Dell on Camp via Digital Camera

The digital camera makes taking and sharing camp and nature pictures a cinch.

I took this photograph in late afternoon light and am able to share it with friends within minutes of my return to camp by simply connecting a cord from the camera to my computer. That's it: no CD to load, the computer recognizes what I'm up to and asks me which viewing application I want to use and voila! up come my photographs to copy, crop, adjust, save, delete or retain, just as I please.

Are you able to feel the warmth of the 78 degree afternoon? upon this lovely white birch? can you hear the sound of the birds calling among the treetops, the soft slap of waves lapping the water's edge under the fallen maple? the duck startled into flight rising over the sun-drenched water, the rustle of the leaves overhead?

I still think in fahrenheit although it has been over thirty years since Canada went metric: that's a warm 26 Celsius today in northern Ontario, with thundershowers expected tomorrow. While forest fire risk is currently rated low to moderate, the dry spell that has lowered area water levels is cause for real vigilance concerning fire: man-made fire for cooking and heat or nature's fire: lightening strikes.

Speaking of fires, this maple that fell after one of this spring's heavy wind storms is slated to become part of my wood pile. Some downed trees become homes and nests for wildlife, including raccoons and wood ducks. I noticed the brown-eyed susans are on the verge of blooming. They're one of my grand-daughter's favourite flowers; I'm hoping to take a frame-worthy photograph. With my digital camera, I always know if I have the shot I want.

For those of us who remember the Brownie camera, I recommend Digital Photography For Seniors For Dummies (2009, paperback).

Dell on Narcissists

I've had my one perfect cup of coffee this morning and am totally refreshed after a weekend of Father's Day activities. As a grandfather who has parented both his daughter and grand-daughter, I can honeslty say I have been two very different fathers. The first time around I was on auto-pilot; whereas with the arrival of fourteen year-old, Shelley, I got a chance to understand what had gone wrong the first time around and how I could acquire healthy parenting skills. But first I had to own the size of my parenting problem and some behaviours I had acquired without even noticing the destructive effect they had on those I loved.

Paul Meier co-authored one of Shelley's favourite self-help books, Love is a Choice. His latest co-authored book is You Might Be a Narcissist If... - How to Identify Narcissism in Ourselves and Others and What We Can Do About It . This is my bedside book for frequent review, because those behaviours, even a small number of them, are unhealthy in ourselves and those with whom we interact. Narcissistic traits were learned as a child but I could only address these traits when I recognized them for what they were. Too often, someone will recognize a certain pattern in an abusive spouse, but fail to see their employer or best friend has similar traits, if not to the same degree. The pattern may be narcissism under various guises. Personally, the worst of narcissism was realizing I failed to see it in myself: comfortably numb [not in the Led Zeppelin way, either!]

Another timely book, is last year's The Entitlement-Free Child: Raising Confident and Responsible Kids in a "Me, Mine, Now!" Culture by Karen Deerwester. As the saying goes, Any man can be a father... raising a child requires thought and actions geared to preparing that child for the challenges of the future.



Grandparents have a special role to play in today's busy world: raising or assisting in the raising of grandchildren. Understanding changing social structures and their impact on those we love provides the groundwork to being a better parent. Whether you are a first time parent or grand parent, or simply interested in self-improvement, these books are worthwhile additions to any library.

Summer has officially arrived. Shelley's friend, Kevin, has stayed on at camp here for another day and the two of us are heading outside to catch some rays.

Dell on Where Were You

Alan Jackson's Where Were You (When The World Stopped Turning) was playing on the radio this morning.

 911: September 11, 2001.

I know exactly where I was: at home, in the living room, waiting for my grand-daughter Shelley to finish getting dressed. The television had been on while we had eaten breakfast. That had been a solemn affair as we digested our bran flakes along with the phone call the night before.

We had been putting new line on Shelley's reel in anticipation of September's usually fine fishing. She was reeling  across from me while I was sitting in my chair holding a pencil stuck through the spool, feeding line out to her. The phone rang. Since I have hearing problems, I keep the volume settings high. Shelley listened as the police officer ... regretted to inform....as next of kin...had been found dead...alcohol...pills...but appeared to be natural causes...there would be an autopsy... had died at home...Shelley's fishing line lay pooled and tangled at the foot of the couch, where she had dropped it the evening before as she ran to her room.

