What fun! I got a real kick out of all those comments on the last post. It seems that when I'm feeling the least profound I illicit the most response. Not sure what that says, but I'll take it for what it's worth.
I got interviewed by my sister, ccap. She sent me the following five questions. Just for fun, 'cause she was hangin' around watching me, I asked Nikki the same questions. I included hers here too, because most of hers are better than mine!
1) If you could have one superpower, what would it be?
Nikki's answer: “burp really loud so that you cause earthquakes. So Saddam Hussein would come out of his hole and die. Mwwaa-ha-haa!”
My answer: I can’t think of anything particularly meaningful, and since the thing I long for right now is a clean house, I’ll just say the ability to snap my fingers and have my house spotless. Guess I'm in a practical frame of mind these days.
2) If there were one childhood experience that you had that you could protect your children from having what would it be?
Nikki said: “when your mom says NO to Slurpees”
My answer: I played baseball when I was a kid, but I was never particularly athletic. I usually got stuck in the outfield because my skills weren’t worthy of the infield. I remember this one girl who’d moved to our town a year or two before. She was older than me and she was a bully. And she was good at sports. She hardly ever missed the ball. The day I remember in particular, I missed the ball when it was hit to my section of the outfield. She was in the outfield with me and she started yelling at me for missing the ball. When my mom picked me up after the game, I cried all the way home. It was one of my worst memories. Mom said I could quit baseball if I wanted to, but I really didn’t want to, so I stuck it out, even though I was scared of her the rest of the season. I hate bullies. I hate it when a person makes another person feel small. I wish my kids never had to experience being bullied.
3) What aspect of your daily routine do you look forward to most?
Nikki said: “playing on the computer when I get to go on IMDB”
My answer: I love it when all the kids are in bed, the housework is done (or at least that portion of it that I feel I need to do that day) and I can crawl into bed and read a book for awhile. On my worst days, when I’m really tired or when I get to bed late, I only make it through a page or two, but on my best days, I go to bed right after the kids and read for an hour or more.
4) What trait is most annoying to you in other people? Elaborate.
Nikki said: “there’s a guy in my school who pees in his pants”
My answer: Narrow-mindedness. I get really annoyed with people who have no flexibility to consider other ideas. I find there are incredibly narrow-minded people on both the left and the right side of the political spectrum, and that ticks me off. And c'mon, really, don't they know that I'm right and they're not??? teehee!
5) If you were attending a costume party and had all the time in the world to design a costume and had every item necessary at your disposal what would your first 2 picks be for the ultimate costume?
Nikki said: “lots of jewellery and lots of funky clothes… I would like to dress up as Oprah Winfrey or Michael Jackson”
My answer: Oh boy, this is a tough one. “all the time in the WORLD?” Yeah, but you KNOW I still wouldn’t get around to doing it until the night before! Hmmm…let’s see… some day I’d like to try to dress up like the world – make a big globe out of foam, paint all the continents - you get the picture. And perhaps another idea might be to dress like a peacock – a male peacock – with the magnificent plumage trailing behind me and the feathers that look like giant eyeballs. (I think I should come back to this question when I’m in a more imaginative frame of mind- that's the best I can do for now.)
Anyone else want to try?
The Official Interview Game Rules
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment saying "interview me." (Make sure I have your email address.)
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
I wanna be profound
I wanna sit down at this computer and type something profound and noteworthy. I wanna be creative and brilliant and wax poetic about something meaningful. I wanna make you laugh or make you cry or make you sit in awe of the way I string together words.
But I got nothin'. Big ZIPPO. Zilch. Nada. Don't know why, but I'm drained dry. Got no creative spark, even when I dig down deep. The only thing down there, in the place where there USED to be a creative spark, is a pile of smoldering embers, soggy and wet from too many days of rain, rain, and more rain.
So, in the absence of brilliance, here's a list of boring random thoughts...
1. I just finished reading "Secret Life of Bees". MAN I wish I could write like that. (Yup, for those of you who were wondering, that was one of my purchases with my birthday money.)
2. Tonight, after a long and frustrating evening, in which it seemed the only way I was interacting with my children was in the form of argument, I walked into the kitchen and heard the song Marcel had playing. "How could I live without you" - by Trisha Yearwood. That was one of the songs we danced to at our wedding. Right there, in the kitchen, tonight, we danced again. The kids were in bed, and it was just him and I in the kitchen. Yeah, go ahead and smile, 'cause it was a nice moment between two people who might forget sometimes, but after 12 years, are still pretty crazy about each other. And in the words of Trisha... How could I live without him? There was one day when I thought I might have to learn to live without him, but thank God, I didn't have to.
3. We've been doing interviews for one of the director positions at work this week. We've done six and have one more to go. Part of me loves being on THIS side of the table - getting to ask the questions and watching how people struggle to present themselves in the right light. What makes them answer the way they do? And why is that I form an opinion of a person almost before they've finished answering the first question? Do those opinions have anything to do with reality? But there's another part of me that finds this completely exhausting. And by the sixth interview, I have a heck of a time trying to keep them all straight. And then, the other part of it is having some empathy for the person on the other side of the table. All of the people we interviewed are from different cities and most from different countries, and so all of them have probably had to have conversations with their families - "if I get this job, we'll have to move away from home." And yet, only one of them will get it, and so the others will have to live with the disappointment, and tell their families that no, mommy/daddy didn't get the job this time. That's the part where I don't really like having their future in my hands.
4. PLEASE somebody make the rain go away. That's ENOUGH already! I got soaked and muddy biking home from work today, and I just wanted to crawl into the bathtub and CRY!
5. If I can JUST survive next week (board meetings, team retreat that I have to lead, major project deadlines) I MIGHT actually be able to take a couple of days off. Oh, I sure do hope so!
6. Somebody said to me today (not one of the people we were interviewing, by the way) "If you don't have passion for something, then you shouldn't be doing it. Find someone else who can do it better." It's not entirely practical, 'cause there are LOTS of things we have to do that don't have anything to do with passion, but I think he's partly right. But sometimes you just have to trudge forward and hope the passion catches up with you.
I think I'll go to bed now. Maybe the beauty sleep will help revive that creative spark. Or maybe not, and I'll slug (is that a word I can use as a verb?) through another sloggy soggy day just hoping some light will appear.
By the way, hello to Glenda! Don't know you, but I hear (from Michele) that you're reading, and you're welcome! If Michele likes you, I'm sure you'd be a friend of mine, 'cause Michele's got GREAT taste!
But I got nothin'. Big ZIPPO. Zilch. Nada. Don't know why, but I'm drained dry. Got no creative spark, even when I dig down deep. The only thing down there, in the place where there USED to be a creative spark, is a pile of smoldering embers, soggy and wet from too many days of rain, rain, and more rain.
So, in the absence of brilliance, here's a list of boring random thoughts...
1. I just finished reading "Secret Life of Bees". MAN I wish I could write like that. (Yup, for those of you who were wondering, that was one of my purchases with my birthday money.)
2. Tonight, after a long and frustrating evening, in which it seemed the only way I was interacting with my children was in the form of argument, I walked into the kitchen and heard the song Marcel had playing. "How could I live without you" - by Trisha Yearwood. That was one of the songs we danced to at our wedding. Right there, in the kitchen, tonight, we danced again. The kids were in bed, and it was just him and I in the kitchen. Yeah, go ahead and smile, 'cause it was a nice moment between two people who might forget sometimes, but after 12 years, are still pretty crazy about each other. And in the words of Trisha... How could I live without him? There was one day when I thought I might have to learn to live without him, but thank God, I didn't have to.
3. We've been doing interviews for one of the director positions at work this week. We've done six and have one more to go. Part of me loves being on THIS side of the table - getting to ask the questions and watching how people struggle to present themselves in the right light. What makes them answer the way they do? And why is that I form an opinion of a person almost before they've finished answering the first question? Do those opinions have anything to do with reality? But there's another part of me that finds this completely exhausting. And by the sixth interview, I have a heck of a time trying to keep them all straight. And then, the other part of it is having some empathy for the person on the other side of the table. All of the people we interviewed are from different cities and most from different countries, and so all of them have probably had to have conversations with their families - "if I get this job, we'll have to move away from home." And yet, only one of them will get it, and so the others will have to live with the disappointment, and tell their families that no, mommy/daddy didn't get the job this time. That's the part where I don't really like having their future in my hands.
4. PLEASE somebody make the rain go away. That's ENOUGH already! I got soaked and muddy biking home from work today, and I just wanted to crawl into the bathtub and CRY!
5. If I can JUST survive next week (board meetings, team retreat that I have to lead, major project deadlines) I MIGHT actually be able to take a couple of days off. Oh, I sure do hope so!
6. Somebody said to me today (not one of the people we were interviewing, by the way) "If you don't have passion for something, then you shouldn't be doing it. Find someone else who can do it better." It's not entirely practical, 'cause there are LOTS of things we have to do that don't have anything to do with passion, but I think he's partly right. But sometimes you just have to trudge forward and hope the passion catches up with you.
I think I'll go to bed now. Maybe the beauty sleep will help revive that creative spark. Or maybe not, and I'll slug (is that a word I can use as a verb?) through another sloggy soggy day just hoping some light will appear.
By the way, hello to Glenda! Don't know you, but I hear (from Michele) that you're reading, and you're welcome! If Michele likes you, I'm sure you'd be a friend of mine, 'cause Michele's got GREAT taste!
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Three things
My blogging energy is flagging, so I just resorted to responding to Gina's "three things" tag.
3 names I go by:
Heather, Mom, Buddy
3 screen-names I've had:
maniju, hplauren, gypsywannabe
3 physical things I like about myself:
my hands, my ears, my feet (they’re nice and little and I can often find shoes in the bargain bin, ‘cause they don’t fit anyone else – unfortunately, they’re on their way to becoming my least favourite, ‘cause I’m getting old and now require custom orthotics)
3 physical things I dislike about myself:
my boobs are too big, my butt is too big, my nose is unattractive
3 parts of my heritage:
mennonite, farm-girl, Manitoban
3 things I am wearing right now:
my wedding ring, a “Make Poverty History” white band, my favourite underwear
3 favorite bands / musical artists:
U2, Jann Arden, Sarah McLachlan (ah, c’mon, can’t I say some more… The Waifs, Wailin’ Jennies, Sting… I could go on…)
3 favorite songs:
One Voice (Wailin’ Jennies), World’s on Fire (Sarah McLachlan), London Still (The Waifs)
3 things I want in a relationship:
respect, good conversations, humour
3 physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to me:
muscular legs, a good smile, eyes
3 of my favorite hobbies:
reading, writing, cycling
3 things I want to do really badly right now:
have a nap, have a hot bath, hide (can you tell I’m over-tired from having sick kids and too much work to do?)
3 things that scare me:
watching one of my children get ridiculed and knowing I can’t protect them, finding out I’m not as good at writing as I think I am, and one of my lifelong fears is getting buried alive (I read a story in the Reader’s Digest about that when I was a kid, and I’ve never quite let go of the fear)
3 of my everyday essentials:
my computer, hand lotion (‘cause my hands are ALWAYS dry), and these days, since my feet got old and wimpy, my custom orthotics for my shoes
3 careers you have considered or are considering:
writer, teacher, and this is what my grade 9 prediction was – a social worker living on a ranch (it also turns out that while I was persuing my seemingly useless BA, my mom was busy telling people I was studying social work. Turns out I’d be a lousy social worker, though :-)
3 places you want to go on vacation:
ANYWHERE! but more specifically… Brazil, Thailand, Australia
3 kids' names you like:
I could be boring and say Nicole, Julie, and Madeline (my kids’ names) but here are a few more… Natalie, Samuel, and… here’s one from my childhood – when I was a little girl, I always thought I’d have a daughter named Heidi
3 things you want to do before you die:
skydive (I think I might try on my 40th birthday – next year!), travel to at least 20 more countries, publish a book
3 ways I am stereotypically a boy:
I’m a lousy housekeeper, I hate the mall, I’d rather talk politics than fashion
3 ways I am stereotypically a chick:
I like to soak in a hot bath with candlelight and good music, sometimes I’d rather read a book than have sex (sorry Buddy), I worry about my kids fitting in at school
3 celeb crushes:
Liam Neeson, James Spader (something dangerous about him), Paul Newman (he may not be that hot anymore, but he’s just so noble and strong)
Anyone else want to play?
3 names I go by:
Heather, Mom, Buddy
3 screen-names I've had:
maniju, hplauren, gypsywannabe
3 physical things I like about myself:
my hands, my ears, my feet (they’re nice and little and I can often find shoes in the bargain bin, ‘cause they don’t fit anyone else – unfortunately, they’re on their way to becoming my least favourite, ‘cause I’m getting old and now require custom orthotics)
3 physical things I dislike about myself:
my boobs are too big, my butt is too big, my nose is unattractive
3 parts of my heritage:
mennonite, farm-girl, Manitoban
3 things I am wearing right now:
my wedding ring, a “Make Poverty History” white band, my favourite underwear
3 favorite bands / musical artists:
U2, Jann Arden, Sarah McLachlan (ah, c’mon, can’t I say some more… The Waifs, Wailin’ Jennies, Sting… I could go on…)
3 favorite songs:
One Voice (Wailin’ Jennies), World’s on Fire (Sarah McLachlan), London Still (The Waifs)
3 things I want in a relationship:
respect, good conversations, humour
3 physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to me:
muscular legs, a good smile, eyes
3 of my favorite hobbies:
reading, writing, cycling
3 things I want to do really badly right now:
have a nap, have a hot bath, hide (can you tell I’m over-tired from having sick kids and too much work to do?)
3 things that scare me:
watching one of my children get ridiculed and knowing I can’t protect them, finding out I’m not as good at writing as I think I am, and one of my lifelong fears is getting buried alive (I read a story in the Reader’s Digest about that when I was a kid, and I’ve never quite let go of the fear)
3 of my everyday essentials:
my computer, hand lotion (‘cause my hands are ALWAYS dry), and these days, since my feet got old and wimpy, my custom orthotics for my shoes
3 careers you have considered or are considering:
writer, teacher, and this is what my grade 9 prediction was – a social worker living on a ranch (it also turns out that while I was persuing my seemingly useless BA, my mom was busy telling people I was studying social work. Turns out I’d be a lousy social worker, though :-)
3 places you want to go on vacation:
ANYWHERE! but more specifically… Brazil, Thailand, Australia
3 kids' names you like:
I could be boring and say Nicole, Julie, and Madeline (my kids’ names) but here are a few more… Natalie, Samuel, and… here’s one from my childhood – when I was a little girl, I always thought I’d have a daughter named Heidi
3 things you want to do before you die:
skydive (I think I might try on my 40th birthday – next year!), travel to at least 20 more countries, publish a book
3 ways I am stereotypically a boy:
I’m a lousy housekeeper, I hate the mall, I’d rather talk politics than fashion
3 ways I am stereotypically a chick:
I like to soak in a hot bath with candlelight and good music, sometimes I’d rather read a book than have sex (sorry Buddy), I worry about my kids fitting in at school
3 celeb crushes:
Liam Neeson, James Spader (something dangerous about him), Paul Newman (he may not be that hot anymore, but he’s just so noble and strong)
Anyone else want to play?
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Maddie, again
In case you're not sick of Maddie stories yet, you can find one on Linda's blog. Linda hung out with Maddie for awhile yesterday, and found it worth writing about. And while you're there, stick around and meander through Linda's posts - she's a great writer and an interesting person. You'll be glad you did.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. We've got a great "village" and we're glad Linda's a part of it :-) And, as you'll see in Linda's post, Uncle J-L's got a unique and interesting role in that village too.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. We've got a great "village" and we're glad Linda's a part of it :-) And, as you'll see in Linda's post, Uncle J-L's got a unique and interesting role in that village too.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Confession
"Hello, my name is Heather, and I am a plant killer." Now everybody chime in "Hello Heather."
Is there a place for "plant killers" anonymous? I need to bare my soul. As much as it pains me to admit it, I have a black thumb. I am surrounded by green thumbs whom I love and admire - brother, sister, sisters-in-law, father-in-law, mother, co-workers, friends, blog friends, you name it - and yet, none of their abilities to charm the earth have rubbed off on me.
I love plants. I want to be surrounded by them. I couldn't BARE to live in one of those housing developments which are devoid of green. Both houses we've bought have been surrounded by big, old lovely trees. Fortunately, I haven't managed to kill the trees yet (except the one in front of our house is looking a little sickly and I fear it may have heard the rumours whispered by all the other plants and is cowering in fear of me).
Other than trees, plants enter my life, and before long, they give up theirs. I have taken possession of hundreds of plants in my lifetime, and as much as I vow to be kind to them, I kill them all. It doesn't matter what it is - houseplant, garden plant, cactus, the plant that everyone says "there's no WAY you can kill this one" - I have a remarkable ability to put an end to their green life on this earth. Perhaps that's the REAL reason I like dandelions - because it's the ONLY plant I can't kill. You've gotta admire the pluckiness of a plant like THAT!
