Living with blinkers on

I’ve wanted to start a family blog for some months now but as usual life just gets in the way, so I thought I’d just take the bull by the horns and start. First let me just bring you up to date with what’s been happening.

Nothing is what I thought it was!

It seems that I have gone through life, and continue the journey with blinkers on. Up until the night, no, not night, I did not even know up not the moment my wife asked for a divorce that things in our life were so wrong.

And that’s not the only time!

I remember the shock of finding out that I was conceived before my parents got married, that in fact I was probably the reason for them committing to each other, an event that may or may not have naturally happened at all.

And no, I did not figure it out on my own. I was in my twenties when my younger sister made a passing comment about it. “Huh!” I answered, “What are you talking about?”

“Do the math” Giselle, my youngest sister, laughed realizing that I truthfully had not figure it out before now.

“Oh My God!” I blurted out, after a few quiet moments of feverish head calculations, “Why didn’t someone tell me?!”

And this,, after I counseled Rosemarie, my other sister, when she found out she was pregnant with her first child, not to get married to the father until after the birth. Reasoning that her hormones and emotions during a pregnancy would be too erratic to make a sensible decision. And here I am, a result of the same rash decision.

Not to say that Howard, her boyfriend of a few years and the baby’s father,  wasn’t her sole mate, which he turned out to be, but that they both needed time to sort out their feelings for each other, for themselves and ultimately for the baby, which at the time was complicated by the pregnancy.

And now, just a few days ago to discover, also from Giselle, that Dad and Mom had marital problems, to the point of them sleeping in separate beds…how did I not know this. Even our visit to Ireland when I was about nine, ostensibly to spend the summer with our grand parents, who I hadn’t seen since I left their home at five, might have been a split up of my parents. I always though it strange that my dad called only three weeks or so into the two month vacation and ask Mom to come home. I thought that he was so in love with Mom that he couldn’t handle a two month separation. Now maybe he was just willing to try being a family again.

Love, once committed, is eternal or so I thought. Oh I understand that life may change and that you may be forced to make decisions that you consider are in your best interest for your long term survival, and you might even have to leave the one you love, but that does not mean you stop loving them. Maybe I’m naïve, maybe I’m wrong and love isn’t eternal.

All I know that every time I given love, it has been unconditional and still remains alive today as it was when I first gave it, only tempered by time and experience. Every friend, every girlfriend, every teacher, every pet all still have ahold of my heart, whether they want to or not. They’ve all contributed to the person I am today and for that how can I not love each and everyone of them.

As I am beginning to discover, life, and my life in general, is more than I ever thought it was, I wonder what else has happened in my past that I am blissfully and totally unaware of? Help?!

To sleep alone, a medical guarantee

About five years ago I was diagnosed with Sleep Apnea. On the face of it that seems like a good thing, since up until then, I was falling to sleep in the middle of the afternoon. And I mean falling to sleep, not drowsy, not tired, not forty winks but out and out losing consciousness, one moment I’d be looking at my computer screen and then forty-five to fifty minutes later I’d come to, usually with a jerking of my drooped head, resulting in, at best, a head ache or worst, a stiff neck. Often both.

Driving was my worst nightmare, even during the middle of the day any distance longer than a five minute drive became a battle to keep my eyes open. I had to do something, this just could not continue, so, on my doctor’s advice, I had a sleep test done and, to my horror, it turns out that I was waking up (unknown to me) on an average of 50 times every hour, no wonder I was feeling tired all the time.

To help me sleep I was fitted with a Sleep Apnea machine, calibrated to pump air down my throat, preventing my own body from blocking off my air passages thus keeping oxygenated blood pumping through my heart and going to my brain.

First off Sleep Apnea machines (Sleep - a naturally recurring state characterized by reduced or absent consciousness. Apnea – from the Latin Ap: meaning more than likely to…and Nea: meaning no sex ever again) should come with warnings, you know the type of warning that you hear on the TV and radio medicine commercials, reeled off in a monotone voice with absolutely no pauses. Something that goes along the lines, “may cause the wearer to forever sleep alone, will cause morning hair to look like you stuck your hand in a socket, will make it feel like you’re sleeping in a wind storm, will cause excess gas build-up, will make your bed companion think there’re sleeping with Darth Vader, will make you sound like a banshee every time you open your mouth.

The first week with the new machine was great, I mean I am a gadget man after all and this, if nothing else, was a great gadget. I set it up next to my bed, ran the breathing hose from the air pump into the humidifier, then into my mask. Put the mask over my face and presto I have 12 lbs. of air pressure being forced down my throat.

Talking with the mask on was a no no, not a bad thing for those of us who are married, but try to ask for a glass of water or to turn off the light…no go. With the mask on, if you wanted something done you had to get up and do it yourself.