This was my daughter who had died, but my own grief was secondary to Shelley's pain. Her mother had been trying for years to quit drinking with no success: the demons that drove her, I had realized too late, were in part my doing. I had provided the material things for my child; unforunately, I had been too wrapped up in myself to be the father I should have been. I failed to give my child the tools she needed to cope with life and had barely seen my daughter after she married David after her eighteenth birthday and moved out west.

If it had not been for David, Shelley's father, I might have lost contact with my grand-daughter, too. David made sure Shelley spent many weeks of her childhood in Ontario. He worked at long-haul truck driving and would give me a call when he was heading this way. I generally met him somewhere, and would keep Shelley until the call came and she went home again. By the time she was seven and her father was killed driving his rig near Toronto, I had a fair idea David had been sending my grand-daughter to me whenever her mother's drinking was getting out of hand.

After David's death, I only saw Shelley during her summer holidays. As long as I covered the travel expenses, I was welcome to Shelley for eight weeks. It was no financial hardship for me, but I kick myself now to think how things might have been if I had been more involved with Shelley the other ten months of the year. As it turned out, by the time she was fourteen, Shelley came to live with me permanently. And now her mother was dead.

As I reached over to shut off the television, the sight of the two towers stopped me in my tracks. There was smoke coming out of one of them and when I turned up the volume, the reporter was saying a passenger plane had just crashed into the tower. I quickly shut off the set as Shelley joined me. There was no way I was going to share that bit of news with her as we headed up to the city to make her mother's funeral arrangements.

Once on the highway, I pulled in at the Trading Post for gas. Shelley got out and went into the restaurant for a coffee and hot chocolate to go, while I pumped and paid for the gas. Finished with gassing up, I was surprised when she still wasn't done in the restaurant. There weren't many cars in the lot: tourist season was past its peak. Pulling my truck out of the gas bay I parked, just as Shelley appeared at the door waving me to join her.

That morning there were a dozen or so people in the restaurant; mostly travellers lingering over their breakfast coffee. Shelley simply pointed to the television. I listened to a reporter's shaken voice saying a second plane had crashed into the World Trade Center's other tower. Then the now famous video clip of the moment of impact rolled on. Shelley and I walked outside into the sunshine, got in the truck and sat there, holding hands, crying tears of our shared and personal grief.

Where were you?

Dell on Dating Sites & Fishing

The things I learn from my grand-daughter never fail to amaze me.  Last week I discovered she has a profile on one of these dating web sites. Apparently, she has been at it for some time. I might never have found out except she'd been out here for a visit and used my computer. The next day when I went to listen to music on youtube, up pops a message: have you gone fishing today?

Hell, yes, I went fishing, but why was the computer asking me? Surely cookies couldn't tell what I was up to on the lake.

It was like the breast situation [see my post: Dell on Getting It]. No matter what I tried, I could not get that question to stop popping up every time I went to youtube. Shelley came out to camp to rectify the situation and confessed she had checked her fishing messages on my computer. She assured me she was extremely cautious before meeting anyone in person. Moreover, she said she had no difficulty telling a keeper from a release and went on to name several nice young men she has brought out to camp over the last couple years.

Did I want to sign up? I told her I prefer to choose my own waters, and that was fine with her. Now here's the interesting part: she starts telling me about an unusual phenomenon [her words] that is currently going on at this fishing site. Expecting to hear something lurid, she threw me for a loop when she next asked if I remembered when she first came to stay with me.

Of course I remember. I had always told Shelley that if things got too bad with her mother's drinking she could come and live with me. The day finally came with  a telephone call from the child protection agency where her mother was living at the time. My daughter, Shelley's mother, had been arrested. The live-in boyfriend had tried to get friendly with Shelley. Her mother had been drinking and caught him at it: grabbed a kitchen knife and cut him just enough to send him to hospital. This worker from the agency was fine with Shelley living with me, but wanted my word I would see she got counselling. The worker was worried she had been traumatized. I didn't ask whether she meant just then or all her life. I agreed to the counselling, no problem.

I know today that Shelley really did need to see a professional. The psychiatrist at the time thought there were indications she suffered from a psychiatric disorder: BPD, standing for Borderline Personality Disorder. I did some research on the matter and could see they had a point. While the description fit her mother to a tee, Shelley was still young and was not exhibiting as many of the behaviours as her mother. She had difficulties with her self-image, emotional reactions and the like. The part I read that described BPD women as being afraid of being abandoned and having numbed emotions was an accurate enough description of the young woman I picked up at the airport eleven years ago.

