Perhaps the most apparent feature of our society is our use of technology. Whether it is cell phones, high def TV, MRI scanners or air bags, technology surrounds us and is embedded into our lives. Everywhere you go you see people using devices — if there's a gizmo then people are using it.

There is, of course, money to be made creating and using technology, and jobs and benefits for many people.

There are busy and industrious people inventing devices, refining them, and bringing them to market. There are legions of truckers and sales people providing them to us, and people helping us figure out how to use our many gadgets and tools.

At the back-end, there is a service and support industry, and at the tail-end there are recyclers, dust bins, and growing piles in the corners of our basements and drawers.

It would be easy to imagine that our technology has a life of its own — being born, growing, fitting in, working with others, having occasional health problems, and finding that people don't call on them as often as they'd like.

Technology is vital to many aspects of every day, and we have threaded it deeply through our lives.

But at its core, our use of technology is about more than money and far more than our own individual use of gadgets.

Technology is about life and community. Our tools are the extra means we use to keep us safe, healthy, and together. Our tools are the means for sharing our lives and reducing the distances and risks. Our tools are how we, as family and friends, get to expand our reach beyond our fingertips and to widen our personal and shared horizons.

The purpose of technology is community.

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In celebration of Mother's Day:

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Each of us have birds native to their area of the world. The two birds that I love the most are the North American Robin and the Red Tailed Hawk.

The robin is a gentle bird — happy to co-exist with people on the lawns of Eastern North America. This year, I saw my first robin in my own backyard, on March 9th, amidst the melting snow piles. It was sharing space with a black squirrel, with both of them probing the early Spring lawn for something to eat. At one point the robin and squirrel were within 2 feet of each other, and neither was troubled in the least. In fact, I have never seen a squirrel and robin interact, let alone quarrel.

By the time summer fully arrives there will be thousands of robins across our city, using their hopping motion to move around the yard in search of worms to pry up, either for themselves or their little ones. That robins also lay beautiful, light-blue eggs is another reason I like them.

Robins are independent. Unlike other "city" birds like pigeons and geese, they won’t badger you for a snack. They can get their own, thank you very much!

The robin will happily co-exist with humans. Cars don’t startle them (unless you drive onto the lawn) and walking by a robin gets you only a brief glance — you have to be closer than 10 feet to get what I would call a wary glance from a robin. This makes the robin a wonderful companion, and a great way for children to enjoy nature up close and at its most peaceful.

The joy of robins is that they are calm. In that way they are a role model for all of us.

They know there is food to be had. They know most people ignore them. They know they have few enemies, and rarely have to flee. They are good fliers, and can move to a fresh lawn any time they wish. They also have fun: flying like acrobats, standing on tree branches, and singing.

Robins are also unique in their community styles. They are often on their own, and seem quite content with that. When they find a mate they are dutiful in building a nest and finding food for the young ones. And they can also be seen in larger groups, particularly in the autumn when they are getting ready to migrate south to find warmer worms.

I love robins. They are calm, close, and beautiful singers.

Robins make me feel that nature loves me too.

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I went for a walk at twilight, in the early spring, and came
upon the lamps at our neighborhood school.

Red Lamps at Twilight

In day ignored as children play.
At night aglow but colours fade.
At twilight lights stand crisp and red.
They wait to shine from upraised head.

Rob Hueniken

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As the 2010 Winter Olympics come to a close, wonderful memories and a sense of encouragement remain from our shared experience of Vancouver and Whistler, BC.  Athletes and administrators, volunteers and fans, families and global friends — we all came together to honour excellence and commitment.

While I enjoyed the excitement of the competitions, it was the determined spirit of the people that brought joy to my heart. While even the best teams come and go, the most beautiful and steadfast human traits remain: compassion and community.

When I see people trying hard to do something good together I feel true joy. I know that joy is shared with many, including Joyce Hunnam, a Scottish woman who has volunteered at 6 Olympics, and who is pictured with the flame above.

