I often surf the web to find interesting sites about dogs and dog training.  This week I stumbled on a site that began with a statement about dog training that was so audacious that I had to stop and read it several times to be sure I had read it correctly.  The author states -

“Let me start off by saying that of all the different dog training methods you’ve heard about fit into one of two categories. There are only two methods in the whole world! And they are… … all-positive and balanced.”

The sheer magnitude of this over-simplification stunned me.  I had walk away from the laptop and get myself another coffee before continuing my day.  There are only two methods of dog training in the world?  My first question is, “Which world?”  It certainly can’t be the one in which I live.  Although things would be so much easier if that were true,  it just isn’t.  What troubles me about statements like the one above is not how inaccurate they may be.  What troubles me is that dog trainers feel the need to reduce dogs and training to such simple terms in the first place.  There is a “war of words” out there in the dog world and the unfortunate casualties are dogs and not humans.

Choosing sides

It seems that like many things in our 21st century society, we are being asked to choose a side – who are you for or who are you against.  Often training discussions get more caught up in who is right and who is wrong than whether the training does the best job for the dog.  When it comes to training and working with our dogs, this kind of polarizing argument can have unfortunate consequences for the dogs that get caught in the middle.

The quote above claims that the two sides at odds in the world of dog training are “all-positive” and “balanced” training.  I have read a great deal about dogs and dog training.  I am a certified professional dog trainer.  In all my reading on dogs and training, I have not come upon any training that identifies itself with the label  ”all-positive” dog training.  By contrast, I see any number of sources claiming to use “balanced” training with dogs.  Here I find the opposite problem.  I found such a wide variety of definitions of “balanced” dog training that I wrote an article about it to try and figure out what trainers meant by “balanced.”   It turns out that most of them don’t agree on the same meaning and many actually conflict with each other.

Sticks and Stones and Words

The war of words is escalating.  There are exaggerations and questionable claims from both the force-free training community and the traditional compulsion trainers.  This is not just unfortunate, it’s dangerous.  The dogs get caught in the shuffling of trainers and methods as owners move from one “solution” to another.  A dog can easily end up confused and act out.  Many of those dogs will end up in shelters.  Some won’t survive being re-homed.  The terms dog trainers use to help a dog owner can do the most damage.  Let me give you some examples:

• Correction – This is one of the most commonly used terms in the dog training world.  And yet, it is rarely used to describe what the word actually means.  If we “correct” something, it is assumed that something has gone wrong and we are bringing it back to being “right” again.  When compulsion trainers talk about “correcting” a dog, what they mean is using some kind of physical or verbal intervention to stop a dog from doing something unwanted.  But where is the “correction”?  Yes, it tells the dog what they are doing wrong but it tells them nothing about what to do instead to be right.  A yank on the leash, a poke in the side, a loud “HEY!” are all described as “corrections” but these actually function as a reprimand to stop an unwanted behaviour.  You aren’t “correcting” anything, you are stopping (reprimanding) unwanted behaviour.  But Correction sounds much more productive than Reprimand when we’re working with our dogs even if it is inaccurate.
  

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•  Abuse -This one is getting thrown around a lot by the force-free training community these days.  It has been used to describe everything from the use of shock collars  and pain-based training methods to slip-collars and feeding the wrong kind of dog food.  That’s a pretty broad spectrum for such a highly-charged word.  The use of the term “abuse” seems to be based on what the speaker believes about a particular technique, training philosophy, or piece of equipment rather than the actual living conditions of a particular dog.  For example, prong and shock collars are sold by the thousands each year and yet physical injuries from these devices make up only a small fraction of cases that come through the average veterinary practice.  This is not to endorse their use but simply to point out that just putting a device on a dog should not, in itself, constitute abuse unless using the device is shown to have caused harm to that particular dog.  Abuse is an act, not an idea.
  

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• Killing with kindness – Lately compulsion trainers have been making claims that using food treats to reward a dog for behaviours can lead to any number of unfortunate consequences.  They claim that food rewards can end up killing dogs by creating food aggression or being too permissive and having to surrender an unruly dog to a shelter to be euthanized.  The science behind the use of rewards to reinforce behaviour is backed up by over 70 years of data – both in psychology labs and the real world.  Reward training has been used successfully with hundreds of species living in zoos and the pets we keep in our homes.  If the use of rewards in training were as dangerous as claimed by some, marine mammal trainers would have abandoned it decades ago.  Instead, aquariums and wild animal parks routinely use rewards to train everything from rhinos to sharks to killer whales to tigers.  The claim that dog owners are “killing their dogs with kindness”  by using food treats in training is utter nonsense.  And yet the claims are made over and over again with no proof.
  

