Who Knows?

My mother was omniscient.

When I was a LITTLE-little kid, back in the last century, I still got into my fair share of trouble. But once the kind of trouble I could have gotten into was the really bad kind, I started behaving. (Or, as my oldest brother once said when Mom yelled at him, "BeHAVE!"..."I'm BEing-have!)

I was a good kid solely because if I got into trouble, she would know. Miraculously. Mysteriously. She would just know. And then she would kill me.

Fast-forward [mumble] years. I'm not a parent. However, I am a step-grandparent. And I'm learning a little about the mystery of knowing.

At the moment, the 10-year-old g-son and the 7-year-old g-son have taken a shine to grapefruit soda.

We know it's soda.

They know it's soda.

But they think we don't know it's soda. And thus they think they're getting away with something.

So we don't let them know we know. It's more fun this way.

But boy, when they do stuff that is dangerous, we see it, and we let them know we know, and we make them stop. Especially when they know better.

And although their first response to anything--any little old thing--is still to throw it, at least they don't throw at each other. Always. As much, anyway.

How did my mother always know? See subject line. (Maybe I shouldn't have skipped the "parent" step.)

What I'd really like to know: When is that "throwing" thing going to stop? See subject line.

Before and After

Last November, this happened.


Last week, some other stuff happened and now it looks like this.


No, one of those things wasn't a paint job. The woodshed looks greener because of the quality of light. (It's fabulous this morning. The wind is really fierce off the lake, though, and it's chilly.)

Now, after the birch spent all winter bent over the woodshed holding up two other trees, its reward is...what? Being cut down--on purpose. No, it's not fair (as my mother used to say of life), but in spite of its service, it's leaning toward the structures, and we want to try to manage its descent.

And the corner of the woodshed is making Mr. Roofing Man rub his hands together in eager anticipation.

Now, if we could only figure out what is doing this:

We would think "bear" except no tracks anywhere, and likewise no scat. Our next thought is "bird," because the ravens are known to do weird things with wood, and the pileated woodpeckers have been around.

In any case, we want this picture to be the "after." We don't want it to be "before" and have an "after" that includes a blurry picture of a bear, perhaps taken from its innards.

Inner Critic

North American cultures make a big deal of graduations. Perhaps the party industry has a hand in that. If Grade 8 graduation is as big a deal as Grade 12 graduation, that means more dresses, decorations, and cake get sold. More limousines and tuxes rented. More cash registers beeping.

But for all that graduation is supposed to be a turning point--the beginning of the rest of your life, blah blah blah--who really leaves school behind?

Obviously, we should. But be truthful: when the popular girl from high school deigned to friend you on Facebook, you did a "squee!" You know you did.

But seriously--isn't it time to move on? Perhaps it's time to more carefully select the people with whom you work on the things that are important to you. You may not be in contact (even through Facebook) with the Popular Ones, the Designated Smart Ones, or whoever was your nemesis in the past.

But they probably live on, right there between your ears. They are part of your inner critic, whom you will never please.

As Seth Godin suggests here, the important people are those who will work with you to improve what you're doing. The people who you could never impress or satisfy in high school (or your first job, or your first marriage, or graduate school) are not.

For writers, it's difficult but necessary to find people who will be truthful but positive when giving feedback. Learning how to listen to what they say is another, separate skill, and one that's equally necessary to develop. I'm getting there on both counts.

But it's easier when you can leave behind the comments that those people in your past have made: the snarky workshop leader, the frightened boss, the unimaginative coworker who can't imagine why something is important to you. (Examples, sheer examples. No actual people attached. They know who they are.) Their influence persists, in the voice between my ears, only because I allow it to. But no more.

In this season of transitions, let the sun rise on graduation day!

Lesson Re-Learned

I have suggested here before that knowing and doing are two different things.

Here's another lesson I'm re-learning. You know when you're vacuuming something above your head? Like in a tiny space, like an attic? And it's just so disgusting, like buggy and spidery and cobwebby and you pretend those can't be rodent nests because if they were you would scream like the cowering 10-year-old you are inside and be SO outta there?

