Black Friday a spiritual affair

I’m not shopping this Black Friday. I refuse to be drawn in by the advertisements, only to find myself lost in the hustle of a crammed shopping mall or the disheveled parking lots of the big box stores. Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll avoid the crowds congregating during this Christmas sell-off that has somehow crept into the Canadian consciousness.

That’s right, I’m waiting for Cyber Monday. So much easier to just sit at home and scroll through the deals. 

For as much as I protest the commercialism of Christmas, I get suckered in every time. Or at least part of the time. Or to be more accurate, on and off throughout the year. 

Like a migraine, it’s unpredictable – I never know exactly when it will happen. The last time it came upon me was in June, when my iPhone’s second battery started to disintegrate. This designed obsolescence is part of Apple’s cruel genius, for as soon as it happened, my heart began to flutter... Could it really, maybe, possibly – be time for a new iPhone? 

I didn’t even consider other brands, ignoring the fact that Apple has manipulated my weak mind with its flawed design. All so that I can pursue something new and glorious – the iPhone XR!  

You might have guessed that technology is my greatest weakness. Although I don’t necessarily own the latest and greatest of every tech gadget, I crave the latest and greatest tech gadget, and perhaps this is the greater sin: desire. 

One writer in the latest edition of The Canadian Mennonite (if you haven’t picked up a copy, I suggest you borrow one at your earliest convenience) suggests our consumer culture has become our new religion. We cling to the things we buy and desire like idols. For those of us familiar with the Christian tradition, these purchases become our salvation. And the mall becomes our place of worship. 

Now I take some umbrage with the idea of malls being transcendent. They’re so 1990s, after all. If anything comes close to the modern church, it’s the new Costco on the east side of our city. Talk about selection! 

But like most shopping experiences, there lacks a sense of community. We might be together physically, and sure, we might bump into someone we know (there’s a 90% chance at Costco) but in reality, we’re on an individual journey to get what we want. 

And what we want is fleeting. Like the latest iPhone, it’s only a matter of time before the intrigue wears off and you’re hooked to it like an IV full of morphine. 

Whether you’re religious or not, most of us understand things fail to bring happiness. Over and over, the prophets of the modern world tell us that inanimate objects cannot bring joy, and a higher societal status will not bring fulfillment. We happily ignore these realities, of course, partially because the advertisers hold the upper hand, but also because we want so desperately to feel good. 

But looking at your neighbour's stuff with envy will only make you miserable. Being in want – and oh, how I’ve wanted! – will only leave you in despair. 

If we’re not careful, we can become isolated and detached from the needs and wonders of the world. In his book Team Human, Douglas Rushkoff reminds us to reconnect with actual people (not just on Facebook) and with nature. We will become healthier, more resilient and more empathetic. 

There are real limits to our consumer culture. Not only pertaining to the earth, but our frail human spirit. 

Amen?

When the cats come a-knocking

I never knew we had so many cats around.  All it took was a little catnip in the front yard.  

“We’ll grow it for our cat,” my wife said eagerly last spring. “See what she thinks of it.” 

The problem is, we never let our cat out of the house. And just because we have catnip doesn’t mean she can partake every day. As responsible pet owners, we limit her dosage. The catnip consequently grew, and soon we were attracting every furry feline in the neighbourhood. 

First there was the fat old orange one. We’ll call him Carl. He’s a haggard tom cat who prefers short walks. Rarely will you see him traveling further than a block to get his high. Carl’s at that point in life when it really doesn’t matter if he falls off the wagon, if he was ever on it. 

Then there’s the Siamese beauty we’ll call Vicky. Vicky only shows up occasionally, but her pompous gate reflects on upscale upbringing. She’s one of those pampered cats; one that gets a full can of Whiskas every meal. She enjoys a short dip in the ‘nip every now in then, careful not to become too impaired before returning home to what I imagine will be a tasty tuna stroganoff. 

Little Johnny is a bit of a character. He’s a black short-hair, and a friendly one, too.  Problem is, he gets a little too friendly. Every time we opened our front door, he’d be there. I didn’t want to throw my shoe at him (honestly), but he was getting a little too frisky.  

A few months later we found a Wanted poster in our mailbox: Little Johnny was on the loose. He was on a binge, more than likely – wandering the streets, looking for his next big hit of catnip or dumpster fish. Or maybe he finally got into someone else’s house and they decided to keep him. I’m sure not everyone throws their shoes at him. 

Cats have had a long relationship with humans – since the dawn of agriculture, when pest control became an issue. They were so good at this, they came to be revered as deities in ancient Egypt. Some cat owners even wanted their dear furniture-scratchers mummified with them into the afterlife. 

