On being ... differently socialized?

By Ingrid Sapona

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about how men and women are different, but the issue came up in a surprising way over the past couple weeks. A friend of mine (I’ll call him Henry) mentioned that his cousin (I’ll call him Ted) has been in an out-of-town hospital since Christmas with heart-related problems. During the course of the conversation I learned that though he’s concerned about him, Henry hasn’t sent Ted a get well card or anything. About all Henry’s done is ask Ted’s wife to relay his get well wishes.

I couldn’t believe it. Henry’s always struck me as pretty compassionate – the fact he mentioned Ted’s illness makes me think he’s been thinking about Ted. But not so much as a card? By the end of our conversation I had convinced Henry to drop Ted a note. Naturally, the next time we spoke, I asked whether he had. Henry admitted he hadn’t, but claimed it’s because he couldn’t find a good get well card. That struck me as bull, so I said I’d find him one.

After looking in a few nice card shops, I had to admit the selection of get well cards was pretty limited. And, given that Ted’s been in the hospital nearly six months, cards that talk about following doctor’s orders seem somewhat insulting and cheery sentiments about a quick recovery seem a bit late. So, I shifted gears and started looking for a little something Henry could send to brighten up the day of a guy in the hospital – or at least give Ted and his wife something new to chat about. (If you’ve ever visited anyone daily in the hospital, you know how nice it is to have something different to say for a change!)

Because it was just before Mother’s Day, nearly every gift shop display table and counter was full to the brim with gifts for women. The assortment and variety was astounding. The amount of creative and marketing energy directed at gifts in the $10-$20 range for mothers is impressive.

In one store I did manage to find a table with tchotchkes clearly meant for guys. There were a few dominant themes: golf, poker, and items related to bartending. Underwhelmed with the choices, I decided to wait to check out Father’s Day displays. Sure enough, earlier this week I found lots of them. To my frustration, however, the selection was not much better than the items I came across earlier. About the only new things out were barbecuing tools and accessories. For obvious reasons, none of these things seemed right for someone in the hospital.  

Eventually I found something I thought would fit the bill: a pair of wood pencils in the shape of drumsticks. Obviously, I don’t know if Ted is a frustrated drummer, but I figured most folks at one time or another fidget with their pen or pencil and so the idea of doing so with pencils that are the size and shape of drumsticks seems fun. Besides, if nothing else, Ted could use them to do a Sudoku with or even just to play tic-tack-toe with a visitor. So, I bought them.

The great disparity in terms of the nature and variety of small gift items available for women versus those for men got me thinking. If I was shopping for a gift for a woman in the hospital whom I’d never met, I’d have had no problem finding something that would fit the bill in terms of a cheery pick-me-up. Hell, if I were given a couple specifics – like a favourite colour and whether she does or doesn’t like scents – I’m sure I could find something she’d really appreciate and enjoy – whether it’s a scarf or costume jewellery; a lotion, soap or bubble bath; or gourmet goodies like tea, coffee, chocolates or cookies (not to mention flowers). Though most of the Mother’s Day gift items were things women wouldn’t necessarily buy for themselves, it’s clear that there’s a market for them.

I can’t help wonder whether the fact that there’s a more limited selection of small gift items for men reflects an inherent difference in what men and women appreciate? Do women appreciate small tokens more than men? If so, why is that? Is it something in our nature that helps us take pleasure in small things or see beauty in small things? Or are we more welcoming of small things because we’ve learned to settle for small tokens of appreciation? Or maybe the tremendous selection of gifts created for women is a reflection of the fact that gestures of appreciation and compassion are important to women. (That might explain why Henry hadn’t thought to send a card or note to Ted earlier.) 

Anyway, as for the drumsticks I got for Ted – I ended up returning them. After explaining to Henry why a get well card no longer seems appropriate but that it would be nice of him to send a little something so Ted knows Henry’s thinking of him, Henry agreed. And, as we talked more about it, Henry came up with the idea of a book, which I thought was terrific. The very next day Henry phoned to tell me the title of the book he just mailed to Ted. So, I happily took the drumsticks back.

I don’t know whether my cajoling made enough of an impression on Henry to convince him of the importance of such gestures in general, but in any event, I’m glad he at least made the effort with Ted.

© 2013 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... more entitled?

By Ingrid Sapona

A comment in a fairly trivial story in the weekend newspaper struck a nerve with me in a way that I’m sure it wasn’t intended to. And of course, that got me thinking about why it got under my skin, so I figured I should write about it.

The news story was about a few bars on a downtown street in a mixed residential/commercial area that were warned by a by-law enforcement officer that they’d be fined if they hang planters on the outside of their patio railings. Seems the bars were basically told to make sure their planters – and patio umbrellas and advertising (sandwich) boards – remain within the confines of their patios. The article made it clear they weren’t charged with a by-law violation – they were just warned.