It really pains me to admit this, especially since most of the friends and family who read this blog are of the green thumb variety. I feel like there is a black mark on my personality. I even wondered about the wisdom of having children - if I can't keep a PLANT alive, should I really take the risk of letting children enter my death-trap?
Oh, I suppose this is my cross to bear. All you plant lovers out there - please forgive me. It's not for lack of love that these plants died. I really DO care for them - that's the reason I stopped bringing them into my house or yard. I want them to LIVE and flourish and there seems to be little hope of that if I bring them home.
And so, I humbly acknowledge my weakness and say simply that I am forever grateful to those of you who CAN keep plants alive, because then I can at least enjoy them from a distance - on YOUR yards or in YOUR homes rather than mine.
(And if anyone out there in blogland is wondering, yes I DID manage to bring home 3 lovely daughters and have kept them all alive and healthy! So it seems my black thumb only relates to plants and not children. Whew!)
Is there a place for "plant killers" anonymous? I need to bare my soul. As much as it pains me to admit it, I have a black thumb. I am surrounded by green thumbs whom I love and admire - brother, sister, sisters-in-law, father-in-law, mother, co-workers, friends, blog friends, you name it - and yet, none of their abilities to charm the earth have rubbed off on me.
I love plants. I want to be surrounded by them. I couldn't BARE to live in one of those housing developments which are devoid of green. Both houses we've bought have been surrounded by big, old lovely trees. Fortunately, I haven't managed to kill the trees yet (except the one in front of our house is looking a little sickly and I fear it may have heard the rumours whispered by all the other plants and is cowering in fear of me).
Other than trees, plants enter my life, and before long, they give up theirs. I have taken possession of hundreds of plants in my lifetime, and as much as I vow to be kind to them, I kill them all. It doesn't matter what it is - houseplant, garden plant, cactus, the plant that everyone says "there's no WAY you can kill this one" - I have a remarkable ability to put an end to their green life on this earth. Perhaps that's the REAL reason I like dandelions - because it's the ONLY plant I can't kill. You've gotta admire the pluckiness of a plant like THAT!
It really pains me to admit this, especially since most of the friends and family who read this blog are of the green thumb variety. I feel like there is a black mark on my personality. I even wondered about the wisdom of having children - if I can't keep a PLANT alive, should I really take the risk of letting children enter my death-trap?
Oh, I suppose this is my cross to bear. All you plant lovers out there - please forgive me. It's not for lack of love that these plants died. I really DO care for them - that's the reason I stopped bringing them into my house or yard. I want them to LIVE and flourish and there seems to be little hope of that if I bring them home.
And so, I humbly acknowledge my weakness and say simply that I am forever grateful to those of you who CAN keep plants alive, because then I can at least enjoy them from a distance - on YOUR yards or in YOUR homes rather than mine.
(And if anyone out there in blogland is wondering, yes I DID manage to bring home 3 lovely daughters and have kept them all alive and healthy! So it seems my black thumb only relates to plants and not children. Whew!)
why you shouldn't get dressed in the semi-dark
Got to work this morning and realized that, even though I plucked these pants from the clean laundry pile, they are covered in grease stains. Big ones - the size of loonies - all down the front of my pants. How could I not have noticed this while I was pulling them on this morning?
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
I'm SO honoured!!!
Really, wouldn't YOU be honoured too if you got this personalized letter from the PREMIER OF ALBERTA inviting you to visit his province? Gosh, I just don't know what to say! Ralph wants ME! I'm flabbergasted! Do you think he'd take me out for a night on the town with his beer drinking buddies? Just think - he could talk politics with Marcel and we could ask him why his neck is so red! Or maybe, instead of just sending me letters on pretty stationary, he could share some of his oil wealth.
B&S - thanks alot for whatever you signed us up for. Sure do appreciate the 2 for 1 coupon for...(drum roll please)... a museum! Makes it worth a trip to Alberta, just for that!
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Monday, May 30, 2005
In celebration of the lowly dandelion
After my sister CCAP told the story of how my dad used to love dandelions and would bring my mom bouquets of dandelions and purple thistle flowers, Cuppa and Anvilcloud were inspired to photograph dandelions they saw on their bike treks. Linda also revealed, in her list of 100 things, that she's fond of the dandelion (as long as they're not in her garden). Their inspiration and revelations were contagious, and so, after the rain, I wandered outside with my camera and took a few photos of the abundant dandelions on our yard.
So, today, I encourage you all to celebrate the lowly dandelion with us. They're overlooked and underappreciated, and yet, the people who have commented to the various posts show me that there are lots of closet dandelion-lovers among us. Come on everybody - be bold, and claim your love for the down-trodden and outcast among us - the dandelion! (I could wax poetic about how the dandelion represents those of us in life who feel less beautiful than the celebrated rose or orchid, but I'll leave the analogies to your imagination.)
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Things I learned tonight
1. If you burn a pot of lentils, dump them in the garbage, and then carry the garbage bag out to the trash bin, the bag feels exactly like a poopy diaper. How do I know this? Don't ask.
2. Raw onions turn Maddie into a monkey. Her words, not mine. She grabbed a piece of the onion I was chopping, said "um yummy" and popped it into her mouth. When the taste registered in her brain, she made a delightfully disgusted face and spit it out. On the way back from the garbage can, she said "those are yucky! They make me turn into a MONKEY!"
3. If you burn a BIG pot of lentils, even though it LOOKS like the burnt stuff is only at the bottom, you can taste it all the way up at the top. Again, don't ask.
4. Marcel thinks "wench" is an acceptable name to call his sisters. Hmmm.
5. She may be nine, wise beyond her years, and know WAY more about pop stars than I do, but Nikki still lets me in on little secrets now and then :-) But, once again, don't ask, 'cause I WON'T TELL!
6. There is at least ONE person on this earth whose children use the word "boring" as often as mine. (Cheers Kim!)
7. When you want your husband to come home early so that you can go to the store to buy more lentils, he's sure to show up late. (Oops... just heard the door open - he's home so I've gotta run to the store!)
P.S. Bet ya wanna know what all the lentils are for! Maybe I'll tell ya later.
2. Raw onions turn Maddie into a monkey. Her words, not mine. She grabbed a piece of the onion I was chopping, said "um yummy" and popped it into her mouth. When the taste registered in her brain, she made a delightfully disgusted face and spit it out. On the way back from the garbage can, she said "those are yucky! They make me turn into a MONKEY!"
3. If you burn a BIG pot of lentils, even though it LOOKS like the burnt stuff is only at the bottom, you can taste it all the way up at the top. Again, don't ask.
4. Marcel thinks "wench" is an acceptable name to call his sisters. Hmmm.
5. She may be nine, wise beyond her years, and know WAY more about pop stars than I do, but Nikki still lets me in on little secrets now and then :-) But, once again, don't ask, 'cause I WON'T TELL!
6. There is at least ONE person on this earth whose children use the word "boring" as often as mine. (Cheers Kim!)
7. When you want your husband to come home early so that you can go to the store to buy more lentils, he's sure to show up late. (Oops... just heard the door open - he's home so I've gotta run to the store!)
P.S. Bet ya wanna know what all the lentils are for! Maybe I'll tell ya later.
What do you stand for?
Yesterday started with an apology. It was mine. The day before, after another difficult conversation with an employee who has trouble accepting responsibility for her actions, I got impatient and snapped at her. I shouldn’t have. Though I went home feeling completely justified for my actions, sometime during the night, I realized that, if I wanted her to accept responsibility for HER actions, then I had to accept responsibility for MINE. So I ate crow and apologized. I received no apology in return.
Yesterday ended with a rebuke. I got a letter from someone at our church who was “troubled” by something I’d said the last time I spoke in church. She wants to meet with me to talk about it.
Two bookends for an otherwise ordinary day. Somehow, the bookends overshadowed everything else in between. It was a productive day – I accomplished lots on my “to do” list at work, and led a very productive leadership meeting at church – and yet the only things I can think about are the two things that were difficult.
I like to think of myself as a fairly “evolved” person. I’m fairly emotionally mature, I have a reasonably healthy self esteem and don’t worry TOO much about what people think of me. I’ve been a manager and mother long enough that I’m used to making some unpopular decisions that people don’t always like me for. For the most part, I stand on my principles and argue my opinion even when it’s unpopular.
All of this is true, yet when two people disapprove of me in one day, it still cuts to the core. I could argue that, in both cases, I was justified and what I said wasn’t necessarily wrong (even though I could have said it in a better way). I could get self-righteous and say “too bad what YOU think.” But, no matter how I argue it and search for self-justification, it still hurts to be “out of favour”.
I’ve never been a particularly “popular” person, but I’ve never been “unpopular” either. I’ve gone through life being at least mildly liked by most people I deal with. This experience has challenged me to wonder…what if I felt I had to stand up for something that was particularly unpopular, and yet I felt that ethically and morally I couldn’t walk away? What if it meant that people would dislike me and say awful things about me?
I have great admiration for those people who have changed the world by standing up for unpopular things. I’m grateful for those who have stood against slavery, apartheid, oppression, patriarchal governments, injustice, wars, and religious intolerance despite being the objects of persecution and emotional abuse. I just wonder… could I do the same? Could I risk unpopularity for a cause? Could you?
Yesterday’s incidents will blow over. I’ll talk to both people again and smooth things over and we’ll continue to have relationships, of sorts. Neither of them was very serious, in the grand scheme of things. But I can’t help wondering what cause would be important enough for me to “lay down my pride” for.
Yesterday ended with a rebuke. I got a letter from someone at our church who was “troubled” by something I’d said the last time I spoke in church. She wants to meet with me to talk about it.
Two bookends for an otherwise ordinary day. Somehow, the bookends overshadowed everything else in between. It was a productive day – I accomplished lots on my “to do” list at work, and led a very productive leadership meeting at church – and yet the only things I can think about are the two things that were difficult.
I like to think of myself as a fairly “evolved” person. I’m fairly emotionally mature, I have a reasonably healthy self esteem and don’t worry TOO much about what people think of me. I’ve been a manager and mother long enough that I’m used to making some unpopular decisions that people don’t always like me for. For the most part, I stand on my principles and argue my opinion even when it’s unpopular.
All of this is true, yet when two people disapprove of me in one day, it still cuts to the core. I could argue that, in both cases, I was justified and what I said wasn’t necessarily wrong (even though I could have said it in a better way). I could get self-righteous and say “too bad what YOU think.” But, no matter how I argue it and search for self-justification, it still hurts to be “out of favour”.
I’ve never been a particularly “popular” person, but I’ve never been “unpopular” either. I’ve gone through life being at least mildly liked by most people I deal with. This experience has challenged me to wonder…what if I felt I had to stand up for something that was particularly unpopular, and yet I felt that ethically and morally I couldn’t walk away? What if it meant that people would dislike me and say awful things about me?
I have great admiration for those people who have changed the world by standing up for unpopular things. I’m grateful for those who have stood against slavery, apartheid, oppression, patriarchal governments, injustice, wars, and religious intolerance despite being the objects of persecution and emotional abuse. I just wonder… could I do the same? Could I risk unpopularity for a cause? Could you?
Yesterday’s incidents will blow over. I’ll talk to both people again and smooth things over and we’ll continue to have relationships, of sorts. Neither of them was very serious, in the grand scheme of things. But I can’t help wondering what cause would be important enough for me to “lay down my pride” for.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Kid stuff
Maddie walks into the laundry room where I'm folding laundry (yes, it may be hard to believe, but I actually do that once in awhile), puts her hand to her forehead, salutes me and says "we code in for duty". It took me awhile to put the gesture and words together and realize she was ACTUALLY saying "reporting for duty!"
In other kid news, my oldest 2 daughters are growing up WAY too fast. They both bought teen magazines on the weekend, and yesterday they spent a few hours cutting out pictures of a bunch of famous people (hillary duff, chad michael murray, simple plan... you get the picture) and pasting them on their walls. Yikes! I'm not ready to see a bunch of heart throbs up on my 9 and 7 year old's walls! It seems like they're barely past Elmo and Big Bird!
What was particularly frightening was that I only knew about half the people, and, with voices that belied their pride in knowing MORE than mom, they had to tell me who the other ones were. Sheesh! Time to brush up on my pop culture! On the other hand - why bother? From here on in, I just have to accept the fact that I'm a "has-been". (It's been a LONG time since Andy Gibb and Leif Garrett were heart throbs!)
At least I still know more than Maddie! But how long will THAT last?
In other kid news, my oldest 2 daughters are growing up WAY too fast. They both bought teen magazines on the weekend, and yesterday they spent a few hours cutting out pictures of a bunch of famous people (hillary duff, chad michael murray, simple plan... you get the picture) and pasting them on their walls. Yikes! I'm not ready to see a bunch of heart throbs up on my 9 and 7 year old's walls! It seems like they're barely past Elmo and Big Bird!
What was particularly frightening was that I only knew about half the people, and, with voices that belied their pride in knowing MORE than mom, they had to tell me who the other ones were. Sheesh! Time to brush up on my pop culture! On the other hand - why bother? From here on in, I just have to accept the fact that I'm a "has-been". (It's been a LONG time since Andy Gibb and Leif Garrett were heart throbs!)
At least I still know more than Maddie! But how long will THAT last?
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Wanna help me spend my money?
I got $50 from Marcel's parents for my birthday, and now I get to spend money selfishly. Woohoo!
Wanna help me? My absolute favourite way to spend "selfish money" is to buy books. But I can't quite decide what to buy.
So... tell me what you think. What are the best books you've read lately? Which ones do you thing are absolute "must haves" for a lover of books? I mean the kind that you just can't bear to get from the library because you NEED to have them on your OWN shelf.
I'm looking for ideas - I'm sure you can help! (I'm open to different genres, but I'm not particularly fond of sci-fi or fantasy.) I'll tell you what I've read lately, so you don't have to include those in the list...
- right now I'm reading "The Red Tent"
- I just finished "Dance of the Dissident Daughter"
- before that I read "Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith"
- and in the last couple of months... "Generous Orthodoxy", "The Different Drum", "Prodigal Summer", "Good to Great", "Life of Pi" and some others I can't remember.
(On the other hand, once I finish with the baton Cuppa passed, I may decide to buy cds instead. But for now lets stick with books :-)
Wanna help me? My absolute favourite way to spend "selfish money" is to buy books. But I can't quite decide what to buy.
So... tell me what you think. What are the best books you've read lately? Which ones do you thing are absolute "must haves" for a lover of books? I mean the kind that you just can't bear to get from the library because you NEED to have them on your OWN shelf.
I'm looking for ideas - I'm sure you can help! (I'm open to different genres, but I'm not particularly fond of sci-fi or fantasy.) I'll tell you what I've read lately, so you don't have to include those in the list...
- right now I'm reading "The Red Tent"
- I just finished "Dance of the Dissident Daughter"
- before that I read "Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith"
- and in the last couple of months... "Generous Orthodoxy", "The Different Drum", "Prodigal Summer", "Good to Great", "Life of Pi" and some others I can't remember.
(On the other hand, once I finish with the baton Cuppa passed, I may decide to buy cds instead. But for now lets stick with books :-)
Friday, May 20, 2005
Ya gotta see this!
Check out my sister's blog! In honour of my birthday, she posted some great pictures of the two of us throughout the years. I'm all choked up! I have the best sister in the world!
(In case you're wondering which one's me, I'm the more "vertically challenged" of the two :-)
The bottom picture is the most poignant - it's the two of us with our dad, whom we both miss terribly.
(In case you're wondering which one's me, I'm the more "vertically challenged" of the two :-)
The bottom picture is the most poignant - it's the two of us with our dad, whom we both miss terribly.
Happy birthday to me!
Yup, it's my birthday. I turn 39 today. I am now entering the last year of my thirties (that sounded like it should have been accompanied by Twilight Zone music!).
To celebrate, I hopped on my bike and rode like the wind (okay, so it was only a light breeze) all the way to work. What an invigorating way to start the first day of the last year of your third decade on earth. (yikes! now we should be moving into the Rocky soundtrack!) Thirty seconds into the ride, I was almost killed by some idiot in a car who thought he could cut me off because it was just a bike, but that didn't deter my enjoyment of the ride. I made better time than I normally do on the bus!
It's a beautiful day today, the sun is shining, there was no wind on my face, it's the Friday before a long weekend, I have a new bike that rides like a dream, we picked up our shiny red car yesterday, I issued a big press release yesterday and this morning the media is responding (that's always fun - watch for us on The National tonight :-), two of my favourite people are joining us for a birthday barbecue tonight, I got a good night's sleep, Marcel cleaned the house yesterday (or at least got a decent start)... life is good! (is there a "Pollyanna" soundtrack?)
