Tyler Colins's Blog, page 76

Live Chatting……………..ggggggggggggggggg

Never have I witnessed live chat flow like lava from an active, angry volcano. 

I’m talking about that which is viewable while the inauguration is live-streaming. Some comments are supportive, short and sweet; others are angry, bitter and ugly.

We live on an awesome continent where we can enfold free will and the right to voice opinions without fear of retribution.

We can provide them, and proudly so, because democracy is about equality and fairness, and free speech, among other things. As Plato said: equality to equals and unequals alike.

But I digress. The point, or question rather, is: must personal comments contain shameful profanity and despicable swastikas or equally offensive symbols? It seems to me we’re better than this.

Whatever our political views, let’s demonstrate to those watching (and reading) that--as part of a great and fair nation--we truly are respectful and mature, diverse and all-embracing.  

What's in a Word?

Trece.  Dreizehn.  Treize.  Trzynaście.  Dertien.  . . . Triskaidekaphobia.

The first Friday the 13th of 2017.  Are you scared, worried?  On this continent, it’s been said that millions fear this “unlucky” day in one shape or from.  As Spock would have said, “Fascinating.”

This appears to date back to the Middle Ages with the tale of Jesus’ last supper and crucifixion.  Thirteen persons were at the supper on the 13th day of Nisan Maundy Thursday (which was the night before he died on Good Friday).

However, in Spanish-speaking countries, Tuesday the 13th is considered unlucky, while Friday the 17th is viewed a day of ill luck in Italy.  The Aztecs, on the other hand, had a 13-day week and believed this number sacred.  In fact, the number 13 can be found in a plethora of instances. 

Tarot Card #13 = Death.  This, however, could simply pertain to getting rid of something old and moving on to something new.





There are 13 stripes in the U.S. flag (thirteen colonies = the first 13 states).





The 13thS. president was Millard Fillmore while Thomas Jefferson was born on April 13, 1743.





The U.S. 1$ bill has 13 bars on the shield, 13 leaves on the olive branch, 13 arrows and 13 stars. There are also13 plumes of feathers on each eagle wing.  Thirteen letters can be found in both “E PLURIBUS UNUM” and “ANNUIT COEPTIS”.





Prohibition lasted 13 years.





In a traditional British Christmas pudding, 13 ingredients are a “must”.

The list goes on.  Fascinating.

Spiralling Seasons

This week, I’m still caught up in seasons.  It’s hard not to when you live up north and they’re all so marvellously distinct.  Winter is upon us, but as is par for the course in this vast metropolis, it’s cold but not white.  And then, of course, there’s that old wonderful simple yet sage Byrds’ song “Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything there is a Season)”. 

To everything – turn, turn, turn / There is a season – turn, turn, turn / And a time to every purpose under heaven . . .

Written in the 50s by Pete Seeger, the song pretty much embraces Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 word for word:

1   There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:   2   a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,   3   a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build,   4   a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,   5   a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,   6   a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away,   7   a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, 8   a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

When it’s a trying day—or week—I simply listen to the song or read 3:1-8, and  remind myself that everything does indeed have its place and time.  Actions and the timing of them are both relevant yet incontrollable. 

You can’t force something because—guaranteed—it ain’t gonna work out the way you’d intended.  It will, however, transpire when it’s meant to . . . when the appropriate “season” has arrived.  Stay strong and keep the faith.  

Seasons of Change

It’s been an odd year.  For me, it’s been one of realizations but no attainments.  I’ve aspired but fallen short.  It’s all good.  There’s always next year.  

Many people have passed this year—some prominent, some not.  It’s never easy losing a loved one or someone revered or admired outside the everyday realm.  We shake our heads in puzzlement or dejection and ask why him, why her.  We murmur how tragic and wonder how the void will ever be filled.  It’s part of the cycle of life, one season evolving into another.  Everyone has their time. 

For most, the end of a year is a time to celebrate and welcome a new year.  For me, it’s a period of reflection.  Emotions ebb and flow like the Bay of Fundy tide.  I always like to say I have no regrets . . . but I do.  And then I cast them off.  Regrets don’t enable growth; they stunt it. 

My own life is entering the season of fall and I’m very aware of my (increasingly limited) time on earth.  I can lament all that never was—or transpired, as the case may be—or I can celebrate events and endeavors, no matter how minor.