The article also made it clear that the by-law enforcement officer’s visit was prompted by a complaint the City got about the flowers. The reporter spoke to a few of the bars and a City councillor. One bar manager, who commented that he’s already put out $400 worth of plants for the patio, said they’ve been hanging flowers that way for years and have never had a problem. The manager said the bar complied right away, however, because they felt that failing to do so could negatively impact their liquor licence.

The City councillor’s initial comment was a wisecrack (“A petunia took them down”) but then she said the City could have handled the matter better by working through the local business improvement area, rather than by dispatching a by-law enforcement officer. The councillor also commented that she thought it isn’t something a bar should lose its liquor licence over. (Mind you, there was no report their liquor licences were truly in jeopardy, though the article noted that when a business with a liquor licence violates any City by-law, the liquor commission is notified.)

Another bar manager said the “crackdown” (her term) will hurt business. She went on to complain: “… by draping them inside the fence, we’ve lost space on our patio. Now we have fewer tables, which means less business.”  

Before going on, in the spirit of full disclosure, I feel compelled to say that over the years I’ve occasionally enjoyed a drink or a bite on a couple of the patios mentioned in the article. The flowers and location make them particularly inviting in nice weather. And, to me, the City’s many flower-filled patios – at bars, restaurants and cafes – definitely contribute a lot to Toronto’s charm.

But, I really take offense at the bars complaining about being told they must comply with the by-law in issue. The fact that they’ve gone through the necessary hoops to get a liquor licence and to get permission to have a patio doesn’t mean they have the right to do business however they see fit thereafter. The fact that they’ve already spent money on flowers for the summer, or even the fact that they’ve put planters on the sidewalk side in the past, is simply irrelevant. But more than anything, the complaint that there will be less space on their patios for tables and that fewer tables means less revenue makes me want to scream!

I’m sure many readers simply view this article as a news story about a silly by-law. (Wanna bet the paper was alerted to this story by the bars who clearly feel the by-law is ridiculous?) Or, more cynically, maybe some folks see it as a story implying City money and manpower being wasted by by-law officers enforcing regulations about flowers. I suppose the story could even be written off as a modern-day example of beauty being in the eye of the beholder, given that the article makes it sound like some curmudgeon – a flower hater of some sort – is causing a kerfuffle. (Personally, I think it’s just as likely that the complainant is someone who’s tired of having to navigate around obstacles on the often too-narrow City sidewalks.)

But I actually see this article as relating to a more important issue: the way some people confuse privileges with entitlement. Clearly the bars feel they should be entitled to ignore the by-law because compliance could negatively impact their bottom line. But doesn’t the person who complained about the patio owners violating the by-law have the right to expect the by-law will be enforced? Are the bars more entitled to make money than pedestrians are entitled to unimpeded access to the sidewalk? Indeed, it seems to me one of the main purposes of by-laws is to balance competing senses of entitlement like the ones at play here.

Entitlement is a concept that I’ve struggled with for many years. What makes any of us think that we’re entitled to anything? I honestly don’t know where this attitude comes from, but it seems increasingly common. You don’t have to look too far to find examples of it and articles like this show how a sense of entitlement colours people’s behaviour and sense of justice.

© 2013 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... spellbound

By Ingrid Sapona

The father of a very dear friend died recently. I was unable to attend the funeral, but a few days after it, I visited with my friend and his family. During the conversation he told me about a very moving tribute ceremony some of his father’s friends carried out.

I hadn’t realized that one of his father’s hobbies was magic and that he used to be pretty active in the local chapter of an international magician’s association. When members of the association heard that my friend’s father died, they phoned the family to ask if they could come and do a broken wand ceremony. The family agreed and so, a few days after the funeral, a number of members of the organization went to my friend’s mother’s house to pay their respects and to honour their fellow magician with this traditional ceremony.

The focus of the ceremony is the literal breaking of the deceased magician’s wand because once the magician dies, his wand is no longer magic. I don’t think any family members knew what to expect, and my friend said it was very moving.

Besides being struck by the symbolism of the wand getting its magic power from the magician, I couldn’t help think about other moving customs and rituals related to death and what they all have in common. Though they’re always aimed at marking the death of someone in particular, those that I find most powerful also remind us of others whom we’ve lost but not forgotten. 

After the visit with my friend, I thought about the symbolism of the broken wand ceremony a lot and I thought about whether to write about it. I hesitated for a number of reasons – including whether my friend would mind me writing about his father. I also didn’t know whether the ceremony is considered kind of secret or proprietary and something meant only for members of the magician’s association and their families. I knew that there were non-family members present when they did the ceremony for my friend’s father, but I though perhaps they were asked to not say much about it.