That's when you should keep your mouth shut. Yes.

When vacuuming a surface over your head, close mouth.

Of course, "close mouth" is not bad advice for me in general.

Silver Lining

The water is low this year. We had no measurable snow in March. The fire season has started already. I'm concerned. Which is like saying I'm breathing, given that I'm concerned when the water is high, too. Normally, the water comes up across the rocks to the pebbly stuff.


To stay sane, I've been walking around looking for silver linings. One is that it's lovely to be outside without gloves. And the sun, being plentiful, is doing neat things if you look at stuff up close.

Another is that some rocks that are normally underwater now aren't. So I get to admire them.

So maybe those aren't silver linings, exactly. Maybe they're pewter. But they're what I got this Monday.

Happily Ever After

Today is the third anniversary of my father's death.

When my mother died, she'd been sick for so long--gone long before she died--that I really really needed to remember her as she had been before she was sick. The last years of her life were intense. I wanted to temper those years (though not forget them) with a view of the full range of her experiences and personality. Fortunately, as I have said, I have been able to do so, somewhat.

But my father's death was different. I didn't really know him well until my mother died. Then we understood each other better.



Plenty of times, I rolled my eyes at him, his fussy ways, his deliberation, his turtle self. As I have said before.


But I also listened. I learned about perseverance and the power of being of service to others. The importance of showing up and of saying "thank you." The wisdom of not uttering aloud every little thing that passes through your mind. (Still working on that one.)

In his final month, he showed courage and grace as he accepted his body's failure with patience and dignity. His faith let him look to the future with curiosity and hope, not fear. He became ever more himself until his death.

Sometimes, I still find it hard to believe that he's gone. I miss him, of course. But I find that when I am inclined to get overly sentimental, something reminds me of the rest of him--his human side. He was a tense driver, and his driving worsened with age. Last night I dreamed he was driving me somewhere. When the traffic light changed to green, he slammed the accelerator to the floor and turned left in front of oncoming traffic, then jumped a median. In my dream, I thought, "Oh yeah, there was this, too," and woke up laughing.

As I get older, my parents get younger. I've posted this picture before, in relation to my mother. It's become a favorite way to remember both of them--even though I can't actually remember it, since I wasn't born for another 15 years.

This is from one of my grandmother's photo albums. In white, she has written "And so, they lived happily ever after." Which pretty much says it all. Except how grateful I am.

Which?

It's a grey day here.

As it must also be in Poland.

Sometimes it's hard to know what you're looking at.

Reflections and gloom

can obscure

what's in front of you.

When is an accident a confluence of unfortunate events
among people with a long and twisted history--
a rock falling, just then--
and when is an "accident" not an accident at all?

Is it better to suspect or trust?
Precarious walking, either way.

Real Crisis? or Fake?

In this country, a cabinet minister was fired yesterday. Or rather, her resignation was accepted and she was kicked out of the Conservative party. The RCMP has been called in. This is a really big deal.

Why? Dunno. Don't even know when we'll know.

Why? Because the Prime Minister didn't say, "We've referred the matter to XYZ organization, and more details will be forthcoming as we know them," it was "We've referred the matter to XYZ organization, and that's really all you need to know."

Sorry, Mr. Prime Minister--you don't get to decide what we know. And thanks to his instinct to control news and determine what people do and don't know (about things that aren't even directly connected to himself), he's created a fake crisis situation.

Contrast that with what's now happening in Poland, where one plane crash has taken out all of the senior government officials. All of 'em: financial, political, military. THAT's a crisis. One can ask why they were all traveling on the same plane, but still. They're facing something horrible, difficult--REAL. It's not manufactured by someone trying to retain power by withholding information.

Even though this particular minister has long been a resignation just waiting to be tendered, the Prime Minister tolerated her. Praised her, even. So this about-face and closed mouth is startling. And speculation is rampant. In fact, the very LACK of information may be creating Himalayas out of the Niagara escarpment.

