Journeys of the mind

Sitting behind me on the bus this morning was a man who was having an interesting conversation. At first I thought he was on a cell phone, but I soon realized there was no cell phone, nor was there anyone sitting with him engaged in the other side of the conversation. No, his only travel companion was in his own mind.

The conversation went something like this:

Billions of people do it. Every day. New born babies do it….
I saw a photograph of Jesus Christ once. It was like those pictures where a million tiny pictures make up one bigger picture…
You have to understand, son - you usually get so upset…
It’s KK. You know – KK – with Tom and Joe on 92 CITI FM…
I’m Metis. Aboriginal. But white too. White people don’t like me and Aboriginal people don’t like me either….
People say to me “smoking will kill you”, but none of us is going to live forever, are we? Maybe we are. Maybe we are….
I know whom I have believed…
I’m not German, but I’m Dutch…

It was an interesting bus ride. I wonder what journey his mind was taking him on. I also wonder whether, if those of us who feel like we have a good handle on our mental capacity were to speak every one of our random thoughts, it might sound a little similar.

The wisdom of a child

Above the cacophony of the birthday party going on downstairs (Nikki turned 12 last week), I heard an odd noise that sounded something like “home…home…home…” coming from one of the bedrooms. I tip-toed down the hall to investigate.

There was Maddie, perched on her bed, her back toward the door, sitting in a lotus position with her outstretched hands pointed sky-ward. “Om…Om…Om…” she repeated, like a miniature yogi in deep meditation mode.

I stood and watched her for awhile, enthralled with yet another way that this five-year-old surprises and amazes me. Why was she here when all the excitement was downstairs?

Despite my efforts to stay silent, she spotted me. I thought she might be embarrassed, but she smiled a welcoming smile.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Meditating.”

“Why are you meditating?”

“Well, I just thought I needed time to myself so I wouldn’t get too worked up.”

“That’s a really good idea. Did someone teach you how to do that?” I knew she’d never seen anyone in our house model a meditation pose like that. Perhaps her teacher or a daycare worker had showed her.

“Nope. I just taught myself,” she said, matter-of-factly, as though it were commonplace for a five-year-old to disappear to her room for a time of meditation.

A few days later, I heard the “Oms” coming from her room again, and this time I didn’t interrupt. Another time, she said to me “Mom, let’s go meditate together.” So we did.

For twelve years I’ve been a mom. You’d think by now I’d know that these little people entrusted to my care teach me way more than I can hope to teach them.

Happy Birthday, Buddy!

You're still my one and only!

And you're still a little bit crazy!
P.S. Thanks for cleaning the bathroom on your birthday. :-)

Just call me Alexander

Remember the story of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day? Well, that's me today. I don't know whether to cry or beat my fist against a wall. Neither would do any good, but at least I'd have an outlet. Or a hole in the wall.

It's a long and sordid tale, and I can't really go into any specific details, but it has something to do with dealing with foreign consulates, trying to get the necessary permits and visas for our trip, a passport that was supposed to be back in Edmonton by Friday but wasn't released by the consulate, a frantic few days in which we tried to track down said passport and have it couriered there in time for a flight to Hawaii today, momentary relief when the passport was found and in the hands of a courier, followed by another frantic day while the courier company couldn't track down the package that was supposedly in Edmonton but couldn't be found (slipped off a conveyer belt), in the end resulting in a missed flight to Hawaii, an unhappy couple of people, and me feeling like I'm the one to blame even though there was so, SO much of this that was completely out of my control.

And after all this, an overwhelming sense of dread that we won't actually be able to manage to pull off this trip to Southeast Asia because there are still so many hurdles to pass through. Navigating foreign bureaucracy can sometimes feel a little like tip-toeing through a minefield. I'm not sure what's going to blow up in my face the next step I take.

Alexander's got nothing on me. Or the guy who's supposed to be basking in the sun in Hawaii tonight but is still in cold Canada.

(In the end, the passport was found and he'll get there a day late.)

Just give me eight steps

Today I want eight steps. Eight easy steps to a happier healthier you. Or eight steps to living the life you've always wanted. Or eight simple steps to losing 40 pounds without even trying. Or eight steps to whipping your house into shape and keeping it that way. Or eight mind-blowingly easy steps to getting that book published you've always dreamed of. Or eight simple things you can do to turn your children into the most obedient, most cooperative children on the planet.

Today I don't want to do the hard work - I just want someone to tell me the eight easy steps or "the secret" so that I don't have to slog through all the crap along the way. Today I want to breeze through life in a straight line instead of taking one step forward and two steps back.

Why is life never quite as linear as those eight simple steps seem to suggest?

It all depends how you look at it

When I look into Maddie's room, I see alot of boxes. She looks in and doesn't see a single one.

Instead, she sees an airplane, a house for Joe Banana, a swimming pool, and a guest house for all of Joe's friends. It's a magical room for a magical little girl, where cardboard transforms into whatever she wants it to be.

What do you see, boxes or possibility?

Basking in the glow

Oh how I love a good singer-songwriter – someone who paints magic with words and a guitar. Check out some of these lines and see if you don’t agree with me that Martyn Joseph is one of those…

Exhibit #1
“It’s the weight of the world
that gouges the land,
shrivels the sand,
praises the bland
And it’s the weight of the world
that frenzies our fears
so when hope disappears
we start sharpening spears”

Exhibit #2
“We ask virtue to defend us
but she’s got a new career,
selling pills to make us grateful
and time-shares for our soul.”

Exhibit #3
“Faith – The other side of knowing
and a thousand questions how”

Exhibit #4
“And all I really know is that kindness is better
than any sort of terror any kind of spite.”

Exhibit #5
“But that seems like the place we could start now
Ripping prayers through the open sky”

And that’s only the words! The music adds a whole other layer to that magic painting.

That’s just from his latest album. I’ve written about some of his older stuff before. He’s been my companion for many a melancholy day. Like the day that the abandoned tanks in Ethiopia made me cry. And the day after I found out my unborn nephew has a tumour on his back.

Everybody needs a good cd or two that’s just the thing you reach for when you’re torn between melancholy and hope.

Thirteen

1. I’m going to a Martyn Joseph concert tonight! Yay! I love concerts and I LOVE Martyn Joseph!

2. On his online journal, Martyn referred to Winnipeg as “one of his favourite places on the planet”! No, he’s not from here. He’s from Wales. (So there - people from Calgary - you know who you are - SOME people like this place!)

3. One of my new favourite TV shows is called The Border.

4. One of my old favourite shows is Corner Gas.

5. Both are Canadian shows.

6. I’m happy to find good Canadian shows, because we’re not well known for great television programming (with some definite exceptions).

7. One of my favourite movies of this year is also Canadian. Away from Her. See it if you can – it’s definitely worth it.

8. I’m pretty sick and tired of the way this cold weather dries out the skin. I seem to be itchy all of the time.

9. I’m going to Bangladesh in March, and this week I remembered that people in Bangladesh were considered (by some researcher) to be the happiest on the planet. Sounds like a good place to make friends.

10. It’s a delightful moment when your 10-year-old daughter phones you at work and says, “Mom, where are the chocolate chips? I want to make cookies.” Smile. I’m rather fond of her. (Even if she beats me at speed Scrabble.)

11. I heard this line in a Neil Young song yesterday and it made me want to write poetry… “We know where the music is, let’s go out and feel the night.” Hmmm… nice.

12. Neil Young is also a Canadian. We certainly have raised some great talent up here in the cold north.

13. I brought some oatmeal and dried apricots to work this morning and made myself a lovely breakfast (complete with a little milk and a touch of honey). Mmmm… I think I’ll do that more often. I’m not usually hungry for breakfast until I’ve been awake for a couple of hours, so this was perfect.

Because change is as good as a rest

That old blog template was getting tired. Plus I needed a little colour to help fend off the doldrums in the middle of this cold snap we're having.

There are good reasons why the new header doesn't include any recent pictures...It's because you can't see my face these days! That's right - it really is THAT cold!