Finally, the other day, I Googled “broken wand ceremony” to try to learn a bit more about it, and I’m so glad I did. It’s clearly not a secret tradition. There are many references to it, including a thorough description of the ceremony, the protocol around it, and even the wording of it on the web site of TheInternational Brotherhood of Magicians. Though my friend’s description certainly gave a flavour of the meaningfulness of the ritual, I found the actual words of the ceremony quite profound. Here’s an excerpt from the non-theist version of it:

“This wand without (the deceased) is now useless. The magic that infused itself into the life of performing on this earth is now broken as we bid farewell when our loved one encounters mortality. … The magic of (the deceased’s) performance is over. The magic and mystery that he shared will remain in our memory … (The deceased) was endowed with the talent to amaze, mystify and entertain. May we, like (the deceased) … use our skills, dexterity of hands and voice to bring happiness and awe to those for whom we conjure our pleasant and benign wonders. … May (the deceased) rest in peace and may (the deceased’s) memories last long with those who enjoyed (the deceased’s) love … talent and … companionship.”

I truly believe that all of us have wands and that we imbue them with our magic. Indeed, like magicians, our lives are the opportunity to use our talents – whatever they are – to do amazing things and to bring happiness to others. And, if we perform well, though the magic our particular wand was used for will cease at the end of our life, we’ll remain alive in the memories of those whom we’ve enchanted with our magic.

My friend’s father’s wand was recently broken, but his magic lives on in many ways – including introducing many to the profoundly meaningful broken wand ceremony.

© 2013 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... smater than the average bear

By Ingrid Sapona

Did you know you there’s such a thing as square-bottomed, extra capacity hanging file folders? Well, I discovered them this week – and they’re great! I know this “discovery” might not seem a likely topic for On being…, but in the process of finding the file folders, I discovered a little something about myself too.

A couple weeks ago I decided to replace two wooden storage boxes in my office with a small (two-drawer) wood filing cabinet. The boxes were attractive and sturdy enough to support my printer, but I was getting tired of having to move the printer every time I wanted to get something from the boxes.

The cabinet required assembly, but it was a piece of cake. Per the instructions, the last step was to attach metal edges along the drawer tops to accommodate hanging files. Though I dutifully attached them, I thought it was a waste because I had no intention of hanging files in the drawers.  I’d be using the drawers basically for storage and not all the things I planned on keeping in them were files.

After assembling it and admiring the new addition to my office, I began filling the drawers with paperwork, journals, brochures, etc. The shapes and sizes of the things I put in the filing cabinet were not uniform and certainly not all suitable for regular files, and I noticed that they were – as paper tends to be – heavy.

Though the drawers felt sturdy, I couldn’t help think about the problems I’ve had with the bottoms of another filing cabinet that’s made of similar material. Over time the drawer bottoms of that cabinet sagged under the weight of the contents, making it hard to get the drawers open and eventually giving way completely. I managed to figure out a way to shore up the bottoms, but I have to be very careful with them. As I finished filling the drawers of my new cabinet, I decided that maybe I should give the hanging file idea more thought.  

So, yesterday I went to buy some hanging file folders. I thought the decision would boil down to letter or legal size and maybe colour. Little did I realize the variety available or that someone had invented hanging files that are designed to hold non-standard things like binders. As I hung them and carefully placed stuff in them, I couldn’t believe how sturdy they are and how much easier it is to get at different things. When I was done, I was mad with myself for having resisted the idea of hanging files before, without even looking into the option.

In thinking about it, I realized I rejected the manufacturer’s suggestion because I thought I knew better. I figured they recommended using hanging folders because they’re more modern than the old-fashioned ones and because they assume that folks only use the drawer for files. I decided that, clearly, the recommendation wasn’t meant for those who use the filing cabinet as a place to store things that don’t all fit neatly into traditional file folders. So I did it my way all these years. And, when the file drawer bottoms sagged, I rationalized that it was because they were cheaply made.

After I realized my previous filing cabinet problems were a result of my substituting my judgment for the manufacturer’s, I immediate remembered another similar incident. For years I had a slow draining shower. I tried all sorts of things, including chemical clog-busting products. Invariably they’d help a wee bit for a few days, but the difference was minimal. Eventually I came to the conclusion that there must be some Z-shaped pipe that simply caused the water to drain slowly. My bathroom sink also drained slowly and in that case I became convinced the shape of the pipe trapped air and that the water drained slowly until the air pocket popped.