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• Dominance – World renowned wolf researcher Dr. David Mech is largely responsible for the term “Alpha Wolf.”  He now says he now regrets using “alpha” to describe the breeding pair in a wolf pack.  The dog world, for whatever reason, latched on to the concepts of “Alpha” and “Dominance” in their efforts to explain dog behaviour and justify a variety of training methods.  The science and contemporary literature on dogs and their ethology has proven that the “dominance” model does not apply to dogs either in domestic situations or living on their own in feral communities.  But the words “dominance”, “pack”, and “alpha” remain trigger words that are sure to spark lively and, at times, less-than-civilized debates among dog trainers.  The use of any of these words can get the speaker labelled as “Old School” or as a trainer who has little regard for our modern understanding of dogs – a trainer who prefers brute force to establish themselves as the “alpha.”  Used in proper context, these terms can have some meaning regarding dogs and behaviour.  But we struggle in our efforts to redefine and reuse them.  All too often the force-free community finds what they feel are incorrect applications of these words.  They can look too closely and start fights where little or no disagreement even exists.

Collateral Damage

There are dog owners out there that need help with their dogs.  Some just need a little coaching.  Others are learning how to live with their first dogs.   Many will turn to dog training professionals.  It can be daunting for the average dog owner to venture online looking for answers.  There are opinions and counter-opinions about treats or no treats, prong collars or no-pull harnesses, abusive and too permissive.

There is nothing like a good argument to increase that sense of solidarity with those who share our opinions and nothing that seems quite so noble as trying to right a terrible wrong.  But can we, as dog training professionals, get so caught up in the war of ideology that we lose the very audience we are trying to serve?  What about trying to help the dogs?  Helping dog owners provide the best, most healthy and successful life for their dogs should be the priority.  Not which side you are on or who is right or wrong.

I’m quite sure that this article will have all the effect of holding up a hand to stop the wind for all the difference it will make in the greater debates raging in the dog world.  But my advice to dog owners is that you should meet the dogs of potential dog training professionals or at least dogs that they have helped to train.  Decide for yourself if these are the kinds of dogs you want to live with yourself.  You don’t need to get caught up in the war of words and the ideology.  Meet the dogs.  They will tell you all that you need to know.

Until next time, have fun with your dogs!

Be sure to check out our Canine Nation ebooks in the Canine Nation store and join our conversation on Facebook in the Canine Nation Forum!

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In the Canine Nation Store!!!

Photo credits -

All photos – Canine Nation 2013

Dogs In The Crossfire is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

This is hardly an exhaustive list but here are a few things you might want to try (or give a miss) during a stay in Peru:

1) Try a Pisco Sour, a quintessentially Peruvian drink made with pisco, a grape brandy favored by locals. It’s a bit like grappa but whereas many distilled spirits like this are made from the lees of wine-making, the Peruvians content themselves with importing Chilean and Argentinian grapes and making pisco. The Pisco Sour is a tart, tasty drink that goes down really easily. A Lima resident with Irish ancestry told me that three of them will make a woman “obedient”. I didn’t ask him to elaborate.

2) Try the Inca favorites, chicha and cuy. The former is a fermented corn beer which, while not unpleasant is an acquired taste. It does come flavored with fruit which goes down a little easier. Cuy or guinea pig is usually baked whole though the more squeamish can get it in a stew. Guinea tastes a bit like a bony rabbit.

3) Take in some of the local music scene which is varied as the multicultural Peruvians can make it with native, Spanish and black influences. You can hear musica criolla in nightclubs in Lima where there are Afro-Peruvian beats and in the mountains, the ubiquitous Pan pipe. The Peruvians take their music so seriously that they elected star singer Susana Baca and she was named Minister of Culture.

4) Take a flight over the Nazca lines. You might have seen them on the Discovery Channel. Inscribed into the desert over a thousand years ago, these giant figures, some a good 300 meters or more are visible only for the air. Ancient alien theorists say these figures of spiders, hummingbirds and even one that some call the astronaut were intended to guide aliens down to linear markings which kind of look like runways.

5) Take a visit to the Larco Museum in Lima. This private collection is reputed to be the largest known collection of pre-Columbian ceramics. A lot of jugs were made with the faces on long Incas who commissioned them and remind me a lot of the more current “Toby jugs”. Some of the faces look distinctly Asian and African! Don’t miss seeing the naughty side of the Moche civilization in the sala erotica.

6) Try your hand at surfing on the beach at Miraflores. There are lots of outfits there to rent wet suits and boards and give you a few lessons to boot. If you are REALLY adventurous go tandem paragliding along the breathtaking shoreline, about sixty dollars for ten minutes.

7) Try ceviche, a Peruvian delicacy which has caught on the world over. This dish is made with raw fish, lime or lemon juice, chili peppers, onions, sweet potato and corn. I have always disliked sushi but ceviche is delicious. Be sure to order it made with trout in the mountains. This trout is caught fresh in lakes and streams whereas salt water fish have usually traveled a for long time in dubiously refrigerated trucks.