In other news, thanks to the link from the wonderful-Andrea-who-finds-the-coolest-artsy-stuff-online I made a funky tote bag out of fused plastic bags. I love it! Don't throw away your plastic bags!
If you live in my vicinity and have an abundance of plastic bags, I'd be happy to take them off your hands. The girls are jealous of my funky bag, but I don't have enough shopping bags around the house to make any for them (I've gotten pretty good at bringing my own bags to the store).

Heroes and Sherpas

Have you ever heard of Tenzing Norgay? No?

What about Sir Edmund Hillary? Of course – the great mountain-climber who was the first to reach the top of Mount Everest. We’ve ALL heard of him.

But his greatest accomplishment wasn’t done alone. He may not even have been the first to reach the top.

Tenzing Norgay was his Sherpa. He guided Hillary up that mountain and may have even stepped on the summit first. In his lifetime, he probably spent more time trekking up and down Everest than any other human being. But you probably didn’t hear about him in the history lessons. (An interesting side note: Norgay never learned to read or write, but spoke several languages.)

Which begs the question – how many great heroes throughout history were only heroes because they had the right Sherpas by their side?

And another question - are you called to be a hero or a Sherpa?

We're not perfect

The premise for this show is irking me just a little. (Okay, maybe a lot.) “The Week the Women Went Away.” I haven’t watched the show, so I can’t make any fair judgement on the content, but I am certainly entitled to my opinion about the premise.

When are we going to get past the stereotypes, assuming that men just don’t “get it” when it comes to household chores and raising kids? And that women are just so much superior in those roles (and every other role they put their minds to) that they are indispensable?

My husband has survived just fine without me for up to three weeks at a time. True, the kids’ clothes might not have matched as well, but does that really matter? They were loved and well fed and they’ve often survived various bouts of sickness when I’ve been away (okay, almost EVERY time).

The truth is, I’d probably have a harder time surviving if Marcel went away. There’s a pretty good chance the kids wouldn’t be fed as well – he’s the primary cook in the family. And I might miss a few appointments or soccer practices – he keeps a closer eye on the family’s schedule.

But you won’t see any shows about “the week the men went away”. No – that would be anti-feminist, suggesting women can’t survive without their men.

Why is it that we allow the media to do lots of “father-bashing”, but not an equal amount of “mother-bashing”? Watch the average sit-com (or the myriad of shows aimed at pre-teens on the Family Channel) and you’ll see the typical sit-com family, with a relatively smart mom who holds the family together, and a bumbling fool of a dad who’s more often the comic relief than the stable and wise father-figure.

Is that okay? No, I don’t think so. Perhaps we’ve done ourselves a dis-service by allowing feminism to paint an unrealistic picture of “super-woman” for all of us women to strive toward and by painting an equally unrealistic picture of “un-super-man” for men to be beaten up by.

Just don't put me on a game show

Julie just whupped me in back-to-back games of speed Scrabble. Now she's dancing around the house letting everyone know that apparently Mom is NOT smarter than a fifth grader.

Sigh.

Next time I'm playing against Maddie. The longest word she knows how to spell is "dog".

The song that goes along with the post below...

Compliments of my very talented brother.... I dare you not to cry.

By the way, if you like it, let me know in the comments. I'll pick one name and send out one of his cds to the lucky winner.

(Ummm... turns out I don't really know how to imbed a song, even though I followed the instructions on Blogger help. You can download the song here. I hope.)

(In case you're new here and don't know the connection, Jack's mom is my sister, a.k.a. ccap.)

Crying on the bus

And then one day, you're on a crowded bus, hugging your duffle bag to your chest because all the seats are full, and the song your brother wrote for two special babies comes onto your mp3 player, and all you can do is let the tears flow even though you have no kleenex to wipe them and people are glancing at you and wondering if they should intrude or leave you all alone in your weepiness.

All you can think about is that season of loss before your particular verse of that song had any inspiration to exist. When you waited for weeks in the hospital, hoping against hope that your little one would see the light of day. And then living through that horrible, horrible moment when the downfallen look on your doctor's face as he looked at the ultrasound told the story you didn't want to hear. Followed by the phone call to your husband at work, when he answered the phone so cheerily and you had to tell him. The. baby. is. dead.

And the most vivid memory the song evokes is that day you first heard the song in your living room and you clung to your sister-in-law in your shared loss and longed for the day when the skies seemed a little more blue for both of you and hope peeked in your window to lighten the shadows of grief and pain.

And those thoughts can only lead you to one place. Jack.

And you pray through your tears, with every ounce of earnestness you can muster, "please PLEASE don't let there be another verse to that song."

And you know without a doubt that if falling to your knees on that bus full of people meant that the prayer had any more power, you would do it in an instant.

Breakfast

I'm sitting here munching on my yummy bran muffin and sipping my morning tea. Because these are quite possibly the best bran muffins in the world, I thought I'd share my recipe. It's one of those recipes that is so well used, the stains on the cookbook page are starting to make it hard to read.

The next time you'd like some bran muffins that are tasty and oh-so-moist, but still low-fat, try these. I'm pretty sure you'll be pleased.

Pumpkin Bran Muffins

¾ cup natural bran
¾ cup whole wheat flour
¾ sugar (last night I used about ½ cup honey instead)
1 ½ tsp cinnamon
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
1 cup raisins
1 cup cooked pureed pumpkin
2 eggs
1/3 cup vegetable oil
½ cup plain yogurt

In a large bowl; combine bran, flour, sugar, cinnamon, baking powder, baking soda, salt and raisins. Toss to mix. Add pumpkin, eggs, oil and yogurt. Stir until just combined. Spoon batter into 12 paper-lined or non-stick muffin tins. Bake at 400 F (200 C) oven for 25 minutes or until firm to the touch.

Not so very sad

So apparently yesterday was the saddest day of the year.

Normally, I probably wouldn't disagree with Dr. Arnall about blue Monday in January, but this year's an exception. For one thing, I think I got the January blahs over with in the middle of December when I was so burnt out I could barely think.

Plus I have a trip to look forward to, which always helps to wipe away the blahs. Ah... dreams of curry and saris and warm sunshine and new smells and new tastes and new acquaintences dance through my head.

On top of that, for some reason, I've had an energy burst in the past few days that's gotten me feeling elated rather than blue. I've caught up on so many of the household things that have fallen behind lately that I'm downright proud of myself. Yesterday alone I hemmed 6 pairs of pants and mended 5 more. (Yes, some of us in the household were getting a little desperate in the pants department.) And on the weekend, we finally returned the basement to a liveable state, so I no longer need to stare at the mess and despair that it will ever be presentable again.

I think the energy boost has something to do with the fact that I'm finally eating a little healthier, plus life seems a whole lot more managable at work.

So today I wish you all "happy-day-after-the-saddest-day-of-the-year!" Things can only go up from here!

What the kids know

Nikki (incredulously): "Mom, we're learning about racism at school. Can you believe I was the ONLY kid in the class who knew anything about the Ku Klux Klan? And the ONLY kid who knew that Martin Luther King had been assassinated?"

Sheesh! Aren't those OTHER parents teaching their kids ANYTHING? (She says smuggly, knowing full well that her daughter's love of history came from the OTHER parent in this relationship.)

Thirteen random things

1. Apparently all I needed to do to fill up my comment box was to say the word “dog” and people start coming out of the woodwork! Thanks for all the helpful advice! Julie will be thrilled. (And I’ll keep you posted.)

2. I’m a little ashamed of myself for not having made any effort to go over and meet the new neighbours who moved next door in November. My goal this weekend is to go say hello.

3. For those of you who miss her witty and “spit-beverages-at-your-screen” hilarious posts, I spoke with Whippersnapper this week. She is alive and well and just doesn’t have much brain power left after teaching and parenting to formulate posts. But she’s reading this one, so if you beg and plead in the comments, we may be able to convince her to come back. (Please, PUH-LEASE Whip! Just do what I do when I’m drained – type the first 13 random thoughts that pop into your head.)

4. I finally wrote something and submitted it to an editor yesterday. I don’t think I’ve managed to do that once in the last year, because all of my energy (and then some) was consumed with a crazy year at work. Even if it doesn’t get published, I’m just happy I’m back in the game.

5. Speaking of work, I updated my workplan last week (wherein I identify my progress on the goals I set a year ago) and MY GOSH I accomplished a lot last year! No WONDER I was completely exhausted by Christmas!

