It’s all about the Target Base not the Tribbles

“In real life, we want to be brave, but it’s not as easy as it looks on the big screen, our computers, TVs, smartphones and even those old-fashioned, what are they called again, oh yes, books.”



I have expectations on the brain, I blame Charles Dickens who lured me into rereading Great Expectations. Dickens was using expectations in the archaic sense, a legacy or prospects, aka money, but also that Pip, our young hero had hopes about living better, loving, having a full life. We continue to posture and pose about raising expectations, making all the appropriate noises to end poverty, disease, war, inequality, abuse, etc., yet we appear to be backsliding. How much has essentially changed since Dickens wrote this vivid classic over 150 years ago?
Poverty still stalks too many.
Too many still prey on the vulnerable.
The human race remains a perplexing blend of: compassion, drama, wonder, trauma, hope, stupidity, love, ignorance, arrogance, sorrow, creativity, absurdity, brilliance, mayhem, joy, and the grotesque.

Great Expectations

Could be our expectations are unrealistic. What we expect isn’t always what we get. Canadians thought they…

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The Bad News Won’t Stop Coming (so then what?)

“I see myself increasingly pulling back, almost unconsciously putting up protective barriers, ones that conserve my energy for the things I have to do, the things which must come first, all the mundane details of functioning in a life.”


The longer you live, the more events you will live through. Now, we are aware of all of them. Nothing escapes notice or media attention, especially if it is bad. On the one hand, that’s beneficial; people can’t do anything about problems that have never reached their radar. On the other, it’s a burden; we hear of so much we can never do anything about, and yet, as emotional beings, we both want to, and are expected to respond in some way.

I think about this a lot. And I see in myself, a growing protective instinct. I have always been one to worry and fret and feel moved by other people’s pain, especially when it’s visited upon them by no fault of their own. I am not sure, however, that those emotions do anyone any good. In mid-life, too, I see that there’s no end to it. From here…

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