8) Fly to Cusco (pronounced like “costco” by the locals) and take in the Inca ruins. If nothing else take the train and visit the magical place which is Machu Picchu. It is actually located in a tropical cloud forest with exotic plants in the surrounding forest. Words cannot describe the sublime surroundings here so take a look at the photos.

9) Go to the Colca Valley in southern Peru and watch the giant Andean condors with their eleven foot wing spans go soaring over the world’s second largest canyon.

10) Take a look at the equestrian statue of Jose de San Martin, in the Plaza de San Martin in Lima. He was the man who liberated Peru from Spanish domination in 1821. Note the sculpture of Victory below San Martin and take a close look at her head. When it was carved, the artist was told to put flames on top of the figure’s head. The word for flames in Spanish is llamas which is also the word for the wooly creature the Incas use for wool and carrying burdens. The statue of Victory to this day still has a Peruvian llama perched on top of her head.

Photo Credits

Nazca lines in Peru – by Martin St-Amant – Wikimedia Creative Commons

Pisco Sour – Wikimedia Creative Commons

Susana Boca – Wikimedia Creative Commons

Ceviche -  Wikimedia Creative Commons

All other photos by George Burden – All Rights Reserved

Ten Cool Things To Do (Or Not Do) In Peru is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

This is the second in a series of articles in which author Steven Erikson deconstructs, paragraph by paragraph, an excerpt from his most recent novel Forge of Darkness.

Kadaspala wanted none of it, and yet he was never as immune as he would have liked: even the pronouncement that he ever stood outside such things, was itself an illusion. He was not a believer in gods, but he had his own. They came to him in the simplest of all forms, eschewing even shape and, at times, substance itself. They came to him in a flood, with every moment – indeed, even in his sleep and the dream worlds that haunted it. They howled. They whispered. They caressed. Sometimes, they lied.

Having established his thesis, K. now rejects its precepts, but even as he does so he identifies his internal contradiction and then describes his own pantheon, but each time in metaphorical terms. This is description of the clay instead of the rock it covers: we’re getting to that rock. The first description of his gods evokes images of haunting, of nightmares. This is then reinforced by the four quick, short lines that close the paragraph. The pattern of the paragraph opens with complexity and closes with simplicity: 4, 2, 4, 4, 1, 1, 1, 2. But despite the complexity of the first half of the paragraph a deliberate rhythm is established by a repeated beat to open lines 3 and 4 (“They came to him” X2), and each clause is about a breath long. Sentences 1, 2 and 3 all emphasize the last clause, like a stuttered beat, sitting slightly outside the rhythm of the earlier clauses in each line. The repetition is then reduced to “They,” which is used to set up a blunter, shorter beat to lead up to the last line. As an experiment, close up “They howled,” “They whispered,” and “They caressed” into a single sentence. As another experiment, change the last line to “They sometimes lied.” What are the effects? What happens to the beat? What happens to the paragraph’s closing impact?

In this paragraph K contradicts himself, and then admits to harbouring illusions. The paragraph closes with the notion of “lying.” All of this invites the reader to edge back from K., to withhold trust in his POV. I need that. Also, these details note K’s admission of fallibility, leading to the confessional aspect of the next paragraph (for a character to convey uncertainty and self-doubt is a useful bridge to the reader’s sympathy, because we all share moments of uncertainty and self-doubt. It also marks an admission of honesty that makes the reader close even further the psychic distance with the character). Since the subject matter of this section is all about gods, it suits us readers that we get a hint of the confessional…

His gods were colours, but he knew them not. They bore heady emotions and before them, in moments of weakness or vulnerability, he would reel, or cry out, seeking to turn away. But their calls would bring him back, helpless, a soul on its knees. At times he could taste them, or feel their heat upon his skin. At times he could smell them, redolent with promise and quick to steal from his memories, and so claim those memories for their own. So abject his worship had become, that he now saw himself in colours – the landscape of his mind, the surge and ebb of emotions, the meaningless cascades behind the lids of his eyes when shut against the outside world; he knew the blues, purples, greens and reds of his blood; he knew the flushed pink of his bones, with their carmine cores; he knew the sunset hues of his muscles, the silvered lakes and fungal mottling of his organs. He saw flowers in human skin and could smell their perfumes, or, at times, the musty readiness of desire – that yearn to touch and to feel.

K’s gods are given a name and to us it is banal (colours). He then goes on (and we go with him) describing the sensory overload of the presence of the gods in K’s life. This is not a man who can escape into atheism. I make use of his most visceral senses: taste, touch, smell. And finally I make it clear that he has internalized his gods almost against his will, until their presence rules his world, inside and out. Because the notion of colours as gods is so unusual to us, the revelation is quick, the sentence direct and short. The first clause makes the pronouncement; the second clause his relationship with it. From certainty to uncertainty. The first clause is a slight jump back from the close psychic distance, to give the bald statement (which he would never have a need to entertain, but which we need to understand); but the second clause pulls us right back inside. Then I describe that relationship, emphasizing through the images K’s helplessness, his subjection before this pervasive, relentless presence; images of flight, of being driven to his knees, of being spiritually raped, his memories stolen away to be returned transformed, stained.