6. I didn’t put it on my workplan, but one of my goals this year is “friendship”. With all the craziness of last year, plus the ongoing craziness of parenting, I invested very little energy into friendship. This year, I’m making it a priority.

7. Remember the creativity retreat I was going to plan? Well, it got put on the back burner last fall (see #5 for the reason), but after I get back from India, I’m going to try to pull it together. One of the people who is eagerly anticipating it bugged me about it yesterday and I committed to her that I would follow through.

8. Did I mention that we managed to hire someone into the vacant position on my team? Woohoo!

9. The pieces are beginning to fall into place for my trip – one week in Bangladesh and one week in India. We have a weekend of spare time in between, where we’re flying from Dhaka to Kolkata to Patna. If anyone has been there, can you tell me which of those three places would be the most interesting to spend the weekend?

10. Either my daughters REALLY like muffins or they are so surprised to see mom suddenly bake that they’re humouring me just to make sure it happens again. Two batches disappeared faster than I could make more.

11. There’s a stack of about 300 receipt letters sitting on my desk waiting to be signed. I think I’ll have a sore wrist by the end of the day.

12. I love picking Nikki up after her practices with the developmental soccer team. She’s not normally very talkative, but there’s something about these practices (I think it has a lot to do with good, encouraging coaches) that turns her into an animated, chatty girl.

13. A year ago, I was in Ethiopia where it was SOooo warm. Unfortunately, around here this week, it’s SOOooo cold.

Gulp

It's no secret that I'm not much of a pet lover. At best, I'm a pet tolerator. It's not that I have NEVER loved a pet. Oh I could wax poetic about how I used to love to ride our beautiful and fast horse, Prince. I could probably even conjure up tears - or at least a lump in my throat - if I thought long and hard about what it was like to lose Curly, our longtime family dog. And I remember with fondness what fun it used to be to hunt for the new kittens on the farm, when we were certain Snappy had given birth to yet another litter.

But in my adult years, I have never wanted a pet. I have to be honest - caregiving is not one of my greatest skills. I'm just happy I managed to keep three kids alive - I'm not sure I want to have the survival of yet another creature (that's not even part of my bloodline) reliant on me for its care.

And yet... here's the really scary part... are you ready for it? We are considering getting a dog. Yeah, let that sink in for awhile.

You see, if I don't consider it, Julie may go through life believing I am an ogre of a parent, depriving her of her heart's desire all these years. And I'm not sure I want to live with that legacy. (Though if she starts asking me to help provide the kind of pet care Michele has had to live with in the last couple of years, I think I'll stick with being an ogre.)

Julie's Christmas list looked something like this:

books
DOG
clothes
DOG
games
DOG

You get the picture.

She has become obsessed with this singular goal in life. At Christmas time I told her "well, if we were to get a dog, it wouldn't be in the dead of winter. Ask me again in the Spring." And then I told her, "if this is something you're serious about, then you need to do some research to find the right breed of dog for our family - one that won't shed and mess with your dad's allergies, one that won't require constant attention and frequent exercise, that's good with kids, etc."

Well, since she heard that tiny offering of hope, she has done little else but research dogs. She is fast becoming an encyclopedia of dog breeds. At first, she wanted an American Eskimo, but that long hair looks like it would end up all over the house (keep in mind that this is a girl who doesn't even like to brush her OWN hair, so I'm not convinced she'd do the weekly grooming required.) Then she began to set her sites on a Pug.

So, here's the thing... I know alot of you are fond of pets. In fact, I think that among my blog readership, I am seriously outnumbered in my lack of deep affection for pets. So I need your advice...

1. What would be the best breed of dog for a family like ours, that tends to be a little on the lazy and "less-than-meticulous" side? (I need a non-shedder who's okay with not being walked half a dozen times a day.)
2. Which breeds are good with children?
3. What's the one thing you wish you'd known before committing to having a dog around the house?
4. Is it possible to have a dog trained well enough that it can go 8 hours without having to go outside? I'm really not interested in a pet that will dramatically impact our schedules.

And speaking of pets, hearing Andrea talk about her love for her recently-departed dog Zappa has definitely given me moments when I've thought "hmmm... I wonder what it would be like to love a pet like that?" You really should check out her new painting of Zappa. I love it when she shows the progress a painting goes through before the final product emerges.

The stain etched on our hope

I have a new little nephew hoping to be born in a few months. His name is Jack. I saw his ultrasound picture today - his curved head and his round belly and what looked like bubbles being blown from his mouth. I also saw his undeniable male-hood. (Apparently he's not as shy about showing off his private parts as his cousin Matthew was.)

We pray for Jack's safe journey into this world. We pray for a miracle. We pray for continued hope. Please pray with us. We need a boy in the family - a boy who will live and live well. Who will tease his sisters and cousins. And make his daddy grin.

Here's the beginning of Jack's story - a story we hope will be long and interesting.

Today I cried for you

I had ideas for posts last night, but then a phone call came that wiped everything else from my mind. A few hours later, when I finally had a moment alone on a computer, what came spilling out was this...

Lament

hands lost in soapy water
I glimpse the reflection in the window
a face that looks older than it did
an hour ago
before your call

tears dripping
I scrub pots and pans
and wish
the stain etched on your hope
washed away as easily
as the remnants of today's supper

p.s. The story is not mine to share, but if you are the praying type, whisper a prayer for pain unspoken.

May there be peace

I've been feeling a little heartsick about what's been happening in Kenya. When you've walked on the soil of a country and let yourself be touched by its people, you can never again ignore the news of that country quite as casually as you did before. In the past three years, I've been touched by many Kenyans, and with them, I grieve the turmoil their country is in.

I think of Esther, who gave me the beautiful earrings I'm wearing today. A woman of great wisdom and compassion, who sees the beauty in prisoners and prostitutes and dedicates her life to helping them find wholeness and hope. May she be safe today.

I think of Fidelis, who speaks boldly and with passion, challenging rich North Americans to set aside their arrogance and self-assuredness and not assume they have the answers for Africa. A woman who teaches farmers that their own ingenuity and strength can build a better country. May she sleep peacefully tonight.

I think of Daniel, who's here in Canada, far from his family. A young man who wants to use his skills as a teacher to offer hope and a future to young students. I think of his sister Agnes, still in Kenya, whose shy smile brought me great pleasure. May they both rest assured that they will see each other again some day.

I think of Paulina, who so humbly and graciously welcomed me into her mud hut and offered me friendship. May she hold her children close and not fear for their safety.

I think of beautiful and bold Sheila, studying for her masters degree in Canada so that she can work for a better future for people living with HIV/AIDS. Sheila, who comes from Kisumu where much of the violence started. May she know that her family is safe.

I exchanged emails with my Nairobi-based uncle last week. He and his family are safe and their lives have not been dramatically impacted (though they can't go very far from home), but I know that his heart - that is so full of love for Africa - is hurting a little too.

May there be peace in Kenya. May there be bridges built between tribes and political parties. May goodness prevail over evil.

In Cahoots

Quite awhile ago, some of you might recall I posted some interview questions for an article I was doing on blogging. Many of you were kind enough to respond to my questions. I used your quotes, and the article was accepted by Cahoots Magazine. It took them awhile to use it, and then they went through a transition in which they switched from a paper magazine to an ezine, so the article became a little dated (Karla's baby was still growing in her tummy, and now he's a year old already!), but here it is nonetheless.

But don't stop there... make sure you check out the companion story by Karla. What fun it is to be published together with one of my favourite blog friends (who also happens to be a great writer)!

By the way, if you're visiting through a link on the Cahoots page, please be kind and leave a friendly comment. I love to know where visitors come from!

Be sure to bookmark Cahoots. It is one of my favourite magazines (one of the only things I read cover to cover when it shows up at my door) and I'm positive you won't be disappointed with the electronic version.