Oh, and there is NOTHING better than having your kids phone you at work in the morning to sing happy birthday, each in their own unique way. Julie's was heartfelt and sincere, Nikki's was a unique rendition that included something about stepping in horse poo, and Maddie's was mostly a repetition of the first line, throwing in the word "Mommy" at some point for variation.
To celebrate, I hopped on my bike and rode like the wind (okay, so it was only a light breeze) all the way to work. What an invigorating way to start the first day of the last year of your third decade on earth. (yikes! now we should be moving into the Rocky soundtrack!) Thirty seconds into the ride, I was almost killed by some idiot in a car who thought he could cut me off because it was just a bike, but that didn't deter my enjoyment of the ride. I made better time than I normally do on the bus!
It's a beautiful day today, the sun is shining, there was no wind on my face, it's the Friday before a long weekend, I have a new bike that rides like a dream, we picked up our shiny red car yesterday, I issued a big press release yesterday and this morning the media is responding (that's always fun - watch for us on The National tonight :-), two of my favourite people are joining us for a birthday barbecue tonight, I got a good night's sleep, Marcel cleaned the house yesterday (or at least got a decent start)... life is good! (is there a "Pollyanna" soundtrack?)
Oh, and there is NOTHING better than having your kids phone you at work in the morning to sing happy birthday, each in their own unique way. Julie's was heartfelt and sincere, Nikki's was a unique rendition that included something about stepping in horse poo, and Maddie's was mostly a repetition of the first line, throwing in the word "Mommy" at some point for variation.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
A step of faith or flawed logic?
My friend Linda wrote a great post about becoming a pastor. It’s given me lots to think about.
I go to this awesome church where people are authentic and honest and compassionate and flawed and faltering and doubtful and all kinds of other things that make us human, and we’re SO lucky to have Linda become one of our pastors. She’s already been a leader for quite awhile, and I’ve been very lucky to serve with her. She ROCKS!
I’m also taking a “step of faith” and becoming an elder. Some of you may have read my post “elder, shmelder” and know that I have serious doubts about my capacity to be a spiritual leader. Linda and I stand together in our doubts, and yet we’re both taking a step forward because we believe we have something good and valuable in our giftedness and that we can serve the church with it.
No, the doubts haven’t gone away. I still struggle with the place of the church in today’s world. I still struggle with all the hypocrisy I see. I still struggle with the crap that doesn’t make sense. Why are people killing other people in the name of God? Why are people swaggering around with superior attitudes because their religion somehow lifts them up above the common man? Why would God accept the faltering and flawed faith of Christians and reject the earnest heartfelt faith of all those other believers – Muslims, Hindus, you name it? Why are people using the Bible to justify racism and sexism and war and hatred of so many flavours? Why would so-called “Christian” nations be so greedy and gluttonous and hoard so much wealth that millions are starving? Why is there so much in the Bible that just doesn’t make sense?
Maybe I should resolve some of those questions in my mind before stepping into the role of elder. How will I provide “spiritual leadership” if there’s still so much that doesn’t make sense for me? I don’t know.
I think it was Madeleine L’Engle who said we have to learn to “sit with the questions”. That’s something I’ve been learning along my journey – that questions are okay and that the grey areas aren’t necessarily bad. A black and white world doesn’t have as much depth if you can’t see the shadows.
So here I am, making a tentative step forward into my new role. Because maybe, just maybe, my comfort with the questions is just the kind of leadership that’s needed for authentic and honest and compassionate and flawed and faltering and doubtful people.
I go to this awesome church where people are authentic and honest and compassionate and flawed and faltering and doubtful and all kinds of other things that make us human, and we’re SO lucky to have Linda become one of our pastors. She’s already been a leader for quite awhile, and I’ve been very lucky to serve with her. She ROCKS!
I’m also taking a “step of faith” and becoming an elder. Some of you may have read my post “elder, shmelder” and know that I have serious doubts about my capacity to be a spiritual leader. Linda and I stand together in our doubts, and yet we’re both taking a step forward because we believe we have something good and valuable in our giftedness and that we can serve the church with it.
No, the doubts haven’t gone away. I still struggle with the place of the church in today’s world. I still struggle with all the hypocrisy I see. I still struggle with the crap that doesn’t make sense. Why are people killing other people in the name of God? Why are people swaggering around with superior attitudes because their religion somehow lifts them up above the common man? Why would God accept the faltering and flawed faith of Christians and reject the earnest heartfelt faith of all those other believers – Muslims, Hindus, you name it? Why are people using the Bible to justify racism and sexism and war and hatred of so many flavours? Why would so-called “Christian” nations be so greedy and gluttonous and hoard so much wealth that millions are starving? Why is there so much in the Bible that just doesn’t make sense?
Maybe I should resolve some of those questions in my mind before stepping into the role of elder. How will I provide “spiritual leadership” if there’s still so much that doesn’t make sense for me? I don’t know.
I think it was Madeleine L’Engle who said we have to learn to “sit with the questions”. That’s something I’ve been learning along my journey – that questions are okay and that the grey areas aren’t necessarily bad. A black and white world doesn’t have as much depth if you can’t see the shadows.
So here I am, making a tentative step forward into my new role. Because maybe, just maybe, my comfort with the questions is just the kind of leadership that’s needed for authentic and honest and compassionate and flawed and faltering and doubtful people.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Yippee!
I am the proud new owner of this bike! (You're right, Cuppa, Treks are lovely bikes!)
Something about a shiny new bike makes me want to genderize (is that a word?) it. As in... "SHE's a beauty. SHE rides like a dream. I think I'll take HER for a spin." Not sure what that says about me, but you can read into it what you want :-)
I'm ecstatic! It's my early birthday present to ME!
And in another random, and completely unrelated thought, this morning when I went to make my tea, I saw the word "Sunbeam" on the kettle, and my mind did a crazy and unanticipated leap back to that old Sunday School song "I'll be a sunbeam for Jesus." Ich! Where do these thoughts come from? (It's not just MY thoughts I'm questioning, but the thoughts of whoever decided THAT should be a song.) Now I just KNOW that song will be stuck in my head for the rest of the day!
Maybe today, I'll be a sunbeam for TREK! :-)
Something about a shiny new bike makes me want to genderize (is that a word?) it. As in... "SHE's a beauty. SHE rides like a dream. I think I'll take HER for a spin." Not sure what that says about me, but you can read into it what you want :-)
I'm ecstatic! It's my early birthday present to ME!
And in another random, and completely unrelated thought, this morning when I went to make my tea, I saw the word "Sunbeam" on the kettle, and my mind did a crazy and unanticipated leap back to that old Sunday School song "I'll be a sunbeam for Jesus." Ich! Where do these thoughts come from? (It's not just MY thoughts I'm questioning, but the thoughts of whoever decided THAT should be a song.) Now I just KNOW that song will be stuck in my head for the rest of the day!
Maybe today, I'll be a sunbeam for TREK! :-)
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Giving up the Tin Man
It was supposed to be my moment of glory - my crowning achievement as a novice biking enthusiast. I’d trained for it – spent many, many hours biking all over the city and into the country. I’d bought a new bike for it – a beautiful Miele Italian racing bike. I was ready for it. More than ready. I was pumped.
It was called the Tin Man Triathlon (I suppose the name is a take-off of the Iron Man). In 1988, I had signed up with a couple of friends to enter the relay – one of them would do the swimming leg, the other would run, and I would ride my bike for 40 grueling kilometres. I was rather pleased to be the only woman on the team. I was in better shape than I’d ever been before, and this was supposed to be the moment I’d redeem myself – I could be an athlete after all! I could hardly wait to put my beautiful bike, and my finely tuned biking legs to the test.
The race was slated for Saturday. On Thursday night, my world turned upside down.
It was nearing morning when the man entered my apartment. Probably around 4:30 a.m. The apartment was hot, as it always was that summer. I’d slept with the windows open – it was the only way I COULD sleep. When I woke up, there he was, standing over my bed with a pair of scissors clenched in his raised hand. In the split second it took me to focus my eyes and register what was going on, I knew that this man had climbed through my open window and was here to hurt me.
He was there for nearly 2 hours. Part of that time is a blur. Most of it, I try not to conjure up in my mind. I don’t want to remember the way his fingers felt on my naked body. I don’t want to relive the terror of approaching death when he tried to choke the breath out of me, angry that I wasn’t more willing to satisfy his sexual deviance. I don’t want to see flashbacks of the naked woman tattooed on his dirty arm. I don’t want to bring back the smell of him – old alcohol, body odour, and solvent. I don’t want to see his ugly naked lust.
Somehow, I convinced him to leave, after he’d taken all he could from me, and left a shell of who I was before. Somehow, I found the strength to get dressed and run the half-block to my friend’s house. Somehow, I survived the hospital visit, the doctor’s examination, the clipping of my pubic hair for evidence, the police investigation, the months of anger and hatred.
Somehow I survived all that, but I didn’t survive the bike race. I tried. I drove out to the town where it was being held, with full intention of triumphing over what had happened, and racing anyway. But as I drove, I knew I couldn’t do it. My neck muscles stung with the memory of his hands. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind raced back to jagged dark memories of him. My hands shook on the steering wheel of the car. I knew I couldn’t hold a bike upright for 40 kilometres.
Why do I write about this now, 17 years later? This week, as I shopped for a new bike, I remembered the anticipation I felt the last time I bought a shiny new bike. I remember the excitement I felt preparing for the race. I remember the feel of the leather biking gloves on my hands.
That man took a lot from me in those two hours. Though it took me a long time to recover, I’ve gotten to a point where I hardly ever think about it anymore. But this week, as I look forward to my first new bike in 17 years, I find myself angry that, along with everything else, he took my chance to race in the triathlon.
Perhaps, when I get my new bike, I’ll sign up for another one.
It was called the Tin Man Triathlon (I suppose the name is a take-off of the Iron Man). In 1988, I had signed up with a couple of friends to enter the relay – one of them would do the swimming leg, the other would run, and I would ride my bike for 40 grueling kilometres. I was rather pleased to be the only woman on the team. I was in better shape than I’d ever been before, and this was supposed to be the moment I’d redeem myself – I could be an athlete after all! I could hardly wait to put my beautiful bike, and my finely tuned biking legs to the test.
The race was slated for Saturday. On Thursday night, my world turned upside down.
It was nearing morning when the man entered my apartment. Probably around 4:30 a.m. The apartment was hot, as it always was that summer. I’d slept with the windows open – it was the only way I COULD sleep. When I woke up, there he was, standing over my bed with a pair of scissors clenched in his raised hand. In the split second it took me to focus my eyes and register what was going on, I knew that this man had climbed through my open window and was here to hurt me.
He was there for nearly 2 hours. Part of that time is a blur. Most of it, I try not to conjure up in my mind. I don’t want to remember the way his fingers felt on my naked body. I don’t want to relive the terror of approaching death when he tried to choke the breath out of me, angry that I wasn’t more willing to satisfy his sexual deviance. I don’t want to see flashbacks of the naked woman tattooed on his dirty arm. I don’t want to bring back the smell of him – old alcohol, body odour, and solvent. I don’t want to see his ugly naked lust.
Somehow, I convinced him to leave, after he’d taken all he could from me, and left a shell of who I was before. Somehow, I found the strength to get dressed and run the half-block to my friend’s house. Somehow, I survived the hospital visit, the doctor’s examination, the clipping of my pubic hair for evidence, the police investigation, the months of anger and hatred.
Somehow I survived all that, but I didn’t survive the bike race. I tried. I drove out to the town where it was being held, with full intention of triumphing over what had happened, and racing anyway. But as I drove, I knew I couldn’t do it. My neck muscles stung with the memory of his hands. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind raced back to jagged dark memories of him. My hands shook on the steering wheel of the car. I knew I couldn’t hold a bike upright for 40 kilometres.
Why do I write about this now, 17 years later? This week, as I shopped for a new bike, I remembered the anticipation I felt the last time I bought a shiny new bike. I remember the excitement I felt preparing for the race. I remember the feel of the leather biking gloves on my hands.
That man took a lot from me in those two hours. Though it took me a long time to recover, I’ve gotten to a point where I hardly ever think about it anymore. But this week, as I look forward to my first new bike in 17 years, I find myself angry that, along with everything else, he took my chance to race in the triathlon.
Perhaps, when I get my new bike, I’ll sign up for another one.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Consumers
We were consumers this weekend. In a good way - not in a "acquiring more material possessions for the sake of building our empire" way. We bought a car - or at least we put a deposit on one and will pick it up later this week. This is all part of the downsizing process. We traded in the gas-guzzling van for a fuel efficient Chev Impala. Here's hoping we made a good decision. (If you have one and think it's a piece of crap, PLEASE don't tell me about it!) We're not too fond of the colour - bright red - but at least we won't easily lose it in a parking lot :-)
And then, on Saturday, I bought a new bike. I'd saved up for one this Spring, but then the money I'd saved had been whittled down by other more pressing needs, so I wasn't sure I'd be able to get one. (One of our adult-sized bikes was stolen recently, and the other one is falling apart. I'd been hoping to ride to work this summer, but didn't have a decent bike to ride.) I got a pleasant surprise on Friday - a cheque arrived in the mail for some extra back-pay I'd been owed from my years in the government. Turns out it was just enough to buy a bike :-) Seems like one of those little whispers from God - "here's a little gift. Go buy what you want and be happy."
The problem was, I'd decided to skimp a little on the bike by buying a cheaper one at Canadian Tire and saving the extra money for some of the other things I need (like new pants). Well, I brought home the shiny new bike, took one ride around the block, and then Marcel took a spin. Within moments, he was calling me from inside the house... "Um, Heather, you'd better come out here." When I stepped out on the front step, it became fairly clear that my decision to buy the cheaper bike was ill-advised. The gear shift thingy that moves the chain from one gear to the next (sorry, I'm not too well versed in bicycle terminology) had completely snapped off when Marcel tried to shift gears. On closer inspection, we realized that most of it was made of plastic! Can you imagine? Plastic parts on a bicycle? And this wasn't even the cheapest bike at the store! (Yes, I returned the bike and now intend to go to a REAL bike store for a better product, despite the higher cost.)
I know I sound like an old-timer when I say "they just don't make things like they used to!" I could go on a real rant about how so much stuff is made to be disposable these days, so it's cheaper to buy a new thing than fix the old one, and we are forced to perpetrate the consumerism and excessive waste that has come to define our culture... but I won't. I'll just say "Here's hoping the car fares better than the bicycle!"
(Look for me soon in my hot red car or shiny bicycle doing my part to reduce fossil fuels!)
And then, on Saturday, I bought a new bike. I'd saved up for one this Spring, but then the money I'd saved had been whittled down by other more pressing needs, so I wasn't sure I'd be able to get one. (One of our adult-sized bikes was stolen recently, and the other one is falling apart. I'd been hoping to ride to work this summer, but didn't have a decent bike to ride.) I got a pleasant surprise on Friday - a cheque arrived in the mail for some extra back-pay I'd been owed from my years in the government. Turns out it was just enough to buy a bike :-) Seems like one of those little whispers from God - "here's a little gift. Go buy what you want and be happy."
The problem was, I'd decided to skimp a little on the bike by buying a cheaper one at Canadian Tire and saving the extra money for some of the other things I need (like new pants). Well, I brought home the shiny new bike, took one ride around the block, and then Marcel took a spin. Within moments, he was calling me from inside the house... "Um, Heather, you'd better come out here." When I stepped out on the front step, it became fairly clear that my decision to buy the cheaper bike was ill-advised. The gear shift thingy that moves the chain from one gear to the next (sorry, I'm not too well versed in bicycle terminology) had completely snapped off when Marcel tried to shift gears. On closer inspection, we realized that most of it was made of plastic! Can you imagine? Plastic parts on a bicycle? And this wasn't even the cheapest bike at the store! (Yes, I returned the bike and now intend to go to a REAL bike store for a better product, despite the higher cost.)
I know I sound like an old-timer when I say "they just don't make things like they used to!" I could go on a real rant about how so much stuff is made to be disposable these days, so it's cheaper to buy a new thing than fix the old one, and we are forced to perpetrate the consumerism and excessive waste that has come to define our culture... but I won't. I'll just say "Here's hoping the car fares better than the bicycle!"
(Look for me soon in my hot red car or shiny bicycle doing my part to reduce fossil fuels!)
Friday, May 13, 2005
Come together, boys and girls
Recently I read Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd (thanks for the recommendation Cuppa!). It’s quite fascinating and a lot of it resonated with me. It’s the story of her personal journey away from a traditional Christianity to a place where she honours the Sacred Feminine. Though she’d been a pastor’s wife and an inspirational writer for many years, she says she reached a point where she was confronted with the patriarchy of Western Christianity, and she just couldn’t stomach it any more. She no longer wanted to be viewed as a second-class citizen in the eyes of the church or in the eyes of God.