Then, if I am going to make colours gods, I’d better use some colours in describing the insidiousness of this pantheon. So we’re hit with “blues, purples, greens and reds…” but all are used for an internal description: his blood, the marrow of his bones, his vital organs. But all these descriptions evoke natural, external landscapes in their similes, reinforcing the loss of distinction between K’s internal and external landscapes. This hammers home the truly visceral nature of K’s communion with his gods. To add to the unease, once again the paragraph closes with something sexual. In fact, at the end of every paragraph thus far, we hit this subtextual bell (“vile fetish,” “god’s lap curled tight,” “whispered, caressed,” “desire, touched, feel.” Recall the looping effect I have talked about: this is one that proceeds on a subtextual level. The effect is to set a current running beneath everything else. I’m not ready to plunge into it yet, so it runs on, until the very next line:

The gods of colour came in lovemaking. They came in the violence of war and the butchering of animals, in the cutting down of wheat. They came in the moments of birth and in the wonder of childhood – was it not said that newborn babies saw aught but colours? They came in the muted tones of grief, in the convulsions of pain and injury and disease. They came in the fires of rage, the gelid grip of fear – and all that they touched they then stained, for all time.

More description of these gods and their overwhelming, all-encompassing presence. The first line punches the surface of the river of subtext, raises a splash, only to subside again, as we then return to “violence” not just of war, but also the banal, daily violence of living in an agrarian world: thus, a violence committed against nature. That such notions trip immediately after “lovemaking” is intended to underscore that hint of mysterious perversion set up in the last lines of all the previous paragraphs, linking lovemaking with violence. All of this is foreshadowing. Using repetition to reinforce the relentless element of this list (this entire paragraph is nothing but a list), covering the gamut of normal human experience, from lovemaking to the struggle to survive, to childbirth to sickness and growing old, to the anger and fear that mark the coming of death, we still have to return to the tactile reality of colours, to the “stains” they create. Rework this paragraph to reverse that life progression, or just mix it up. What is the effect? What happens when narrative “goes back in time” from dying and old age to birth and then lovemaking? Breaking Time’s natural flow in fiction is always risky, inviting disconnection or disturbance in the reader’s subconscious.

Image Credit

Photo published with permission of author

Deconstructing Fiction (For Writers and Readers): Excerpt Deconstructed (2) is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

It’s snowing and miserable outside right now. As I look at the photo of the women I am so proud and honored to call my friends, in this photo it looks miserable and snowy and cold too. My friends are all kicking up their heels in the driveway of Sandy’s cottage. Once again we are rejuvenated by our sharing of laughter, and tears, by stories of hope and glory, hardship and pain about our children, husbands and work. These ladies in my photo are the sort of women that you always feel blessed to know and that you can count on for just about anything.

How did this ragtag group of ladies become such true-blue, down-to-earth, honest-to-goodness friends?

One day a woman was driving by the school where my son went. She drove a grey station wagon. She had dirty blonde hair, or was it strawberry blond? She also had about thirty children in her station wagon (alright, I’m exaggerating: there may have been six or seven?) This woman had a smile on her face, and for some reason I felt as if I knew her. She seemed to me to be a woman with a gentle soul. I mean you would have to be gentle to have all those children, wouldn’t you?

On a bright, sunny fall afternoon I stood at the gate of the school waiting for my son to come out. I was about eight months pregnant at the time, and as I was waiting I noticed that the woman from the station wagon was standing beside me.

“Hello,” I said. The woman smiled at me and said hello back.

“I often see you drive by in your station wagon. You sure do have a lot of children,” I said to her. She laughed. “Oh no, they are not all mine, I babysit. My name is Bonnie.”

“Hi Bonnie,” I said

“So. I see you are expecting” she said to me.

“Yes, in November.” At this point my son walked through the gate and following along behind him was Bonnie’s son Dave who, as it turned out, was in my son Ryan’s kindergarten class.

Bonnie was my first friend. Sounds kind of immature and silly, doesn’t it? But at the time I didn’t have many friends in my neighborhood, so when our children became friends it was that much easier to get to know Bonnie.

In fact when Megan, my daughter, became very ill it was Bonnie who called me one afternoon.

“Oh hi, Marth. I was hoping I would catch you. I noticed your Mom and Dad were picking up Ryan at school and so I thought I would call to see if everything was okay.”

I told Bonnie about Megan being hospitalized for ten days with a blood infection. Well, Bonnie offered to do whatever she could to help out. She was just that kind of woman, so truly sweet and kind, soft-spoken and calming in her demeanor.

Some time later Bonnie asked me what I thought of starting a playgroup with my daughter and her protégé Robbie, and she had a friend Sandy who had a son about Robbie and Megan’s age. I told Bonnie I thought that was a fantastic idea.