I resolve to

- listen to good music
- read good books
- engage in stimulating conversations
- let go of regret
- go for long walks
- seek peace
- be kind
- pursue friendship
- encourage boldness
- pause to gaze at dandelions
- forgive others
- forgive myself
- savour delicious food
- walk gently on the earth
- light candles
- be inspired by others
- embrace the ordinary
- let beauty surprise me
- watch my children play
- stare at snowflakes
- smile at strangers
- get my feet wet
- give something away
- pray
- take pictures
- play in the rain with my daughters
- take a risk
- let people change me
- listen to stories
- go for dates with my husband
- create something new
- pause
- taste a new food
- gaze with wonder out of a plane window
- wait contentedly
- be available
- limit my expectations
- ask cab drivers to tell me stories of their home countries
- drink water
- sit by a campfire
- be open to surprises
- ask good questions
- reduce, reuse, recycle

Going...going...gone

Tomorrow I have to go back to work. Sigh. I want another week of holidays.

Here's what I did:
- went skating with my kids
- went bowling with my extended family
- celebrated Christmas Eve at Marcel's sister's place
- celebrated Christmas Day at my sister's place
- watched Julie bake and decorate a birthday cake for Auntie ccap
- ate a couple of good meals at my mom's place
- went to a movie with my siblings
- went to a couple of movies with my kids and assorted nieces and nephews
- watched 5 soccer games
- ate lots of great food at the annual New Year's Eve brunch at church
- ate lots of great food at the Prairie Bounty open house
- went to see the New Year's Eve fireworks
- slept late almost every morning
- tore out the remainder of the ugly carpet
- painted the floor
- painted the walls
- played some lame computer games
- played some less-lame board games
- partook of the annual "candy and pop" breakfast on New Year's Day with my daughters (do you know that Coke at 9:30 in the morning makes me sick to my stomach?)
- took lots of long baths

Here's what I didn't do:
- Christmas baking
- much cooking
- read anything more intellectually stimulating than People magazine or Reader's Digest
- visit the shopping mall - not for Christmas shopping nor for "Boxing Day Blowout" sales
- blog
- clean the house
- have any company over

Happy New Year everyone!

Stuff

If you haven't seen this yet, you should.

I think we need to heavily tax "planned obsolescence". And "perceived obsolescence" too. You'll get what I'm talking about if you watch the video.

It's a good thing to watch at Christmas-time.

Friday Five

Okay, time to move that grumpy post down beneath the fold. I’m really not THAT miserable. Just worn out and not very motivated. But here are a few things that made me happy yesterday:

1. When I got home from work yesterday, Marcel and the girls had done some of the housecleaning PLUS Marcel had moved the furniture in the basement so that we can tear out the last of the 70s carpet and finally (hopefully) finish renovating. I might get my Christmas wish after all.

2. Julie had to bring cookies for her Christmas party at school today, and she very capably made them herself. And cleaned up after herself too. (I am very fond of this capable and independent stage my oldest two daughters have reached.)

3. I came up with a very simple, very tasty, and very pretty offering for the Christmas potluck at work today. Tortilla wraps with cream-cheesy goodness (some with cranberries and feta cheese, others with goat cheese and pears). Some tortillas are spinach and others are sun-dried tomato, so they look downright Christmasy sliced up on a plate.

4. Did I tell you I’m going to India and Bangladesh in the new year? Yeah, lucky me. The plans are starting to fall into place.

5. Nikki is back in action. Turns out the “fracture” was really just a bad sprain and she can start playing soccer again, with a brace on her ankle. Happy girl, happy mom.

And, because it’s Christmas, the weather outside is not-so-frightful, and my mood is much more delightful, here’s a bonus:

6. Today’s the last day of work before 11 days of holidays. What’s not to like? AND, I get to see some of my favourite people soon – my brothers, sisters-in-law, and nieces and nephews. Ah, I’m feeling that warm glow comin’ on…

Thirteen signs you're lacking Christmas spirit

1. You go to the annual Christmas concert at school with a very bad attitude and you leave feeling the same way.

2. Not even the kid who baaas like a sheep in the middle of the Twelve Days of Christmas can cheer you up.

3. You disappear with your family for two days of frolicking in a waterpark and sleeping in a hotel rather than deal with Christmas preparation.

4. Your biggest regret is that you didn’t stay in the hotel one extra night so you could have missed the annual Christmas concert.

5. You don’t put up much of a fight when your oldest daughter begs to go to the soccer party rather than the Christmas concert.

6. Instead of subjecting yourself to the dreariness of Christmas shopping, you hand all of your kids money and say “Merry Christmas – knock yourselves out.” And then you sit back and relax as they shop with reckless abandon.

7. You make no attempt to send out Christmas cards.

8. When you finally dig out the Christmas decorations, you let the kids decorate the tree and leave everything else in the boxes for another time.

9. A week later, you take the boxes back downstairs because you know you won’t get around to using anything else.

10.You dream of escaping to a tropical paradise and returning when the Christmas craziness is over.

11. Not only do you NOT do any Christmas baking, you don’t even open a cookbook for fear of the guilt it might induce. You can’t even come up with anything to make for the annual potluck at work and you consider skipping it.

12. You forgo your usual habit of buying a glossy Christmas magazine and flipping through and admiring the pictures of fancy Christmas baking, gingerbread houses, and handmade ornaments. You avoid glancing at them in the checkout aisle for fear that it might bring on that “I am SO not Martha Stewart” angst.

13. The only thing you want for Christmas is a clean house. And a basement that’s not stuck in a renovation holding pattern.

psst - this just in...

Maddie went to visit Santa’s village with her kindergarten class yesterday. She told me in a conspiratorial whisper yesterday “Mom – Mrs. Claus isn’t real. She wears a wig!” “And Santa Claus?” I asked, “Does he wear a wig?” “Nope. He’s real.”

So there you have it – Santa’s real, but he’s married to a FAKE!

Somebody pass me a soapbox

I know I'm probably messing with a sacred cow, but can I just say that I'm really quite sick of that Band Aid song? You know the one that's been on the radios every Christmas since 1984? Do they Know it's Christmas Time? Perhaps it was slightly appropriate for the 80s when Ethiopia was in the middle of a famine, and I'm sure it was meant in the right spirit and probably raised scads of money for a good cause, but pay a little attention to the words and you'll realize it's one of the most patronizing, ethnocentric songs around.

Walk with me through the lyrics...

It's Christmas time
There's no need to be afraid (Really? ‘Cause even at Christmas time, lots of people have reason to fear.)
At Christmas time, we let in light and we banish shade (Oh c’mon. If that’s the case, then why are there so many suicides at Christmas time? In rich, comfortable North America, that is. Not in "poor destitute" Africa.)
And in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy (Does plenty REALLY equal joy? I have my doubts. Sometimes plenty DESTROYS joy.)

Throw your arms around the world at Christmas time (long arms!)

But say a prayer

Pray for the other ones (The OTHER ones? Isn’t that a little patronizing?)
At Christmas time it's hard, but when you're having fun (What if I’m NOT having fun? What if all this craziness that Christmas has turned into has thrown me into exhaustion and near depression and I can barely cope?)
There's a world outside your window (So… inside my window there’s “fun” and outside my window, not so much?)
And it's a world of dread and fear (Always? Isn’t that generalizing it just a little? You know, I saw a whole LOT of joy in Africa and probably less dread and fear than I often see in North America.)
Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears (Ugh.)

And the Christmas bells that ring there (If they don’t know it’s Christmas, WHY do they have Christmas bells?)
Are the clanging chimes of doom (Wow. That’s dark. Is their ONLY hope that they might be rescued by benevolent, rich, patronizing North Americans? Some of the smartest, most hardworking and hopeful people I know are Africans.)
Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you (Oh yeah – cause we’re SO much better than them, aren’t we? Again – a little patronizing. Not to mention not particularly grace-filled. Because God really does bless America? And only America?)

And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time (Umm… I don’t think they necessarily regret that.)
The greatest gift they'll get this year is life (Well, that’s not really OUR gift to give is it? Let’s drop the “Great White Hope” angle here, puh-lease.)
(Oooh) Where nothing ever grows (Hello!? I saw PLENTY of things growing in Africa. Let’s drop the meaningless generalizations. A lot of the problems in Africa are more about unfair markets and the exploitation of people by rich countries, not necessarily about things not growing.)
No rain nor rivers flow (Again – have you BEEN to Africa? Lots of rivers and sometimes even too much rain. Yeah, I KNOW this was originally written in response to a drought and resulting famine, so I'll allow you a little leeway with this one.)
Do they know it's Christmas time at all (Do they care? Some of them are Muslim or Animists, etc. – they might not be particularly interested in our ethnocentric version of Christmas.)