I don’t think I’d go as far as she did – I don’t want to reject Christianity and create some new, nebulous faith for myself that honours a rather undefined God – but I do welcome her attempts at painting a different picture of God than what’s been painted through the lens of Western Christianity. I think approaching God as a blend of masculine and feminine certainly has its merits. I found myself wishing, however, that she’d related her new understanding back to a new kind of faith that’s still rooted in the truth that God revealed through the Bible and through Jesus. She does that to a certain degree (she talks about the feminine character of God articulated in the Bible as “Sophia” or “Wisdom”), but a little less than I would have liked. That’s not a criticism of the book or of her, though – her journey is her own, and I don’t expect it to be the same as mine. I’m just glad she chose to write about it.
More than anything, it made me want to return to the Bible for my own exploration – to find out how to interpret God through a different lens than I’ve accepted all these years. The night after I finished reading the book, my prayer took on a slightly different tone when I envisioned a Mother/Father God receiving my words and thoughts. It felt good.
Today, I read Real Live Preacher’s post about his longing for a place where his feminine side is welcomed and valued and where he feels the freedom to be okay with who he is and who other people are. I’ve also been reading posts from various people about how they’ve felt boxed in by various labels. There’s a common thread running through all of these writings – a desire for less boxes and more fluid definitions.
I have known a lot of people, male and female, who don’t fit tidily into any category of “masculine” or “feminine”. In my own marriage, for example, we’ve found a very comfortable place where we’re living out a bit of a role reversal in the eyes of our society – I’m the “bread winner” and he’s the “caregiver”. It works for us – there are things in my character that fit more in a traditional “masculine” definition, and there are aspects of him that have shades of what might be defined as “feminine”. That doesn’t mean that one of us is weaker or stronger, it just means that we don’t fit into the boxes well.
I wish we could find a way for that to be more okay. In this post-feminist era, why can’t we focus more on valuing ALL aspects of a person’s character (or God’s, for that matter), not just those that line up with their gender? I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re all the same and that gender doesn’t matter. Yes, there are differences between males and females, but those differences don’t matter in the grand scheme of things, nor does one have more value than the other.
If a woman wants to seek a “non-traditional” role for herself, or play hockey or whatever, why not? We shouldn’t make a big deal about it. If a man wants to reveal his emotional side to his friends, or crochet doilies for a past-time, why not? On the other hand, if a person (male or female) fits very neatly into the traditional roles (eg. a woman feels delightfully fulfilled being a stay-at-home mom with a passion for baking cookies), than that’s okay too.
I once heard a quote from someone who’d been involved with the feminist movement who said the great travesty of the feminist movement was that it focused too much on giving women access to male roles/careers/etc. and neglected to put the same energy into creating value in those things that are traditionally female. That makes a lot of sense to me. Let’s find value in what makes each of us who we are rather than placing too much value on one thing or another.
You are free to be who you are meant to be, whether male or female, gay or straight, young or old, white or black. Your nature, your giftedness, your personality, whatever makes you who you are – it all has value.
God made us ALL in his/her image, so that must mean we ALL reflect something of his/her beauty whatever our gender or colour is.
I don’t think I’d go as far as she did – I don’t want to reject Christianity and create some new, nebulous faith for myself that honours a rather undefined God – but I do welcome her attempts at painting a different picture of God than what’s been painted through the lens of Western Christianity. I think approaching God as a blend of masculine and feminine certainly has its merits. I found myself wishing, however, that she’d related her new understanding back to a new kind of faith that’s still rooted in the truth that God revealed through the Bible and through Jesus. She does that to a certain degree (she talks about the feminine character of God articulated in the Bible as “Sophia” or “Wisdom”), but a little less than I would have liked. That’s not a criticism of the book or of her, though – her journey is her own, and I don’t expect it to be the same as mine. I’m just glad she chose to write about it.
More than anything, it made me want to return to the Bible for my own exploration – to find out how to interpret God through a different lens than I’ve accepted all these years. The night after I finished reading the book, my prayer took on a slightly different tone when I envisioned a Mother/Father God receiving my words and thoughts. It felt good.
Today, I read Real Live Preacher’s post about his longing for a place where his feminine side is welcomed and valued and where he feels the freedom to be okay with who he is and who other people are. I’ve also been reading posts from various people about how they’ve felt boxed in by various labels. There’s a common thread running through all of these writings – a desire for less boxes and more fluid definitions.
I have known a lot of people, male and female, who don’t fit tidily into any category of “masculine” or “feminine”. In my own marriage, for example, we’ve found a very comfortable place where we’re living out a bit of a role reversal in the eyes of our society – I’m the “bread winner” and he’s the “caregiver”. It works for us – there are things in my character that fit more in a traditional “masculine” definition, and there are aspects of him that have shades of what might be defined as “feminine”. That doesn’t mean that one of us is weaker or stronger, it just means that we don’t fit into the boxes well.
I wish we could find a way for that to be more okay. In this post-feminist era, why can’t we focus more on valuing ALL aspects of a person’s character (or God’s, for that matter), not just those that line up with their gender? I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re all the same and that gender doesn’t matter. Yes, there are differences between males and females, but those differences don’t matter in the grand scheme of things, nor does one have more value than the other.
If a woman wants to seek a “non-traditional” role for herself, or play hockey or whatever, why not? We shouldn’t make a big deal about it. If a man wants to reveal his emotional side to his friends, or crochet doilies for a past-time, why not? On the other hand, if a person (male or female) fits very neatly into the traditional roles (eg. a woman feels delightfully fulfilled being a stay-at-home mom with a passion for baking cookies), than that’s okay too.
I once heard a quote from someone who’d been involved with the feminist movement who said the great travesty of the feminist movement was that it focused too much on giving women access to male roles/careers/etc. and neglected to put the same energy into creating value in those things that are traditionally female. That makes a lot of sense to me. Let’s find value in what makes each of us who we are rather than placing too much value on one thing or another.
You are free to be who you are meant to be, whether male or female, gay or straight, young or old, white or black. Your nature, your giftedness, your personality, whatever makes you who you are – it all has value.
God made us ALL in his/her image, so that must mean we ALL reflect something of his/her beauty whatever our gender or colour is.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Downsizing when everyone else is "upsizing"
I suppose it has something to do with the fact that I work for an organization that focuses on responding to hunger. Almost every day, I look for ways of creatively communicating hunger-related issues in ways that will resonate with Canadians and convince them that they should care about the 800 million people going to bed hungry every day.
Whatever the case, these days I find myself more and more concerned with finding a better balance in my life – between the things I want and need, and between the things that really matter in life and the clutter that gets in the way. In the last few months, there have been a few reminders why this is important. My trip to Africa was a big one – it’s hard not to notice the huge difference between the way they live and the way I do. Only an un-caring person would walk away from that and not take some personal responsibility for their suffering.
But it really started long before I went to Africa and long before I got this job. A few years ago, Marcel and I took a step back, re-evaluated what was important in our lives, and decided to make some changes.
In a culture where great importance is placed on acquiring more things, we found ourselves getting caught on the same hamster wheel as everyone else. “Make more money to buy more things” the ads scream at you. Buy more things and then you need more money to maintain that lifestyle. Make even MORE money and start letting your things control your lifestyle. Get a bigger house, send the kids off to daycare, buy a bigger van to pull the boat and the camper you just bought, get a better job, work more overtime, spend less time with the kids… you get the picture.
At some point in the vicious cycle on that hamster wheel, you either decide to commit yourself entirely to its endless motion, or you get off. A lot of people decide to keep spinning. We decided to get off.
The first thing to go was Marcel’s job. He’d been miserable for quite awhile and found he had no desire to stay in the transportation industry, even if it meant more promotions and more money. He longed for the education he’d never gotten. We weren’t sure we could survive on one income and somehow be able to afford his tuition, but we decided to take a risk. If he arranged his classes around the kids’ schedules, we wouldn’t need a babysitter very often and our daycare bills would go down. The added bonus would be that our kids could spend a large majority of their time with their parents.
It wasn’t easy at first. We had to give up some of the luxuries of our lifestyle – less meals at restaurants, get rid of the cell phone, more second-hand clothes, less vacations, no more cable TV. But before long, we recognized the benefits were outweighing the costs. The kids were happier when they got to come home from school instead of going to daycare. We were spending more quality time as a family because we weren’t rushing around as much. We ate more wholesome food because we had more time to prepare meals rather than grabbing something quick after a long day at work.
The next step was my job. That was another big decision. I was offered a dream job at a non-profit organization, but we just weren’t sure I could take the pay cut it required, plus lose all the benefits of a fairly long career in the government. Once again, though, we decided the risk was worth the pain. We found more things to cut, and I took the leap. Again, the benefits far outweighed the costs. I was much happier, felt fulfilled in my new job, got great opportunities, and my whole family benefited when I came home at the end of the day with less stress and no “on-call” cell phone attached to my hip like an albatross.
These days, we’re facing more steps in our downsizing process. With the current cost of gas, and the consciousness that we are not doing the environment any favours by driving a big vehicle, we’ve decided to sell the van. We’re shopping for a car. Again, there will be costs. We’ll have less space to haul around our stuff, the kids will probably fight more because they’ll be stuck sitting next to each other in the back seat. And along with the van, we’ll also have to get rid of the “toys” we pull behind it. The big camper will give way to a small pop-up camper or tent. The boat will go.
Some people look at us funny these days. Alot of people, along the way, have told us we’re nuts. “You’re going back to school? But you’re almost FORTY!” “You’re quitting a good government job? Are you CRAZY?” “How in the world do you plan to live on only one income?” The kids have felt the pinch, too. Their friends get to have more cool toys, go on more exotic trips, live in bigger houses, have new clothes instead of hand-me-downs, get involved in more activities – it’s not easy to sit back and watch other people have all the fun, especially when you’re a kid.
Despite all of that, I don’t regret any of our decisions. In fact, now that we’ve taken a few major steps along the way, and I’ve seen the rewards, I actually look FORWARD to getting rid of the van, the camper, and the boat. I feel lighter already – like I’ve just thrust off a layer of winter clothes and can dance barefoot in the grass again.
There’s no way to define the value of all the things we’ve gained. I didn’t realize the stress of our old lifestyle until it was gone. Now, when I watch parents dropping off their kids at daycare, I feel a weight on my shoulders when I remember how much that used to hurt.
I notice it most when I come home from work. I come home happy because the stress of my old job is gone. Marcel is happy because he LOVES school and feels fulfilled like he never has before. The kids are happy because they’ve been home with their dad and haven’t spent the last few hours at daycare. Supper’s usually cooked because Marcel likes cooking and has more time for it now. It’s all good.
No, we can’t go to Australia for our vacation this year, like some of our daughters’ friends have. And no, we won’t be buying a bigger house, even though our little kitchen drives us all crazy. And no, we won’t be able to go out for supper this week, because it’s not in the budget. On top of that, there are many, many times when we're not sure we can stretch the dollar to the end of the pay period.
I have to tell you, though, life is good.
Whatever the case, these days I find myself more and more concerned with finding a better balance in my life – between the things I want and need, and between the things that really matter in life and the clutter that gets in the way. In the last few months, there have been a few reminders why this is important. My trip to Africa was a big one – it’s hard not to notice the huge difference between the way they live and the way I do. Only an un-caring person would walk away from that and not take some personal responsibility for their suffering.
But it really started long before I went to Africa and long before I got this job. A few years ago, Marcel and I took a step back, re-evaluated what was important in our lives, and decided to make some changes.
In a culture where great importance is placed on acquiring more things, we found ourselves getting caught on the same hamster wheel as everyone else. “Make more money to buy more things” the ads scream at you. Buy more things and then you need more money to maintain that lifestyle. Make even MORE money and start letting your things control your lifestyle. Get a bigger house, send the kids off to daycare, buy a bigger van to pull the boat and the camper you just bought, get a better job, work more overtime, spend less time with the kids… you get the picture.
At some point in the vicious cycle on that hamster wheel, you either decide to commit yourself entirely to its endless motion, or you get off. A lot of people decide to keep spinning. We decided to get off.
The first thing to go was Marcel’s job. He’d been miserable for quite awhile and found he had no desire to stay in the transportation industry, even if it meant more promotions and more money. He longed for the education he’d never gotten. We weren’t sure we could survive on one income and somehow be able to afford his tuition, but we decided to take a risk. If he arranged his classes around the kids’ schedules, we wouldn’t need a babysitter very often and our daycare bills would go down. The added bonus would be that our kids could spend a large majority of their time with their parents.
It wasn’t easy at first. We had to give up some of the luxuries of our lifestyle – less meals at restaurants, get rid of the cell phone, more second-hand clothes, less vacations, no more cable TV. But before long, we recognized the benefits were outweighing the costs. The kids were happier when they got to come home from school instead of going to daycare. We were spending more quality time as a family because we weren’t rushing around as much. We ate more wholesome food because we had more time to prepare meals rather than grabbing something quick after a long day at work.
The next step was my job. That was another big decision. I was offered a dream job at a non-profit organization, but we just weren’t sure I could take the pay cut it required, plus lose all the benefits of a fairly long career in the government. Once again, though, we decided the risk was worth the pain. We found more things to cut, and I took the leap. Again, the benefits far outweighed the costs. I was much happier, felt fulfilled in my new job, got great opportunities, and my whole family benefited when I came home at the end of the day with less stress and no “on-call” cell phone attached to my hip like an albatross.
These days, we’re facing more steps in our downsizing process. With the current cost of gas, and the consciousness that we are not doing the environment any favours by driving a big vehicle, we’ve decided to sell the van. We’re shopping for a car. Again, there will be costs. We’ll have less space to haul around our stuff, the kids will probably fight more because they’ll be stuck sitting next to each other in the back seat. And along with the van, we’ll also have to get rid of the “toys” we pull behind it. The big camper will give way to a small pop-up camper or tent. The boat will go.
Some people look at us funny these days. Alot of people, along the way, have told us we’re nuts. “You’re going back to school? But you’re almost FORTY!” “You’re quitting a good government job? Are you CRAZY?” “How in the world do you plan to live on only one income?” The kids have felt the pinch, too. Their friends get to have more cool toys, go on more exotic trips, live in bigger houses, have new clothes instead of hand-me-downs, get involved in more activities – it’s not easy to sit back and watch other people have all the fun, especially when you’re a kid.
Despite all of that, I don’t regret any of our decisions. In fact, now that we’ve taken a few major steps along the way, and I’ve seen the rewards, I actually look FORWARD to getting rid of the van, the camper, and the boat. I feel lighter already – like I’ve just thrust off a layer of winter clothes and can dance barefoot in the grass again.
There’s no way to define the value of all the things we’ve gained. I didn’t realize the stress of our old lifestyle until it was gone. Now, when I watch parents dropping off their kids at daycare, I feel a weight on my shoulders when I remember how much that used to hurt.
I notice it most when I come home from work. I come home happy because the stress of my old job is gone. Marcel is happy because he LOVES school and feels fulfilled like he never has before. The kids are happy because they’ve been home with their dad and haven’t spent the last few hours at daycare. Supper’s usually cooked because Marcel likes cooking and has more time for it now. It’s all good.
No, we can’t go to Australia for our vacation this year, like some of our daughters’ friends have. And no, we won’t be buying a bigger house, even though our little kitchen drives us all crazy. And no, we won’t be able to go out for supper this week, because it’s not in the budget. On top of that, there are many, many times when we're not sure we can stretch the dollar to the end of the pay period.
I have to tell you, though, life is good.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Refugee for a day
“Everyone – down on the floor!” That’s how it started. Several members of the “Manitoba Militia” burst into the high school's gymnasium proclaiming that they had come to take over the school and that if we wanted to escape with our lives, we would need to run for the refuge of the buses waiting outside.
Last Friday, I took part in an “In Exile” exercise. (Our organization, Canadian Foodgrains Bank, is one of the creators of the program.) Organizers had invited high school students from across the province to join them in the simulation exercise that provides students with an opportunity to experience what it’s like to be a refugee for a day. I was an honourary high school student for the day.
There was relative calm on the bus as we escaped our “country”, but when we arrived at Bird’s Hill Park, pandemonium broke loose once again. Guards burst onto the bus, demanding that we stay silent and keep our eyes to the front of the bus.
Each of us had been given a passport complete with an identity, a country, and a story. I was Balaputa from Indonesia, a 17 year old girl who’d had to flee with her family because of political unrest. There’d been bombing in my village, and my sister had been killed. Together with my fellow Indonesians, I was ordered off the bus and made to lie face down on the ground with my hands on my head. Anyone who moved was subjected to persecution from the guards. Some had to stand on one foot in the bush, and others had to do multiple push-ups.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity of watching the ants crawl past my face, we were told to get up. But the persecution wasn’t over yet. Partly for their own sport, and partly as an exercise in breaking our spirit, the guards put us through several nonsensical exercises. We moved picnic tables from one spot to another and then back again. We held the picnic tables above our heads until we felt our arms would collapse.