That was how our playgroup was born, more or less. Sandy’s eldest daughter and Bonnie’s eldest daughter were good friends and still are to this day. The playgroup grew and we would meet every Wednesday morning for coffee while our children played. We did all kinds of things together: we did arts and crafts and dressed up for Halloween; we celebrated birthdays and took the children on field trips.

Eventually we all became good friends. There was Teresa, and Carmela and Nancy and Jennifer and Flora and Lena and Chris. I can’t leave out my friend Norma either; more than a neighbor, she too would become part of our playgroup. Though Norma was not with us Wednesdays (she worked), she was there for all or most of our trips up north. I think I would have to say there was a core group of ladies that shared a deep friendship. New friendships have been added over the years – Nan and Brenda and Brenda and Doreen and Claire as well. Those ladies are the ladies that still – after ten years – get together at Sandy’s cottage to celebrate our lives. And what amazing lives we have had, what stories we have shared.

As with any life there has been tragedy and there has been utter sweet joy, and with each of these emotions we have found support amongst ourselves. We have told our stories to one another in trust, and in the faith that we won’t be judged. And in that spirit we have all grown, it seems to me, in so many ways. Our tenderness towards one another when we are in need leads me to believe that we too are a sort of family, bound not by blood but by our stories.

Our playgroup has matured as have all of us. Looking back to when I first met Bonnie I realize how much of my life has gone by. Life just sort of happens, years go by and not until you take stock do you realize just how blessed and amazing the ride has been.

This group of women – the playgroup – has shifted and changed as our children have grown, but one thing that has not changed is the amazing support that I feel whenever I think of you Bonnie, or Norma or Teresa or Flora or Sandy or Nancy or Nan or Doreen or Claire. I feel this aura of light fill my heart and I thank you all for being there.

Image Credit

Photo by Martha Farley. All rights reserved.

Our Playgroup is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

“In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish’d dove;
In the Spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.”
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from “Locksley Hall”

More than ever this spring of the year 2013, I get it….why “In spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.” Why we celebrate, with a twinkle in our eyes and a full, light heart, the “birds and the bees, and the flowers and the trees” of spring, glorious spring.

I have just had a week of intoxicating interludes amidst the wildflowers, birds, bees, and bats of the hillside adjacent to my home. I call that magical setting the Plateau of the Muses; my private shorthand for the flat, open field just a three to four minute hike up above my house. It’s the location of my writer’s hut, my sacred place, where over the years great sorrow has been soothed, great joy has been expressed, great healing has occurred, and my deepest thoughts have surfaced to be explored, supported, and caressed.

The wildflowers on the Plateau appear in greater and greater abundance each year, as we tirelessly indulge in our annual broom pulling on the acreage over which we have stewardship, that is the property we have the deed to, but I never feel it’s really ours. This year, the beauty of the flowers has quite literally taken my breath away…I’ve felt my heart nearly burst within me, my blood flowing faster, as I stood in the middle of the meadow surrounded by such pure, exquisite loveliness.

But also this year, an unusual heat wave, a teaser for the summer to come, came on so forcefully and unexpectedly for a few days that the wildflowers, ephemeral at the best of times, gave a wild gasp of delight, vividly responding in a rainbow of colour and a spurt of growth, and then quickly wilted, exhausted by the supreme effort of becoming — plants on steroids — and then, they were gone.

We could see this coming, so spent every evening at the hut, usually with friends, so we could share this short-lived, superb beauty with others too.

Naturally, the very fragile and short lives of the blooms this year makes them more precious, more appreciated than ever. When we have all the time in the world to leisurely sit back and appreciate beauty day after day, can we possibly cherish it as we do when it is fleeting? Isn’t that one of the lessons of the Buddhist monks who create the sand mandalas that take hours and hours of work, only to be swiftly transported to the sea and poured into the water, a transitory creation that we then let go of, as we need to learn to let go of everything we love, or hate, in our lives.

So, I am ever thankful of the beauty that surrounds me here in British Columbia, but never more so than in springtime, and never more so than on my Plateau of the Muses. I hope you have a plateau in your life as well. 

Photo credits:

© Star Weiss, all rights reserved.

The Country Diary of a Victorian Lady is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

The proclamation that her first grandchild was getting married has reduced my mom to spasmodic fits of exultation. “It is so wonderful,” she gushes. “Finally getting married.” She says this as if her granddaughter were approaching her late seventies, and if not for this intervention from God, Wodin, and Mithras, she would have died a lonely, bitter, cat-food-eating spinster. Then the joy leaves her body like a balloon which has developed a slow leak, and she puts on her tragic face. “If only your brother would get married my happiness would be complete,” she cries piteously.

I groan. From the look on her face that is the exact reaction she was going for. My brother getting married, or not getting married, has been one of her favourite topics for the past twenty years.