Anyway, one day I saw a new, super-strength clog-buster and I figured I’d try it. The instructions said to use the entire bottle at once. That seemed like overkill to me. After all, my drain wasn’t completely clogged – it was just slow in draining. Surely the instructions were for situations where the drain was completely blocked, not for cases like mine.

But, figuring this wasn’t the first time I’d be pouring money down the drain, I decided to follow the directions, rather than my reasoned judgment. The results were amazing. The shower drains as though it is new – and it’s been that way for six months. The difference was so dramatic, I bought another bottle to use in the bathroom sink.

Despite the fantastic results I had with the tub, when I went to use it on the sink, I still hesitated about using the whole bottle. But again, rather uncharacteristically, I decided to defer to the manufacturer and poured away. The results were equally unbelievable. (All I can say is there must be some amazing air-bubble bursting ingredients in that bottle!)

Yogi Bear was a popular cartoon when I was young and a friend used to always tell me I was like Yogi: smarter than the average bear. To this day, whenever I come up with what I think is the definitive explanation for something (like the air in the damned bathroom sink that caused the slow drain, or the cheapness of the file drawer bottoms being the reason they sagged) or when I come up with a clever solution to a problem (like the way I shored up the sagging drawer bottoms), I pat myself on the back, knowing I AM smarter than the average bear.

But every now and then some discovery reminds me of the undeniable fact that being smarter than the average bear means there are bears who are smarter than me and their way of doing things is at least worth a try.

© 2013 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a note to self

By Ingrid Sapona

Writing a letter to your “teenage self” is quite popular these days. The idea is to write from where you are now to the person you were as a teen, offering advice based on insights you’ve learned from living your life.

Such letters have also become a popular way of dispensing wisdom and advice. CBS Morning News occasionally features “Note to Self” pieces by well-known people. The theory, I guess, is that these famous folks have insights into their own lives that the rest of us can learn from. The CBS pieces are usually interesting, though not necessarily because of what you might learn from the person featured but because of what you might learn about them and their life. But, ultimately, I think the true value of the “note to self” letter comes from actually sitting down and writing one. It seems like a great way to take stock of your life and the lessons you’ve learned from various experiences.

But that’s not the only kind of “note to self” I’ve been thinking about lately. A resignation letter that appeared in the newsletter of an organization I belong to got me thinking about what can happen when someone “takes note” of a dream or vision they have – even if the notice they take is fleeting or seemingly inconsequential.

The resignation was written by Juliette (not her real name), the manager of the organization. After saying how much she enjoyed the work and the people – and how much she’ll miss it – she explained her reason for leaving. Seems she and her husband have bought a boat that they’ll be sailing south on and living aboard in the Caribbean. Other than the fact that Juliette is 20+ years shy of what most people think of as retirement age (her husband is closer to the traditional retirement age), the story isn’t particularly unusual – at least not in my social circles.   

But, what really got me thinking was a story she closed the letter with. She mentioned that in her university yearbook – in response to the question of what she saw in her future – she wrote: “buy a boat, sail into the sunset, and return to shore only for supplies and Jimmy Buffett concerts”.

Given the reference to Jimmy Buffett and the hackneyed “sailing into the sunset” comment, I thought she was probably joking. But, the next time I saw her, I couldn’t resist asking if that story was true. Laughing about how many folks have asked her about it, she confirmed that, in fact, that’s what she wrote in the yearbook. In talking with her, it was clear that even she seemed surprised at the turn of events that have led her to this next chapter of her life, as she put it.

One of the reasons I like that story is because it speaks to the power of putting visions – dreams – into words. My guess is that what she wrote in the yearbook she meant more as a humorous response than as a comment on her life goals. And yet, the future she wrote about has come to pass. Though I don’t know her too well, I certainly don’t think she single-mindedly pursued that “dream”. Instead, she probably simply went on with her life. But, by putting the idea out there – even rather lightheartedly – on some level her subconscious acknowledged it and led her to choices that have resulted in her sailing off into the sunset.

The story also resonated with me because it reminded me of a vision I had when I was 17 about where I would end up. It happened one day when my parents and I were visiting Toronto from Buffalo. I was standing in the square in front of Toronto city hall and all of a sudden I thought: “this would be a good city for me to live in some day – a place I’d be happy”. Talk about a note to self!

Though the thought definitely registered, it seemed a far-fetched idea and so I ignored it and got on with life. I went to university and grad school and then started my career. But, looking back, I can see a lot of little steps and choices I made along the way that created the pathway that brought me to Toronto – a place I am, indeed, happy.

What about you? Any notes to self that your subconscious might be quietly working on? Don’t know? Well, maybe you should dig out your year book…

© 2013 Ingrid Sapona