At long last, we escaped into the bush. In our walk to find safety we encountered exploding land mines, rebels who killed one of our people and took all our food and water, exploded body parts, injured people in need of assistance (do you help them and risk your own safety, or walk away and leave them destitute?), benevolent villagers offering us candy, temperamental border guards on power trips, more rebels who destroyed our passports and persecuted us further, and aid workers who spoke a language none of us understood.
Finally we arrived at camp. We thought it would represent safety, but there were still more surprises in store for us. First there were papers to fill out – if we could understand the language they were written in. Those of us who were sick or injured were sent to the medical tent for attention.
Then there was the long wait for food after hours spent wandering through the bush. Throughout the long wait, we had to put up with more intimidation by the power-hungry guards. Just when it appeared that the food would be served, rebels burst into the camp and stole it out from under our eyes. The cook was shot and injured trying to protect the food. The food was finally recovered by enterprising refugees who collected all the earthly goods they could find in the camp and bartered with the rebels.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted and sore. My head ached and my muscles screamed for relief. It’s not easy being a refugee – even for a day.
More than anything, what I took away from Friday’s exercise was a glimpse into what it feels like to have your power taken away from you. Though we don’t recognize it in our daily existence, we have a considerable amount of control over what happens to us. Generally, if someone mistreats us, we can choose to challenge the person or walk away. It doesn’t work that way when someone has a gun pointed at your head. Suddenly, your choices become limited – either do ten push-ups or risk getting shot or tortured.
What I couldn’t help but wonder when I left camp was what kind of a person I would turn into if I were subjected to that kind of treatment on a long term basis. Would I retain any of my self-confidence? Would I have the courage to keep going? When I arrived in a new country, would I be able to trust people who were trying to help me? Would I believe in myself enough to start a new life? Would I feel I had the right to “get even” by mistreating other people? I’m not sure how I would respond. I certainly have a new perspective after this experience and I hope I will treat people with a new respect and empathy – not only refugees, but victims of abuse, persecution, oppression, etc.
Last Friday, I took part in an “In Exile” exercise. (Our organization, Canadian Foodgrains Bank, is one of the creators of the program.) Organizers had invited high school students from across the province to join them in the simulation exercise that provides students with an opportunity to experience what it’s like to be a refugee for a day. I was an honourary high school student for the day.
There was relative calm on the bus as we escaped our “country”, but when we arrived at Bird’s Hill Park, pandemonium broke loose once again. Guards burst onto the bus, demanding that we stay silent and keep our eyes to the front of the bus.
Each of us had been given a passport complete with an identity, a country, and a story. I was Balaputa from Indonesia, a 17 year old girl who’d had to flee with her family because of political unrest. There’d been bombing in my village, and my sister had been killed. Together with my fellow Indonesians, I was ordered off the bus and made to lie face down on the ground with my hands on my head. Anyone who moved was subjected to persecution from the guards. Some had to stand on one foot in the bush, and others had to do multiple push-ups.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity of watching the ants crawl past my face, we were told to get up. But the persecution wasn’t over yet. Partly for their own sport, and partly as an exercise in breaking our spirit, the guards put us through several nonsensical exercises. We moved picnic tables from one spot to another and then back again. We held the picnic tables above our heads until we felt our arms would collapse.
At long last, we escaped into the bush. In our walk to find safety we encountered exploding land mines, rebels who killed one of our people and took all our food and water, exploded body parts, injured people in need of assistance (do you help them and risk your own safety, or walk away and leave them destitute?), benevolent villagers offering us candy, temperamental border guards on power trips, more rebels who destroyed our passports and persecuted us further, and aid workers who spoke a language none of us understood.
Finally we arrived at camp. We thought it would represent safety, but there were still more surprises in store for us. First there were papers to fill out – if we could understand the language they were written in. Those of us who were sick or injured were sent to the medical tent for attention.
Then there was the long wait for food after hours spent wandering through the bush. Throughout the long wait, we had to put up with more intimidation by the power-hungry guards. Just when it appeared that the food would be served, rebels burst into the camp and stole it out from under our eyes. The cook was shot and injured trying to protect the food. The food was finally recovered by enterprising refugees who collected all the earthly goods they could find in the camp and bartered with the rebels.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted and sore. My head ached and my muscles screamed for relief. It’s not easy being a refugee – even for a day.
More than anything, what I took away from Friday’s exercise was a glimpse into what it feels like to have your power taken away from you. Though we don’t recognize it in our daily existence, we have a considerable amount of control over what happens to us. Generally, if someone mistreats us, we can choose to challenge the person or walk away. It doesn’t work that way when someone has a gun pointed at your head. Suddenly, your choices become limited – either do ten push-ups or risk getting shot or tortured.
What I couldn’t help but wonder when I left camp was what kind of a person I would turn into if I were subjected to that kind of treatment on a long term basis. Would I retain any of my self-confidence? Would I have the courage to keep going? When I arrived in a new country, would I be able to trust people who were trying to help me? Would I believe in myself enough to start a new life? Would I feel I had the right to “get even” by mistreating other people? I’m not sure how I would respond. I certainly have a new perspective after this experience and I hope I will treat people with a new respect and empathy – not only refugees, but victims of abuse, persecution, oppression, etc.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
A few words a mother loves to hear...
Well, perhaps not EVERY mother cares about these words, but I sure do...
"Mom, I'm on page 85 already"
"Mom, do I HAVE to turn out the light? I just want to finish this chapter."
"Mom, can we go to the library soon? I don't have any more books to read."
"Maddie, do you want me to read that story for you?"
Yes, I'm proud to say, my oldest daughters have become book lovers. (The youngest seems to be as well, but so far her books have to be read to her by an older person :-) Nikki is on her third book of the Lemony Snikket series, and Julie is on book 4 of the Harry Potter series. Yay! (It's even BETTER that they seem to have graduated past the Olsen twins and Hillary Duff books.)
If there was one thing I wanted for my kids (and yes, I admit there are others, but this one is important!) it was that they would learn a love for books. One never knows whether that will happen or not - it's not something you can force. But it seems to be happening, and I am delighted.
Last night, as we lay in my bed reading together, I said to Julie "some day soon, you can start borrowing MY books." And she said "Yeah, and you can borrow MINE."
This I vow - that I will always make sure that they have enough books at their disposal to broaden their minds and expand their worldviews. Madeleine L'Engle said you shouldn't limit what your kids read - if they want to start reading "adult" books that seem too complex for them, let them. If they have trouble with them, they'll either set them aside until they're ready for them, or, if they know they can, come to you to help them understand. She said she had a full library of "adult" books at her disposal from a very early age and has been forever grateful that she could read any of them that she wanted - it helped encourage her love for books and her inquisitive mind. (Note: of course I'm not referring to "adult" as in the misused context of "adult" entertainment - I'm just talking about books with complex subject matter that seem beyond a child's grasp. I don't have any of the OTHER kind in my house :-)
Julie asked what my favourite book was. I hummed and hawed for awhile and said "well, right now I guess I'd say 'Traveling Mercies'." Yes, when she asks for it, I'll let her borrow it.
"Mom, I'm on page 85 already"
"Mom, do I HAVE to turn out the light? I just want to finish this chapter."
"Mom, can we go to the library soon? I don't have any more books to read."
"Maddie, do you want me to read that story for you?"
Yes, I'm proud to say, my oldest daughters have become book lovers. (The youngest seems to be as well, but so far her books have to be read to her by an older person :-) Nikki is on her third book of the Lemony Snikket series, and Julie is on book 4 of the Harry Potter series. Yay! (It's even BETTER that they seem to have graduated past the Olsen twins and Hillary Duff books.)
If there was one thing I wanted for my kids (and yes, I admit there are others, but this one is important!) it was that they would learn a love for books. One never knows whether that will happen or not - it's not something you can force. But it seems to be happening, and I am delighted.
Last night, as we lay in my bed reading together, I said to Julie "some day soon, you can start borrowing MY books." And she said "Yeah, and you can borrow MINE."
This I vow - that I will always make sure that they have enough books at their disposal to broaden their minds and expand their worldviews. Madeleine L'Engle said you shouldn't limit what your kids read - if they want to start reading "adult" books that seem too complex for them, let them. If they have trouble with them, they'll either set them aside until they're ready for them, or, if they know they can, come to you to help them understand. She said she had a full library of "adult" books at her disposal from a very early age and has been forever grateful that she could read any of them that she wanted - it helped encourage her love for books and her inquisitive mind. (Note: of course I'm not referring to "adult" as in the misused context of "adult" entertainment - I'm just talking about books with complex subject matter that seem beyond a child's grasp. I don't have any of the OTHER kind in my house :-)
Julie asked what my favourite book was. I hummed and hawed for awhile and said "well, right now I guess I'd say 'Traveling Mercies'." Yes, when she asks for it, I'll let her borrow it.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
The circus
I took Julie and Maddie to the circus last night (Nikki and Daddy went on a date elsewhere – they’re too COOL for the circus). Here are my thoughts on it:
- I loved it! I felt like a kid again, watching in awe as the trapeze artist swung from the rafters, the animal trainers led their horses, dogs and elephants through their paces, the jugglers wowed us with their tricks, and that AWESOME act where the two men juggled women on their FEET! Oh, and let’s not forget the “globe of death” where 7 motorcyclists rode around the inside of a big globe. Yikes! I was on the edge of my seat!
- WHY do the Shriners insist on having a long, drawn-out official entry of all their dignitaries, their pipe band, their mini-cars and motorcycle cavalcades, etc. before the action starts? We came (and paid generously, I might add, despite the “free” tickets they gave us to suck us in) to see the CIRCUS, not a bunch of old men in tassled hats! It’s hard enough to get a three year old to sit still when there’s something INTERESTING to watch!
- Do they REALLY need to soak us for every single dollar we’ve got? And can they QUIT waving all those flashing wands, inflatable toys, cotton candy, popcorn, etc. in front of my kids’ eyes? Do they REALLY think I want to hear “Mommy, can I have that $12 piece-of-crap flashing wand or that frightfully overpriced cotton candy? Please, please!” for the umpteenth time?? (okay, so some of that was what I was hearing, not what they were saying)
- COME ON! Is a 2 minute elephant ride around the ring REALLY worth $10? Yeah, there are lots of pushover parents who’ve got cash to burn who are WILLING to pay that kind of money for junior to sit on a stinky elephant, but what about those of us on a budget? Can’t you have a little sympathy on us and understand how hard it is to say “no” over and over again to our kids who want some of the chances all those OTHER kids are getting?
- Okay, the ticket says the show is starting at 7:45, so can you please START AT SEVEN FORTY FIVE? Some of us have kids to put to bed and we don’t really appreciate you starting at 8:00, only to make us sit through twenty minutes of Shriners parading around the arena before the action starts.
- And speaking of time – yeah, I understand that you want to make as much money you can, and sucker as many parents as possible into paying for those $10 elephant rides and another ridiculous price to get their kids' pictures taken with scary snakes, but is a forty five minute intermission REALLY necessary? Again, SOME of us want to get our kids to bed BEFORE 11:30 so we don’t have to put up with cranky kids in the morning.
- Next time Maddie says she has to pee only 15 minutes after the last time I took her to the washroom, somebody smack me if I say “Maybe you can wait a little longer. You just went pee a few minutes ago.” To all those people sitting around me last night, I sincerely apologize for stripping her naked right there in our seats, but it just seemed a whole lot easier than pushing past all those increasingly impatient people in my row.
- Ah, but despite all that other stuff, THANK YOU Shriners for giving me an enjoyable evening with my two youngest daughters. Thank you for that look of delight on Julie’s face when she watched that man hang upside-down on his motorcycle on a very high tight rope. Thank you for Maddie’s giggles when she watched the dogs go down the slide. Thank you for the look of delight on MY face when yet another suicidal motorcyclist entered the globe of death. And thank you for the appreciative little hug Julie gave me as we walked back to the van.
- I loved it! I felt like a kid again, watching in awe as the trapeze artist swung from the rafters, the animal trainers led their horses, dogs and elephants through their paces, the jugglers wowed us with their tricks, and that AWESOME act where the two men juggled women on their FEET! Oh, and let’s not forget the “globe of death” where 7 motorcyclists rode around the inside of a big globe. Yikes! I was on the edge of my seat!
- WHY do the Shriners insist on having a long, drawn-out official entry of all their dignitaries, their pipe band, their mini-cars and motorcycle cavalcades, etc. before the action starts? We came (and paid generously, I might add, despite the “free” tickets they gave us to suck us in) to see the CIRCUS, not a bunch of old men in tassled hats! It’s hard enough to get a three year old to sit still when there’s something INTERESTING to watch!
- Do they REALLY need to soak us for every single dollar we’ve got? And can they QUIT waving all those flashing wands, inflatable toys, cotton candy, popcorn, etc. in front of my kids’ eyes? Do they REALLY think I want to hear “Mommy, can I have that $12 piece-of-crap flashing wand or that frightfully overpriced cotton candy? Please, please!” for the umpteenth time?? (okay, so some of that was what I was hearing, not what they were saying)
- COME ON! Is a 2 minute elephant ride around the ring REALLY worth $10? Yeah, there are lots of pushover parents who’ve got cash to burn who are WILLING to pay that kind of money for junior to sit on a stinky elephant, but what about those of us on a budget? Can’t you have a little sympathy on us and understand how hard it is to say “no” over and over again to our kids who want some of the chances all those OTHER kids are getting?
- Okay, the ticket says the show is starting at 7:45, so can you please START AT SEVEN FORTY FIVE? Some of us have kids to put to bed and we don’t really appreciate you starting at 8:00, only to make us sit through twenty minutes of Shriners parading around the arena before the action starts.
- And speaking of time – yeah, I understand that you want to make as much money you can, and sucker as many parents as possible into paying for those $10 elephant rides and another ridiculous price to get their kids' pictures taken with scary snakes, but is a forty five minute intermission REALLY necessary? Again, SOME of us want to get our kids to bed BEFORE 11:30 so we don’t have to put up with cranky kids in the morning.
- Next time Maddie says she has to pee only 15 minutes after the last time I took her to the washroom, somebody smack me if I say “Maybe you can wait a little longer. You just went pee a few minutes ago.” To all those people sitting around me last night, I sincerely apologize for stripping her naked right there in our seats, but it just seemed a whole lot easier than pushing past all those increasingly impatient people in my row.
- Ah, but despite all that other stuff, THANK YOU Shriners for giving me an enjoyable evening with my two youngest daughters. Thank you for that look of delight on Julie’s face when she watched that man hang upside-down on his motorcycle on a very high tight rope. Thank you for Maddie’s giggles when she watched the dogs go down the slide. Thank you for the look of delight on MY face when yet another suicidal motorcyclist entered the globe of death. And thank you for the appreciative little hug Julie gave me as we walked back to the van.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Wedding bells are ringin' in the chapel
My mom changed her name for the first time this weekend. She had the same last name as my dad, so when they got married, she didn’t need to change. Now, at 67, she finally got her long-time wish – a new name.
I’m not sure what to say about the wedding. It was lovely, mom looked beautiful, the tulips we placed on the tables were cheerful and colourful, lots of mom’s friends were there, the music was nice, the food was good. It was all those things. But more than anything, what I want to say is… it hurt more than I expected.
It’s hard to know how to feel when you see your mom marry someone you barely know. Some people try to tell you how you should feel… “oh, you must be SO excited for your mom” or “how LUCKY your mom is to find someone again” or “it must make you feel good to see your mom so happy again.” Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps that’s the way I SHOULD feel.
Other people – well-meaning people, I suppose – see you fighting tears and think they have a right to imagine what you’re feeling… “So how do you feel today?” or “It must be a little hard to see her with another man” or “I understand what you’re going through.” Some of them have a right to ask – those who love me and know my heart, and those who are hurting too because they know this will change things for them too. Auntie Cecile, Auntie Cathy – those people have a right to ask. And they ask in the right spirit. The other people who hardly know me – well, I try to put on a brave face and say “I’m sure she’ll be happy and that’s what counts.” They don’t need to see the jagged pain that reaches back to my father’s death. They don’t have access to the dark places in my heart.
How do I feel? I feel betrayed when I see her kiss a man who’s not my father. I feel worried when I think her life will change and I will be less a part of it. I feel a little jealous when I see her hold his grandchildren on her lap. I feel sad when I think that this man is 9 years older than her and will probably not be able to keep up with her youth and vigour. I feel concerned when I see her single friends who think they’ve lost a piece of her. I feel angry that she couldn’t have spent the rest of her life with my father.
And yet, I have to try to hang on to those other, more positive things I feel. She looks happy. I like to see her happy. She doesn’t look lonely anymore. She’s got a new spring in her step. That’s all good. She’s looking forward to companionship, travel, bike rides, laughter… I hope she gets all those things and more. I hope he still has a lot of youth in him and that he gives her energy instead of taking it away. I hope he makes her laugh. I hope they’re happy. I hope she doesn’t forget what all the other people in her life mean to her.