It hasn’t been one of mine.

I am not a fan of weddings. I feel if someone really, really, really wants to get married they should do so in the privacy of a JP’s office and leave the rest of us out of it.

Not that I am against marriage altogether, I’ve had a pretty great one myself. But it’s the whole bullshit surrounding the wedding that I have issues with. Not to mention the gigantic waste of money for a day that is stress-filled for everyone except, possibly, crazy Uncle Bob, who is going to get so blitzed that he will accidentally take a pee in the caterer’s truck. Plus the reality is that most marriages these days are destined for the crapper, so I say why go through with the charade?

“That poor woman,” mom says. “Your brother has been stringing her along for years. Does he think she is going to wait around forever? Her youth is far behind her and she is running out of time to catch a husband.”

“Mother,” I say through clenched teeth. “They have been together for over twenty years. They live together – in their own house. They bank together, take vacations together, they tend their gardens together, take care of their million cats together, they hang out with mutual friends together, so to me, it looks suspiciously like what they are doing is being married.” This is my usual response in this particular repartee.

Then I list off the names of twenty couples I have known in my life, all of whom were legally married and are now legally divorced. Many of them more than once. Proving, I feel, that a legally recognized wedding does not guarantee a long marriage, in fact almost the opposite.

Mom is suddenly bored with this old argument so segues into the next topic. Another of her favourites. “What are you going to wear to the wedding?” she asks in all innocence.

I pause to take a breath in preparation for the blow-out. “Well, she is getting married on a beach in Cuba, so I was thinking a pair of shorts and a tank top.”

“Oh no! Gabika! How could you do that to your only daughter?” Mom is overcome by the horror of it all, and is only missing Mrs. Bennett’s nerves and smelling salts from Jane Austen’s, Pride and Prejudice. “She will be traumatized,” she exclaims. “Devastated! You will crush her on the most important day of her life.”

I sigh.

“First of all, it isn’t the most important day of her life, not even close. The most important day of her life was when I squeezed her out of my vagina. Without that day no other day would have mattered.”

“Gabika!” Mom exclaims. Her eyes bulge, and her mouth gapes wide. Oh, the horror. Oh, the humanity. I have said the “V” word in front of my husband. Who, as my mom has pointed out on many occasions, is an M.A.N.

“And B,” I continue, “what about the day she came in second place in the Apple Blossom 10K when she was twelve? She received a medal for that. I bet she doesn’t get a medal for getting married.”

Mom’s keen nose for sarcasm starts tingling; she can’t be sure, not completely, but she is beginning to suspect that I may be yanking her chain. “A race!” she exclaims. “What is a race compared to a wedding,” she says, acting all flabbergasted.

I like the word flabbergasted; it sounds kind of flabbery and gaspy at the same time. “Flabbergasted.” I let the word roll off my tongue, and picture it in a balloon hanging over my mom’s head with an arrow pointing at her.

Mom ignores me and continues to work herself into a tizzy. “Your only daughter getting married and you won’t even get dressed up for it. Why even bother to go?” she asks.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? The wedding is going to be on a beach…in Cuba. Of course I’m going to go,” I say.

After much caterwauling and carrying on, Mom straps on her motorcycle helmet, storms out of the house, with the help of me and my husband so she can get down the stairs, mounts her four-wheeled scooter and shoots off at the blinding speed of 5 KPH. She is on her way home to start working on her nefarious campaign to get her only daughter to dress up for her granddaughter’s wedding. Oh, and perhaps send an email to my brother telling him that she heard Cuba was a good place to get married. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Say no more.

I phone my daughter. “Hi,” I say. “Would you mind if I wore shorts to your wedding?”

“Knock yourself out,” she replies. “So guess what. I ran a 10K in 58 minutes this afternoon.”

That’s my girl.

Image Credit

Photo by Gab Halasz. All rights reserved.

The Fashionista is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Written over many years, this piece came back to me this morning. I thought that I wanted to run but it turned out that I needed to write.

Love Poem #38

Up here on the north coast there are many days when all there is to see is distance and rain.

It’s hard to know why it began or how it should have played out. Why it ended the way it did. After a few months there was nothing left.

Before I left the island the last time I walked on our favorite beach. I remembered that someone once said they were here to make some preliminary arrangements for the apocalypse.

Maybe they watched the sunset fires light up the rain or tracked the eagles soaring on ancient thermals. Maybe they came in time for the late afternoon calm and skipped rounded grey blue stones, counting the bounces out loud, remembering simpler times. My guess is that they did all of these things and then went back to from where they came, lighter, maybe sad, finally ready to move on.

The rocks revealed traces of our dreams.

Photo Credits

Photos are © Michael Lebowitz – All Rights Reserved

Tarmac Meditations #123: Love Poem #38 is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

I have great appreciation for Michael Leunig’s work. In fact, I believe he is one of the world’s greatest cartoonists and his poetry is equally thought provoking. So when I heard he was giving a talk at a local bookstore I jumped at the opportunity to attend.