(Here's to you) raise a glass for everyone (Lucky us – we get to sit in comfort and drink our wine and look down on “the other ones”.)
(Here's to them) underneath that burning sun (Ah – that warm African sun. What I’d give for a little of that right now! Oh – that’s not what you meant?)
Do they know it's Christmas time at all

Feed the world, feed the world, feed the world (Yeah, okay, I’m not so very fond of the “feed the world” language. Perhaps “share food with them” or “improve the systems so that they can access their own food”, but “feeding” sounds more like something you do for animals or children. Let’s try to treat them more like our equals.)

Let them know it's Christmas time again (So… what’s to say our version of Christmas is better than theirs? Perhaps, instead of claiming superiority, we could build relationships with them and learn from each other. Many of my African friends know a lot more then I do about supportive communities and a spiritual approach to Christmas that is more about honouring the birth of Christ than it is about the excessive consumerism and self-centredness that North American Christmas is often reduced to. Somebody pass me a soapbox to stand on!)

Feed the world (Sigh. Didn’t we cover this already?)
Let them know it's Christmas time again
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time again
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time again
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time again (Again? Let’s drop it already. Maybe somebody could write a new song?)

According to Michael Maren in The Road to Hell: The Ravaging Effects of Foreign Aid and International Charity, “The starving African exists as a point in space from which we measure our own wealth, success, and prosperity, a darkness against which we can view our own cultural triumphs. And he serves as a handy object of our charity. He is evidence that we are blessed, and we have an obligation to spread that blessing… Starvation clearly delineates us from them.”

(Why do I have this feeling that I'm opening myself up to the wrath of sentimental people all over the internet?)

Beauty

Do you ever have those moments when you know there is something powerful and awe-inspiring at work in the space where you are? Something beyond yourself that makes you catch your breath with its beauty or power or inspiration? Something that gives you a tingly feeling because you know you were blessed to be there at that moment?

It’s not necessarily a big moment – sometimes it’s something very small and seemingly insignificant – but it’s usually a moment that changes you in some way. Sometimes it’s just a song that fills you with inspiration and hope. Sometimes it’s the glimpse of your child at play. Sometimes it’s a deep inexplicable knowing that there is goodness or beauty in the world.

I’m not sure what to call those moments, nor how to accurately define them. Words just don’t seem to suffice. I heard someone describe them as moments in which you “experience the sacred”. Others refer to them as “spirit-filled” moments. Probably for each of us, a different definition holds some measure of truth.

I had one of those moments on the train last week. As I gazed out the window at the passing scenery, I found myself mesmerized by the beauty of snow. Snow painting the tips of evergreen trees. Snow melting into droplets on the window. Snow crushed by the tires of a car. Fluffy white blankets of snow with just the hint of day-old footprints cutting like giant quilting stitches through middle. Snowflakes falling gently from the sky and mingling with the millions already on the ground.

Just then, a song started playing on my mp3 player. These were the opening lyrics: “Look out your window on a winter's morning, your breath is steam and there's frost falling, and the sun casts a spell upon the road. A thing of beauty is not a thing to ignore.” Wow. What a moment! This was not just some random snow-covered landscape. This was a thing of beauty. This was a gift from God for my hungry eyes.

While I sat there in awe of the snow and the song and the presence of God, the train rounded the corner and the vista changed. There spread in front of me was the great Lake Ontario in all its cold blue wonder, capped by white icing on the edges of the waves, blending into the blue, green and grey of the sky. The second verse of the song came on…“And the water does a dance upon the stones - I sit and listen, I will not ignore.” My eyes filled with tears at the pure wonder of it. I think I was shaking a little, feeling the indisputable presence of the sacred.

It is impossible to accurately capture these moments in words or even in pictures. Even the memory of it doesn’t do justice to the power of the moment. I am so grateful, though, that I was there and that I was open to encountering God.

Here’s a video that someone put together using the song as background. It’s quite lovely to watch. Be inspired.

Thing Of Beauty
Hothouse Flowers

Look out your window on a winter's morning
Your breath is steam and there's frost falling
And the sun casts a spell upon the road
A thing of beauty is not a thing to ignore
Great song of beauty

Stand by the river on a moonlight evening
Lovers are loving and grievers are grieving
And the water does a dance upon the stones
I sit and listen, I will not ignore

A thing of beauty is not to be ignored
Can't you see (can't you see)
It in the secrets of the dawn? (thing of beauty)
Can't you feel (can't you feel)
Can't you feel it in the place that you come from? (thing of beauty)

Face up to morning
Face up to day
Face up to reality
And face up to your ways

There is so much to breathe, see, know, understand and do
And I believe in things of beauty
Do you, do you?
Can't you see
Can't you see it in the secrets of the night? (thing of beauty)
Can't you feel
Can't you feel it in the wonder of a birds first flight? (thing of beauty)
Can't you see, can't you see it
See it in the gentle falling of the snow?
Can't you feel, can't you feel
Like a mother feels when she knows her child has grown?

Come to conclusions
I believe we all do
To look around us and the taste of the fruit
Set free your morals
It should be written on every door

A thing of beauty is not a thing to ignore
Can't you see (can't you see)
It in the magic when a boy meets a girl? (thing of beauty)
Can't you feel it, can't you feel it
In the wonders of the changes of the world? (thing of beauty)
Can't you see (can't you see)
It when right comes out of wrong? (thing of beauty)
Can't you feel (can't you feel)
It as it goes on and on? (thing of beauty)
Can't you see (can't you see)
It in what's left beneath the ground? (thing of beauty)
Can't you feel (can't you feel)
It in the mystery of sound? (of sound, thing of beauty)
Can't you see
Can't you see it in the glory of the sun? (thing of beauty)
Can't you feel, can't you feel it in the wonder of the one...
One
Can't you feel one and only?
One and only
Can't you feel it, can't you feel it, feel it
Thing of beauty?

Sidelined

I should have been on the sidelines of the indoor soccer field last night, watching my agile, long-legged, beautiful daughter sprint across the field after the ball, doing her skip-step whenever she kicks it into high gear, weaving in and out of the opposing players with awe-inspiring skill (yes, I'm proud of her - how can you tell?), adding another goal to her growing total for the season. Oh how I would have liked to have been there.

Instead, I sat in the emergency room all evening, watching my agile, long-legged, beautiful daughter sitting in a wheelchair looking bored, disappointed, and uncomfortable.

Nikki fractured her ankle yesterday. For the next month or two, instead of sprinting across soccer fields, she’ll be limping along with crutches and a cast. It’s rather disappointing timing, with fun Christmas plans that include a trip to a waterpark, probably some bowling, a soccer tournament that she was invited to join with the developmental team, and lots of playing with visiting cousins, etc.

She’s a trooper, though, and she’s handling this all surprisingly well. She’s tough and independent. She hurt herself playing soccer in gym class at 9:30 yesterday morning (“Mom, I think I heard something snap”), limped around school all day, and didn’t even call me until almost 3:00 in the afternoon. Then, because it was too late for me to go get her, she managed to get herself home on the school bus.

She’s pretty determined not to ask for much help for anything either. When I dropped her off at school this morning, her teacher said “I’ll get the other kids to help her out with stuff.” And I said “good luck with that. She won’t very easily admit she needs their help.”

She was in a reasonably good mood this morning on the way to school, but I'm a little afraid that tonight, once the novelty of wearing a cast wears off, she'll be a very sad girl.

Home again

After 2 nights in Montreal (well, one was only half a night, since I got there really late, after a couple of mishaps at the airport delayed the flight, and then the cab driver got lost in Montreal), a train ride to Toronto, and then a few hours in Toronto, I am home.

- The meeting in Montreal was good. People were gracious and kind. They even laughed at my attempt to be funny, and they lapped up the free prizes and even applauded me. There was simultaneous translation for the workshop, so I spoke in English and some of the people heard "me" in French. And vice versa for the questions. I am in awe of anyone who can hear one language and speak in another language at essentially the same speed as the person delivering the message.