Post Script: I don't know why I named this blog the way I did. I shouldn't have, but I can't help myself. I can't type those words without hearing my Dad singing the song - one of many he'd sing with a twang and with relish. It doesn't make it much easier to bring Dad into this picture, but you can't always change what's going on in your heart.
I’m not sure what to say about the wedding. It was lovely, mom looked beautiful, the tulips we placed on the tables were cheerful and colourful, lots of mom’s friends were there, the music was nice, the food was good. It was all those things. But more than anything, what I want to say is… it hurt more than I expected.
It’s hard to know how to feel when you see your mom marry someone you barely know. Some people try to tell you how you should feel… “oh, you must be SO excited for your mom” or “how LUCKY your mom is to find someone again” or “it must make you feel good to see your mom so happy again.” Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps that’s the way I SHOULD feel.
Other people – well-meaning people, I suppose – see you fighting tears and think they have a right to imagine what you’re feeling… “So how do you feel today?” or “It must be a little hard to see her with another man” or “I understand what you’re going through.” Some of them have a right to ask – those who love me and know my heart, and those who are hurting too because they know this will change things for them too. Auntie Cecile, Auntie Cathy – those people have a right to ask. And they ask in the right spirit. The other people who hardly know me – well, I try to put on a brave face and say “I’m sure she’ll be happy and that’s what counts.” They don’t need to see the jagged pain that reaches back to my father’s death. They don’t have access to the dark places in my heart.
How do I feel? I feel betrayed when I see her kiss a man who’s not my father. I feel worried when I think her life will change and I will be less a part of it. I feel a little jealous when I see her hold his grandchildren on her lap. I feel sad when I think that this man is 9 years older than her and will probably not be able to keep up with her youth and vigour. I feel concerned when I see her single friends who think they’ve lost a piece of her. I feel angry that she couldn’t have spent the rest of her life with my father.
And yet, I have to try to hang on to those other, more positive things I feel. She looks happy. I like to see her happy. She doesn’t look lonely anymore. She’s got a new spring in her step. That’s all good. She’s looking forward to companionship, travel, bike rides, laughter… I hope she gets all those things and more. I hope he still has a lot of youth in him and that he gives her energy instead of taking it away. I hope he makes her laugh. I hope they’re happy. I hope she doesn’t forget what all the other people in her life mean to her.
Post Script: I don't know why I named this blog the way I did. I shouldn't have, but I can't help myself. I can't type those words without hearing my Dad singing the song - one of many he'd sing with a twang and with relish. It doesn't make it much easier to bring Dad into this picture, but you can't always change what's going on in your heart.
Friday, April 29, 2005
She's got a new one!
Just when I thought Maddie was getting all grown up and leaving her baby talk behind, she handed me a little gift... instead of saying "not very much" she says "not quite a bit". Like when I asked if she wanted to go to the babysitter's today, she turned up her little nose and said "not quite a bit."
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Hangin' with Maddie
I'm off work today 'cause Marcel's in the hospital with hernia surgery and because I had to transport him back and forth, and someone has to stay with Maddie, it seemed easier to take a couple of days off than make arrangements for someone else to do all those things.
Maddie and I have had a delightful day so far. We started out cuddling on the couch while she gave me a running commentary of all of her favourite TV shows. It was nice to know what she was talking about this time - she frequently gives me commentaries when I get home from work but because I'm never home with her, I have NO CLUE what she's talking about. A typical commentary might sound like "you know that guy who had a hat on and he said 'put your hands up in the air?' and then he climbed over the fence? you know that guy?" And I either pretend I DO know that guy to simplify the conversation, or I admit that I don't and she tries, in even more detail, to get me to "remember".
After the TV shows, we made peanut butter cookies. Now here's a STUPIDLY simple peanut butter cookie recipe for all you Mom's out there who have kids who dig peanut butter (it's Maddie's favourite food). Here it is... don't blink 'cause you might miss it...
1 cup peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg
That's it! Ya just mix it up, roll the balls, and do the fancy criss-cross thing with a fork (like everyone knows you HAVE to have on peanut butter cookies) and then you bake them for 10 minutes. For all you lazy cooks, believe me, you can't get much more simple than that! They look just like ordinary peanut butter cookies. They taste like them too, but have a slightly different texture and are a little sweeter. Maddie and I have enjoyed quite a fewof them by now! (Apparently it's called "I can't believe it's a cookie")
Maddie's cookies were rather worm-like. She called them "peanut butter carrots". The perfectionist in me was tempted to reshape them the "proper" way, but than the laid-back mom in me said "don't be silly!" The heat of the oven distorted them into peanut butter blobs, but she was quite fond of them none-the-less.
Maddie and I have had a delightful day so far. We started out cuddling on the couch while she gave me a running commentary of all of her favourite TV shows. It was nice to know what she was talking about this time - she frequently gives me commentaries when I get home from work but because I'm never home with her, I have NO CLUE what she's talking about. A typical commentary might sound like "you know that guy who had a hat on and he said 'put your hands up in the air?' and then he climbed over the fence? you know that guy?" And I either pretend I DO know that guy to simplify the conversation, or I admit that I don't and she tries, in even more detail, to get me to "remember".
After the TV shows, we made peanut butter cookies. Now here's a STUPIDLY simple peanut butter cookie recipe for all you Mom's out there who have kids who dig peanut butter (it's Maddie's favourite food). Here it is... don't blink 'cause you might miss it...
1 cup peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg
That's it! Ya just mix it up, roll the balls, and do the fancy criss-cross thing with a fork (like everyone knows you HAVE to have on peanut butter cookies) and then you bake them for 10 minutes. For all you lazy cooks, believe me, you can't get much more simple than that! They look just like ordinary peanut butter cookies. They taste like them too, but have a slightly different texture and are a little sweeter. Maddie and I have enjoyed quite a fewof them by now! (Apparently it's called "I can't believe it's a cookie")
Maddie's cookies were rather worm-like. She called them "peanut butter carrots". The perfectionist in me was tempted to reshape them the "proper" way, but than the laid-back mom in me said "don't be silly!" The heat of the oven distorted them into peanut butter blobs, but she was quite fond of them none-the-less.
It's bound to happen
And then one day
"yub-yub" or "pla-ba" becomes "peanut butter"
"PT" becomes "TV"
"spa-ba-dee-dee" becomes "Sponge Bob Square Pants" (yeah, I know, go figure!)
"Ju-ju" becomes "Julie"
"kee-kee-kie" becomes "Lizzy McQuire" (she's got older sisters!)
And somewhere along the line you realize your three year old is growing up. You expect it, even welcome it, with the first two. But with the third and last, for some reason, you just want to hang onto it a little longer.
But then today when she heard the radio announcer say "House of Commons" she said "House of GUM? How could anybody do THAT?" So all is not lost :-)
"yub-yub" or "pla-ba" becomes "peanut butter"
"PT" becomes "TV"
"spa-ba-dee-dee" becomes "Sponge Bob Square Pants" (yeah, I know, go figure!)
"Ju-ju" becomes "Julie"
"kee-kee-kie" becomes "Lizzy McQuire" (she's got older sisters!)
And somewhere along the line you realize your three year old is growing up. You expect it, even welcome it, with the first two. But with the third and last, for some reason, you just want to hang onto it a little longer.
But then today when she heard the radio announcer say "House of Commons" she said "House of GUM? How could anybody do THAT?" So all is not lost :-)
Friday, April 22, 2005
Meet me on the journey
I’ve been thinking lately about the things in life that shape us – those events along the journey that mold us into what we become.
In the span of the last 2 weeks, I’ve visited several blogs that have sent me back in my memory to significant “life-shaping” moments. First it was a blog of someone who’d lost a parent in the last 2 years. I could relate to that one – I lost my Dad less than 2 years ago. Then it was a blog of someone whose friend was dealing with her husband’s suicide attempt. I could relate to that one too. Nearly 10 years ago, when I was pregnant with our first child, Marcel went through a really rough time and thought I’d be better off without him. Thankfully he survived the attempt. And then, within the last week, I visited the heart-wrenching blog of someone who’d lost a baby. Once again – I could relate. My son Matthew was born dead a few years ago. I haven’t found a blog of someone who’s been raped, but if I did, I could relate there too.
Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been given more than my fair share of pain. But, haven’t we all? There are so many kinds of pain…in my family alone we’ve had to deal with infertility, loneliness, depression, cancer, death, failed adoption, mental handicap, unemployment, divorce, near bankruptcy…and the list could go on and on. There is pain everywhere and everyone gets a piece of it. Yours might not be the obvious kind – linked to a significant event or cause – but it’s pain nonetheless.
Despite all of these things that have happened to me, I don’t think I would change my life if I had the option. Yes, these events have been devastating and painful, but they all contribute to who I am. They’re like the deep black strokes on a painting. The picture wouldn’t be complete without them. I am who I am because I’ve lived through pain. The people who’ve come and gone in my life – even my son who never breathed – have changed me and molded me. I wouldn’t want it otherwise.
I had a meeting with Steve Bell yesterday (a local singer-songwriter). He’s going to work with us on some projects, and suggested we use his song “Deep Calls to Deep” for an audio-visual presentation we’re creating. The name of the song has been in my head since then. Deep Calls to Deep. I think the deepness in my pain calls to the deepness in yours, and that’s what builds friendships and community and trust. I think without the pain, our relationships wouldn’t be the rich tapestries they are.
Another Steve Bell song helped me get through the stillbirth of my son. It’s called Faith’s Song and it’s about his sister losing a baby. It gave me comfort to hear the story of someone else who’d lived through my pain. It felt like a lifeline reaching out to me in the storm.
That’s what we have to do with our pain – use it to build hope. That’s how we redeem those gut-wrenching, agonizing moments. Turn them into something meaningful, not only for us, but for those we touch along the way.
Shared pain lifts us up and gets us through the darkness.
In the span of the last 2 weeks, I’ve visited several blogs that have sent me back in my memory to significant “life-shaping” moments. First it was a blog of someone who’d lost a parent in the last 2 years. I could relate to that one – I lost my Dad less than 2 years ago. Then it was a blog of someone whose friend was dealing with her husband’s suicide attempt. I could relate to that one too. Nearly 10 years ago, when I was pregnant with our first child, Marcel went through a really rough time and thought I’d be better off without him. Thankfully he survived the attempt. And then, within the last week, I visited the heart-wrenching blog of someone who’d lost a baby. Once again – I could relate. My son Matthew was born dead a few years ago. I haven’t found a blog of someone who’s been raped, but if I did, I could relate there too.
Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been given more than my fair share of pain. But, haven’t we all? There are so many kinds of pain…in my family alone we’ve had to deal with infertility, loneliness, depression, cancer, death, failed adoption, mental handicap, unemployment, divorce, near bankruptcy…and the list could go on and on. There is pain everywhere and everyone gets a piece of it. Yours might not be the obvious kind – linked to a significant event or cause – but it’s pain nonetheless.
Despite all of these things that have happened to me, I don’t think I would change my life if I had the option. Yes, these events have been devastating and painful, but they all contribute to who I am. They’re like the deep black strokes on a painting. The picture wouldn’t be complete without them. I am who I am because I’ve lived through pain. The people who’ve come and gone in my life – even my son who never breathed – have changed me and molded me. I wouldn’t want it otherwise.
I had a meeting with Steve Bell yesterday (a local singer-songwriter). He’s going to work with us on some projects, and suggested we use his song “Deep Calls to Deep” for an audio-visual presentation we’re creating. The name of the song has been in my head since then. Deep Calls to Deep. I think the deepness in my pain calls to the deepness in yours, and that’s what builds friendships and community and trust. I think without the pain, our relationships wouldn’t be the rich tapestries they are.
Another Steve Bell song helped me get through the stillbirth of my son. It’s called Faith’s Song and it’s about his sister losing a baby. It gave me comfort to hear the story of someone else who’d lived through my pain. It felt like a lifeline reaching out to me in the storm.
That’s what we have to do with our pain – use it to build hope. That’s how we redeem those gut-wrenching, agonizing moments. Turn them into something meaningful, not only for us, but for those we touch along the way.
Shared pain lifts us up and gets us through the darkness.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Maddie-ism
We were curled up in bed together last night, and after I'd already read 2 books to her, she wanted more. "No," I said, "it's time to go to sleep." She looked earnestly at her bare wrist and said "Mom, on my watch it says it's time to read a book!"
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Sunday afternoon delight
Sometimes uninvited memories sneak into your conscious mind, and you either chuckle or cry, depending on the impact the event had on your life. The one that snuck into mine the other day was of the chuckle variety. I have no idea why it showed up, but it is
a) one of my most embarrassing moments
b) one of my favourite stories
In my former role as a communications director in the federal government, I often had the (sometimes dubious) pleasure of escorting dignitaries around my corner of the world. On this particular Sunday afternoon, I was driving a former Member of Parliament back to the city after attending a veterans’ convention with him.
We were about to drive past my parents’ farm, and so I innocently said “Do you mind if we pop in at my Mom and Dad’s for a bit? I have to pee (yes, I’d already reached a reasonable comfort level with this particular MP and could talk about my bodily functions), and besides, my Dad would get a kick out of having an MP in his house.” He said “no problem”, and so I pulled into the driveway, delightedly oblivious to what I was about to witness.
Mom and Dad lived in a big old 2 storey farm house at the time. I knocked first (because I had a guest) but when no one answered, I stepped inside and yelled “Hello?” Still no answer. Assuming that no one was home, I suggested to the MP that he wait downstairs, while I ran upstairs to relieve myself.
Halfway up the stairs, I heard Mom’s voice from the bedroom “Is somebody there?” Still suspecting nothing, I bounded into her room to say hello. Nothing about this seemed out of the ordinary – Mom often had mid-afternoon naps on lazy Sunday afternoons. What I WASN’T prepared for was the fact that she wasn’t in there alone!
Peeking out from under the covers was my Dad, and frantically scrambling to dress herself in the closet was my Mom. This was no afternoon nap! By the twinkle in my Dad’s eyes, I could see that there was something else ENTIRELY going on in here, and my spontaneous visit had thrown a major kink into their SUNDAY AFTERNOON DELIGHT!
Just when you think all the kids have left home and it’s SAFE to sneak upstairs to “tear off a piece” on a Sunday afternoon, they start popping in unexpected! And not only do they show up, but they bring along a MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT to increase the embarrassment factor.
I laughed so hard all the way down the stairs, I thought I’d pee myself. And when I got to the front door, I found the MP doubled up on the front lawn, laughing as hard as I was. He’d quickly figured out what was going on and decided it was better for him to wait outside.
I saw that MP several times after that, and he always commented on that Sunday afternoon adventure. He said it had inspired him – that he wanted to have just as much fun as my Mom and Dad when he was in his 60s.
Needless to say, I rubbed it in a bit with my Mom and Dad. I told them to start watching TV when the House of Commons was in session to see if there were any MPs in the back giggling. ‘Cause if there were, I said, they were probably telling each other the story of the farm couple having a Sunday afternoon romp in the hay!
Note: for those of you who think the reappearance of this memory has ANYTHING to do with the fact that my Mom is getting re-married in a couple of weeks, you can check your psychoanalysis at the door!
a) one of my most embarrassing moments
b) one of my favourite stories
In my former role as a communications director in the federal government, I often had the (sometimes dubious) pleasure of escorting dignitaries around my corner of the world. On this particular Sunday afternoon, I was driving a former Member of Parliament back to the city after attending a veterans’ convention with him.
We were about to drive past my parents’ farm, and so I innocently said “Do you mind if we pop in at my Mom and Dad’s for a bit? I have to pee (yes, I’d already reached a reasonable comfort level with this particular MP and could talk about my bodily functions), and besides, my Dad would get a kick out of having an MP in his house.” He said “no problem”, and so I pulled into the driveway, delightedly oblivious to what I was about to witness.
Mom and Dad lived in a big old 2 storey farm house at the time. I knocked first (because I had a guest) but when no one answered, I stepped inside and yelled “Hello?” Still no answer. Assuming that no one was home, I suggested to the MP that he wait downstairs, while I ran upstairs to relieve myself.
Halfway up the stairs, I heard Mom’s voice from the bedroom “Is somebody there?” Still suspecting nothing, I bounded into her room to say hello. Nothing about this seemed out of the ordinary – Mom often had mid-afternoon naps on lazy Sunday afternoons. What I WASN’T prepared for was the fact that she wasn’t in there alone!
Peeking out from under the covers was my Dad, and frantically scrambling to dress herself in the closet was my Mom. This was no afternoon nap! By the twinkle in my Dad’s eyes, I could see that there was something else ENTIRELY going on in here, and my spontaneous visit had thrown a major kink into their SUNDAY AFTERNOON DELIGHT!
Just when you think all the kids have left home and it’s SAFE to sneak upstairs to “tear off a piece” on a Sunday afternoon, they start popping in unexpected! And not only do they show up, but they bring along a MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT to increase the embarrassment factor.