Shelley got the help she needed: the first years she went to Al-Anon for teens, talk therapy sessions for her BPD and counselling, too. She read self-help books until they were dog-eared. The past four years she seems pretty much able to manage her own life. I had more or less forgotten that original diagnosis,  until Shelley brought it up. 

"Remember when the psychiatrist said I had BPD issues. Well, I sort of stumbled into the men's forum at this dating web-site, [yeah, right] and discovered the men were discussing signs of BPD among women."

"Back up, " I said, "I'm confused. What are these men doing?"

"They are posting messages, Grampa...at the dating site...about what to look for...how to spot women who exhibit signs of Borderline Personality Disorder. You know, clingy, needy, fearful, which medications to look for and so on. These guys either don't want women with histories like my own, because of the emotional relationship difficulties associated with it, or they are targeting this type of woman for short term sex without commitment."

"Can they actually spot these women?"

"Sure they can. I know you can, so why wouldn't they be able to? It's pretty obvious if you know what to look for."

I recall thinking at the time what shit heaps we men can be  but before I could get the thought into words, Shelley continued,

"What fractures me, Grampa, is these men have profiles saying they want to meet someone wonderful. What about me? ...sure I have stuff I have to keep on top of...my emotional triggers and all that...but with posts like that I'm wondering if I shouldn't just quit fishing there, period. It's sort of like dropping a rock in the lake before putting your line in the water. Ruins the fishing. "

She then gave me a refresher on how to use my tools and options to delete things and how to change my settings to keep my computer free of pop-ups. Shelley is not only a beautiful person inside and out, she is one smart young lady. Any man she feels is worth considering will certainly be welcome around my bon fire. I just hope I live long enough to meet the man who lands her.

I'll post again later on this weekend's activities.

For those of you who want to read more on the subject of BPD, I recommend Canadian author, A. J. Mahari's book for Kindle The Legacy of Abandonment In Borderline Personality Disorder available in other formats, with additional materials, through Ms. Mahari's website.

Dell on Campbell & Tolle

My grand-daughter, Shelley, and her friends will be out here shortly for the weekend. Fine night for a sit around the bon fire. Most of her friends are regulars out here: have their own "flop spot", as Shelley says. The lake is like glass this evening and there's enough of a breeze to keep the bugs at bay.

Excuse me if I just give you a head's up on the situation with my Shelley. Because I took her in with me as a teen, after that business with her mother's boyfriend, there were some who thought I rescued her: it is exactly the other way around. She opened my eyes to so many things over the years and brought vigor to an age I wasn't particularly looking forward to reaching. One thing in particular she brought me gave me a sense of hope for the future like nothing else had done for years.

After I had my fill of organized religion, I used to wonder how the next generation's children would be able to find the way to any sort of spiritual truth. To my way of thinking the only good thing about organized religion is it provides a context and symbols, as old as humanity, that satisfy certain human longings.

For those of you too young to remember, PBS had a series back in 1988, The Power of Myth : Joseph Campbell with Bill Moyers. Hugely successful, the six part series preceded the book by the same name and is still available on VHS. The book is beautiful with illustrations and art history accompanying the various subjects discussed in the series. Some might know his bookThe Hero with a Thousand Faces from university reading lists but it is this book, based on the PBS series Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth  that I keep going back to time and again. Campbell was pointing the way to finding your bliss  as he called it.

I had to wait another twenty-five years to read a book as illuminating. Shelley brought it out to me with the advice : don't start reading it at night, Grampa.

"That good, huh?" and she was right.

A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose  by Eckhart Tolle. Apparently, it's a huge success. I'm not one bit surprised. People search for the purpose of their lives; they are seeking the bliss Campbell was talking about, found in the symbols and myths that abound through human history.

Do you recall the story of Jesus and the woman he met at the well? Personally, I am convinced this woman would have been labelled Borderline Personality Disorder if she were alive today, but that's not why I mention that story. My point is Jesus gave her good advice, and to my way of thinking it's pretty much the same advice Eckhart Tolle has for his readers. The truth isn't here or there, it's inside of us.

Our truth is revealed to us and each man's truth is as unique as the man himself. Jesus' teaching and other great writings are as relevant today as when first written. To find your own bliss you just need to have an  awakening.

I'm hoping to get into this topic some more tomorrow. Right now I've got to skee-daddle and put some liquids to chill before Shelley, Dorg and Co. arrive.