Photo by Dave Chidley

There are many images and moments in each Olympics, but none as primal and symbolic as the Olympic flame. From humankind’s earliest days, fire has been a symbol of our ability to tame enough of nature to help us survive. The Olympic torch, topped with flame and carried with pride by a legion of runners, represents our shared determination to overcome obstacles, weather and geographic barriers — to share the good news of global fellowship and good will.

Photo by 2010 Olympic Volunteer

Designed by the famed Canadian company, Bombardier (of Ski-Doo fame), the Olympic torch was passed from hand to hand across the country, traveling 45,000 kilometers through snow, rain, hail, wind and sub-zero temperatures.

A combination of engineering, organizing and human spirit, the carrying of the Olympic torch is one of my favourite human endeavors – working together and celebrating great achievements and community.

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I started going Paleo a month ago, on the advice of my fitness trainer. He loaned me a good book, called “The Paleo Diet: Lose Weight and Get Healthy by Eating the Food You Were Designed to Eat“. The key words in that title are “Eating the Food You Were Designed to Eat“. It’s a phrase the sugar/salt/fat merchants will never be able to claim.

It’s a refreshing change that has me feeling good, and appreciating good food.

Over the past month I’ve had a lot of successes:

• I’ve learned there are lots of tasty and satisfying ways to serve meat and veggies.
• I’ve discovered it is easier than I thought to leave the blandness of potatoes, bread and rice behind.
• I’ve found that not only salad bars but sandwich shops are fun places. Ask for a bowl instead of bread!
• I’ve rediscovered how delicious fruit is, all by itself.

And without even trying I’ve lost 6 of the many extra pounds I’ve been carrying around.

Yes, I am happy to be going Paleo !

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Winter sky

The winter sky looks on and dreams
of warmer times of grass and streams.

It scowls along from here to there
and broods about the goods it bears.

A snowflake here, or sleeting rain:
its harvest leads us to complain.

But there’s a secret that it knows:
just past the edge of winter grows
a bright new face to give us joy
when spring does winter sky deploy.

By Rob Hueniken

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One of the best-selling toys our culture has produced is the ever-pretty Barbie, by Mattel.  As the father of a former young daughter, I have experienced first-hand the playing, dressing and accessories that Barbie brings to our world. It was a positive time of fun as well as social exploration and learning. When my daughter became a teenager, I remember when she decided to remove her Barbies from her bedroom, and it was a strong and sad moment for me. I felt that I should have spent more time sitting together with her, combing Barbie’s hair and play-acting adventures in the safety of our home.

But one of the finest compliments my daughter ever gave me was saying that when she was growing up we made her feel that girls can have any career — that there was nothing a girl couldn’t do. When she got to university she said she was surprised at how, even in our modern equality-sensitive world, there are many young women without the foundations for success.

While some people are not keen on Barbie’s pink color scheme or her stylized body, I prefer to focus on the positive aspects of sharing, community and fun that Barbie-land brings to children. While there is little doubt that daily life rarely achieves the idyllic stylings of a doll’s world, Barbie and her friends provide frameworks for children to explore the concepts of beauty and community, of careers and possibilities.

As adults we know that life can be hard, but we keep on trying to make our world better, both for us and our children.  We come to appreciate the more subtle and fleeting moments of beauty in our world, and rejoice when we reconnect with the happy times of our youth.

I recently visited Toys-R-Us, a Mecca for parents seeking to start or augment their own Barbie-land. 

A man had just arrived, and as he looked around at the cavalcade of pink my heart reached out to him. He pulled out his cell phone, knowing he was in over his head, and wisely called his wife or sister to help him.

He was part of a centuries-long chain of dedicated parents and caregivers who want children to have not just fun, but a time of peaceful wonder,  discovery and beauty — to know possibilities and to not feel limited by anything. We want that for children, whether we had that in our own childhood or not, because that is what we want for ourselves.

So when someone says “Stop and smell the roses” I often think of them as pink roses, and I remember the joys and possibilities of Barbie-land.

