I got a library card last week. I’ve been meaning to get one for while, having moved to a new city some time ago, but never really found the time.

It’s not like I haven’t been reading; I brought a box of books with me, and have picked up a lot of new material along the way (I’m a sucker for a used bookstore), but it had been a while since I’d done something as normal, or as regular, as dropping into a library. Since moving, I’ve replaced all the documents required when you arrive in a new province, and had even renewed my passport, but in doing all the stuff that needed to be done, I never found the time to do what I wanted to do.

A library card, in so many ways, is like a passport. Once in your possession, the card can take you wherever you want to go, allowing you to explore foreign countries, meet new characters, and explore the world without ever leaving your city.

As a kid, regular bus trips to the library were commonplace. I learned very early that if you want to know anything, if you want to learn about something, you could always find the answers in a book from the library. I remember when the Brandon Public Library moved from the dusty, musty basement of a historic building to expansive (by the city’s standards) sun-drenched premises.

During University, the library was a place to duck out of the hustle and bustle of the campus, sequester yourself in the quiet under the guise of research, and maybe even catch the occasional nap.

As a young parent, Saturdays were library day with my daughter, where she’d select the maximum amount of books (and many times the same favorites) for her pre-bedtime reading. Books were more than a treat.

In Winnipeg we celebrated the opening of the Millennium Library, a magnificent structure with comfortable places to read, and functional Wi-Fi workspaces where you could plug in or tune out. Just as comforting, but in such a different way, was the Cornish branch; the same library my father used to ride his bicycle to in his younger years. The breadth of the selection at the Cornish was never as great as the downtown facility, but the room spoke to me.

All libraries provide a similar sort of comfort. Often, as an excuse to get away from my regular writing desk, I’d haul my laptop or scribbler down to a Winnipeg library and work away, inspired by a new setting. I’ve written short stories based on what I saw at the library, characters have been developed, or described, from the people I would see wandering through the stacks or waiting in line.

I’d also find three or six books from the holdings, usually an author I’d never read (or heard of), a novel a friend had recommended, or a volume of poetry from one of the masters. I always, still to this day, keep some kind of poetry book in my packsack, a way to take a break from the everyday and become motivated by someone else’s words. You can always find poetry in any library. You can find, pretty much, everything.

The beauty of a library is that it offers so much, and thanks to Melvil Dewey and his unparalleled system for classifying every subject known to mankind, you can generally find what you are looking for. And more. It’s amazing how the Dewey Decimal System, a program created more than 140 years ago, using digits, few letters and a well-place decimal point, still functions supremely well in this digital age.

Libraries have adapted through the years, as movies, music, and magazines have all been added to the collections. Along with the histories and mysteries, there is always something that can take your mind away from the day-in-day-out stuff we all deal with. The price is always right.

Library cards are free, but they are infinitely valuable. Time with a book is always well spent.

Joyous music, handmade cigars, sandy beaches, and classic cars; very little has changed in Cuba. In fact, very little has had the opportunity to change since the United States government introduced severe economic sanctions more than 50 years ago.

Those of us on the outside, those who occasionally fly down for a winter vacation, really have no idea of the impact of those changes, other than what we see; a country stuck in the past.

We are, apparently, on the verge of greater change as the Cuban and U.S. governments have announced a deal to restore commercial air traffic for the first time in decades. The agreement is yet another step in normalizing trade between the two countries, an initiative President Barack Obama announced in late 2014.

Recently the New York Times online offered a video highlighting the trendy side of the country, focused on Havana with its art, food and culture. This is a country looking forward to change, and the potential economic spinoff of all those tourists anxious to see the history, or drink a Mojito where Hemmingway once whet his whistle.

There is also a fear that the country, Havana in particular, will lose its historic look and feel and take on a more North American style. It may happen, yes, but it will not happen quickly.

Cuba, right now, moves slowly. No, it moves very slowly. Afternoon Siestas are still the norm, and there is not the rush of commerce. Shopping centers are found in name only, and there is very little on the shelves when it is offered. Much of the wares are beyond the modest means of the country’s population.

Efficiency could be a generation, or two, away. Easily. Let’s just say there is a big gap between rhetoric and reality.

Reality is a throwback to the 50s, most noticeable in the classic Oldsmobile, Chevrolet, Chrysler, and Ford autos that rumble down the streets. Vintage American cars, noisy, that have been lovingly restored, or maintained, by generations of owners. A cab driver will happily tell you his grandfather owned the car. He won’t tell you which parts from how many others cars have been used to keep the vehicle moving, but it is obvious.

Sadly, the beautiful period architecture that dates from the 1920s to the 1950s, has not been as well maintained, if at all. Decay and deterioration is disguised as charm, but there is no mistaking the tired and crumbling facades. Many of the dilapidated structures are still inhabited; others just sit vacant and wondering. You see it all over the city. An abandoned Catholic church stands weather-beaten and lonely, evident of the religious clashes during the Revolution. A headless St. Tomas still stands guard in front of the once-ornate structure, the bold marble cross now broken, but still offering hope.