Not to mention going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. When you finally remember to take off your mask before going to the bathroom (after the first ten or so times you get jerked back into bed by your new umbilical chord) you then hear, while you’re relieving yourself, a soft electronic beeping, which you don’t realize is the ‘mask-off’ warning coming from the Sleep Ap machine until you’re in the middle of what you’re doing and cannot stop (I understand that women can but that’s not a possibility with men) and you know that the beeping will continue to get louder and louder until it wakes your wife, and when this happens, you just know your next day is going to be shit.

Then there is the by-pass air, the mask is not air tight, apparently purposely so, obviously the inventor wasn't getting any action so was not concerned with anybody else getting some, or else, was a woman because the little extra air wouldn’t bother any man that I know of. The mask has the same gale force winds blowing out from its edges as going down your throat.

Now, there is not a woman in the world, that I know of, who does not complain of it being cold, on a sunny day, in the slightest of breezes. With air being pushed out at 12 pounds per square inch cascading down their body, they would probably freeze to death. So spooning with the mask on is ab-so-lute-ly out of the question.

After two years of using the face mask, it was time to get a new one, so I decided to move away from the full face mask, after all I’m a pro at the sleep Ap machine by now, celibate, but well used to it. I decided on a slim line nose only design, at least with my mouth free I could now talk, or so I thought.

Now every time I open my mouth a blast of 12 pounds per square inch air rips out…I feel like a super hero, able to blast the bad guys into oblivion with just a simple opening of my mouth, unfortunately this incredible super power does not come with the obligatory buff body. Just my luck, this comic isn’t being written by Stan Lee but by Alfred E. Newman of “What, me worry!” fame.

And that’s not all, just think about it, I sleep every night with this copious amount of air being rammed down my throat, where does all the air go. Let me suffice it to say that I can now fart the entire Beethoven's’ 5th symphony…on demand…as many times a day as I want.

And then my wife divorces me and I have to start dating again…with a Sleep Apnea machine?!
Man Oh man! I’m sleeping alone, for the rest of my life, guaranteed!

Locked out

Half past six and we are all out on our newly installed patio, sitting on the new faux wrought iron seats, Giselle in her new sling seat, under the gazebo we just installed, enjoying the cool evening breeze, winding down after a full day at work.

Everything is calm and peaceful, even the energetic scampering of Hercules, Giselle’s “always-full-of-zip and zing” pug, has been forestalled by locking him in the house behind the glass sliding doors looking out into the patio.

That was our first mistake, letting Hercules still see us. The second was ignoring his wining and scampering against the glass door. You see, since someone had already tried to break-in through the said glass sliding doors, Richard installed a manual lock down mechanism for the doors.

When we are safely ensconced inside, or all about to leave the house for the day, we pull these four small levers down behind the door that slides, locking the two glass doors together…stopping the sliding action of the door.

Hercules, in his typical “always-full-of zip and zing” mode was jumping up against the door, cart-wheeling his tiny paws, in an effort to dig trough the glass or, maybe,  just to show us that he wants out, wants to join us, wants to enjoy the afternoon breezes.

In his scampering on the door he inadvertently lowered one of the “protectant” levers. Leaving us all locked outside, without keys, after all who goes outside to their patio with house keys, in the cool evening, which by now is beginning to get cold, and no way back into the house.

Giselle called (thank god Richard had his phone on him) Mathew, her son, to come over and open the door with his key, he was at work but indicated that his girlfriend, Jessica, can get the key to rescue us.

Meanwhile, Richard is outside looking in at Hercules, trying to get him to over to the lever and have him push it back up. Now this might sound ridiculous but by bending down and wiggling his fingers opposite the lever, he did get Hercules to bend his head under the lever and then, by moving his hand up suddenly, got Hercules’ head to move back up, hitting the lever, partially raising it.

But after another ten minutes of trying to get Hercules to repeat this action to no avail, seems that the first time it happened he must have hurt himself and there was no way he was going to do that again.

With still no action from Mathew, Richard decided he couldn’t wait any longer and called a lock smith.

But our adventure did not end there, it seems that the lock smith, who turned up fifteen minutes later, could not pick the lock, which on the face of it seems like a good thing, but to us three, Giselle in her night wear, me in a pants only, Richard was the only one still in his work clothes, things were definitely looking grim, not to mention cold. The lock smith indicated that he could drill out the lock and replace it with a $200 core. “No way!” said Richard, “Not when I could get a new lock from Lowes for $50.”

So once again we called Mathew, seemed that Jessica could not find the key and had to call Mathew to find out where it was, thus the delay in getting back to us. So we waited while that happened, then, just minutes ago, they called to say that they had the key but could we come and pick it up.

At last luck was once again with us, Richard had his electronic car key on him…thank god he hadn’t changed as yet, or else we’d still be locked outside, at lease I hope nothing else has gone wrong, They both left here to get the spare key and I’m here, outside, all alone, cold and being stared at by a now relaxed and lounging little pug named Hercules.

The Truth well told!