At this talk, he commented that what was missing in politics today is love and I totally agree with him. In Australia, at present, there is a push towards a more conservative government. This translates into funding cuts for any service to those in our society who are in greatest need. Basically, if you can’t pay for something yourself you’re going to go without. There is neither consideration as to what is best for the community as a whole now and into the future nor any thought as to how to create a caring, culturally enriched and inclusive society. Everything is about money and cutting spending is the priority. No spreading love – instead, refugees, welfare recipients, non-whites, non-Christians and the opposition are blamed for all our “perceived” woes. They are scapegoats, for it is far easier to point the finger than it is to have a vision for Australia and the world at large. Divide and conquer instead of inspire, unite, lift and love. Worldwide, this seems to be the prevailing way to govern.

It is not just love that is absent in politics and life at large. In my view, what is also missing in the world today is respect. Respect for other peoples’ cultures, religions, gender, sexual preferences, abilities as opposed to disabilities, working rights and a right to be oneself.

As the Grand Mufti of Australia, Ibrahim Abu Mohammad, has said, “There is a difference between showing respect for someone’s belief and sharing those beliefs.” Too many people are being exploited, persecuted and bullied.

We are living in a world that is becoming increasingly violent but few are investigating the reasons for this violence. Rather we look at the tools of the trade such as guns. We increase camera surveillance and give our police more violent instruments of control like tasers (which are easily misused) as a means to react to violence rather than trying to prevent it. What we should be analysing is why people become so disconnected, disenchanted, angry, rejected and lacking in respect for others that violence, racism and other abuse become an acceptable option.

The recent Boston bombing was very upsetting. When is all this hatred going to end? It is shocking that people can’t even run is a marathon without being in danger. Even going to the movies or a youth camp can turn into a nightmare. No one should have this pain inflicted on them. When I look at the perpetrators of these crimes I wonder what went wrong in these young men’s lives for them to do such things. Are we all in some way responsible for creating a world that spawns such evil acts?

What the world needs now is love and respect so we can all live in peace and harmony.

To view Michael Leunig’s cartoons and poems visit http://www.leunig.com.au/

 Image Credit

“Love & Respect” by Josh Kenzer. Creative Commons Flickr. Some rights reserved.

What the World Needs Now is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

She knew he hit her.
She knew he hit.
She knew he punched walls to make her listen.
She felt the words.
She scrubbed the floor.
She knew he was a liar.
She knew he’d destroy her.
She planned.
She went to doctors.
She told them.
She went to psychologists who showed her the wheels of where he’d take her.
She knew where he would take her, if he knew.
She felt the appreciation, she thanked, pleaded.
She had to pay her rent.

She told him no, I never heard of Frank Sinatra.
She asked him, did you ever hear of Hank Snow.
She turned her eyes in, when he laughed at her interest in art.
She heard him mock her writing.
She saw his resentments.
She knew he’d hit her.
She knew he would punch her.
She knew he would lie about her.
She knew he convinced her of a broken mind.
She knew she’d leave.
She planned.
She saved.
She visited doctors.
She was finding herself.
She saw light.
She saw a small ray through the branches in the trees.
She knew Hank Snow, “… traveled everywhere man.”

Photo Credit

Photo By  Melinda Cochrane – All Rights Reserved

Guest Author Bio

Melinda Cochrane
Melinda Cochrane was raised in Newfoundland. She graduated from Memorial University with a Bachelor of Arts and a Bachelor of Education. She teaches at Beaconsfield high school on the west island. Her first publication was with ditch poetry and The Stray Branch literary magazine with work recently published with Backalong books in “The art of poetic inquiry. She’s published in online magazines such as, Life As A Human, Young Men’s Perspective Magazine, and Shannon Grissom’s magazine. Melinda has recently received the Mary Belle Campbell scholarship for poetry from the North Carolina Writers Network. Her collection of poetry called “The Man Who Stole Father’s Boat”, also with Backalong Books, is one of hope and encouragement for all those living in the social welfare system

Blog / Website: http://melindacochrane.weebly.com/.

Follow Melinda On Twitter

Trailer Park Poet – Part 3 is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

A Life As A Human interview with Katie Mogan Graham

We believe that every product has a story, and that this story should be told. Global Mothers works with NGOs in the Global South, helping artisans design and make fair-trade products for women and children in North America. We are committed to sharing the stories of our artisans with our customers, and vice versa. Help artisans in the Global South care for their families and communities by choosing to Buy Good.

Website: Global Mothers       Follow: Facebook | Twitter | LinkedIn

LAAH: What exactly is it that you do?

KMG: I am the co-founder and Creative Director for a Vancouver-based non-profit, called Global Mothers. Global Mothers partners with NGOs in the Global South, and helps them design, import and sell fair-trade handmade products in Canada. The majority of the artisans we work with are mothers, and our main customers are women.