When a friend cautions you against falling bricks, you are best to heed the advice and be cautious in certain areas.

Currently there is a strip of old buildings down by the waterfront — on the historic Malecón — being demolished, presumably to make space for new hotels and apartments. Tearing them down is easy; rebuilding the area will not be as swift, or as believable.

In any urban centre, any work revitalizing the core area involves displacing the poor and removing housing stock from a city’s inventory. One can only wonder where the people will go.

One also has to wonder how cooperative a communist government can truly be when dealing with potential capitalist business partners? There is, literally, a ton of money required to make up for the decades of neglect. Profit is the driving force of capitalism; communism has not the same concerns.

Still, even as it sits, the country remains an affordable option for Canadian and European tourists. It can be relaxing, the climate is wonderful, and the pace is slow. And you can still find a little magic along the way.

In Old Havana, there are a few galleries, artists, and artisans, in between the tiny tourist tuck shops selling T-shirts and offshore key chains and trinkets. You can find a craftsman who will make you the most succulent cigar, or settle into a café in the afternoon and catch a traditional Cuban combo. Late night you can still step into a jazz club and hear the likes of 70s Grammy winner Oscar Valdés and his band Diákara. Within blocks of the club you can dance salsa until the wee hours.

Downtown you will still find a few of the glorious, and well-cared-for, hotels that offer a bit of luxury and comfort that is appreciated. In between the old American cars, you will also find a newer higher grade of foreign car than the plentiful Ladas and Daewoos.

There is a certain dichotomy between the old and the new, and the shadow of history looms large over the city. And it will for some time. That is, in many ways, its charm, as much as it is the cross it will bear as it moves forward. Slowly.

When the world feels like it is closing in, as you become more sensitive to city smells and private hells, and nothing looks like it is supposed to be and the daily dread becomes wide and deep, and you know you need a change of pace from the treadmill existence of the human race, pack your bags and get out of this place.

Get away from all that has become routine, check your attitude and change the scene, any place that is different, or new, a contrast from what you regularly do.

The psychological, emotional, and physical benefits of time away from your current reality are obvious, and documented. When you are in one place too long, you become set in your ways, growing evermore tired of the work/eat/sleep rigmarole and daily brain drain; only to wake up and do it all again.

Being anywhere, doing the same things day after day, becomes exhausting as you stare at the familiar four walls, crowded streets and shopping malls. As with anything, balance is required, and you need to put in motion the lesser-used parts of the body, mind, and soul with a change in climate or time zone.

Sure, a stay-cation can be nice — time away from the daily grind is always appreciated — but it’s not a holiday, not really. Even with the best intentions of lazing around the pool with a good book or trashy paperback, ignoring the clock by sleeping in or staying up late, time will pass like it is just another date. It’s just hanging around the house. Inevitably you’ll end up doing laundry, thinning out your email inbox, or scraping the residue of last month’s intended salad from the bottom of the neglected crisper.

To break free from the same old, same old, you need to look at things differently. You will feel better about yourself when you create distance between the office cubicle or shop floor and all those people who make the day such a bore. It gets like that, after a while. Admit it.

Pack lightly and get away to another land or city, a place where nobody knows you, and you can bask in anonymity (or the tropical sun), away from the texts and talks of the mobile device, or that boorish neighbor and his bitchy wife (they get like that, after a while, admit it). Hop a plane, or a train; things will seem different, immediately, once away from the cramped comfort of home.

You need to sleep with your pillow facing a new direction, and wake up in unfamiliar beds. You need to open your mind with tours of museums, theatres, or galleries; anything that is different than what you do naturally, or habitually, or just because you have to do it.

Do something for yourself; it doesn’t matter if you fill your days with golf, or schussing down the slopes, or taking in five countries in seven days, but it is important to do what you don’t regularly do, to give the other side of your self a chance to come out and play.

Vacations allow for cultural experiences that will broaden your horizons, and provide opportunities for learning and living, but most of all they promote inner-peace, a deeper sense of well-being, and a greater understanding of who you are.

Holidays put balance back into a life that, by its very nature, gets off kilter. It’s rewarding, it is necessary, to break free from the chronic stress and anxiety, away from the never-ending cycles of insomnia and irritability.

Get out of your uncomfortable zone and off the familiar path. Gain a new perspective on life by seeing how others survive and thrive. Step away from the normal, from convenient technology, take a departure from the foods you usually eat and find places where the temperature, the language, the music, and the currency is quite different.

If a change is as good as a rest, then a change can be restful, as well. It is all about renewal.