- The train ride was lovely. I wrote a bit, slept a bit, listened to music a bit, and stared out the window a lot. Purely delightful.

- I am really not very good at shopping. I know that sounds lame - shopping shouldn't take any particular skills - just go into a store and buy something. But I wandered around downtown Toronto for a few hours, thinking I'd get a good start on Christmas shopping, and I came home with nothing. I just kept finding myself back in the bookstore or coffee shop, seeking solace from the craziness of Christmas shoppers.

- I got home late last night, long after Maddie was sleeping. This morning, she was pleasantly surprised to find me in bed. She crawled under the covers with me and said "the country where you went on your trip must be a warm country, because you're nice and warm." Smile.

- Fortunately I had better luck today when I went shopping. I managed to complete almost all my Christmas shopping with one trip to Ten Thousand Villages. Yay for fair trade.

- There is a lot of snow in Montreal. Downtown, with its sparkly Christmas lights and mountains of snow looks like a winter wonderland. (Maybe I'll get some pictures downloaded tomorrow.)

- I've had enough business trips for awhile. Fortunately, the next one will be to a much more exotic place than the last ones have been.

Light at the end of the tunnel

All I have to do is survive this week and next week, and then I can FINALLY catch my breath. Just a few more meetings, one short business trip, a couple of presentations, a few concerts where I have to be the smiley person working at the information booth, at least one project I have to make some serious progress on, and then I can relax.

Oh how heavenly that word "relax" sounds to my ears right now!

After next week, I'll have two and a half weeks in which I only have to work three days! Woohoo!

In those two and a half weeks, please PLEASE do not ask me to commit to anything unless it involves some serious eating, sleeping, laughing, playing, reading, or relaxing. In those two and a half weeks, "NO" will be my favourite word for anyone who asks too much of me. I promise.

On January 3, 2007, I flew to Ethiopia for an exciting adventure. Little did I know that adventure would continue long after I landed back on Canadian soil. This whole year has been an adventure of new programs, new partnerships, new ideas, new challenges, new staff, new structures... oh the list goes on and on and now I'm TIRED.

There will still be lots to do when I get back after my two and a half weeks, but it can wait. I need a rest.

The person in the room

Whenever I facilitate a workshop or do public speaking, the energy of the people in the room can make or break the quality of my performance. It’s a give and take thing – if they give out positive energy, I’ll give it right back to them. The opposite is true too - if I’ve got good energy going in, I’m feeling confident, and they’re receptive to it, their energy picks up and we feed off each other.

Sometimes there’s one person in the room who wields too much power. Sometimes – especially if I’m feeling a little vulnerable or insecure – one person can suck the energy right out of me. Once, when I was speaking in church, I caught sight of a person near the back who sat with his arms firmly crossed shaking his head in disapproval while I spoke. It completely threw my concentration and I ended up fumbling my way through the rest of my talk and rushed to the end just to get it over with.

It’s even worse when I’m facilitating a workshop, and it’s not only negative body language I pick up, but negative comments and a resistance to feeding into a positive group conversation. I’m not talking about people who throw in ideas or thoughts that run contrary to mine – I can handle constructive disagreement and relish a healthy debate. I’m talking about those people whose negativity comes out in little jabs and passive aggressive undertones. Like the woman who once said under her breath, when she thought the discussion was pointless “I’m going outside to bang my head against the wall.” (My reply to her “a comment like that is not constructive to the process we’re engaged in. If you have a frustration, please voice it to the group.” That was the last passive aggressive comment she made.)

Fortunately, there are usually other people in the room who recognize the destructiveness of that kind of energy, and sometimes, with a little help from them, I can turn things around and not let it destroy the process. But on those days when I’m feeling a little vulnerable and insecure, it’s really hard to get past it and not let it destroy my confidence.

I have to make a presentation on Thursday in front of a group that I anticipate may be less receptive than many of the groups I present to. I’m trying to think of a few ways to liven up the energy a bit. I’m lousy at telling jokes, so I rarely bother with that, but I might need to think of something funny or light-hearted to start with. And I think I’m going to throw a few prizes into the mix – it’s a little manipulative, but sometimes I stoop to whatever lengths I need to for at least a few smiles in the room.

Good news!

1. Joe Banana has been found! (Daddy wins the prize for the best Dad ever for finding him.) At this very moment, he is curled up in his bed with his very best friend. There's a little reunion conversation going on in there, and I'm a little tempted to sit outside the door and eavesdrop, but I will resist. (By the way, if you were one of the nice people at the retreat who showed concern about Joe's disappearance, you can't imagine how touching that was. You can tell you hang out with a cool community of friends when they take an interest in a five-year-old's stuffed monkey.)

2. While half of the family was gone to a church retreat, Nikki got called up to play with the developmental team. (A real game this time - not just a practice.) Her first game with a more competitive team and... SHE SCORED THE FIRST GOAL of the game! So it wasn't only a mother's bias that she was good enough - she rocks! My only regret is that I missed her big moment.

All points bulletin

Joe Banana is missing!

If anyone should see a small, friendly, furry little monkey wandering past your home, looking a little lost, PLEASE let me know. There's a sad little five-year-old girl in our home, who's having trouble falling asleep at night without her buddy.

And if he isn't found... well, then the present the older sisters bought for the five-year-old for Christmas just won't be of any use.

Here's a picture of Joe in happier times, before he wandered off to places unknown. I'm getting a little choked up just looking at his smiling face. (Okay, I AM pathetic - I'm feeling all sad for a lost stuffed monkey.)


Oh Joe, where did you go?

Thursday Thirteen

(Because if Krista can do it, I can too.)

1. I was running out at lunch time to meet with someone, and on my way there, a blind man with a white cane asked “is this Graham Street”? “Close,” I said. “Just another 20 feet and you’re there.” I turned away, but he called out, “where is the bus stop?” “Well, there isn’t one on this block, you’ll have to go to the next block.” “Have I crossed Graham yet?” By this time I realized he was quite disoriented and I hoped he wouldn’t get hit by a bus. “No, you still have to cross Graham.” “Am I at the corner where I can cross?” “No, not exactly.” Giving up my effort to get to my meeting on time, I asked “do you want me to lead you to the bus stop?” “Yes,” was his simple reply. And so I lead him, helping him to avoid the places where ice and snow have already accumulated. And yes, I’m glad I was willing to be late for the meeting – it was worth it.

2. Don’t worry – not every item on this list will be as long as the last one.

3. Yesterday I fasted for End Hunger Fast. Leaders (and others) in churches across Canada fasted too. It felt like a nice way to be connected to people across the country – through the common grumbling of our tummies. (It was also kind of fun to know that an idea that was birthed in my little ol’ brain while I was brushing my teeth inspired people all across the country to give up food for a day.)

4. Speaking of ideas, I came up with another great idea to put together a quilt to present to our government as a way of communicating our concern that farmers in Africa are “taking the heat” when it comes to climate change. We hadn’t gathered enough quilt squares from people, and we’re running out of time (before the big Bali conference on Climate Change), so I thought it wouldn’t materialize. But now a bunch of university students have decided to run with it and I couldn’t be more happy.

5. I’m tired. It seems to be a constant state these days. No, I am NOT pregnant.

6. Speaking of being pregnant, I love ultrasounds, and I’m glad Krista shared hers. When I was in the hospital with Matthew, I had at least 15 of them (twice a day for at least 20 minutes each time), so I got pretty good at reading them.

7. Nikki had her second practice with the indoor developmental soccer team yesterday. Afterwards, one of the coaches said to her, with a smile of encouragement, “Good work Nicole. You’ve got speed, girl. And if you keep kicking like that, we’ll have to get a bigger damage deposit.” I think she grinned all the way home. It's true, I wouldn't recommend standing in front of her when she's kicking a ball. And I would NEVER challenge her to a race. Bravo to the coach for encouraging the new girl.

8. I cleaned up all the piles in my office last week AND I got to the bottom of my in box. Woohoo!!

9. I don’t know if I’ll make it to thirteen. I’m floundering.

10. Even my boss told me I’m looking tired these days. He’s not the most perceptive person around, so it must be serious. I think I need a two week vacation in a warm place.

