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After rollercoastering, I'm excited!!!

11/30/2016

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(Sidewalk poetry might happen in London.)

I've just now come out of our meeting with London Arts Council (LAC) and I'm sitting in a cafe trying to get myself back together. It was a very weird experience, but a weird I should have expected as I always manage to goof up one way or another.

Here's what happened:

The four of us, Jennifer Ball, Leizel Rafanan, Noelle Schmidt and I, met in a cafe for the hour before the presentation, practising what we were going to say while Jennifer put together the PowerPoint that would go with it. I was surprisingly relaxed, mostly because the ladies would be doing the bulk of the heavy lifting.

A little before we needed to, we walked the block to Innovation Works on King St, where LAC has its offices. While we waited to be called in, I could see that I was probably still the most relaxed, so I said, "Don't worry, you're all going to look very professional after me. I pride myself in being Mr. Amateur. You'll see what I mean."

I gave the opening remarks, a short summary of the whole sidewalk poetry idea, and yes I was pretty rough, to say the least. But I don't mind anymore because I'm getting used to being awkward and stumbling when I talk in public. I just assume others are getting used to seeing me that way too. (Those who know me are, anyway, but in this room Tom Cull, the Poet Laureate, was the only one who had ever heard me try to public-speak. Oh well, so it goes.) As predicted, the other three all looked very professional in comparison. We got through it and out the other side with flying colours.

It was during the back-and-forth afterwards that things went downhill. My ADD really had me by the throat, seriously limiting my ability to focus. I missed words and phrases as if they had never been spoken. Well, at one point Andrea Halwa, LAC Executive Director, was talking about how the jurying of poems in the contest would probably have to work, saying that LAC would have to pay the poets for the poems. Okay, having missed the appropriate words, and putting the wrong ones together with the wrong ones, I was totally convinced she was insisting LAC would have to pay for all submissions. I imagined 2,000 poems (the number received in St. Paul in their first year) @ say $10.00 per poem. That would use up the entire average yearly budget at St. Paul of $20,000, with nothing left over to work the program. Well, of course, I couldn't restrain myself from objecting, then objecting strenuously, and so forth. I finally slumped back in my seat and said, "This is depressing." Well, Tom, who is one of the most empathetic people I've ever met, jumped in and tried to calm me down, saying this isn't the end of it, things could be worked out. And Andrea kept trying to show me why they would have to be paid. But then, in a burst of clarity that only people like Andrea are capable of in situations like that, she suddenly realized what I was thinking and said that only the five poems selected to be stamped would be paid for!! My head spun around on my shoulders! I was so relieved it was incredible.

Well, needless to say, we all walked out of that room feeling very much better than we might have. Let me formulate a bit of wisdom from this experience: A high is never as high as it is right after a good downer.
​

Anyway, after having given my mental impressions a good twist, I'm convinced LAC is going to go for it. They'll come up with their own ideas as to how to work it, but in the end, we will very likely have poems stamped into our sidewalks. I'm pretty sure. Of course, I could have missed something.


From Facebook: likes...8..
​Frank Beltrano, Bryton Mckinnon and 6 othersComments

Albert Katz Here's hoping.
Like · Reply · 1 December at 15:49

إبراهيم أشعياء عوض I think that you've done something very good for the city and for the state of the art. A pioneer, sort of. Good work! What's the next step?
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 1 December at 22:15 · Edited

Stan Burfield Hi Andrew. What's next is to just wait. See what happens. It's all out of my hands now, thank God.
Like · Reply · 1 · 1 December at 22:38

Stan Burfield Just turning on Amadeus! Catch ya later.
Like · Reply · 1 · 1 December at 22:38

Stan Burfield I came out of that meeting with a huge appreciation for Andrea Halwa, especially her clarity of mind. I admire that tremendously.
Like · Reply · 2 December at 01:20

Rocco Dalessandro Great to know the writing on the proverbial horizontal wall (sidewalk) could have at least (15 years of follows hip) the average life of sidewalks and roads is generally thought to be 15 years. 
I look forward to when those 15 years will start. Of course city budgets sometimes don't do remove and replace sidewalks as often as the design endurance requires. Look forward to positive stuff resulting from your endeavour Stan and company. Thank you.

Like · Reply · 2 December at 15:16

Stan Burfield Thanks, Rocco. Of course we don't know if it will be instituted. They have to consider a lot of factors. We did about as good a job as we could in making a presentation in the limited amount of time we had before the students' semester was over. But, as Andrea Halwa explained to us, the reality of the city looking at possibly taking on a project like this is a lot different than it might seem from our limited perspective. We have our fingers crossed though.