I laughed so hard all the way down the stairs, I thought I’d pee myself. And when I got to the front door, I found the MP doubled up on the front lawn, laughing as hard as I was. He’d quickly figured out what was going on and decided it was better for him to wait outside.
I saw that MP several times after that, and he always commented on that Sunday afternoon adventure. He said it had inspired him – that he wanted to have just as much fun as my Mom and Dad when he was in his 60s.
Needless to say, I rubbed it in a bit with my Mom and Dad. I told them to start watching TV when the House of Commons was in session to see if there were any MPs in the back giggling. ‘Cause if there were, I said, they were probably telling each other the story of the farm couple having a Sunday afternoon romp in the hay!
Note: for those of you who think the reappearance of this memory has ANYTHING to do with the fact that my Mom is getting re-married in a couple of weeks, you can check your psychoanalysis at the door!
Saturday, April 16, 2005
My turn for the Book Stick
Gina passed me the stick, and I've finally gotten around to doing it. Here it is...
You’re stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?
Hmmm… not sure how to answer this question, because I haven’t read Fahrenheit 451 (though I know a bit about the premise). Would it be better to be a “fluff” book, so that you were no threat to society and wouldn’t get burned as quickly, or a more “meaty” book that might help you change society so that books no longer get burned? If it’s the first, I might choose one of the disgustingly fluffy Hillary Duff books my daughters have on their shelves (thankfully, they’re finally growing tired of them!) If it’s the second, then I might choose the Bible, with the hopes that it might inspire someone to take a risk and stop the burning.
Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Yeah, but sadly, I have a fairly short memory for books, so I don’t remember the characters very long after I’ve read the book. I remember a bit of a crush after reading Little Women… one of the young men who stole the heart of one of the sisters (if only I could remember who). But, truthfully, one of my favourites would have to mirror Gina’s fave - Sir Percy Blakeney from The Scarlet Pimpernel. Ooohhh… he had that little bit of “danger” that’s just so sexy!
Longest lasting crush?
Like I said before, my memory’s pretty short, so the crushes lasted about as long as the period of time before I started my next book. But Sir Percy probably rates, ‘cause I still get a little tingly when I think of his daring spy missions :-)
The last book you bought is:
If you saw my post from April 8, you’ll have your first clue. I bought Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. Her book Travelling Mercies is my favourite book of all time, so I couldn’t resist buying the follow-up. After a tough day, I treated myself to a new book. Hey – when it comes to indulging, it was better than turning to alcohol or food!
The last book you finished:
Same as above – Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. It didn’t take me long to finish, ‘cause I devour Anne Lamott like expensive chocolate. I finished it on the plane on the way to Toronto earlier this week. It wasn’t quite as good as Travelling Mercies, but still DEFINITELY worth the read (with just a bit too much Bush-bashing). I have found no one who can write about her faith journey, her life as a mother, her relationship, etc., with such honesty, humour, and brilliant inspiration. I laughed, I cried…oh, you get the picture.
What are you currently reading?
The Different Drum: Community Making and Peace by Scott Peck. I started reading this book in Africa in February. It had been recommended by a couple of friends, because I was going to be travelling with a group of 12 people for 3 weeks, and they thought it would be interesting to read about community making in the context of a unique community experience (2 weeks in a bus with 12 people is certainly an interesting way to learn about community!) I’ve been enjoying the book quite a bit, but I took a break from it after Africa, because when I came home to my family, I didn’t really feel like focussing on community for awhile. I brought it along to Toronto this week because I was pretty sure I’d finish Plan B and needed something else to read. It’s a great book. Scott Peck is brilliant.
Five books you would take to a deserted island:
This is a tough one. I couldn’t decide whether to take “old faithfuls” because they were comfortable and familiar, or new ones that I hadn’t read yet because I wanted to be inspired. I chose a combination…
Travelling Mercies by Anne Lamott – As I said before, this is my favourite book and I wouldn’t want to be without it. It gives me hope when I’m feeling hopeless, and makes me feel human when I’m at risk of losing touch with my humanity.
The Bible – I often wish I were more faithful at reading the Bible. I get tired of it sometimes, and other times it frustrates me, so it gets ignored. But there are still so many things I love about it, and enough things that challenge me and keep me wanting to learn more, that I wouldn’t want to leave it behind. One of the things I admire most about Jesus is that he is a master communicator – he tells great stories and knows how to get people’s attention. I am a great lover of stories, and always interested in learning more about my chosen field - communication. So even when I don’t feel particularly connected to my faith, I can find something of interest and value in the Bible.
The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron – I figure out there on that deserted island, I’d finally find enough time to do The Artist’s Way justice and work my way through the lessons. I’m not sure what my “Artist’s Dates” would be – perhaps picking seashells at the beach, or meandering through a wildflower meadow.
A blank book – yup, this one would have nothing on the pages, ‘cause if I DID bring The Artist’s Way along, I’d have to have a blank book for all my morning pages. And who knows, by the time I got rescued from that island, I might have written a whole new book to leave behind for the new inhabitants to enjoy!
The Last Word and the Word after That: A Tale of Faith, Doubt, and a New Kind of Christianity by Brian McLaren – this is in the category of new books that I’m looking forward to reading (on my wish list). I fell in love with McLaren when I read A Generous Orthodoxy, so now I want to read more of him. This one sounds intriguing.
There, that's it for me. Now I'm happy to pass it on to whomever wants it... CCAP? h8s2clean (although you may have already done it)? thebloke? I'd LOVE to pass it to Michele or Linda, if only they'd ever get around to creating their own blogs (perhaps this is just the inspiration they need)!
You’re stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?
Hmmm… not sure how to answer this question, because I haven’t read Fahrenheit 451 (though I know a bit about the premise). Would it be better to be a “fluff” book, so that you were no threat to society and wouldn’t get burned as quickly, or a more “meaty” book that might help you change society so that books no longer get burned? If it’s the first, I might choose one of the disgustingly fluffy Hillary Duff books my daughters have on their shelves (thankfully, they’re finally growing tired of them!) If it’s the second, then I might choose the Bible, with the hopes that it might inspire someone to take a risk and stop the burning.
Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Yeah, but sadly, I have a fairly short memory for books, so I don’t remember the characters very long after I’ve read the book. I remember a bit of a crush after reading Little Women… one of the young men who stole the heart of one of the sisters (if only I could remember who). But, truthfully, one of my favourites would have to mirror Gina’s fave - Sir Percy Blakeney from The Scarlet Pimpernel. Ooohhh… he had that little bit of “danger” that’s just so sexy!
Longest lasting crush?
Like I said before, my memory’s pretty short, so the crushes lasted about as long as the period of time before I started my next book. But Sir Percy probably rates, ‘cause I still get a little tingly when I think of his daring spy missions :-)
The last book you bought is:
If you saw my post from April 8, you’ll have your first clue. I bought Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. Her book Travelling Mercies is my favourite book of all time, so I couldn’t resist buying the follow-up. After a tough day, I treated myself to a new book. Hey – when it comes to indulging, it was better than turning to alcohol or food!
The last book you finished:
Same as above – Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. It didn’t take me long to finish, ‘cause I devour Anne Lamott like expensive chocolate. I finished it on the plane on the way to Toronto earlier this week. It wasn’t quite as good as Travelling Mercies, but still DEFINITELY worth the read (with just a bit too much Bush-bashing). I have found no one who can write about her faith journey, her life as a mother, her relationship, etc., with such honesty, humour, and brilliant inspiration. I laughed, I cried…oh, you get the picture.
What are you currently reading?
The Different Drum: Community Making and Peace by Scott Peck. I started reading this book in Africa in February. It had been recommended by a couple of friends, because I was going to be travelling with a group of 12 people for 3 weeks, and they thought it would be interesting to read about community making in the context of a unique community experience (2 weeks in a bus with 12 people is certainly an interesting way to learn about community!) I’ve been enjoying the book quite a bit, but I took a break from it after Africa, because when I came home to my family, I didn’t really feel like focussing on community for awhile. I brought it along to Toronto this week because I was pretty sure I’d finish Plan B and needed something else to read. It’s a great book. Scott Peck is brilliant.
Five books you would take to a deserted island:
This is a tough one. I couldn’t decide whether to take “old faithfuls” because they were comfortable and familiar, or new ones that I hadn’t read yet because I wanted to be inspired. I chose a combination…
Travelling Mercies by Anne Lamott – As I said before, this is my favourite book and I wouldn’t want to be without it. It gives me hope when I’m feeling hopeless, and makes me feel human when I’m at risk of losing touch with my humanity.
The Bible – I often wish I were more faithful at reading the Bible. I get tired of it sometimes, and other times it frustrates me, so it gets ignored. But there are still so many things I love about it, and enough things that challenge me and keep me wanting to learn more, that I wouldn’t want to leave it behind. One of the things I admire most about Jesus is that he is a master communicator – he tells great stories and knows how to get people’s attention. I am a great lover of stories, and always interested in learning more about my chosen field - communication. So even when I don’t feel particularly connected to my faith, I can find something of interest and value in the Bible.
The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron – I figure out there on that deserted island, I’d finally find enough time to do The Artist’s Way justice and work my way through the lessons. I’m not sure what my “Artist’s Dates” would be – perhaps picking seashells at the beach, or meandering through a wildflower meadow.
A blank book – yup, this one would have nothing on the pages, ‘cause if I DID bring The Artist’s Way along, I’d have to have a blank book for all my morning pages. And who knows, by the time I got rescued from that island, I might have written a whole new book to leave behind for the new inhabitants to enjoy!
The Last Word and the Word after That: A Tale of Faith, Doubt, and a New Kind of Christianity by Brian McLaren – this is in the category of new books that I’m looking forward to reading (on my wish list). I fell in love with McLaren when I read A Generous Orthodoxy, so now I want to read more of him. This one sounds intriguing.
There, that's it for me. Now I'm happy to pass it on to whomever wants it... CCAP? h8s2clean (although you may have already done it)? thebloke? I'd LOVE to pass it to Michele or Linda, if only they'd ever get around to creating their own blogs (perhaps this is just the inspiration they need)!
Friday, April 15, 2005
Things that make you go HUH?
Warning: political rant ahead
Yesterday, the United Nations Commission on Human Rights voted on a Right to Food Resolution. Basically, they were resolving that all human beings should have the right to food, and that those countries with excess should take some responsibility for making sure others have enough. Fifty-two countries voted in favour of the resolution. One voted against. Guess which one. The United States.
So... (here's the political rant - don't say I didn't warn you) this from the same government whose President tried to step in and insist that Terry Shiavo should have the right to food. Huh? I don't pretend to know what was the right thing in the Terry Shiavo fiasco, but you've gotta admit that something's smellin' a little rotten here. A brain dead, white, American woman, whose right-wing fundamentalist supporters happen to have alot of political clout has the right to be fed, but those 842 million people in Africa and all over the world trying to eek out a living on parched soil and in the context of unfair trade rules DON'T?
I guess it's just too much for this mere mortal to understand.
(My sincere apology to any of our southern neighbours who might be reading this - I'm really NOT anti-American. Just sometimes your government confuses me. But you're not alone - sometimes OUR government confuses me too.)
Yesterday, the United Nations Commission on Human Rights voted on a Right to Food Resolution. Basically, they were resolving that all human beings should have the right to food, and that those countries with excess should take some responsibility for making sure others have enough. Fifty-two countries voted in favour of the resolution. One voted against. Guess which one. The United States.
So... (here's the political rant - don't say I didn't warn you) this from the same government whose President tried to step in and insist that Terry Shiavo should have the right to food. Huh? I don't pretend to know what was the right thing in the Terry Shiavo fiasco, but you've gotta admit that something's smellin' a little rotten here. A brain dead, white, American woman, whose right-wing fundamentalist supporters happen to have alot of political clout has the right to be fed, but those 842 million people in Africa and all over the world trying to eek out a living on parched soil and in the context of unfair trade rules DON'T?
I guess it's just too much for this mere mortal to understand.
(My sincere apology to any of our southern neighbours who might be reading this - I'm really NOT anti-American. Just sometimes your government confuses me. But you're not alone - sometimes OUR government confuses me too.)
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Quote for the day
"You can tell whether a man is clever by his answers. You can tell whether a man is wise by his questions."
Naguib Mahfouz (Nobel Prize Winner)
Naguib Mahfouz (Nobel Prize Winner)
Nature/nurture/huh?
I know NOTHING about the whole nature/nurture debate. All I know is this... I have three daughters, and they are all so DIFFERENT! They're being raised by the same Mommy and Daddy, and yeah, you can find the similarities, but mostly I see the differences.
Take this one example... I step off the bus after work, and it is always Julie who rushes down the street and throws her arms around me before I can make it halfway home - every day. She has always been the one to attach herself to me - she sits on my lap as much as she can, she wants me to sleep with her, etc., etc. Maddie, on the other hand, hardly notices whether or not I'm around. I come home from two days in Toronto, she briefly glances in my direction, and then carries on with what she was doing. I'm sure she's happy to have me home, and she likes hanging out with me, but it doesn't make a whole lot of difference to her either way. Nikki is somewhere in between. She needs me, but she's quite happy to be apart from me too. She's always been more of the "check in" type - she shows up now and then to get a little affection and Mommy time, and then disappears again.
Whatever the case, I'm crazy about all of them and lucky to be their Mommy.
Take this one example... I step off the bus after work, and it is always Julie who rushes down the street and throws her arms around me before I can make it halfway home - every day. She has always been the one to attach herself to me - she sits on my lap as much as she can, she wants me to sleep with her, etc., etc. Maddie, on the other hand, hardly notices whether or not I'm around. I come home from two days in Toronto, she briefly glances in my direction, and then carries on with what she was doing. I'm sure she's happy to have me home, and she likes hanging out with me, but it doesn't make a whole lot of difference to her either way. Nikki is somewhere in between. She needs me, but she's quite happy to be apart from me too. She's always been more of the "check in" type - she shows up now and then to get a little affection and Mommy time, and then disappears again.
Whatever the case, I'm crazy about all of them and lucky to be their Mommy.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Home again, home again, jiggity jog
I got back from Toronto late last night. I just have to say... if you're ever looking for a place to lay your weary head in downtown Toronto, check out Mulberry Tree Bed and Breakfast. It is delightful! It's in a hundred year old house, with lots of antique furniture and artifacts from all over the world. I had a wonderful night in the Ochre Room - comfy and relaxing and so much better than all those cookie-cutter hotels I usually stay in!
And if you take my advice and end up there, be sure to check out Spring Rolls just around the corner on Yonge Street. Very yummy Pad Thai, topped off with deep-fried bananas and coconut ice cream for dessert! To die for! (Though, I have to admit, the walk back to the B&B was a little uncomfortable, 'cause my stomach was complaining about the way I'd abused it with shameless over-consumption.)
I don't know why it has never occurred to me before (duh! I'm a slow learner!), but since I travel a fair bit, I should start looking for more B&B's instead of just your run-o'-the-mill hotel chain. So if anyone has suggestions for interesting B&B's in Canadian cities, I'm listening...
Note: I have received no remuneration for advertising on this site, but if anyone WANTS to give me money, feel free :-)
And if you take my advice and end up there, be sure to check out Spring Rolls just around the corner on Yonge Street. Very yummy Pad Thai, topped off with deep-fried bananas and coconut ice cream for dessert! To die for! (Though, I have to admit, the walk back to the B&B was a little uncomfortable, 'cause my stomach was complaining about the way I'd abused it with shameless over-consumption.)
I don't know why it has never occurred to me before (duh! I'm a slow learner!), but since I travel a fair bit, I should start looking for more B&B's instead of just your run-o'-the-mill hotel chain. So if anyone has suggestions for interesting B&B's in Canadian cities, I'm listening...
Note: I have received no remuneration for advertising on this site, but if anyone WANTS to give me money, feel free :-)
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Jesus on a bike
Julie was getting a little frustrated with her umpteenth attempt at learning to ride a bike. In an attempt to console her, I told her EVERYbody has trouble learning to ride at the beginning. "Even Jesus?" she asked. "Yes," I said, "if bikes had been around in Jesus' time, I'm sure he would have had trouble too."
It painted a nice picture - put it all into perspective for awhile. Mary trying REALLY hard not to get frustrated as Jesus made yet another attempt at riding his two-wheeler. Jesus blowing up occasionally, when Mary gave unsolicited advice yet again. "Try it THIS way, son." "But I don't WANT to try it that way! I'll try it my OWN way!" "But it works better if you keep your eyes OFF your feet and focus on the road ahead of you." "Mom! I'll do it MYSELF!"
It turned out to be a fruitful exercise this afternoon - Julie can now ride her bike! But in order for her to learn, I had to learn a little mommy-lesson first. I had to let go, and let her try it HER way. We have the same nature, her and I. We're both quite convinced OUR way is the RIGHT way. So, needless to say, we often butt heads when I'm trying to help her learn something. Well, this time, she was quite determined to learn without my help, and for a change, I backed off and let her, even when I was convinced she'd have more success MY way. We agreed to try it my way for 5 attempts, but after that failed, she went back to her way, and, of course, that's the way she finally succeeded. I celebrated both her victory and mine (as I ate a small slice of humble pie :-)
You should see my "Julie learned to ride a bike" dance! It puts Michael Jackson's moon dance to shame!