A week away from what you normally do allows a chance to return home with a fresh mindset, and a little more insight into why you are where you are, or why you are the way you are.

Arriving home can also make you realize just how good you really have it.

Eyes wide open
in the dark, blood rushing, pounding heart. Still I cannot see.
Can you believe, will you find relief
walking down once-familiar streets?
Before light to the darkness of the dream, or the dawn,
or the dread,
now only streetlights. I wake. I walk, I wonder.
Halogen hum overhead, the only sound, above scorched earth
or snow-covered ground.
Only one reason for being here, everything else
is gone.

Let me sleep.
Let dreams whisper. I’ve got thoughts, which must come out,
I shouldn’t need to shout. I cannot listen.
Below a moonlight serenade, the homeless search
for shelter and sustenance, while new lover’s trade
secrets
behind the door. Promises not shared before.
Not with each other.
I wander. These were once streets, bursting with kindness.
The sidewalks, now, little more than foreign, there is no welcome here.
Not in the way it was, as I left it.

Do you take
what is there, take the care, or do you wait to lay your heart
before the soul who once listened to all you know,
and found comfort. In my voice there was enough,
yet now it is torn with edges
rough.
What was still is. Or is it? There is value in a thought.
A struggle with contempt
of dreams I might have spent, but not wisely.
There is no warmth. I will go back from where I came,
my presence will remain.
© 2016 j.g. lewis

In all the scintillating sentences, salacious sound bites, news and views published, broadcast and available 24/7, there is a lot of nonsense about who belongs where.

Much of the talk, originally (though not original) comes top-down from leaders or potential leaders of nations as they stand tall to proclaim rights and responsibilities that clearly go against the way this planet has been evolving.

In this ever-hungry news cycle the comments make headlines, grab the first seconds of the newscast, and the views proliferate and become coffee-shop talk and idle banter. Those people stuck in the past herald these tired, old bigoted views and the velocity of these harmful ideals accelerate.

Intolerance has become the catchall word towards any of the isms, but the only thing inclusionary about the word is its ability to dress down a huge swath of the population in one swift breath. It is hatred, pure and simple, occasionally wrapped in imprudent puffery or packaged in some sort of theme-based oratory proffering intelligence.

I’m growing intolerant of intolerance. Lately it is all you hear about, whether gender-based, nationality, faith, or sexual orientation. The ‘anti’ talk comes from many sources, but right now there is one particular politician trumping out divisive language devised to prop up beliefs that one race, one religion (one country) is superior to all others.

It’s posturing, yes, but it goes far deeper. It pits people against one another, even those within the same nation.

Now I wholeheartedly believe in free speech; it is what keeps us growing intellectually and allows cultures to flourish. Part of that freedom comes with the responsibility of listening, learning, and even accepting or acknowledging the viewpoints of others. Freedom of speech does involve speaking one’s mind, but the words, phrases and diatribes need to be mindful. Even when hurtful, thoughts spoken should be founded in research and reason and not simply used to perpetuate stereotypes.

Where free speech is concerned, a well-formed argument is acceptable, even applauded. But there is little room for acceptance in any form of intolerance. Free speech comes from open minds. All the hate speech currently being bandied about promotes violence, elitism, and a shameful ideal that denigrates entire nations at a time when borders between countries are being eliminated (at least where trade and commerce is concerned).

Yes, sadly, history contains many, many examples of how opposing beings are, and have been, responsible for epic conflicts. There are currently evil powers at work in this world focused on mass destruction and devastation. But if we are to be hopeful we must look beyond these vengeful and revengeful acts and try to salvage our humanity. The trade between nations must be more than monetary.

If we allow this unruly and uncaring behavior to repeat itself — if we allow this ever-enlarging global community to be ruled by closed minds — we are certain to not only repeat history’s past mistakes, but also deal with consequences we cannot even fathom.
Now I may be a dreamer, yes, but if people put as much effort into understanding as they do into standing their ground we may find ourselves in a position of truly being able to work out age-old conflicts.

Yes I dream big, but life is too short, and the planet too small to categorize and sub-divide the population in an effort to keep out anyone who does not look, sound, or hold the same beliefs we hold.

We live in an era of multiculturalism and mixed race. North America was, and continues to be, built on immigration. As we grow physically in size and spiritually by understanding, and as the population expands, as cultures blend and races and religions cohabitate, we must look favorably on this opportunity to grow as human beings.

We cannot paint everybody with the same brush; we can’t systematically decide who is right, or moral, or worthy, based on the hue of the skin, gender, sexual preference, language spoken, country of origin, or beliefs believed. By blindly discounting a certain population you are overlooking the opportunity to become involved with, influenced and inspired by, and more knowledgeable in the process.

It is unreal, unconscionable, and unacceptable to allow intolerance and this type of deterioration to continue. This is not about race. This is about disgrace.