however, someone is burning what smells to me like sugar Maple; sweet, reminiscent of the fires that used to burn in people’s stoves and furnaces when I was a child in New Brunswick.
This smell, along with the memories it triggered, got me thinking about our senses and how we use them and so in this entry, I will begin a series of blogs focused on our senses.
Smell, I think of all of our senses, can trigger so many memories, emotions, and sensations. Take the smell of a wood fire for example. Where I grew up, fires were used primarily for heat in the winter. Being a province rich in wood lands, our homes, were heated mostly by wood as were other buildings such as the “shack” at the skating rink where we put our skates on and occasionally thawed frozen toes and fingers; so to me, a wood fire brings back memories of winter with its sounds of snow crunching beneath our feet, the sight of the smoke from chimneys, sometimes laying flat against the rooftops, sometimes rising straight up to the heavens.
I can’t smell freshly cut grass without thinking of our little dead-end street in the early summer evenings. After the final meal, the men would head out and mow the lawns while the women washed the dishes and got the youngest of the children ready for bed. As we grew, the boys of the households became the mowers of the lawns while our fathers did other, more meaningful things, like smoke cigarettes and drink tea. Yet, even today, several hundred miles from that street, I have only to smell freshly cut grass and I am back on my street, in my village, in my family home.
Food smells are also a great trigger. Coffee made in an old-fashioned percolator can nearly always drag me back to my aunt Ruby’s house on a Saturday morning. (It’s odd how a certain smell can be associated with one certain place even though the smell itself is more universal) Bacon and eggs in a cast-iron frying pan takes me to the cottage, affectionately known as “the Camp” or “The Doughboy.” (No idea where that came from) Turkey and the trimmings will forever be Christmas day with Mom and Dad. Apple pie is generally associated with a favourite restaurant of long ago. French Fries and cotton candy are of course a Carnival.
Growing up, I spent a lot of time in the forests surrounding our village. Fir, spruce, cedar, and pine trees were constant companions and I knew their scents intimately. I knew also the scent of spring, of the earth returning to life after a long, cold winter. I am familiar with the pungency of the decomposing leaves in autumn. The scents of animals; skunks (of course) bears, the wild cats and foxes all hold a place in my memory and even my heart.
More recently is the ocean, and while it pretty much surrounds me, there is one place that comes to mind when I smell the salt air. It is a short walk from this very house and I spent a lot of time there when I first came to this area. It has no real significant meaning to me other than I always remember it as being where I truly came to know the sea.
There can be unpleasant and frightening smells too: The smell of a burning old building, coated in coal dust, will forever remind me of the day I nearly lost my life in a fire that took all things musical from me. The smell of a forest fire still touches me with dread, such is its fury and uncertainty.
Gasoline, motor oil, and grease, all remind me of special people and places. My father worked for many years as a delivery man for Esso, and so always smelled of petroleum products. My cousin was handy with wrenches and always had a car or two on the operating table. Later, some of my high school buddies had less-than-reliable cars and so were frequently working on them to keep them going. Being inside those cars, the smells associated with them were ever-present.
The places I have performed throughout my musical career generally had distinctive smells. Many smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, but they all had something else as well. Perhaps it was the cleaning products that were used (there is one that always reminds me of school too) or the cologne of the bartender;
Which brings me to people scents. I can go some places and know if a certain person is already there or I am aware when they arrive, just by the smell of the air. People, even those who don’t use scented products all have a characteristic scent. Granted, it sometimes requires a certain level of intimacy to get close enough to notice, but it is there. I have encountered it during embraces and it is often very much the way their homes smell as well. One home I visited always smelled of apples, and the inhabitants did too!
What smells or odours remind you of good times and great people? What turns you off? What brings up unhappy memories or frightens you? I’d love to hear from you.
~Still Wandering…
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Finally, a chance to catch up…
As you can see, it has been a while since I have posted here on this blog. There are many reasons for this, and while I make no excuses, I will offer a few explanations.
To begin with, there has been little to write about that would offer more than a sentence or two. Since (in my opinion) this would make for less-than-stimulating reading for my readers, I have remained silent.
Another thing that kept me away is a situation that arose within the household. My wife needed retinal surgery and the operation was performed on June third of this year. This required several trips to Halifax; once for an examination, once for the surgery, and a number of follow-up examinations. If any of you have had this operation, or know someone who has had it, you will know that the recovery requires the patient to remain very still for an extended period of time, gradually returning to a normal life. (Although “normal” surely changes for someone who has experienced this) Again, blogging “I put drops in her eye again,” would have bored you all to tears so I didn’t bother. I am happy to report that as of her last appointment on August third, she is in full recovery and “normal” can once again be attempted.
The weather this summer in our little corner of the world has been less than conducive to adventure and exciting things to write about. Rain, cold, wind; we’ve experienced it all with very little sunshine and warm temperatures. Mosquitoes rule the backyard this year, and everyone’s short-tempered and listless. By this time last year, I had over a thousand kilometres on my bicycle, and if I’ve managed five hundred this year it would be a miracle. I’ve done a couple of important (to me at least) rides; The Ride of Silence, which I lead in May, The Heartland Tour in July. I took part in a Canada Day parade with Velo Cape Breton followed by a ride around Edwardsville/Point Edward/Northwest Arm which was fun and invigorating. But besides a few one-hour rides locally and an afternoon of “noodling” around, I haven’t really been out much.
I started physiotherapy to begin re-building my body after a back injury in October. This has only served to verify my awkwardness and reinforce the knowledge that while I am seeing some improvement, it will be an ongoing process, and I am plagued with insecurity and doubt. That I believe is an inherited behaviour.
Finally, Bad Habits have been steady, but not too much really exciting work has come our way aside from the week of Seaside Daze in Dominion NS. That was really fun and we got two nights out of it, the best of which was the Fireworks display on July thirty-first. While the evening started out cool and breezy, it warmed up once the wind calmed and we had a blast (pun intended) playing and watching the fireworks, which was reported to be the best in the CBRM. I have included a picture of myself (as well as a video) taken during that show. It seems fairly obvious that I really DO love playing my drums.
~Still Wandering…
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