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I love music, and I always have. It makes my body move and my spirit soar. I have many favorite songs and passages, and I can listen to them repeatedly — thrilling to the skill and nuance of the performers.

My brain plays songs I’ve heard, like a tape recorder in my head.  But sometimes it plays songs I’ve never heard, and those are the hard ones for me to hear, without the skills to make them real.

When I was in first year university I lived in a residence with many other young men. It was a mix of hard working students and party lovers, all learning to live away from home. Many people left their hallway doors open, and there was a real community feel in the dorm.

One of the guys on my floor played classical guitar, and I often heard his skilled and melodic playing floating down the hallway. I was a shy person but, drawn by the sound of his guitar, I introduced myself. Over the next couple of weeks I often spent time sitting in his room, listening to him play. He wasn’t limited to classical guitar — he could play anything, from folk to rock. It was amazing and wonderful to hear up close.

One day when I dropped in my friend was reading a book. He welcomed me, and as I sat down he saw me looking at the guitar. “Pick it up,” he said. “Give it a try.”

I carefully picked up his beautiful acoustic guitar and clumsily sat it across my lap. “You won’t break it,” he said. “Just try.”

I had no clue about notes or how to play, and the sheer number of frets was intimidating. But I plucked out some notes, slowly and quietly at first, and then more enthusiastically. I was surprised by the vibration of the guitar — of the physical pulse that accompanied the start of each note. It was an extra dimension that a non-musician would not have experienced.

With my friend kindly appearing to ignore me and read his book, I tried playing a bit more. After a few minutes of fiddling around I found a series of notes that sounded good to me, and my awkward fingers somehow got them into a loop. It was fun!

Just then another guy from the floor came into the room. No doubt he had heard disturbingly awful playing coming from an otherwise quality guitar.

“That’s not how you play,” he said, shaking his head and frowning. “That’s no way to play a guitar.”

My gut wrenched, and I felt a wave of shame and regret that I had dared to pick up that guitar. I have no memory of anything my friend might have said at that moment. All I remember is a dark hole being punched through my fledgling attempt at music, and then a lot of years passing. I still loved music and appreciated musicians — even more than before — but any thoughts I had of playing music were kept small out of a fear of rejection, and easily brushed aside in the busy-ness of work and family.

Last year at Christmas I received some money as a gift, and with it I bought myself a beautiful guitar, which looks a lot like the one my friend played at school years ago. It sits in the corner of my room — a reminder to appreciate our world’s creative and musical communities, and those who encourage them.

Sometimes I pick it up.  I have taken guitar lessons — from a skilled and lifelong music teacher — so I can play a few chords.

But I can never get back those years when I was a vulnerable young man trying to play music for the first time. I was an impressionable, sensitive person who a jerk successfully shot down.

My son playing my guitar on stage. Please encourage the musicians and artists in your life.

I have a son now, just a bit older than I was in this story. He is a wonderful guitarist and musically skilled in ways that I admire but can not quite comprehend. He has tried to teach me some music, and has encouraged me to play more. “You’re over-thinking it,” he has told me, no doubt correctly.

But the extra 30 years of life have changed my brain, and are not easily erased.

If they could be, and I were back in that dorm room, I would wish for two things to have happened:  My guitar-playing friend would have kicked the jerk out of the room and told me in a clear and supportive voice, “You’re doing great. Keep trying”.

And I would have kept trying — enjoying and knowing how to play a musical instrument.

Please be a patron of the Arts. Whether your child or friend loves music, drama, dance, art or writing — please be supportive and encouraging. The Arts and our community, not money, are the collective value of our world.

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My Twitter friend, Mike Todd (miketodd07), was out raking today, and sent this tweet:

Raking leaves in the sunshine, listening to Owl City on the iPod, thinking about poetry.

So I wrote this poem on Twitter:

Leaves & sun, together,
sounding crisp & smelling soft,
like earth and summer memories,
fallen but still remaining and reminding.

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