11. Yesterday, for our day of fasting, I organized a little contemplative “worship” thing for our staff. It was quite lovely. I spoke about justice, mercy, and compassion (read Isaiah 58 for inspiration) and everyone was invited to light a candle (to symbolize their acceptance of a call to do justice), take a sip of water (the call to be merciful), and hold a handful of split peas (compassion). Some people took the burning candles back to their desks. I felt all warm and fuzzy (though a little hungry) for the rest of the afternoon, with a candle burning on my desk.

12. It’s hard to feel warm and fuzzy these days. It’s frickin’ cold outside. I’m not ready for winter.

13. We’re planning a very delightful pre-Christmas surprise for our girls (well, it’s for us too, but we won’t be surprised). I can hardly wait.

Action Sandwich?

I stopped at the mall last night to pick up some pictures, and on my way through Chapters Bookstore, I heard some familiar music playing and decided to investigate. Alan Frew from Glass Tiger was doing an old familiar tune, and because I was once a bit of a Glass Tiger fan (I saw them perform live back in the early 90s), I hung around a bit to try to figure out why Alan Frew was in a bookstore.

Turns out he's written a book. "The Action Sandwich - a six-step recipe to success by doing exactly what you're already doing." Huh - isn't that handy - I can do EXACTLY what I'm already doing and end up successful?

I haven't read the book, so I suppose I have no right to be judgmental, but I just can't help myself. Does the world really NEED another self-help/motivational book about six easy steps to success? Especially one from a rock star?

I enjoyed this quote from an Amazon review of the book... "During a reminiscence of meeting and singing with Rod Stewart, Frew states "Who'd believe it?" and goes on to declare, "The Action Sandwich would!", referring to the action sandwich as a person." Hmmm... gotta get me one o' those ACTION SANDWICHES! Maybe I can sing with Rod Stewart! Or not.

If you've picked up one of these books for me for Christmas, better ask for your money back.

Three unrelated things about the weekend

1. Saturday night after dinner, we were sitting in our living room when we saw a limo pull up in front of our house. We weren't expecting any celebrity guests, so naturally our curiousity was piqued. Out of the limo stepped these three young men with their very special cargo. Sadly, that is not the Grey Cup - nope, that will be heading to Saskatchewan tonight. Instead, it's the Vanier Cup. Our University of Manitoba Bisons won it on Friday. One of these fellows is our neighbour. They were looking pretty beat, but still quite happy to pose for just one more picture.
2. On another note, today I had a speaking engagement at a seniors' home in Steinbach. Given that my family roots are in the vicinity of that very Mennonite part of the province, I knew I would be subjected to the "Mennonite game" wherein nearly everyone in the room would try to figure out who my parents and grandparents were and which of the people in the room I was related to. (I didn't grow up in that area, but both of my parents did.) Sure enough, I was not disappointed. What I didn't expect though, was the woman who pulled me over to tell me, with a bit of a giggle, that she'd once dated my dad, back in the day. He'd taken her for a drive in the country and had tried to teach her to drive. At one point, they'd come upon a herd of pigs, and she'd become flustered and had just taken her hands and feet off of everything. I guess that was the end of the driving lesson.

3. Speaking of my dad... when we were growing up, Sunday was a sacred day. Other than preparing meals, washing the dishes, and making sure the farm animals got fed, there was no work done on the farm. Even if it was beautiful weather in the middle of the harvest, my father refused to break the sabbath. Back then, I thought of him as a little legalistic. Now I'm starting to think he was on to something. We have slowly let ourselves step away from "remembering the sabbath and keeping it holy," and it has become just another day to get the laundry done, go grocery shopping, you name it. Today, after I got back from Steinbach, I took a nap and allowed myself to be lazy for most of the day. It was good. I think I need more sabbath-keeping.

Moving too fast

I have another whirlwind business trip coming up in a couple of weeks. To Montreal and Toronto again. Two cities in two days. Two sets of meetings in two different corporate boardrooms with two very different audiences in two cities in two provinces in two days. Too much.

The only thing I'm looking forward to? A train ride from Montreal to Toronto.

How can you tell your life is moving too fast? When the thought of 4 or 5 hours of uninterrupted daydreaming, reading, staring out the window and contemplating the meaning of life gives me no end of delight.

I love trains.

Losing their way

1. She was cute and cheerful with sparkly eyes and a cherubic face. Before I had children, I used to play with her and her sister at the annual Christmas party where we'd decorate cookies and hang them on the giant Christmas tree. This week, I heard that she's been caught in the schoolyard of the high school she graduated from - selling drugs to students. It seems she's lost her way.

2. I remember when he was born. We held him and cooed over him. Marcel and I were dating at the time, and it was the first time I realized my husband-to-be was baby-crazy. He didn't want to put the baby done. A few days ago, we found out that that baby has grown into a high school student who's belligerent and disrespectful and was caught stealing when his class volunteered at the local food bank. "If the poor people can have that stuff, why can't I?" He's losing his way.

3. She was beautiful and gifted and seemed so highly capable when she started working with me, several years ago. The future ahead looked bright and should have been. Today I heard that she's carrying a sadness with her, and has become so self-limiting her potential seems wasted and almost dried up. Is she losing her way?

4. Two little girls with friendly smiles and nervous giggles. They've been to our birthday parties and played in our backyard. Both of them seemed fearless and bold and full of spunk. One of them could shimmy up the monkey bars and walk across the top like a tight-rope walker when she was still too tiny to go to school. The other one came with us to Ballet in the Park and would wander off into the crowd like she was afraid of no-one. Now they're ten years old and looking for love in all the wrong places. Getting their eyebrows waxed, dressing like show-girls and bragging about kissing boys. Both had mothers whose pregnancies cut short their youth. Will they lose their way?

I have no conclusion for this post. No wise words or happy endings. Just a bit of sadness for the stories of people who've been in my life at some point and have since faltered along the path.

The legacy continues

Alternate title: Since I'm bragging about my kids anyway...

Many, many years ago, when I was about 5 or 6 (or I might have been a bit older, I don't remember - perhaps my sibling-with-the-amazing-memory can help me out?), I walked 22 miles to become the youngest person in our community to complete the walk-a-thon.

Yesterday, Julie did me proud. She climbed 29 flights of stairs for Conquer the Globe: StairClimb for Clean Air 2007 and was awarded the "Youngest Achiever Award". She came home quite proudly waving her new MP3 player award in the air. Yay Julie!

She completed the climb in 7 minutes and 47 seconds. I think I would have only made it up about 4 flights of stairs (huffing and puffing) in 7 minutes. Nikki made it in 5 minutes and 47 seconds. (She was the second-youngest achiever, but there was no award for that.)

I better start getting into shape, because next year they're determined I do it with them.

Scouted

Last Spring, Nikki suffered a major disappointment when she didn't get selected to play on the developmental level soccer team. Several of her friends got chosen (or at least got chosen to serve as back-up - kind of like the 'farm team'). If you saw Nikki play, you'd realize that it was clearly an oversight. No, I'm not just being a biased Mom - all the other parents who watch her were as incredulous as we were.

Nikki is passionate about soccer. P.A.S.S.I.O.N.A.T.E. Even though she could only play at the recreational league level, she poured her heart and soul into it every chance she got. All through the spring and summer, she worked extra hard, determined to improve her skills so she'd be selected next year. She went to a soccer camp in the summer, and her skills got even better.

This year, for the first time, both her and Julie are playing indoor soccer. (They wanted to last year, but our budget was a little tight.) Nikki started the season with a bang - scoring the first goal for her team - and has been knockin' em dead ever since (highest goal-scorer so far). She is a force to be reckoned with. (I really love watching her. There's this little skip-step that she does just before she kicks it into full throttle. It's a thing of beauty.)

And yesterday it paid off. We weren't aware of it, but there was a coach from the developmental team watching her game, looking for a possible back-up player for their team. After the game (in which Nikki scored 2 out of the team's 3 goals), he pulled Nikki's coach aside, and then he pulled Nikki aside. They want her to come out for practices and be available to play whenever one of their players can't make it. (She was the only one from her team selected.)