People always talk about Prime Minister Harper's intelligence and political instinct. They must mean only that he's book-smart and goes for the jugular. They can't mean that he understands the power of human imagination.

If he did, his announcement would have been quite different. It would have been open and responsible. And he would not be in the midst of a self-made crisis.

Change of Mind(set)

I'm not a big fan of biz-speak but it is useful at times. "Mindset" is one of those words I suspect originated in a boardroom somewhere, but I like it. It describes that part of me that is hard to change. It's not so hard for me to change my mind. But my mind's default setting--that's something else again.

For those who remember the loon socks and issues of "hanging on too long," changing my mindset is a related-but-different phenomenon.

Recently, I was asked to appear in black slacks/skirt and white blouse. (Yes, this example is also about clothing. Deal.) Piece of cake. I have lots of white blouses from...from...huh. From back in the 90s, when I used to work in an office--and even then wore business casual and kept a couple of white blouses hanging around only because "they're a necessity." So said both Mr. Dress for Success and my mother, independently. Therefore, when I looked recently, I found a couple. One had yellowed. One had never fit. One was waaaaaay not something I would ever wear. So they've been disposed of.

Decades have passed since a white blouse was actually a necessity in my life. They're also not necessary now--I rarely am asked to wear white and this just request happened to fall at the wrong time of the laundry cycle to haul out a sweater.

So my point is this: It's one thing to live for decades and change your life circumstances several times. It's something else again to change your mindset, and, with it, all the crap you tote around with you.

And because the personal is political, I'll ask these questions:

• Is it time for the people in a country to the south to change their mindset around health care? New legislation is one thing--how about doing the mental work necessary to understand that people should not receive health care based on how much money they make? Imagine all the energy that would free up, all the risk and growth, if entrepreneurs knew that they could get sick without requiring an employer for health insurance.
• Is it time for a church to change itse mindset around fear? Perhaps the Catholic church could stop being so defensive about the wrongs its leaders have committed (and perpetuate). (Hey, I can dream.) Perhaps local congregations could focus on the best ways to particpate in defining and fulfilling their missions in the community, instead of being afraid the institution itself won't survive.
• Is it time for the government in this country to stop being afraid of losing power? Hint: The Catholic church may yet understand that hiding information only exacerbates any crimes from the past. Learn from their example. Be open. Try aiming for respect from Canadians instead of popularity. You may be pleasantly surprised.
• Is it time for a city government to change its mindset and approach to economic development? How about putting resources into creating a city that's safe, pretty, and clean? People will enjoy living here. They will create and attract companies--and perhaps, eventually, tourists. Because stalking tourists doesn't make anybody very happy and doesn't appear to be successful.

Now that I've prescribed changed mindsets for the world, I feel better. As if I've cleaned out a closet--perhaps even a mental one.

C'mon, Rain

This is what Friday looked like.

Then we had a little rain on Easter afternoon.
Here's today. Same place, give or take.

Of course, some of the change is just wind blowing the ice away.

But most of the change is from the rain.

April really is the brownest month.

But, at least this year, today, it's also green...

and blue.

Happy Easter.

A Four-Day Weekend

That's Easter up here, for some: Good Friday and Easter Monday are holidays to bank and government types.

However, stores like Canadian Tire and Home Depot were open today (Saturday). The gym was closed Friday and Saturday but will be open on Monday. My hair stylist was off Friday, worked today (whew), is off tomorrow (they close Sundays), works Monday, and is off Tuesday.

Meanwhile, my little "shouldn't church and state at least pretend to be separated?" mind can't quite wrap my head around this. Back when I worked at a job in the U.S., I knew people who took Good Friday off as a holiday, but it wasn't an official holiday. (Of course, as a freelancer in any country, every day both is and is not a holiday, not that I'm complaining.)

In any case, since there's a holiday, I baked something (chocolate chip scones), and because the holiday is Easter, I am making devilled eggs. It just seems kind of funny, that's why.