It painted a nice picture - put it all into perspective for awhile. Mary trying REALLY hard not to get frustrated as Jesus made yet another attempt at riding his two-wheeler. Jesus blowing up occasionally, when Mary gave unsolicited advice yet again. "Try it THIS way, son." "But I don't WANT to try it that way! I'll try it my OWN way!" "But it works better if you keep your eyes OFF your feet and focus on the road ahead of you." "Mom! I'll do it MYSELF!"
It turned out to be a fruitful exercise this afternoon - Julie can now ride her bike! But in order for her to learn, I had to learn a little mommy-lesson first. I had to let go, and let her try it HER way. We have the same nature, her and I. We're both quite convinced OUR way is the RIGHT way. So, needless to say, we often butt heads when I'm trying to help her learn something. Well, this time, she was quite determined to learn without my help, and for a change, I backed off and let her, even when I was convinced she'd have more success MY way. We agreed to try it my way for 5 attempts, but after that failed, she went back to her way, and, of course, that's the way she finally succeeded. I celebrated both her victory and mine (as I ate a small slice of humble pie :-)
You should see my "Julie learned to ride a bike" dance! It puts Michael Jackson's moon dance to shame!
Saturday, April 09, 2005
It's amazing what a little nice weather can do
This morning I was feeling really blue. I'm not sure why, but I just felt stuck in a serious state of inertia. It felt like NOTHING in my life was moving along - I was stuck in a rut everywhere. At work I have way too many big projects looming over my head, and, since "beginnings" are the hardest part, and they're all kinda overwhelming me, I'm just spinning my wheels and accomplishing nothing. At home, I'm behind in everything. The laundry has gotten out of control again, every room in the house needs some serious Spring cleaning, I haven't done our taxes yet and the deadline is in sight, the yard work needs to be done, and now that it's getting nicer out, I'm reminded that I only painted HALF of the exterior of the house last year so the other half needs to be done. I could go on and on... I'm not getting a handle on this overeating thing like I'd hoped I would, etc., etc.
Well, this morning I felt like all I wanted to do today was spend the day in bed. Given the fact that I had to play "Mommy-chauffeur" most of the day, though, didn't allow me that opportunity. So I got moving, and only had the luxury of a short nap while the oldest two were at a birthday party and Maddie napped. After that, though, I finally got enough energy to clean the living room, and then headed outside for some fresh air - first taking Maddie on the tricycle, and then going for a bike ride with Nikki.
The fresh air and exercise did me WONDERS, and now my perspective on life is getting a whole lot better. Sure I'm behind on stuff, but it's not the end of the world. The sun is shining, I can wear sandals outside (yippee!), I have a fun (and short, thankfully) business trip coming up which will give me a nice opportunity to regroup while I spend a quiet evening in what looks like a lovely Bed and Breakfast, and at least my living room is clean! Life is pretty good after all.
Well, this morning I felt like all I wanted to do today was spend the day in bed. Given the fact that I had to play "Mommy-chauffeur" most of the day, though, didn't allow me that opportunity. So I got moving, and only had the luxury of a short nap while the oldest two were at a birthday party and Maddie napped. After that, though, I finally got enough energy to clean the living room, and then headed outside for some fresh air - first taking Maddie on the tricycle, and then going for a bike ride with Nikki.
The fresh air and exercise did me WONDERS, and now my perspective on life is getting a whole lot better. Sure I'm behind on stuff, but it's not the end of the world. The sun is shining, I can wear sandals outside (yippee!), I have a fun (and short, thankfully) business trip coming up which will give me a nice opportunity to regroup while I spend a quiet evening in what looks like a lovely Bed and Breakfast, and at least my living room is clean! Life is pretty good after all.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Sanctuary
You open the door and the sounds of classical music greet you. Mingled with that are the warm muted tones of a myriad of voices - booklovers and café visitors - reverberating gently from the book-covered walls. A sigh escapes your lips as the aura wafts over you. You slip inside the room like a foot into an old slipper. Books stand sentry at the door – some familiar and comfortable, others new and intriguing. You pick one up and flip through the pages. The feel of the book in your hand awakens a piece of you that you hadn’t noticed had fallen asleep.
You walk past the stairway winding around Christopher Robin’s tree. You touch the rich wood of a bookshelf – it grounds you like a touchstone. You pick up a few books and find an empty chair – a big soft one in a quiet alcove. You curl up in the worn chair and let the tension in your muscles slowly drift away. You open the book on your lap and lose yourself in the pages.
You have found it. Sanctuary.
Yes, I got to enjoy a beautiful, uninterrupted, unencumbered hour at my favourite bookstore last night. (No, it wasn’t the same bookstore that contributed to my faith crisis a few months ago. This one is SO much better.) Those hours are few and far between, so when they come, I savour them like expensive chocolate. And when I left the store at closing time, I carried a book home with me and continued to relish it, curled up in my bed.
And what did I take home? Well, last night I needed an old friend in comfortable clothing, so I took home Anne Lamott. She’s writing about faith again, and that’s JUST what I needed. She’s like an old friend, and there are few people I’d rather curl up in bed with than Anne. She didn’t disappoint either. I didn’t get too far into it before my eyes refused to stay open, but I enjoyed the first couple of chapters. I fell asleep, peaceful and inspired. She lifted me up above the din.
You walk past the stairway winding around Christopher Robin’s tree. You touch the rich wood of a bookshelf – it grounds you like a touchstone. You pick up a few books and find an empty chair – a big soft one in a quiet alcove. You curl up in the worn chair and let the tension in your muscles slowly drift away. You open the book on your lap and lose yourself in the pages.
You have found it. Sanctuary.
Yes, I got to enjoy a beautiful, uninterrupted, unencumbered hour at my favourite bookstore last night. (No, it wasn’t the same bookstore that contributed to my faith crisis a few months ago. This one is SO much better.) Those hours are few and far between, so when they come, I savour them like expensive chocolate. And when I left the store at closing time, I carried a book home with me and continued to relish it, curled up in my bed.
And what did I take home? Well, last night I needed an old friend in comfortable clothing, so I took home Anne Lamott. She’s writing about faith again, and that’s JUST what I needed. She’s like an old friend, and there are few people I’d rather curl up in bed with than Anne. She didn’t disappoint either. I didn’t get too far into it before my eyes refused to stay open, but I enjoyed the first couple of chapters. I fell asleep, peaceful and inspired. She lifted me up above the din.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
How NOT to please me at 10:00 at night
...come traipsing down the stairs with about a cup of hand lotion plastered all over your hands and arms and pajamas and say "Mommy, I have some soap on me." And then, when I go upstairs to find MORE hand lotion all over the walls, the stair rail, my bed-side table, the door knobs, and the bottle of lotion, say "But it was just an accident. Accidents happen, you know."
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Is it wrong?
The other day, I was playing the Game of Life with the girls. It's a board game where you have a little car that you drive along this path through the various stages of Life. (Don't get me going on how restrictive the stages of Life are - there is, for example, no option for getting married, or for buying a house. AND the only "success" at the end of Life is if you've amassed a whole whack of money. But it's just a game, so is it all that important? I dunno. But I digress...)
When you get married, you have to place either a blue or pink tiny plastic figure next to your own tiny plastic figure in the car. For some reason (probably because it's rather tittilating and she can giggle about it), Nikki likes to be a "lesbian" with 2 pink figures in the car. I don't make a big deal about it - I just suggest she refrain from doing it if Grandma is playing with her.
Well, this time, she had second thoughts about it. She hesitated, and, because I know her so well, I was sure there was something behind her hesitation. Sure enough... part way through the game came "The Question" (there are ALWAYS questions where this girl is concerned). "Mom, is it WRONG to be a lesbian?"
Well, is it? Hmmm... I'm not sure I had a satisfactory answer for her. I mumbled something about how alot of people feel it goes against God's will, blah, blah, blah. Thankfully, she didn't push it beyond that. But have no doubt, the question will come back again. And next time it will be tougher.
I don't know if I'm ready for this level of questions. Having a daughter who's now a pre-teen, and has always thought way beyond her years is going to challenge me to come up with answers that satisfy her. For alot of this stuff, I haven't even found satisfactory answers for MYSELF, so how can I offer them to her? I guess it will mean I just have to be honest - that there are alot of things I haven't figured out yet. But she needs clearer boundaries than I do. Especially at this age. And she can be pretty persistent when she NEEDS to figure out where those boundaries are.
Sometimes (just sometimes) I think parenting would be easier if I were more like my mother. In her world, there is so much more black and white and there are EASY answers for these questions. My world doesn't work like hers though. It seems like the older I get, the more shades of gray there are. I'm getting used to it, but it doesn't always make for easy parenting. And, considering the fact that I've had a few good friends in my life who ARE lesbians, I just can't write them off the way my mother can.
I told Nikki last night that I thought she'd make a good journalist. She asks ALOT of good questions. But she says she'd rather be a politician. She wants to be President. When I told her she can't, because she's Canadian, she was bummed out. But I think she'll settle for Prime Minister. Is there an official name for "mother of the Prime Minister"? And do I get to live in a fancy house? Maybe I can get one of those patronage appointments as an ambassador to an exotic country...
When you get married, you have to place either a blue or pink tiny plastic figure next to your own tiny plastic figure in the car. For some reason (probably because it's rather tittilating and she can giggle about it), Nikki likes to be a "lesbian" with 2 pink figures in the car. I don't make a big deal about it - I just suggest she refrain from doing it if Grandma is playing with her.
Well, this time, she had second thoughts about it. She hesitated, and, because I know her so well, I was sure there was something behind her hesitation. Sure enough... part way through the game came "The Question" (there are ALWAYS questions where this girl is concerned). "Mom, is it WRONG to be a lesbian?"
Well, is it? Hmmm... I'm not sure I had a satisfactory answer for her. I mumbled something about how alot of people feel it goes against God's will, blah, blah, blah. Thankfully, she didn't push it beyond that. But have no doubt, the question will come back again. And next time it will be tougher.
I don't know if I'm ready for this level of questions. Having a daughter who's now a pre-teen, and has always thought way beyond her years is going to challenge me to come up with answers that satisfy her. For alot of this stuff, I haven't even found satisfactory answers for MYSELF, so how can I offer them to her? I guess it will mean I just have to be honest - that there are alot of things I haven't figured out yet. But she needs clearer boundaries than I do. Especially at this age. And she can be pretty persistent when she NEEDS to figure out where those boundaries are.
Sometimes (just sometimes) I think parenting would be easier if I were more like my mother. In her world, there is so much more black and white and there are EASY answers for these questions. My world doesn't work like hers though. It seems like the older I get, the more shades of gray there are. I'm getting used to it, but it doesn't always make for easy parenting. And, considering the fact that I've had a few good friends in my life who ARE lesbians, I just can't write them off the way my mother can.
I told Nikki last night that I thought she'd make a good journalist. She asks ALOT of good questions. But she says she'd rather be a politician. She wants to be President. When I told her she can't, because she's Canadian, she was bummed out. But I think she'll settle for Prime Minister. Is there an official name for "mother of the Prime Minister"? And do I get to live in a fancy house? Maybe I can get one of those patronage appointments as an ambassador to an exotic country...
Monday, April 04, 2005
How's your truth-metre?
Sometimes I wish I had a truth-metre – some contraption that worked like a smoke detector and beeped every time truth was in the air. I want to know truth, but I’m not always sure I’m good enough at recognizing it. Sometimes, as I grow into myself, I come to the conclusion that something that I once believed was truth is really an untruth disguised.
I’ve been challenged with this ever since that faith-shaking moment in front of that wall of books. So many of those books seemed like disguises simply muddying the truth instead of clarifying it.
We’re all trying to figure it out. I’m not alone. All those people who’ve written diatribes and commentaries and lengthy theology textbooks – they’re no different from me. Some of them THINK they have truth-metres, but no one has a corner on truth. Not even the pope had it ALL right (of course I mean no disrespect for the dead). We all see through a “mirror dimly”.
These thoughts have been with me as I worked my way through Generous Orthodoxy. I LOVE this book, and so much of it resonates with me. I want to say “YES! YES! YES!” I want to believe THIS is truth. But can I be sure?
I used this quote when I spoke in church on Sunday… "I must add, though, that I don't believe making disciples must equal making adherents to the Christian religion. It may be advisable in many (not all!) circumstances to help people become followers of Jesus and remain within their Buddhist, Hindu or Jewish contexts." I knew it was provocative, but I felt I had to say what was in my heart. If anything, my experience in Africa convinced me that spreading God’s kingdom is not necessarily about converting people to OUR version of the truth, but letting God’s truth find its way into THEIR version of it. There are, after all, so many things that they seem to understand better than us – how to live in community, how to demonstrate compassion and friendship.
Well, it seems I picked just the passage that has gotten Brian McLaren (the author) into all kinds of trouble (it happened last month, but I just stumbled on it AFTER I used the quote). Apparently the Kentucky Baptist Convention withdrew its invitation to Brian McLaren to speak at its Evangelism Conference because they didn’t like that particular section of the book.
So, I can’t help but wonder – what IS the truth? I’m still convinced that McLaren is onto something, but obviously the southern Baptists think their truth-metre is working just fine and his is faulty.
And all the while, I can’t help but wonder if God is shaking his head and wondering why his people can’t figure out how to get along and just get on with building his kingdom. What gives me hope is that that’s just what McLaren is proposing – that we find some way of setting aside all the trappings of religion and work together. He contends that following Jesus means rising ABOVE what we have defined as Christianity in our own contexts.
According to the media reports, McLaren was quite gracious about the whole thing. I’m SO glad, because THAT’S the way I think Jesus would have asked him to react. He lived out Matthew 10:14… “If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake the dust off your feet when you leave that home or town.”
Until God finds some way of convincing me otherwise, my faulty truth-metre still continues to point in the same direction McLaren’s points in.
I’ve been challenged with this ever since that faith-shaking moment in front of that wall of books. So many of those books seemed like disguises simply muddying the truth instead of clarifying it.
We’re all trying to figure it out. I’m not alone. All those people who’ve written diatribes and commentaries and lengthy theology textbooks – they’re no different from me. Some of them THINK they have truth-metres, but no one has a corner on truth. Not even the pope had it ALL right (of course I mean no disrespect for the dead). We all see through a “mirror dimly”.
These thoughts have been with me as I worked my way through Generous Orthodoxy. I LOVE this book, and so much of it resonates with me. I want to say “YES! YES! YES!” I want to believe THIS is truth. But can I be sure?
I used this quote when I spoke in church on Sunday… "I must add, though, that I don't believe making disciples must equal making adherents to the Christian religion. It may be advisable in many (not all!) circumstances to help people become followers of Jesus and remain within their Buddhist, Hindu or Jewish contexts." I knew it was provocative, but I felt I had to say what was in my heart. If anything, my experience in Africa convinced me that spreading God’s kingdom is not necessarily about converting people to OUR version of the truth, but letting God’s truth find its way into THEIR version of it. There are, after all, so many things that they seem to understand better than us – how to live in community, how to demonstrate compassion and friendship.
Well, it seems I picked just the passage that has gotten Brian McLaren (the author) into all kinds of trouble (it happened last month, but I just stumbled on it AFTER I used the quote). Apparently the Kentucky Baptist Convention withdrew its invitation to Brian McLaren to speak at its Evangelism Conference because they didn’t like that particular section of the book.
So, I can’t help but wonder – what IS the truth? I’m still convinced that McLaren is onto something, but obviously the southern Baptists think their truth-metre is working just fine and his is faulty.
And all the while, I can’t help but wonder if God is shaking his head and wondering why his people can’t figure out how to get along and just get on with building his kingdom. What gives me hope is that that’s just what McLaren is proposing – that we find some way of setting aside all the trappings of religion and work together. He contends that following Jesus means rising ABOVE what we have defined as Christianity in our own contexts.
According to the media reports, McLaren was quite gracious about the whole thing. I’m SO glad, because THAT’S the way I think Jesus would have asked him to react. He lived out Matthew 10:14… “If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake the dust off your feet when you leave that home or town.”
Until God finds some way of convincing me otherwise, my faulty truth-metre still continues to point in the same direction McLaren’s points in.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Friday, April 01, 2005
Spell that backwards
Julie, my word girl who learned to talk almost as soon as she could breathe, and who didn't really learn to read so much as absorb it, is currently into backwards words. On a frequent basis, she'll tell me what a random word is backwards. And now she's starting in on "palindromes", those words or phrases that are the same backwards as forwards. Anyone want to help us think of some? Here are some of hers... Hannah, Bob, mom, dad, level, pop... (and then when you've caught the bug, you can check out www.palindromelist.com to see the longest palindrome EVER!)
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