She's not a full-fledged member of the team (yet), but it's a start. And it sure is good to see that smile on her face.

C'mon people, have you learned NOTHING?!

Two years ago, I wrote a post about all the things you should NOT do if you're applying for a job (at least if you're applying for a job where I'll be your manager). I just finished reading through 57 resumés, and I hate to tell you, at least half of those people did NOT BOTHER TO READ my very helpful post. C'mon people!

Telling me that you were "led by the Spirit" to apply for the job is not going to guarantee that I am "led by the Spirit" to hire you! And including a picture on your resumé? Unless you're applying for a job at Moxies or Hooters, I can't imagine when it would EVER be advisable to add the picture. And if you ever think that six pages of fine print wherein you brag non-stop about how wonderful you are is going to be read with delight - guess again. 57 resumes is a LOT of reading to do, and you've just guaranteed yours will be barely skimmed through.

Just one other thing... don't EVER, under any circumstances, include phrases such as "do you really want to pass up the opportunity to meet with me?" Or "Look no further!" Or "I am confident you've found the right person in me." Let me be the judge of that!

My sister

There have been lots of cheesy things said about sisters - in Hallmark and Blue Mountain Art cards and plaques and all manner of cheap token gifts. I'd never buy one of those for my sister - not because I don't like her, but because we share a disdain for schmaltzy, overly sentimental clap trap.

This is my own version of "why I like my sister":

She is the best traveling companion EVER. We have the same interests, we skip the same overly-popular tourist traps in favour of out-of-the-way local flair, we seek out similar versions of "beauty", and we like to make fun of OTHER tourists. (In fact, I'm a little jealous of her friends and husband lately, because they've had more chances to travel with her than me and that sucks.)

She has been an incredible presence in the lives of my daughters from the day they were born. She spoils them, she encourages them, she treats them with great respect, she honours their individuality, and most of all she loves them.

She is sarcastic and opinionated - in an endearing kind of way. If she feels strongly about something, she doesn't mind voicing her opinion, but she's equally open to hearing other people's opinions. She loves a good argument, and it was one of the things our dad admired most about her.

She is way more organized and dependable than me. But she doesn't rub it in my face or get really annoyed when I forget about something or my disorganization gets in the way of success.

She can throw a party like few people I know. I am in awe of her hosting skills. She doesn't want to be the centre of attention, but when you see her in action at a party she's hosting, it is a thing of beauty.

She lets herself be vulnerable with people she cares about deeply and who have gained her trust. If you happen to be lucky enough to be within her circle of trust, you will be deeply rewarded. She'll admit her weakness and trust you to handle them tenderly and with respect. She will treat your weaknesses the same way she hopes you'll treat hers.

She knows me better than almost anyone in the world. There are times when we are in a room full of people, and we hear a comment made, we just need to glance at each other across the room and we can communicate our response to the comment without anyone else in the room knowing what's passing between us.

She knows my hurts. She's the first person I tell when I get those familiar pangs of missing dad or I have to deal with some of the transitions our family has been through, because I know that she will respond with the kind of compassion that only someone with the same hurts can respond.

She loves Folk Festival as much as I do and even went as far as arranging her wedding around it. I love her for that.

If she believes in something, she commits herself wholeheartedly. She has been part of the most incredible Children's ministry team at our church for a long time and she has poured a whole lot of herself into caring for, teaching, and encouraging our children. Many, many children have been blessed by her.

She doesn't like cell phones any more than I do.

Gulp

More than 60 percent of young women in high school express dissatisfaction with their bodies.

In college, it's 80 percent.

The obsession with weight starts early - 42 percent of girls in first to third grade express a desire to be thinner.

According to published research, 15 percent of women would sacrifice more than five years of their life to obtain the weight they desire. (REALLY? Yikes!)

There are at least eight million sufferers of life-threatening anorexia nervosa (reported in girls as young as eight years old), bulimia, and other associated eating disorders in America; 90 percent of these are women.

Since 1992, elective cosmetic procedures have risen a dramatic 198 percent.

Between 1990 and 1999 the number of facelifts in the US increased sixfold.

The diet industry has grown to a $40-billion-a-year business.

Popular women's magazines contain 10 times more diet-promoting articles and advertisements than comparable men's magazines. One out of every 3.8 advertisements sends some sort of message encouraging women to acquire a body that is "barely there".

Somebody PLEASE tell me how we're supposed to raise healthy daughters in this culture?!!?

(Information source: "Eve's Revenge: Women and a Spirituality of the Body")

On birth and busy-ness

There have not been alot of words making their way onto my blog lately. The reasons are both simple and complicated. The simple reason is that I'm still crazy busy these days. Most of the busy-ness is work-related, but there have been other things. Like facilitating another leadership workshop, making Halloween costumes, dealing with indoor soccer schedules, and then all those other things that show up unexpectedly. Throw in a little business travel, and I'm just about maxed out.

The complicated reasons aren't so easy to explain. Maybe one of these days I'll come on here and explain a little more about what's going on, but for now let's just say it's a bit of a personal spiritual journey, combined with the birthing of a new creative "baby".

This figurative birthing process has made me reminisce about my literal birthing experiences - the three that resulted in my beautiful daughters, and the one that resulted in my beautiful, though lifeless, son. The memory that's been with me today is that of my coming into motherhood experience.

Nikki had a really difficult entry into this world. I still find myself - nearly a dozen years later - getting a little emotional when I remember the intensity, pain, frustration, worry, seamingly endless agony, and yet ultimate joy of that experience (and a whole lot of emotions in between). It started out with me being induced because a fetal assessment showed (rather incorrectly) that she was a little on the small side and that my fluids were getting low (a week after she was due). Inducement led to hours of waiting for something to happen, followed by nearly 36 hours of labour (there's the "endless" part), three hours of heavy duty pushing, followed by an urgent call to the only obstetrician in the city who could do the necessary procedure to to deliver her without a c-section, lots of tearing and stitches, and then finding out that she had to be rushed away from me to be treated with antibiotics because there was a risk of infection.

When she was finally born, after all those hours of pushing, I had gone almost completely (though thankfully temporarily) blind. It turns out the agony of pushing for that long can mess up the muscles around your eyes so badly your vision gets messed up. They put my baby on my chest, but I had to rely on Marcel's description of her and the touch of my fingers to know anything about how she looked.

Not long afterwards, she was whisked away, and because it was late and we all needed rest, I was returned to my room and Marcel and my mom left the hospital.

The memory that has been clinging to me today has been not so much about the delivery but about what happened later that night. I awoke in the middle of the night and was suddenly filled with the most intense body-aching loneliness I had ever felt. My family had gone, and the baby that had moved in my womb for the last nine months was way down the hall behind nursery room glass. I'd given birth to her, gone through nearly unbearable pain to introduce her to the world, but I didn't even know what she looked like.

My eyesight had returned and I knew I HAD to see her. I knew it with the deepest longing imaginable. But I was in so much pain, I couldn't even figure out how to shuffle my body up in the bed in order to reach the call button to get the nurse.

But there is little that can get in the way of a mother who needs to see her child. I struggled for what seemed like an eternity, but I somehow managed to get my body up off the bed and down the hall. The nurses looked up in amazement as I passed them and entered the nursery. I'm sure there was a rather desparate look in my bloodshot eyes.

I found my baby. And I wept at her loveliness. She looked so tiny and vulnerable, hooked up to all kinds of wires and hoses, lying nearly naked in an incubator. Truly, she was not a beautiful baby - after what she went through to get into the world, it's hardly surprising - but she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I reached out and touched her skin and knew that I had fallen completely and irreversibly in love.

I'm not sure why this is on my mind today, but I'm sure it has something to do with this creative birthing process. Some of it is painful, and it's possible that what comes of it may never "live", but at this point, I have to believe it will be beautiful.

This is the best I've got

Because life seems to be overwhelming me a bit these days, and because Maddie had a wee tiny (yeah right!) meltdown when it was time to dress up for Halloween, I didn't manage to take any pictures last night. Instead, I "stole" one from my sister, so I can at least show off the cuteness of the two monkey cousins. (And this is your opportunity to ooh and aah about the monkey costume I made for Nikki. Don't look too closely at the ears, though.)