That all changed in medieval times, when cats somehow got caught up in the witch trials and evil-is-everywhere hype. In some places it was believed the only way to exorcise the evil was to throw the devilish felines off of tall buildings. The tradition exists to this day in the city of Ypres, Belgium, where mercifully, toy cats are used instead.  

Today we’re much more civil. We treat cats like they’re one of us. Stray cats are rescued from the street where they receive medical care that's the envy of some humans. 

And for what? Their affection is notoriously selective. They won’t greet you like a dog when you come home – they'll most likely just meow for some food. And they’ll scratch your furniture whenever they please, even the new couch. Don’t try to make them feel guilty, either, for snatching that sausage off your kitchen table. The minute you leave the room, they’ll be back into it. 

All that said, I like our cat more than I care to admit. We’ve recently started a strange hide-and-seek game where I chase her through the house. She also enjoys running up and down the stairs after “space mice” – small, scrunched up balls of tin foil. And there’s nothing more comforting than her warm body snuggling up to you while you watch TV, even though her claws might first knead deep into your thighs. 

A "rescue cat" from the Humane Society, she didn't cost much either. When the vet told us a loose tooth would cost $700 to pull out, I pulled it out on my own. Don't worry, she hardly flinched. It was forcing Gravol down her throat that was the hard part (I later found it on the carpet). 

And her flight risk is zero. While other cats are prancing around the neighbourhood, jumping in and out of our catnip like drunken ballerinas, she watches intently at the window. When we open our front door, she hesitates to even stick her head out. When visitors come by, she can be found in the basement ceiling above the duct work. 

She’s what you might call a scaredy-cat. And that’s okay. Whatever keeps her on the straight and narrow.

Daisy in the duct work

 

We are who our personality test says we are

I’m a Green, the personality test tells me. Or an Investigator, says another. Or even better: Melancholy. 

Melancholy is the least flattering but perhaps the easiest to understand. I don’t get very excited about things, or at least I don’t show it. At times you may think I’m bored when actually I’m extremely happy... or hopping mad. 

As a Green Melancholy, I like to analyze things – to death. It makes me a great critic but not a great leader. I won’t lead a revolution, but I will critique it. 

I can also be very indecisive. Give me a month to make a decision so I’m sure of my choice. Even after I’ve made my choice, however, I may second guess myself. I hold on to receipts waaaay too long, and leave the tags on clothing until I absolutely have to cut them off. 

I didn’t know it, but I’m also a know-it-all. That’s what my results tell me. I didn’t realize how annoying this could be until I sat down with a bunch of people with the same personality. They kept trying to tell me they knew better, but they didn’t. 

I often find myself arguing with my 12-year-old daughter, who’s a similar personality. As an all-knowing Green parent, I calmly argue my point until she understands that I’m right and she’s wrong. Our stubbornness can lead to some strange arguments, over things like particle theory. (Her science teacher, God bless her, doesn’t know the first thing about how particles react to heat.) We argue about stupid little things that most extroverts could care less about.  

I don’t understand extroverts, but I’ve come to accept they’re necessary in our society. Without them, we wouldn’t have parties or any fun at social functions. Typically, extroverts are like an open book and, sometimes, a long novel. It only takes you a minute to fully understand who they are, what they like and dislike, and what they had for breakfast. 

A true introvert can take years to know and understand. We had one such co-worker who rarely came out of his office. To this day, we’re still not sure what he worked on. It was only during his retirement party (a subdued affair) when we started to get to know the guy. Who knew he was actually a trained architect? It made us wonder even more what kind of work he did. 

Another aspect of personality is whether you are task- or people-oriented. To be clear, introverts can be just as people-oriented as extroverts. They tend to be those laid-back individuals who like to just hang out. I’m not one of those, as I don’t know how to just hang and can’t be out for too long. 

If we were to meet up, I would prefer a purpose to our meeting. Let’s get something done, or at least talk about something that could be of benefit to us. While I can tolerate some idle chit-chat, I don’t want to hear everything you did yesterday – where you ate lunch, what you did after lunch, and who you met on the street. 

The problem is, as a task-oriented individual I thrive on accomplishing things, no matter how insignificant. Even if I dust off my night stand before I go to bed, at least I did something.  

This personality trait has its downfalls. When I have nothing to do, I lose self-esteem fast. And at times I forget that I need to build relationships by talking to people (sadly, even family members) and to simply hang out.  

Otherwise I start to feel down. Sometimes even depressed. 

Woe is me... Melancholy.