Yes, it’s been an odd year.  Fortunately, another is arriving shortly.  Here’s to welcoming the seasons of 2017 and embracing all that is to come—be it challenging, mundane, bizarre, or remarkable.  ♥

Ho-Ho-Ho-Hopeful

The holidays are almost here.  The positive energy and kindness this time of year are wonderful; the extensive advertising and vast spending not so much.  But Scrooge I’m not (though I may have “humbug” moments). 

So, on a lighter note, here’s to the fun and frivolous side of the holidays, those that:

enable family and friends—and strangers—to share laughter and cheer

see tummies swell with good food and treats, wine and beer

play music to warm hearts and tickle ears

and cost nothing but cheer-filled chuckles and happy tears.

Let’s greet our festive jolly man in red with a hug and a grin, and keep an eye open that we don’t end up in the red. 

Stay ho-ho-ho-hopeful.  Happy Holidays!  

A Madcap Foray into Technology

I did it, I did it!  After ignoring the plethora of ever-evolving bells and whistles that technology has had to offer off the last few years (I’m technically challenged, as you know), I’ve leapt into the fancy-dancy gadgets void!

Yours truly is the proud owner of a brand spankin’ new cell phone and—get this, my friends—a tablet.  T’is true!  And neither is sitting in a drawer. 

After a big breath of calming courage, I dove right in.  Spotify is no longer a weird word and Play Store, I've discovered, is not a place to visit with the wee ones.

Ah, to be in touch, to get it, to be one with the masses.  It’s all . . . soooooooo good.

Dear Santa

I’ve been a very good girl this year.  Okay, I lieth.  But I haven’t been a bad girl this year—well, not too much.

Here’s my wish list:

a trip to Hawaii and/or permanent residency

a winning lottery ticket (2 million is fine)

some spa time

a dog, cat, and pot-bellied pig

a healthy year for Mom

a Jeep (bright red would be nice) . . . ?

I know you have a lot of gifts to transport from the North Pole, so if my list isn’t doable, that’s okay.  Maybe you could just sprinkle world peace and collective compassion around the globe as you soar past on that magnificent sleigh?

Thanks, Santa.  You’re the best.

T’is the Season for Counting Blessings . . . Again

At this time of year, you can’t help but get caught up in the festive energy: colorful holiday ornaments and lights shine bright, the jolly man in red is in every mall, eager kids start behaving, and people appear more cheerful and giving.

We may not possess Trump’s wealth, but we make the most of what we have—if it’s not champagne, it’s sparkling wine, if it’s not pheasant, it’s turkey or canned ham. 

We may not live in a gold-etched condo overlooking Central Park or a ten-bedroom house in Santa Barbara, but there are roofs over our heads and warmth in our humble dwellings and hearts. 

Influential, rich or famous comrades and relatives may be few and (very) far between, but supportive and caring companions and family encourage us regularly.

Holiday decorations may come from a discount store and the tree is a Charlie-Brown special, but they’re ours and they dazzle and sparkle.

Let’s consider the wonderful people and things we should be grateful for . . . and not just at this time of year.  Recognize—and count—the everyday, little blessings.  They truly are the best.   

Dogpaddling the Quagmire of Debt

I readily confess: I have succeeded in tumbling into the quagmire of debt.  It’s no one’s fault but my own and, as such, I freely accept blame.

At this stage of life, I earn a Comedy-Central salary (i.e. laughable).  In a quest to succeed as a writer, I accepted some “non-challenging” roles, including the current one.  I’d figured it would be short-term, and the last one in the corporate world.  After a decade, “short-term” is a done deal, but the “last” aspect is still possible. 

It’s all good.  A lot has been learned over the years and I’m all the wiser for it.

The one great thing about dogpaddling through a quagmire of debt: I can deal with the stress by eating a whack-load of chocolate.  Nummmmmm!  (There’s always a silver lining.)

You know what?  It may take longer to swim to the other side when you’re dogpaddling, but eventually, you do get there.  

Steam . . . Puzzled . . . Punk

As an aspiring writer, one of the many must-dos of self-promotion is setting up an author profile.  Among other things, from a drop-down list, you select the genres you write.  Easy-peasy.  For moi, it’s mystery.  But what the <bleep> is this—steampunk?  Surely they jest.  Surely it’s a typo.

Surely . . . it exists.  Per Wikipedia, steampunk is “a subgenre of science fiction or science fantasy that incorporates technology and aesthetic designs inspired by 19th-century industrial steam-powered machinery”.  Who knew?  Apparently, not clueless l’il ol’ me.

First note to self: find time to seek out the world and all that transpires within.

Second note to self: read some <bleeping> steampunk!