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Old photos

11/27/2016

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My Vancouver friend Gord McCaw just gave me an incredible inspiration via a post of his on looking at a photographic display in the Vancouver Art Gallery. (Gord is a photographer of note himself.) I have all these ancient negatives from homestead days on the prairie and in log-cabin country up in the North. They're just sitting there because nobody can relate to them, I thought, because the people in the photos are all dead and there are very few descendants who care anymore. But what I can do is look carefully at each one for visual, human, historical, artistic content, and crop them to help emphasize it. It had never occurred to me before that I could actually crop them! https://www.facebook.com/gord.mccaw/posts/10153921529096356
Photo: My dad plowing with the Case steam tractor before he went blind.
Picture
From Facebook: likes...9...Terry Willard, Meredith Moeckel and 7 others
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Fire!

11/26/2016

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Last night I I woke to a fire in the house, in the house I was living in in my dream. I was half-heartedly trying to put it out, but it quickly got out of control. I gave up and woke up. I lay there sweating, thinking about my life. If there really were a fire in our apartment, so much of my life would disappear. I still have boxes of bits and pieces from all back through the last sixty years. I never look at them. But I've never been able to throw them out. And now my life is nearly over. I'm still obsessing on all the unfinished attempts at things, the directions, the false starts. The longer my life drags on, the more of them I drag behind me. Pacing around the apartment, wide awake now, anxious, I thought I'd better just start living right now. And forget the past. It's finally time. If I'm ever going to. No more living a little now but mostly back then, mostly over there and there. I need to slash it all off and jump right in and be WHOLLY here for the first time in my life. Clean. Complete.

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Seeing Linda off

11/26/2016

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Seeing Linda off to the train to visit her sister in Burlington. I'm a bit anxious. Woke in the middle of the night to a dream of fire. It was just a dream.
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Cindy Cameron Napper Great photo of the 2 of you Linda your hair looks great short
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I really like this photo. Linda in first day of snow. 

11/25/2016

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Picture

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A memory that keeps returning.

11/25/2016

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​Once in my 20s I took my blind father for a walk down in Confederation Park in Calgary, not far from the house. While we walked, I was trying to imagine it from his viewpoint. The park was a mostly untreed gully, similar to what he would have been used to homesteading out on the prairie in his own youth. I took him up to an aspen tree, said, "See how big it's grown since they planted it," putting his hands on the trunk. He smiled, the kind of smile an older man indulges a youngster with who's trying to do something for him. But he didn't seem to have any interest in really feeling the tree, the roughness of the bark, the heft of it. Maybe he had chopped down too many trees when they had moved to the forests of northern Alberta during the dust bowl of the '30s. So I suddenly said, "Hey, Dad, do you want to run a ways. I bet you haven't done that for a long time." He smiled again and said, "Okay," and, holding my arm, we trotted on down the path, he in his 70s but thin and still healthy.

Looking back from here, it's odd how seldom I imagined my parents real lives while they were alive, and how very few times I tried to do something for them that wasn't out of a sense of offspring duty. I guess I was a typical youth, pretty self-centred, putting most of my effort into leaving, not getting together.

​


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Larry Burfield Your Dad and the park bring back good memories here too. It always amazed me how he could walk over to our Uncle Robin's place on his own. The hill on Uncle Robin's side was quite steep. I remember walking the other way over to your Mom and Dad's place and when we got there your Dad was just walking from the bus stop after visiting down at the CNIB.. He came down the street with such confidence. He then had to show his garden, which he took such good care of. And I complain about having to pull weeds that I can see!! Didn't do as much of that complaining after that visit. I remember the incident you mentioned at his funeral, when their was a storm brewing and he asked you to round up the cattle and put them in the barn or shelter. You returned after awhile and said you were unable to get them to cooperate. Your Dad put on his raincoat and went out, and came back to the house later and said they are all in.
Like · Reply · 1 · 25 November at 13:47

Stan Burfield Yes. He was walking from the bus stop by himself? I never knew he did that? But if he could negotiate our bush, a sidewalk would be easy. I wasn't living there then. Wonder how he found the walkway to his house, which was third from the end of the block. Yes, that incident trying to get the cows in amazed me. Because of the constant thunder, they were hidden in the thickest, deepest brush. I could only chase one out at a time and it would circle around and go back. And I was clambering over deadfall and getting stabbed continually by brush. And I could hardly hear for the thunder and wind in the trees. Then Dad went out in that by himself and got them. The answer, which either you or your dad told me, was that Dad was their boss in their eyes and as soon as they saw him they headed home, but still Dad had to find them in the bush, which was pretty big, and he would have to hear the one bell on the lead cow, in that thunder, and survive the deadfall and the switches, and somehow figure out what direction he was going. It all still seems impossible to me. But nevertheless he did bring them home and milked them that night. That was the spirit the pioneers had: Just keep going. Keep at it no matter how hard. Because there was no choice.
Like · Reply · 1 · 25 November at 14:06

Larry Burfield The Burfield family had the Pioneer spirit for sure.. Moving from a nice home in England, to a sod house in the middle of nowhere in Alberta. And with three small children to make the challenge a bit bigger.. Then having to move everything in the 1930's drought to start again at Smith, and then again striking out individually to make a life in southern Alberta. They survived it all. And then your Dad lost his site, my Dad lost the site of one eye, but nobody complained Just charge forward! Make the best of what you have and go from there
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 25 November at 15:06

Stan Burfield Right. Make the best of it. For sure!
Like · Reply · 25 November at 16:54
Write a reply...

Tina Pickard Good memory......

Like · Reply · 30 mins
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Can't lose

11/25/2016

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can't lose, except from winning...
can't die, except from trying...


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Magnus Grendel Samson Coleman Either way, every thing has a way of turning it's glistening guts, inside out; to the Event Horizon, of No Return...
Like · Reply · 25 November at 21:37

Stan Burfield Including yer mind, Magnus :)
Like · Reply · 25 November at 21:38

Magnus Grendel Samson Coleman The mind may loose trace... But, it can never loose mind.
Like · Reply · 25 November at 21:42

Stan Burfield not while trying
Like · Reply · 25 November at 21:43
Write a reply...


Stan Burfield To anyone reading these two lines, they're actually Magnus', just inverted. His is the cup half filled with frustration.
Like · Reply · 25 November at 22:11 · Edited

Stan Burfield "You can't win, for losing...
Nor try, for dying..."
 Magnus Grendel Samson Coleman

Like · Reply · 25 November at 22:08

Stan Burfield But you've got to admit, it's far more poetic.
Like · Reply · 25 November at 22:12

Gord McCaw No, uh, look, uh, Stan, we can't, well, how could you put it? Go gettin' crippled over this...
Like · Reply · 25 November at 22:17

Stan Burfield JUST WAIT. I'm tryin to get my thermos open...
Like · Reply · 1 · 25 November at 22:24 · Edited

Stan Burfield And DON'T STAND BESIDE THOSE BOXES!
Like · Reply · 1 · 25 November at 22:25

Gord McCaw If you don't bee-leeve me ask Al Broudy...
Like · Reply · 25 November at 22:26

Stan Burfield huh
Like · Reply · 25 November at 22:27
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What is TRUMP'S AUTHORITARIANISM all about?

11/10/2016

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From "The Mind of Donald Trump", published June 2016 in The Atlantic by DAN P. MCADAMS, a professor of psychology and the director of the Foley Center for the Study of Lives at Northwestern University.

The authoritarian mandate is to ensure the security, purity, and goodness of the in-group—to keep the good stuff in and the bad stuff out. In the 1820s, white settlers in Georgia and other frontier areas lived in constant fear of American Indian tribes. They resented the federal government for not keeping them safe from what they perceived to be a mortal threat and a corrupting contagion. Responding to these fears, President Jackson pushed hard for the passage of the Indian Removal Act, which eventually led to the forced relocation of 45,000 American Indians. At least 4,000 Cherokees died on the Trail of Tears, which ran from Georgia to the Oklahoma territory.

An American strand of authoritarianism may help explain why the thrice-married, foul-mouthed Donald Trump should prove to be so attractive to white Christian evangelicals. As Jerry Falwell Jr. told The New York Times in February, “All the social issues—traditional family values, abortion—are moot if isis blows up some of our cities or if the borders are not fortified.” Rank-and-file evangelicals “are trying to save the country,” Falwell said. Being “saved” has a special resonance among evangelicals—saved from sin and damnation, of course, but also saved from the threats and impurities of a corrupt and dangerous world.

TRUMP APPEALS TO AN ANCIENT FEAR OF CONTAGION, WHICH ANALOGIZES OUT-GROUPS TO PARASITES AND POISONS.

When my research associates and I once asked politically conservative Christians scoring high on authoritarianism to imagine what their life (and their world) might have been like had they never found religious faith, many described utter chaos—families torn apart, rampant infidelity and hate, cities on fire, the inner rings of hell. By contrast, equally devout politically liberal Christians who scored low on authoritarianism described a barren world depleted of all resources, joyless and bleak, like the arid surface of the moon. For authoritarian Christians, a strong faith—like a strong leader—saves them from chaos and tamps down fears and conflicts. Donald Trump is a savior, even if he preens and swears, and waffles on the issue of abortion.


In December, on the campaign trail in Raleigh, North Carolina, Trump stoked fears in his audience by repeatedly saying that “something bad is happening” and “something really dangerous is going on.” He was asked by a 12-year-old girl from Virginia, “I’m scared—what are you going to do to protect this country?”
​

Trump responded: “You know what, darling? You’re not going to be scared anymore. They’re going to be scared.”
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Reading at the Nov. 2nd, London Open Mic

11/2/2016

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Not very well done. I was distracted by my jobs and not really ready for it. A bit anxious too, I guess. 
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    Stan Burfield's Blog

    Organizer of London Open Mic Poetry. former support worker for people with autism and developmental disabilities.  former farm boy, former adventurer, former florist.
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