Henry McCann opened his, now world-wide Advertising Agency known as McCann-Ericksen, in 1912 with these words as his slogan. I joined the Trinidad’s branch of Norman, Craig & Kummel (a competitive agency) in 1979 with the same sentiments, sentiments that have continued to be my guiding light through my thirty-three years in this business, from NCK being assimilated by Foote, Cone and Belding and ending in me opening my own Agency, HFCB Advertising, in Barbados.

Over the years I’ve refused to run, sometimes to the detriment of my bottom line, claims that could not live up to this paradigm. I held the view that I was not alone in this strategy within my industry, certainly there were individuals who broke this unwritten rule, but all-in-all my industry was truthful.

In fact I saw advertising as an integral part of bringing day-to-day knowledge to the masses, not earth shattering nor humanity uplifting knowledge, but knowledge all the same. Knowledge that people could use to make the everyday decisions that help them to make their journey through life.

I took this responsibility seriously and time and time again refused to abdicate it at the alter of the almighty dollar. Then I moved to America and saw that in fact the almighty dollar has so many more acolytes than I ever thought it could have.

I mention America since I now have actual experience but logic tells me it is a symptom not so much of a place but of a stage in a civilization’s development…I now suppose that all the “so-called” developed nations suffer the same aliment.

The first thing I had to get, when I arrived, was a cell phone service. Not only to keep in touch with my business contacts in Barbados, but also to reach out and touch my son (in a Toronto University), family in Barbados and Trinidad, not to mention my sister and brother-in-law in Miami.

Naturally I turned to the advertising literature available for the companies offering these services and the plans available. What I found was astounding, not one company, of which there are many, could be held accountable for what their advertising preached.

In all cases the actual cost of the service offered was more than what was advertised…what was promised.

I was appalled!

The one line that most offended, was, ‘FREE International Calls!’

At each service that I subscribed to, I found out, only after I initiated the service, and only after reading the hundred or so pages of 10pt and/or 8pt (small) type, that The line really read, FREE International Calls…up to $10.

First: Free means no limits, if there are limits then it is not free and using free to describe it is just wrong and if done deliberately is fraud. Secondly: what’s wrong with saying the service comes inclusive of $10 worth of International calls. That’s just as strong and it’s the truth. FREE is misleading.

And this in not the only example of this style of advertising I’ve noticed. It’s rampant, the incorrect use of the English language to bolster the salability of a product or service, most without substance to these claims.

What is worst though, is the acceptance that my sister and brother-in-law and by extrapolation (due to the fact that no-one else is complaining) the rest of the population have of these advertising lies.

Having spending over thirty years in the advertising industry and upholding what I thought was a common integrity across the industry it is heart rending to see that, in fact, I was obviously in the minority and that the industry does not stand up to my expectations of it.

Fences

In a conversation with my brother-in-law the other night, we were discussing the arbitrary fences that companies put around their products and services allowing them a rerasonable rational for pricing strategies that, in the end, benefit only themselves no matter what they explain to their customs.

And while this is commonplace in business, one only have to look at the drug companies and the mobile phone business for obvious examples, I did leave the conversation wondering how many fences we, as individuals, put up to benefit the ultimate consumer, ourselves.

Of course we know about the basic fences that most of us, unfortunately there are some who do not yet see this, recognize; racism, sexism etc. Fences that we have made many attempts to tear down and have succeeded, in different degrees, in different parts of the world.

But what about the smaller fences, the fences we put up day by day, to shut out the noisy kids next door, the sullen waitress, the man struggling to open a door with his arms full, the grocery packer.

Fences we place based on who we think we are, created from our values, that we unfairly transpose to everyone else we meet.

These fences that are so ingrained in ourselves that we sometimes do not even know we are doing it.

Fences have their importance, they help keep us grounded in who we are, to the beliefs than we hold true to ourselves, that which defines us as a person, an individual, but is it enough. In my youth I read somewhere one line of a poem, written by John Dunne (An English clergyman and poet) that said, “No man is an Island”. Intellectually I understood what he was trying to say though at that time, in my youth, I was more influenced by the individuality of my heroes: Shaft, Dirty Harry, Wang Yu. All characters that believed in their own sense of justice, a justice that they carried out despite, in in some cases, in spite of everybody else.

Now that youth is just a memory to me, losing the vitality and resilience that went along with it,  I’ve gained, with life experience, what I was lacking then, wisdom. And while I still enjoy the films of lone heroes fighting the establishment, I recognize them now as just stories, some good, some not-so-good, and not as a formula for life. “No man is an Island” finally hit home, finally moved form the brain to the soul.

So my youthful heroes no longer define a formula that starts and ends with the individual being the paramour for my id, for building fences that block out anybody else's point-of-view, culture or beliefs.

While I still have my fence up to protect my id, my ego, my self, I now have many gates, some pushed in, some open, but none locked and I try, not always succeeding I might add, to walk out my gates and up to the fence of the people I interact with, and surprisingly, more times than not, they open their gates and allow me in.