Global Mothers mother/daughter artisans, Alice and Mercy, knitting finger puppets in Zimbabwe

LAAH: When did you start?

KMG: My dad, Peter Mogan, has been actively involved in poverty alleviation efforts for the past two decades. He approached me in the spring of 2010 with the vision of providing market access to impoverished artisans in the Global South. We began researching groups to partner with and visited our first group of artisans in East Africa in the fall of 2010. This initial trip was followed by two years of research and product design and several trips to meet with new artisan groups. We launched our online store on Mother’s Day in 2012 with 8 NGO partners and 80 products. We have just passed our one-year anniversary and are now working on a partnership model for Canadian corporations and community groups to join our “Buy Good” movement.

LAAH: Why do you do it and what is the motivation or passion that keeps you going?

KMG: I studied art and design in university, and have always been very interested in product design and the fashion industry. When my dad approached me with his vision for Global Mothers, I was intrigued by the challenge and creative potential for designing products that would appeal to Canadian consumers and still be ethically sourced. However, my intrigue turned to real passion and dedication after our first trip to East Africa in 2010. Meeting the artisans in their homes and seeing the pride and passion that they had for the products that they were making was overwhelming and very inspirational. It is the artisans, and their stories, that keep me, and the Global Mothers team, going each day.

A Global Mothers artisan in Bangladesh knitting an Octopus Rattle

LAAH: Do you feel that what you have done so far has made a difference? If so, can you explain how?

KMG: It can be hard to feel that a real difference is being made when you are faced with poverty statistics and stories of despair like the one surrounding the recent tragic events in Dhaka, Bangladesh. I am fortunate enough to receive regular updates from our NGO partners, which show that by partnering with Global Mothers, these NGOs are now able to work with more women in the community, providing clinics, community gardens, education for children and skills training for adults. The artisans themselves often send us letters detailing their successes and hopes for the future. In the most recent letter we received, Berthilde, a Rwandan artisan who makes bracelets for us, shared that she can now “pay for health insurance for [her] household … school fees for [her] child” and also “help with the needs of others.” This tells me that we are making a tangible difference in the lives of women and children and in their surrounding communities.

LAAH: Who are your allies and supporters in this enterprise?

KMG: Our allies and supporters vary from “everyday” people who buy our products as gifts for their friends and family, to larger corporations who are starting to see the value of providing opportunities for sustainable change in the fight against global poverty. We recently tested a “lunch and learn” program at a local media company, and the response was very encouraging. Staff members began to see how small actions, like buying a necklace, can make large changes in the lives of women like Berthilde.

Co-founders, Peter Mogan and his daughter, Katie Mogan Graham, visiting artisans in rural Bangladesh

LAAH: Do you have plans to grow your involvement, to expand the scope of your project? If so, can you elaborate on these plans?

KMG: We currently partner with 8 NGOs in 5 countries across Africa and Asia. These 8 NGOs work with 3,000+ artisans, who in turn provide food and basic needs for approximately 15,000 household dependents. Our goal is to increase the number of NGO partners each year, allowing our customers to make changes in the lives of 10,000 – and some day 100,000 – artisans. At the same time, our hope is that in the next five years, our Buy Good concept will be embraced not just nationally, but internationally. We dream of the day when every person considers the difference they can make with an everyday purchase.

LAAH: Like anything in life worth working for there must be difficulties and struggles too. Can you share with us what have been your greatest challenges?

KMG: Some of our greatest challenges have been logistical ones. Coordinating product testing, quality control, shipping, customs clearance and distribution here in Canada are daily challenges that we face. We have also dealt with tragedies in our NGO partner communities, as some of our artisans have passed away, leaving behind child-headed households. Finally, we’ve encountered national strikes, natural disasters and various forms of “red tape” as we bring things from remote communities to urban centers in Canada.

Global Mothers Co-Founder, Katie Mogan Graham, visiting girls at a school in Dhaka, Bangladesh

LAAH: How can people help you?

KMG: There are many ways that people can get involved in our work. The simplest thing someone can do is purchase a Global Mothers product from our Global Mothers website, or share our story with friends using Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest or YouTube. We are also looking to engage and equip a growing volunteer base to help share our story across Canada. One way of doing this is by signing up to host a Global Party. Finally, we are now offering partnership packages for corporations and community groups. The best way to learn more about any of these opportunities is to contact us at info@global-mothers.com.  

 Listen to Katie and Peter speak about Global Mothers – “Buy Good”

Click here to view the embedded video.

The Life As A Human team thanks Katie and Peter for all the great work they are doing and for giving us this interview. If you know them, or if their work has touched your life in some way, please leave them a comment.

We know they would love to hear from you! And be sure to visit their Global Mothers website and like them on Facebook.

Photo Credits

All Photos Are © Global Mothers

Making A Difference: Katie Mogan Graham – Global Mothers is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN