We have a new car. Buying it was a difficult decision, one a long time in the making. We decided for no real reason, or rather, for "squishy" reasons. We still need two cars. One of ours was 17 years old (the other is 8). Roy and I connected with a particular sales person who sold a particular kind of car we already knew we wanted. Et cetera.
Similarly, I will no longer be blogging here. Quitting was a difficult decision, one a long time in the making. The reasons are similarly squishy. Nothing horrible has happened. It's just time.
So of course I will now squish about those reasons.
One reason for quitting is that I sometimes feel, walking into a bookstore or surfing along the dewy strands of the Interwebs (to mix metaphors), as if people are clutching at my lapels (more mixture, more metaphors!), begging me to listen to their stories.
I am suffering a surfeit of memoir, a plethora of personal essay.
Actually, that last isn't quite right. I do like to read personal essays. But I am ready for them to be less personal and more essay. I'm very happy for a personal thread to guide me through a topic. I just want more emphasis on the topic and less on the feelings and impressions of the writer.
All of which is a tad hypocritical, since I have written very personal essays and can't promise I'll stop. Someday, a subject will capture my attention, and when I'm ready to consider it in the light of learning, I will. However, given that blogs are a form of personal essay, I can at least stop writing this one, which is more personal and less essay. As it happens, my writing for the foreseeable future will be less essay-ish and more fict-ish (and work-ish).
So the bigger reason for quitting is that others have far more learned things to say than I do about Canada as seen through the eyes of the U.S. and/or Americans (and sometimes vice versa). In the next month or so, I expect to be tidying up in here a little, and I'll include links to some of those people who are doing those "real" things, like collecting and analyzing accents and doing real research into the nuances of that relationship.
It's been an interesting adventure. I am aware that some semi-public mock has been made of me and my opinions. That's unsurprising, given that putting an opinion into a public space like a blog invites responses, of which mock is one form.
But it's also completely surprising, because really, who cares what I think? In the words of The West Wing's Toby Ziegler, "I'm just the guy who does the thing." (Another metaphor: I have apparently run out of pie!)
The point: I am not an expert. Not even a representative opinion. Just a writer. A sometimes cranky fly on the wall. (Stopping with the metaphors now.)
Far more important than all that is this: I am most grateful for those who have engaged me (in real life, given that I am the kind of person who doesn't allow comments here) in discussions about everything from "Of course it's pronounced "ash-phalt"; what are you talking about?" to the wistful "Really? they don't think about us? Not even a little bit?"
I am still find-able. I have a website. I am on Facebook.
In closing: Thank you, everyone. See you across the border.
Showing posts with label priorities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label priorities. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Science: Scary or Cool?
Initial answer: Both, but learning science lets you focus on the cool while being appropriately cautious.
For example, Japan and the nuclear plant and all the questions about radiation are easy to classify as "scary." Part of the fear is the "not knowing"--first, not knowing whether you can trust information that comes from the people responsible for accident in the first place.
But the phrase "radiation exposure" itself sounds scary, scarier than it really is. Yes, in some situations, radiation exposure can be dangerous. Safe nuclear energy requires good reactor design, trained specialists, and safe work practices. But not all radiation exposure is lethal. All of us are exposed to radiation every day from the sun.
The fear is unwarranted, but it's also not news. Science literacy has never been strong among the American public, and I daresay "the average Canadian" is not necessarily better informed.
Learning science is definitely NOT scary. Learning anything new is a challenge, but that's not the same as scary. It's entirely possible for average, everyday people to learn about radiation. Yes, even you!! The International Atomic Energy Agency, for example, has very readable udpates and explanations about the situation in Japan.
When you start to pay attention to stories about science, you get to learn about really cool things, like this: A NASA spacecraft is now orbiting Mercury. Mercury has its Sputnik! MSNBC's article about it is here.
And then you can learn about connections between stories. For example, astronauts outside the earth's atmosphere have less protection from the sun's radiation. That's one reason why "unmanned," meaning "without personnel of any gender," spacecraft do so much of the exploration work in the solar system. Here's a page of articles with keywords "radiation" and "safety" from the nasa.gov site. You can see from these stories how NASA has always tried to take appropriate precautions to shield its astronauts.
Which is what we can all do: learn and then take appropriate precautions.
So, the original question needs to be reframed, because here's the answer. Life can be scary. Science can help us rachet down the fear and teach us really cool things.
And that's what we can hang onto during these times when all the stories seem to be about crises.
For example, Japan and the nuclear plant and all the questions about radiation are easy to classify as "scary." Part of the fear is the "not knowing"--first, not knowing whether you can trust information that comes from the people responsible for accident in the first place.
But the phrase "radiation exposure" itself sounds scary, scarier than it really is. Yes, in some situations, radiation exposure can be dangerous. Safe nuclear energy requires good reactor design, trained specialists, and safe work practices. But not all radiation exposure is lethal. All of us are exposed to radiation every day from the sun.
The fear is unwarranted, but it's also not news. Science literacy has never been strong among the American public, and I daresay "the average Canadian" is not necessarily better informed.
Learning science is definitely NOT scary. Learning anything new is a challenge, but that's not the same as scary. It's entirely possible for average, everyday people to learn about radiation. Yes, even you!! The International Atomic Energy Agency, for example, has very readable udpates and explanations about the situation in Japan.
When you start to pay attention to stories about science, you get to learn about really cool things, like this: A NASA spacecraft is now orbiting Mercury. Mercury has its Sputnik! MSNBC's article about it is here.
And then you can learn about connections between stories. For example, astronauts outside the earth's atmosphere have less protection from the sun's radiation. That's one reason why "unmanned," meaning "without personnel of any gender," spacecraft do so much of the exploration work in the solar system. Here's a page of articles with keywords "radiation" and "safety" from the nasa.gov site. You can see from these stories how NASA has always tried to take appropriate precautions to shield its astronauts.
Which is what we can all do: learn and then take appropriate precautions.
So, the original question needs to be reframed, because here's the answer. Life can be scary. Science can help us rachet down the fear and teach us really cool things.
And that's what we can hang onto during these times when all the stories seem to be about crises.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Juxtapositions
Lots of back and forth, this week--the cultural equivalent of the weather this February. One day the temperature is above freezing and everything in sight is melting; twelve hours later the temp is 11 below C or 11 above F, the winds are howling, and it's snowing again. Go figure.
So here are three other pairings.
High tech: In Canada, several federal agencies--Finance, Treasury Board, and Defense Research and Development Canada--are under cyberattack. The attackers are sophisticated enough to make it look like they're working for China. Employees of those agencies who require internet access have been authorized to work in cafes and from home (because those internet connections are so much more secure??). This has been going on for some six weeks but came to light only recently (did a cloaking device fail?).
Low tech: Minister Oda hand-drawing a caret (like this ^ ) and writing "not" to deny funding to an NGO. Here's a picture. My earlier take is here (hey, the "not" jokes used to be funny). Political commentators, and not especially left-leaning ones, either, are still talking about this, with ever-heightening rhetoric.
Haves: In the U.S., the Obama administration extended the Bush tax cuts for those whose income is more than $250,000 (for a couple, $200K for a single). Reason: people who pay taxes in the U.S. (and those of us U.S. citizens who legally DON'T because we PAY PAY PAY in another country but are still forced by U.S. tax law to justify EVERY SINGLE YEAR why we don't pay in the U.S. TOO, not that I'm bitter) are still voters. In the U.S., voters hate "tax increases," even if they are technically just cuts that are expiring, and even if they apply only to people who make a whackload more than you.
Have-nots: The new budget in the U.S. includes a $5.50 (Canadian? The loonie is worth more these days!) surcharge on people entering the U.S. from Canada by air and sea. This will net $100 million or so in revenue, a tiny blip on the screen of their need for revenue, especially compared to what they could have made had they reversed those tax cuts on the wealthy, but like whatever. Reason: Few paying the $5.50 vote in U.S. elections. I say "few" because Americans travel from Canada into the U.S. at times, too. However, I won't be paying this surcharge because flying from Minneapolis cuts the cost of travel significantly, even with gas/hotel/time factored in.
If you like shouting: read What is America, by Ronald Wright (Alfred A. Knopf Canada). Written in 2008 before the election, it's full of sloppy scholarship and polemic. In fact, the title could use a caret: What Is ^ America; at the caret, insert Wrong With. His thesis seems to be that "America," a term that changes meaning several times in the book, is and has always been a horrible, exploitive place and that the neoconservative fundamentalist approach to life and the world is wrong. I don't necessarily disagree with him. I just don't think shouting is the same thing as making an effective case. Also, he's lazy in his research and writing, and he has no solutions. (Yes, some of the shouting related to this book came from me as I read.)
If you like muttering: read Doing the Continental, by David Dyment (Dundurn Press, Toronto). Full disclosure: I have only been able to dip into this book. However, I heard him speak, and he claims his book was aimed at the regular, nonspecialist person riding the ferry or the subway. If that's true, his editors should have had him try another pass, especially at sentences like this one: "The Americans are so much a part of our reality that they contextualize us" (p. 16). However, what I appreciate about this book and the writer is that 1. he claims a new type of relationship between the two countries is possible and 2. that Canada holds the power to effect this change.
That's enough whiplash for one week, eh.
So here are three other pairings.
High tech: In Canada, several federal agencies--Finance, Treasury Board, and Defense Research and Development Canada--are under cyberattack. The attackers are sophisticated enough to make it look like they're working for China. Employees of those agencies who require internet access have been authorized to work in cafes and from home (because those internet connections are so much more secure??). This has been going on for some six weeks but came to light only recently (did a cloaking device fail?).
Low tech: Minister Oda hand-drawing a caret (like this ^ ) and writing "not" to deny funding to an NGO. Here's a picture. My earlier take is here (hey, the "not" jokes used to be funny). Political commentators, and not especially left-leaning ones, either, are still talking about this, with ever-heightening rhetoric.
Haves: In the U.S., the Obama administration extended the Bush tax cuts for those whose income is more than $250,000 (for a couple, $200K for a single). Reason: people who pay taxes in the U.S. (and those of us U.S. citizens who legally DON'T because we PAY PAY PAY in another country but are still forced by U.S. tax law to justify EVERY SINGLE YEAR why we don't pay in the U.S. TOO, not that I'm bitter) are still voters. In the U.S., voters hate "tax increases," even if they are technically just cuts that are expiring, and even if they apply only to people who make a whackload more than you.
Have-nots: The new budget in the U.S. includes a $5.50 (Canadian? The loonie is worth more these days!) surcharge on people entering the U.S. from Canada by air and sea. This will net $100 million or so in revenue, a tiny blip on the screen of their need for revenue, especially compared to what they could have made had they reversed those tax cuts on the wealthy, but like whatever. Reason: Few paying the $5.50 vote in U.S. elections. I say "few" because Americans travel from Canada into the U.S. at times, too. However, I won't be paying this surcharge because flying from Minneapolis cuts the cost of travel significantly, even with gas/hotel/time factored in.
If you like shouting: read What is America, by Ronald Wright (Alfred A. Knopf Canada). Written in 2008 before the election, it's full of sloppy scholarship and polemic. In fact, the title could use a caret: What Is ^ America; at the caret, insert Wrong With. His thesis seems to be that "America," a term that changes meaning several times in the book, is and has always been a horrible, exploitive place and that the neoconservative fundamentalist approach to life and the world is wrong. I don't necessarily disagree with him. I just don't think shouting is the same thing as making an effective case. Also, he's lazy in his research and writing, and he has no solutions. (Yes, some of the shouting related to this book came from me as I read.)
If you like muttering: read Doing the Continental, by David Dyment (Dundurn Press, Toronto). Full disclosure: I have only been able to dip into this book. However, I heard him speak, and he claims his book was aimed at the regular, nonspecialist person riding the ferry or the subway. If that's true, his editors should have had him try another pass, especially at sentences like this one: "The Americans are so much a part of our reality that they contextualize us" (p. 16). However, what I appreciate about this book and the writer is that 1. he claims a new type of relationship between the two countries is possible and 2. that Canada holds the power to effect this change.
That's enough whiplash for one week, eh.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Borderline Yawn
So, Mr. Harper goes to Washington. He and President Obama talked about border security. They made some announcements about increased security and free trade and more cooperation.
This is the kind of announcement that should provide something interesting for me to say. So I keep waiting for something from this trip to be really earth-shattering and important.
[crickets]
These days, the U.S.-Canada border isn't particularly interesting, at least not in comparison to borders in other places...Gaza, for example.
And hey, after the last two weeks of unrest in places like Tunisia and Egypt, at least President Obama got to talk to a leader who's NOT facing a challenge to his leadership.
Right, Mr. Layton? Mr. Ignatieff? Bueller? Anyone?
[crickets]
Uh-huh.
This is the kind of announcement that should provide something interesting for me to say. So I keep waiting for something from this trip to be really earth-shattering and important.
[crickets]
These days, the U.S.-Canada border isn't particularly interesting, at least not in comparison to borders in other places...Gaza, for example.
And hey, after the last two weeks of unrest in places like Tunisia and Egypt, at least President Obama got to talk to a leader who's NOT facing a challenge to his leadership.
Right, Mr. Layton? Mr. Ignatieff? Bueller? Anyone?
[crickets]
Uh-huh.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
What's it All About?
As other attacks (Moscow) and shootings (Florida) take over the news internationally and in the U.S., Tucson is getting a bit of a reprieve from the spotlight.
It's been interesting to hear what Canadians tend to discuss in relation to the shooting, as opposed to what the discussion seems to be about in the U.S.
Canadians tend to want to talk about gun control. To a lesser extent, Canadians relate the Tucson shootings to mental health care, which (as with the rest of the U.S. healthcare system) is bewilderingly different and obviously inferior to Canada's.
The most public exception to this perspective is an opinion "writer" for Maclean's who I prefer not to name out of respect to those who actually write well-thought-out opinion pieces for that publication (even though I frequently disagree with them). This "writer" actually believes that if someone else in the Safeway parking lot had had a gun, fewer people would have been shot. (Aside from the other obviously ridiculous aspects of that statement, here's a question: How does she know no one else in that parking lot was carrying a gun?)
This is a storyline I've heard around the wires in the U.S. as well, which is as close as Americans can come to addressing issues of gun control. Because in the U.S., this event is not about gun control. It can't be. No discussion can be had about gun control, because a discussion that is a hollering match across a divide as wide as the Grand Canyon is not a real discussion.
Instead, the event in the U.S. has apparently become part of the storyline of the new, Republican-"led" Congress, what President Obama will say tonight in the State of the Union address, and whether he will win re-election in 21 months. It's all about the winning and the losing, folks.
Even the attempt to foster better communication (or appear to) by encouraging Democrats and Republicans to sit together, instead of in partisan groups, for tonight's speech has become all about "who's sitting by whom." Politics as high school.
Meanwhile, in Tucson, people are quietly trying to go about their lives. They are paying attention to their own mental health. Regular folks, along with political and religious leaders, are reclaiming the space in which the shootings occurred. The "I know someone who was there" and "I was across the street" and "an injured person is my neighbor" stories are working themselves out in their telling and re-telling.
As days become weeks and months, each person will make choices. They'll change, or not, based on what happened that day. Some may choose to continue to discuss guns, ethnicity, citizenship, mental health, public service, engagement, community.
But one thing Tucsonans know: the shooting is not even remotely about winning and losing. In Tucson, that small city, everyone is connected in some way to that event. They know all too well that real people lost their lives that day; their community lost a measure of innocence. A respected, vibrant Congresswoman struggles to recover. And no one--no one--won.
It's been interesting to hear what Canadians tend to discuss in relation to the shooting, as opposed to what the discussion seems to be about in the U.S.
Canadians tend to want to talk about gun control. To a lesser extent, Canadians relate the Tucson shootings to mental health care, which (as with the rest of the U.S. healthcare system) is bewilderingly different and obviously inferior to Canada's.
The most public exception to this perspective is an opinion "writer" for Maclean's who I prefer not to name out of respect to those who actually write well-thought-out opinion pieces for that publication (even though I frequently disagree with them). This "writer" actually believes that if someone else in the Safeway parking lot had had a gun, fewer people would have been shot. (Aside from the other obviously ridiculous aspects of that statement, here's a question: How does she know no one else in that parking lot was carrying a gun?)
This is a storyline I've heard around the wires in the U.S. as well, which is as close as Americans can come to addressing issues of gun control. Because in the U.S., this event is not about gun control. It can't be. No discussion can be had about gun control, because a discussion that is a hollering match across a divide as wide as the Grand Canyon is not a real discussion.
Instead, the event in the U.S. has apparently become part of the storyline of the new, Republican-"led" Congress, what President Obama will say tonight in the State of the Union address, and whether he will win re-election in 21 months. It's all about the winning and the losing, folks.
Even the attempt to foster better communication (or appear to) by encouraging Democrats and Republicans to sit together, instead of in partisan groups, for tonight's speech has become all about "who's sitting by whom." Politics as high school.
Meanwhile, in Tucson, people are quietly trying to go about their lives. They are paying attention to their own mental health. Regular folks, along with political and religious leaders, are reclaiming the space in which the shootings occurred. The "I know someone who was there" and "I was across the street" and "an injured person is my neighbor" stories are working themselves out in their telling and re-telling.
As days become weeks and months, each person will make choices. They'll change, or not, based on what happened that day. Some may choose to continue to discuss guns, ethnicity, citizenship, mental health, public service, engagement, community.
But one thing Tucsonans know: the shooting is not even remotely about winning and losing. In Tucson, that small city, everyone is connected in some way to that event. They know all too well that real people lost their lives that day; their community lost a measure of innocence. A respected, vibrant Congresswoman struggles to recover. And no one--no one--won.
Friday, November 26, 2010
47 Days of Thanks: The Wrapup
Here are the posts from the final partial week, along with some closing thoughts. For what this is all about, go here and start at the bottom.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 43: I'm grateful for the opportunity to see a live production of The Laramie Project last night. The acting was impressive but the real inspiration was the tangible commitment to the project. It was a wonderful cap to a week full of challenge and insight around our human creative (and destructive) potential.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 44: I'm grateful that I made myself brave the swirling snow and yucky roads yesterday morning to go where I needed to go and do what I needed to do. Sometimes snow is an opportunity to take a break; sometimes it's an opportunity to keep going.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 45: I'm grateful that my brother, Pete, celebrates his birthday today. It's been a difficult year for him, health-wise, but he's doing well. I'm happy he's part of my life!
47 Days of Thanks, Day 46: I'm grateful that so much of my work, both paid and unpaid, is about imagining a future and bringing it to life.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 47: I'm grateful to friends and family, many of whom have accompanied me on this journey, and all of whom have given me so much to be grateful for!
I finish this adventure with mixed feelings, which is par for the course with me. This week in particular was busy and productive, and it was hard not to feel nostalgic in advance that I was coming to the end of the 47 days.
Here are some of the highlights (for me) of the experience as a whole.
On one hand, 47 days is a whacking long time. Coming up with something to post on Facebook first thing in the morning was sometimes more difficult than I expected. On the other hand, 47 days is also only one-and-a-half months--a blink in a lifetime, less than 1/6th of a year.
Regardless of my perception of the rate of time passing, lots of “stuff” happened during this 47 days.
Some of the stuff was big stuff. One of my aunts died--that family's first loss of a parent, which marks a new stage of life for my cousins, bless them. One of my brothers had his last round of chemo and celebrated his birthday feeling strong and optimistic. I am now eligible for CARP membership myself.
Some of it was less-big stuff, though not small. A cousin's son (in fact, the grandson of the aunt who died) is in a vocal singing group whose video of Lady Gaga's Bad Romance went viral. It was fun to see the video appear on diverse friends' Facebook pages. Also, there was much busy-ness about jobs and work and clients and organizations.
In fact, much of what I was grateful for reflected the groups I am part of: a church and its Wednesday evening series, a writing group's readings and workshops, the book club, the occasional theatre production (as audience).
Some of my gratitude reflected the time of the year. A windstorm suspended electricity and took down trees and I was reminded, again, that my life is far easier than many. In summer, we might shrug at all the opportunities to see wildlife. In the fall, birds on the deck or a fox trotting through the yard are Events again, and thus reasons to stop and watch.
When I started, I felt somewhat petulant and in need of an attitude adjustment. This exercise certainly helped me focus on gratitude for at least a small part of each day. As the American holiday approached, I began feeling positively festive, so much so that I made a celebratory meal yesterday and took the day “off.”
Therefore, my Thanksgiving-Day-to-Thanksgiving-Day journey is complete, but the experience will stay with me for awhile.
One insight I'm still mulling over. Early on, I said that it's possible to find things to be grateful for even in the face of difficult times. That continues to be true for me.
But I can also see how someone could focus on gratitude as a form of denial. Your daughter stays out past curfew but, hey, you're grateful she didn't end up in jail. You're behind on a project and don't want to tell your boss, so you focus on the beauty of the lemons in the bowl on the counter. Turning your face toward gratitude could become a way to turn your back on challenges--having those difficult conversations, exercising the self-discipline you know will make you happier in the long run, or even making large, difficult life changes. “It's not as bad as it could be” could be either a positive insight or, ultimately, a destructive one, if it keeps you from fixing things you can actually fix.
But I'm still thinking about that, and about the other lessons from the whole 47 days. And I think I'm most grateful for that--the fact that this experience has given me so many rewards, so much to contemplate--most of all.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 43: I'm grateful for the opportunity to see a live production of The Laramie Project last night. The acting was impressive but the real inspiration was the tangible commitment to the project. It was a wonderful cap to a week full of challenge and insight around our human creative (and destructive) potential.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 44: I'm grateful that I made myself brave the swirling snow and yucky roads yesterday morning to go where I needed to go and do what I needed to do. Sometimes snow is an opportunity to take a break; sometimes it's an opportunity to keep going.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 45: I'm grateful that my brother, Pete, celebrates his birthday today. It's been a difficult year for him, health-wise, but he's doing well. I'm happy he's part of my life!
47 Days of Thanks, Day 46: I'm grateful that so much of my work, both paid and unpaid, is about imagining a future and bringing it to life.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 47: I'm grateful to friends and family, many of whom have accompanied me on this journey, and all of whom have given me so much to be grateful for!
I finish this adventure with mixed feelings, which is par for the course with me. This week in particular was busy and productive, and it was hard not to feel nostalgic in advance that I was coming to the end of the 47 days.
Here are some of the highlights (for me) of the experience as a whole.
On one hand, 47 days is a whacking long time. Coming up with something to post on Facebook first thing in the morning was sometimes more difficult than I expected. On the other hand, 47 days is also only one-and-a-half months--a blink in a lifetime, less than 1/6th of a year.
Regardless of my perception of the rate of time passing, lots of “stuff” happened during this 47 days.
Some of the stuff was big stuff. One of my aunts died--that family's first loss of a parent, which marks a new stage of life for my cousins, bless them. One of my brothers had his last round of chemo and celebrated his birthday feeling strong and optimistic. I am now eligible for CARP membership myself.
Some of it was less-big stuff, though not small. A cousin's son (in fact, the grandson of the aunt who died) is in a vocal singing group whose video of Lady Gaga's Bad Romance went viral. It was fun to see the video appear on diverse friends' Facebook pages. Also, there was much busy-ness about jobs and work and clients and organizations.
In fact, much of what I was grateful for reflected the groups I am part of: a church and its Wednesday evening series, a writing group's readings and workshops, the book club, the occasional theatre production (as audience).
Some of my gratitude reflected the time of the year. A windstorm suspended electricity and took down trees and I was reminded, again, that my life is far easier than many. In summer, we might shrug at all the opportunities to see wildlife. In the fall, birds on the deck or a fox trotting through the yard are Events again, and thus reasons to stop and watch.
When I started, I felt somewhat petulant and in need of an attitude adjustment. This exercise certainly helped me focus on gratitude for at least a small part of each day. As the American holiday approached, I began feeling positively festive, so much so that I made a celebratory meal yesterday and took the day “off.”
Therefore, my Thanksgiving-Day-to-Thanksgiving-Day journey is complete, but the experience will stay with me for awhile.
One insight I'm still mulling over. Early on, I said that it's possible to find things to be grateful for even in the face of difficult times. That continues to be true for me.
But I can also see how someone could focus on gratitude as a form of denial. Your daughter stays out past curfew but, hey, you're grateful she didn't end up in jail. You're behind on a project and don't want to tell your boss, so you focus on the beauty of the lemons in the bowl on the counter. Turning your face toward gratitude could become a way to turn your back on challenges--having those difficult conversations, exercising the self-discipline you know will make you happier in the long run, or even making large, difficult life changes. “It's not as bad as it could be” could be either a positive insight or, ultimately, a destructive one, if it keeps you from fixing things you can actually fix.
But I'm still thinking about that, and about the other lessons from the whole 47 days. And I think I'm most grateful for that--the fact that this experience has given me so many rewards, so much to contemplate--most of all.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
I Walk in Beauty
See?
I buy exercise gear when it is on sale and I'm at a discount department store in the U.S. Those are my main criteria. So I'm not even sure what brand these shoes are. They were on sale, though.
As a bonus, I'm leaving butterfly-wing footprints all over the driveway!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
My Birthday Gift
Today I am older--by one day, yeah, but also by a year and that year ends in "0" and I am now officially a crotchety old lady.
In that spirit, here's what I want for my birthday this year.
Americans: Vote. I don't care how angry or disillusioned you are, go vote. Then stop focusing on what "the government" is or isn't doing, did or didn't do, will or won't do. If you have a job, work and be glad. If it isn't the perfect job, work and be glad and learn what you can. Feed your soul and exercise your body. With the rest of your time, be with your kids instead of fretting about what you can't buy them--have them read to you or tell you a story. Go visit old people--smile at the chronically ill. Clean up the trash on the highway. Volunteer somewhere, somehow. There is always something that needs doing. So stop talking and go do it.
Canadians: Let go of the smug. The Canadian economy is barely hanging on and Canadians are getting more deeply into personal debt. An election is coming, sooner or later, and you'll have the opportunity then to choose your leadership. Meanwhile, you can also stop complaining--about the Harper government's disdain for scientific expertise and basic honesty, perhaps; both issues well worth complaining about--and work with your chosen party to research and propose some alternatives. But mostly, don't bother feeling superior to your neighbours in the U.S. Complaining about the government that's in power but refusing to clamour for its removal is its own form of insanity.
Don't make me come back there, y'all. Just smarten up and we'll get along fine for the next several decades.
In that spirit, here's what I want for my birthday this year.
Americans: Vote. I don't care how angry or disillusioned you are, go vote. Then stop focusing on what "the government" is or isn't doing, did or didn't do, will or won't do. If you have a job, work and be glad. If it isn't the perfect job, work and be glad and learn what you can. Feed your soul and exercise your body. With the rest of your time, be with your kids instead of fretting about what you can't buy them--have them read to you or tell you a story. Go visit old people--smile at the chronically ill. Clean up the trash on the highway. Volunteer somewhere, somehow. There is always something that needs doing. So stop talking and go do it.
Canadians: Let go of the smug. The Canadian economy is barely hanging on and Canadians are getting more deeply into personal debt. An election is coming, sooner or later, and you'll have the opportunity then to choose your leadership. Meanwhile, you can also stop complaining--about the Harper government's disdain for scientific expertise and basic honesty, perhaps; both issues well worth complaining about--and work with your chosen party to research and propose some alternatives. But mostly, don't bother feeling superior to your neighbours in the U.S. Complaining about the government that's in power but refusing to clamour for its removal is its own form of insanity.
Don't make me come back there, y'all. Just smarten up and we'll get along fine for the next several decades.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
47 Days of Thanks/Gratitude, Week 3
Here are the posts from Week 3. To see "What the heck is this?" and weeks 1 and 2, go here and start at the bottom.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 15: I'm grateful for days when the toughest pre-9 a.m. decision is "Is THIS gorgeous sunrise worth taking pictures of?"
47 Days of Thanks, Day 16: I'm grateful for friends whose infectious laughter cuts through the hubbub of a restaurant and makes everyone smile.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 17: I'm grateful that I stopped to investigate that black thing bobbing in my morning coffee. It WAS a bug. And now it's down the drain, and I get to drink fresh coffee while sitting inside, dry and warm, on a windy, rainy morning.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 18: I'm so grateful the high winds haven't knocked our power ou--
47 Days of Thanks, Day 19: I'm grateful our power is back on. In this house, that means not only light, heat, refrigeration, and Internet, but also running water! Flush toilets and warm showers!
47 Days of Thanks, Day 20: I'm grateful that of the ~25 trees we will have to deal with (not counting ones that fell that we're leaving), only two came close to structures, and the damage was minimal (one eave).
47 Days of Thanks, Day 21: I'm very grateful to be married to someone who, when hearing that trees are down, rubs his hands together and says, "This will be fun!" Then he gets out the chainsaw.
And here's what I learned.
1. Never say "I wonder what Week X will bring." Week 3 brought gale-force winds and a big storm that brought down trees. As you might have gathered. Which was slightly freaky to me, as you also might have gathered. On the up side, being without power for more than 30 hours has made me more mindful of the little things: Lights that come on when you flick the switch. A functioning plumbing system. The invention of things like candles and batteries.
2. Doing this exercise has kept me mindful longer of those things, which is usually not the case. When I'm sick, I long to feel well. But when I'm well, well becomes "normal" and I long for something else. Because of reviewing the things I can be grateful for, the gratitude for normal has stuck around longer.
3. As I told a friend over coffee, I would suck as a Chilean miner. It wasn't so much the discomforts of being without power that bugged me--those were minimal. It was the not knowing, and the many, many arenas in which I couldn't know. When would the lights be back on? Was that balsam at the point coming down on the little camp? Where else would the roof leak? What's happening in town (they also lost power in spots)? That balsam--we should have taken it down but how could we when it wasn't safe? And speaking of safe, when will it be safe to go outside and check the trees? Et cetera.
4. Even in the middle of the gale, there really was a lot to be grateful for. Namely, that I was in a house, however leaky when rain is driven at the windows with such force, and thus relatively safe. Also, 30 hours is not that long in the scheme of things. It's October (though the weather has turned chilly), not January, so heating was not as big an issue as it could have been. Lots of extenuating circumstances and I was more aware than otherwise of those, thanks to this gratitude exercise.
LOTS of learning this week. Evidently I enjoy control and routine. Also being able to take a shower whenever I want. Which isn't learning so much as re-learning or being reminded of. Which is okay, too.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 15: I'm grateful for days when the toughest pre-9 a.m. decision is "Is THIS gorgeous sunrise worth taking pictures of?"
47 Days of Thanks, Day 16: I'm grateful for friends whose infectious laughter cuts through the hubbub of a restaurant and makes everyone smile.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 17: I'm grateful that I stopped to investigate that black thing bobbing in my morning coffee. It WAS a bug. And now it's down the drain, and I get to drink fresh coffee while sitting inside, dry and warm, on a windy, rainy morning.
47 Days of Thanks, Day 18: I'm so grateful the high winds haven't knocked our power ou--
47 Days of Thanks, Day 19: I'm grateful our power is back on. In this house, that means not only light, heat, refrigeration, and Internet, but also running water! Flush toilets and warm showers!
47 Days of Thanks, Day 20: I'm grateful that of the ~25 trees we will have to deal with (not counting ones that fell that we're leaving), only two came close to structures, and the damage was minimal (one eave).
47 Days of Thanks, Day 21: I'm very grateful to be married to someone who, when hearing that trees are down, rubs his hands together and says, "This will be fun!" Then he gets out the chainsaw.
And here's what I learned.
1. Never say "I wonder what Week X will bring." Week 3 brought gale-force winds and a big storm that brought down trees. As you might have gathered. Which was slightly freaky to me, as you also might have gathered. On the up side, being without power for more than 30 hours has made me more mindful of the little things: Lights that come on when you flick the switch. A functioning plumbing system. The invention of things like candles and batteries.
2. Doing this exercise has kept me mindful longer of those things, which is usually not the case. When I'm sick, I long to feel well. But when I'm well, well becomes "normal" and I long for something else. Because of reviewing the things I can be grateful for, the gratitude for normal has stuck around longer.
3. As I told a friend over coffee, I would suck as a Chilean miner. It wasn't so much the discomforts of being without power that bugged me--those were minimal. It was the not knowing, and the many, many arenas in which I couldn't know. When would the lights be back on? Was that balsam at the point coming down on the little camp? Where else would the roof leak? What's happening in town (they also lost power in spots)? That balsam--we should have taken it down but how could we when it wasn't safe? And speaking of safe, when will it be safe to go outside and check the trees? Et cetera.
4. Even in the middle of the gale, there really was a lot to be grateful for. Namely, that I was in a house, however leaky when rain is driven at the windows with such force, and thus relatively safe. Also, 30 hours is not that long in the scheme of things. It's October (though the weather has turned chilly), not January, so heating was not as big an issue as it could have been. Lots of extenuating circumstances and I was more aware than otherwise of those, thanks to this gratitude exercise.
LOTS of learning this week. Evidently I enjoy control and routine. Also being able to take a shower whenever I want. Which isn't learning so much as re-learning or being reminded of. Which is okay, too.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Countries Behaving Badly
Of all the bad timing in the world...
I have to renew my permanent residence card. My residence status isn't changing at all. I just need a card to prove my status when I cross the border using a commercial form of transportation. Renewing it requires filling out bazoodles of paperwork and then waiting a year and a day (well, 2/3 of a year), all of which is a blog topic for another day.
Because today I'm heartsick. Like Canadian officials, I've been ignoring Omar Khadr. Yesterday, the 24-year-old, who has spent 1/3 of his life locked up in Guantanamo and the other 2/3 growing up brainwashed by his family into becoming an American-hating future terrorist, entered a guilty plea in front of a U.S. military tribunal.
The "gold standard" evidence, crowed the U.S. military officials, was a confession that he threw a grenade that killed an American soldier and wounded others. The part that they didn't brag about was that they tortured him, a teenager, to get it.
It is believed--certainly by Khadr--that he will serve one year of his sentence at Guantanamo Bay, and "the rest of his sentence" in Canada.
Or, more properly, he will serve one MORE year at Guantanamo Bay. That's one MORE year, after some 8 years already. And the Harper government here is making no promises about taking him back after that.
In fact, CBC reports that more and more often, Canada is refusing to allow Canadians serving time in the U.S. to transfer to Canada, where they have access to rehabilitation and are closer to their families. Instead, Canadian officials leave them in the U.S., where they are denied access to rehabilitative services (because they're foreign nationals) and leave prison without any information about their offenses on their Canadian record. How exactly is this helping anyone? The offender gets no help and no support from family to re-enter the general population to live in a more constructive way. And Canadian officials don't know that s/he's just done time in the U.S.
Safety? Security? How does the treatment of Omar Khadr by either country, and the Harper government's so-called "tough on crime" attitude, help anyone? How many future terrorists were inflamed into action, not intimidated or prevented from action, by the way Omar Khadr has been treated?
So it is again time for me to choose to live in Canada. It is with a heavy heart that I collect documents and fill out paperwork proving that I am who I say I am.
I'm committed to my life in Canada. I am not ready to cut ties to the U.S., where I was born and where I also have family. But today, I am not particularly proud of the official actions of either country.
The only bright spot in all of this is that I have the ability to say so. At least for now.
(And oh by the way, here's hoping that the reason I am allowed to exercise this right to speak freely has everything to do with my citizenship and my immigration status, and nothing to do with the fact that I am a white, nominally Christian person.)
I have to renew my permanent residence card. My residence status isn't changing at all. I just need a card to prove my status when I cross the border using a commercial form of transportation. Renewing it requires filling out bazoodles of paperwork and then waiting a year and a day (well, 2/3 of a year), all of which is a blog topic for another day.
Because today I'm heartsick. Like Canadian officials, I've been ignoring Omar Khadr. Yesterday, the 24-year-old, who has spent 1/3 of his life locked up in Guantanamo and the other 2/3 growing up brainwashed by his family into becoming an American-hating future terrorist, entered a guilty plea in front of a U.S. military tribunal.
The "gold standard" evidence, crowed the U.S. military officials, was a confession that he threw a grenade that killed an American soldier and wounded others. The part that they didn't brag about was that they tortured him, a teenager, to get it.
It is believed--certainly by Khadr--that he will serve one year of his sentence at Guantanamo Bay, and "the rest of his sentence" in Canada.
Or, more properly, he will serve one MORE year at Guantanamo Bay. That's one MORE year, after some 8 years already. And the Harper government here is making no promises about taking him back after that.
In fact, CBC reports that more and more often, Canada is refusing to allow Canadians serving time in the U.S. to transfer to Canada, where they have access to rehabilitation and are closer to their families. Instead, Canadian officials leave them in the U.S., where they are denied access to rehabilitative services (because they're foreign nationals) and leave prison without any information about their offenses on their Canadian record. How exactly is this helping anyone? The offender gets no help and no support from family to re-enter the general population to live in a more constructive way. And Canadian officials don't know that s/he's just done time in the U.S.
Safety? Security? How does the treatment of Omar Khadr by either country, and the Harper government's so-called "tough on crime" attitude, help anyone? How many future terrorists were inflamed into action, not intimidated or prevented from action, by the way Omar Khadr has been treated?
So it is again time for me to choose to live in Canada. It is with a heavy heart that I collect documents and fill out paperwork proving that I am who I say I am.
I'm committed to my life in Canada. I am not ready to cut ties to the U.S., where I was born and where I also have family. But today, I am not particularly proud of the official actions of either country.
The only bright spot in all of this is that I have the ability to say so. At least for now.
(And oh by the way, here's hoping that the reason I am allowed to exercise this right to speak freely has everything to do with my citizenship and my immigration status, and nothing to do with the fact that I am a white, nominally Christian person.)
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Brown, with Gold and Ruddy Accents
April is definitely the brownest month around here, but late October isn't far behind.
I haven't been around the house much--running hither and thither in town--so haven't been taking many pictures. Anyway, here are a couple.
Here's the light.
I haven't been around the house much--running hither and thither in town--so haven't been taking many pictures. Anyway, here are a couple.
Here's the light.
Here's the tree.
So yeah, I've been in town. But also, it's just harder to get excited about taking pictures when you're documenting the decline of verdancy.
I realize the same process documents the ascendance of winter. Ya-hoo.
No matter way I try to reframe it, taking pictures at this time of year--after the leaves fall but before any snow does--just doesn't enthrall me as much.
And as we know, November will be gray. Or grey. Depending.
Everywhere except the top of my head, that is. Which, like October, will be ...
(see title of post).
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Glove Love
This week I've been doing things to close up "it may be a shack but it's our shack." Things like bringing chairs up from the beach, bringing loads of towels etc. back, clearing out cans of old old old (yes, that old) paint.
I've been wearing work gloves. As a bonus, I also found a pair of work gloves over there, a pair I thought I'd lost.
After doing stuff on Monday, I left the gloves on the bench on the front porch of the house to, I don't know what. To get some sun, I guess. To air out. To be dealt with later, is probably the most honest statement.
This morning, one of the gloves was lying on the grass in the side yard. The other three are nowhere to be found.
This would be called Glove Mystery except that while I was off visiting family a couple of weeks ago, Roy happened to see a young fox playing with a shoe in the yard on the lake side of the house. Playing like a dog, in fact--shaking the shoe as if to break its little neck.
The shoe, which we left in the yard in the hope that the fox would reappear, is not mine and certainly not Roy's.
The shoe apparently showed up with the fox.
Who apparently thinks that white eyelet slipons are so five minutes ago (much like the phrase "so five minutes ago").
Who apparently has developed an extra-special liking for my work gloves.
Roy checked a few obvious places this morning for the other three gloves, to no avail. We suspect they are the new wallpaper or bedding in a den somewhere. I hope whoever has them enjoys them! And I'm trying not to feel rewarded by this. Because now I don't have to decide whether the gloves are salvageable. Plus I have only one to throw away! The benefits of procrastination.
But mostly, it's really weird to think that the fox came onto the porch and took the gloves.
I guess it's no weirder than when the bear took a swipe at the front door handle.
Yeah, civilization and wilderness. Not so different around here.
I've been wearing work gloves. As a bonus, I also found a pair of work gloves over there, a pair I thought I'd lost.
After doing stuff on Monday, I left the gloves on the bench on the front porch of the house to, I don't know what. To get some sun, I guess. To air out. To be dealt with later, is probably the most honest statement.
This morning, one of the gloves was lying on the grass in the side yard. The other three are nowhere to be found.
This would be called Glove Mystery except that while I was off visiting family a couple of weeks ago, Roy happened to see a young fox playing with a shoe in the yard on the lake side of the house. Playing like a dog, in fact--shaking the shoe as if to break its little neck.
The shoe, which we left in the yard in the hope that the fox would reappear, is not mine and certainly not Roy's.
The shoe apparently showed up with the fox.
Who apparently thinks that white eyelet slipons are so five minutes ago (much like the phrase "so five minutes ago").
Who apparently has developed an extra-special liking for my work gloves.
Roy checked a few obvious places this morning for the other three gloves, to no avail. We suspect they are the new wallpaper or bedding in a den somewhere. I hope whoever has them enjoys them! And I'm trying not to feel rewarded by this. Because now I don't have to decide whether the gloves are salvageable. Plus I have only one to throw away! The benefits of procrastination.
But mostly, it's really weird to think that the fox came onto the porch and took the gloves.
I guess it's no weirder than when the bear took a swipe at the front door handle.
Yeah, civilization and wilderness. Not so different around here.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Forty-Seven Days of Thanks
As I said last year in November, I have a personal history of feeling ambivalent about Thanksgiving. The ambivalence pre-dates my move to Canada, but now that I'm here, I have two days to feel ambivalent about it. I guess that keeps me balanced.
This year, I'm trying something different. Today is Thanksgiving in Canada. (Tomorrow is the holiday, but today is Thanksgiving. No, I don't understand it, but that's how my husband explained it.) November 25 is Thanksgiving in the U.S. By my count, that's 47 days, counting both today and November 25.
For each of these days, my Facebook status will be something I'm grateful for. Something different. I am grateful for chocolate every day, but I can't say that more than once during these 47 days. (And that was just an example, so yes, it's still an option. Sheesh with the rules, already.) I accidentally started today, even though I wasn't aware that this was a plan.
I would like to think I could sit and list 47 things I'm grateful for--sincerely grateful for, not just funny-ha-ha-grateful, like chocolate--but I suspect the exercise will be harder than I imagine. In any case, I'm hoping to not prepare more than a day or two in advance.
I will report back here from time to time, too, but mostly it will happen on Facebook.
Other Americans, Canadians, and Camericans (Can-mericans? Canamericans? Ameradians?) are welcome to play, too, publicly or privately.
Because from where I sit, it seems that focusing on gratitude might do us all some good.
This year, I'm trying something different. Today is Thanksgiving in Canada. (Tomorrow is the holiday, but today is Thanksgiving. No, I don't understand it, but that's how my husband explained it.) November 25 is Thanksgiving in the U.S. By my count, that's 47 days, counting both today and November 25.
For each of these days, my Facebook status will be something I'm grateful for. Something different. I am grateful for chocolate every day, but I can't say that more than once during these 47 days. (And that was just an example, so yes, it's still an option. Sheesh with the rules, already.) I accidentally started today, even though I wasn't aware that this was a plan.
I would like to think I could sit and list 47 things I'm grateful for--sincerely grateful for, not just funny-ha-ha-grateful, like chocolate--but I suspect the exercise will be harder than I imagine. In any case, I'm hoping to not prepare more than a day or two in advance.
I will report back here from time to time, too, but mostly it will happen on Facebook.
Other Americans, Canadians, and Camericans (Can-mericans? Canamericans? Ameradians?) are welcome to play, too, publicly or privately.
Because from where I sit, it seems that focusing on gratitude might do us all some good.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
A Secret
As I do my rounds of the blogs in the morning,* I sometimes find that one of my regulars hasn't updated in awhile.
"Oh," I think. "She must be too busy living her fascinating life in her fascinating city, which is more fascinating than the life I live here. She is probably spending time doing worthy things, things far more worthy than entertaining me on a day when I don't feel like doing my own worthy things." I often feel a trifle sad and indulge in a low-self-esteem moment.
It occured to me this morning that I (as someone who has somehow posted 400+ times, how did that happen?) actually know better. First hand, even.
I haven't been here in more than a week. Yes, I have been off doing fascinating things with my family: talking shop with my brother and sister-in-law, couting dogs and admiring art with my nephew, chatting about models and life and work with my sister.
But sometimes, when I haven't posted something here or on the website, it's not because I'm doing something "better" or "more interesting."
I haven't posted because I got nuthin'.
Which is today. I did have a wonderful time on my holiday. I had a bunch of stuff to take care of before I left and have been catching up since I've been home. But that's not why I'm not here. The head cold I brought back also is not responsible for the lack of posting.
I got nuthin', that's all.
So maybe those low-self-esteem moments have been unnecessary. Maybe the great bloggers, the other not-quite-Andrew Sullivans of the blogging world, also have days where they have nuthin' and THAT's why they're not posting.
Or maybe not. But anyway, that's me, today. It's obviously a day that calls for a pedicure. Bye.
*Yes, I know I could put them on some kind of feed or something and therefore KNOW when they're updated. Where is the fun in that? Sometimes what I need isn't to KNOW something, what I need is the chance to surf around mindlessly and be entertained, or perhaps feel sad and low-self-esteemy.
"Oh," I think. "She must be too busy living her fascinating life in her fascinating city, which is more fascinating than the life I live here. She is probably spending time doing worthy things, things far more worthy than entertaining me on a day when I don't feel like doing my own worthy things." I often feel a trifle sad and indulge in a low-self-esteem moment.
It occured to me this morning that I (as someone who has somehow posted 400+ times, how did that happen?) actually know better. First hand, even.
I haven't been here in more than a week. Yes, I have been off doing fascinating things with my family: talking shop with my brother and sister-in-law, couting dogs and admiring art with my nephew, chatting about models and life and work with my sister.
But sometimes, when I haven't posted something here or on the website, it's not because I'm doing something "better" or "more interesting."
I haven't posted because I got nuthin'.
Which is today. I did have a wonderful time on my holiday. I had a bunch of stuff to take care of before I left and have been catching up since I've been home. But that's not why I'm not here. The head cold I brought back also is not responsible for the lack of posting.
I got nuthin', that's all.
So maybe those low-self-esteem moments have been unnecessary. Maybe the great bloggers, the other not-quite-Andrew Sullivans of the blogging world, also have days where they have nuthin' and THAT's why they're not posting.
Or maybe not. But anyway, that's me, today. It's obviously a day that calls for a pedicure. Bye.
*Yes, I know I could put them on some kind of feed or something and therefore KNOW when they're updated. Where is the fun in that? Sometimes what I need isn't to KNOW something, what I need is the chance to surf around mindlessly and be entertained, or perhaps feel sad and low-self-esteemy.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
In Celebration of Our Wedding Anniversary
Dear Mother, to use the name you signed to the letters you wrote,
Sorry to bother you wherever it is you are. I suspect heaven, to be heaven to you, would include a class for you to teach, and you are probably pretty busy. But I think you're going to like what I am going to say. It was something I couldn't or wouldn't tell you while you were alive.
Remember how furious I was with you for selling the middle portion of the family property in the mid-1980s? Of course the property was yours to sell, and you had what you thought were good reasons to sell it. I did grow to appreciate the nice bathroom you added to the bigger camp, because it allowed us to take hot showers while still experiencing the rusticity of the original camp property.
However, the sale occasioned much wailing and gnashing of teeth on my part. Lots of “How could you?” and all that. While I grew quieter about it, I never really got over it. Partly I was afraid that you'd sell more of the property without consulting us kids. But mostly, I grieved the loss of the whole—our family legacy had been ten acres in the most beautiful place in the world, our Paradise, and now the middle was gone.
Not only that, the buyers bulldozed most of the trees and built a honkin' year-round home there. Who knows what nefarious plans they had that would change our experience of the place? And before I could relax about that, they had to sell to some other couple with two kids, all complete unknowns to us. At least these new people owned a canoe, let trees grow up, and left much of the shoreline natural, which we considered hopeful signs.
But still, as the years became a deacade plus, I
harbo(u)red a resentment, the one that starts “if only.” If only I had been older and presumably more flush with the money you needed. If only I had won the lottery or cured cancer or published a spectacular best-seller or otherwise amassed enough wherewithal to prevent that sale. Ah, I sighed, “If only.”
Well, I am telling you today what I should have known all along: you did the right thing. Not only is it okay that you sold the property. It was the wise and right thing to do, and I am grateful for it. You were right, an infinite number of times over.
Here's what happened. The family that bought the house endured happy times and sad times. The kids grew up and spread their wings. The wife grew sick and passed away, because sadness and death come, even in Paradise.
Seasons change. Eras come to an end. You knew this. You had watched your own parents age and, eventually, die. I heard you talk of it, but I didn't understand the consequences of the turning of the earth and accumulation of years. I know now.
As it happened, the man living alone in the house still knew himself to be Paradise, even in the sad times, even in the fallow time after his wife's death. While he waited for life and hope to grow again, he watched the fawns appear and grow until they lost their spots and even had fawns of their own. He saw a fox dancing with snowflakes. He skied over his property, and ours, and he walked carefully and lightly on it, and he saw that it was beautiful.
You'll recognize this, Mommy: “Reader, I married him.” How could I not—a man of such sense and caring, who shares my values so explicitly? Three years (thirty-six months) ago today, in fact, we stood on the beach in front of the little camp where I write this, which your father built 85 years ago. We cried through the reading from Ecclesiastes—“To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven”—and through our vows to ourselves and to each other. This morning, I woke up with my husband in the house you made possible some 25 years ago, when you sold the middle part of our Paradise.
I cannot say enough good things about this man. Get this: he likes the family. Really, he does! He welcomes friends and relatives, some of whom are virtual strangers to us both, and helps them enjoy our Paradise in whatever way they like best. He was my Mr. Knightley in the time of Daddy's sickness and death. He somehow accepts me as I am, with all my imperfections, and yet challenges me to be my best self.
I'm not sure what I do for him. Sometimes I bring him coffee or bake scones. When we go out in the canoe, I let him steer. He gets to do projects. For example, he put a new roof on the little camp and dug the piano out of the collapsing floor in the back room and shored up the floor and foundations. He has the fun of using his chainsaw on the trees that threaten the various structures here. These things seem hardly enough, yet he claims they are plenty.
Mom, I am not daft enough to imagine you could have foreseen this particular life for me. But you and Daddy were people of faith. You believed, among other things, in the inherent goodness of humanity. You believed that we all have the responsibility to do what we believe to be the right thing, even when that action is unpleasant, while trusting that doing the right thing is the best way to serve the greater good. So you showed that faith is a verb. You sold the property and you trusted in the outcome.
And that is the greatest lesson for me in all this. I can't see the future, but I read Ecclesiastes, and I know that death will come again to Paradise. As if I needed a reminder, gold leaves are falling from the birches as I type this. Someday, my husband and I, as well as the rest of your “kids” and grandkids, will have more decisions to make. They may be hard decisions. They may require active trust and faith in the process of birth, death, and renewal, of a time for every purpose under the heaven.
Fortunately, we have your example to guide us.
Best of all, we don't have to make those decisions today. Today, our only decision is whether it's a good day for canoeing, because in Paradise, the best way to celebrate one's third anniversary (or pretty much any day) is by going out in a canoe, or on skis, depending on the season. Or even for a walk, perhaps with a chainsaw or camera.
In closing, Mother dear, I'll say again: thank you—you were right.
Love,
Marion
Sorry to bother you wherever it is you are. I suspect heaven, to be heaven to you, would include a class for you to teach, and you are probably pretty busy. But I think you're going to like what I am going to say. It was something I couldn't or wouldn't tell you while you were alive.
Remember how furious I was with you for selling the middle portion of the family property in the mid-1980s? Of course the property was yours to sell, and you had what you thought were good reasons to sell it. I did grow to appreciate the nice bathroom you added to the bigger camp, because it allowed us to take hot showers while still experiencing the rusticity of the original camp property.
However, the sale occasioned much wailing and gnashing of teeth on my part. Lots of “How could you?” and all that. While I grew quieter about it, I never really got over it. Partly I was afraid that you'd sell more of the property without consulting us kids. But mostly, I grieved the loss of the whole—our family legacy had been ten acres in the most beautiful place in the world, our Paradise, and now the middle was gone.
Not only that, the buyers bulldozed most of the trees and built a honkin' year-round home there. Who knows what nefarious plans they had that would change our experience of the place? And before I could relax about that, they had to sell to some other couple with two kids, all complete unknowns to us. At least these new people owned a canoe, let trees grow up, and left much of the shoreline natural, which we considered hopeful signs.
But still, as the years became a deacade plus, I
harbo(u)red a resentment, the one that starts “if only.” If only I had been older and presumably more flush with the money you needed. If only I had won the lottery or cured cancer or published a spectacular best-seller or otherwise amassed enough wherewithal to prevent that sale. Ah, I sighed, “If only.”
Well, I am telling you today what I should have known all along: you did the right thing. Not only is it okay that you sold the property. It was the wise and right thing to do, and I am grateful for it. You were right, an infinite number of times over.
Here's what happened. The family that bought the house endured happy times and sad times. The kids grew up and spread their wings. The wife grew sick and passed away, because sadness and death come, even in Paradise.
Seasons change. Eras come to an end. You knew this. You had watched your own parents age and, eventually, die. I heard you talk of it, but I didn't understand the consequences of the turning of the earth and accumulation of years. I know now.
As it happened, the man living alone in the house still knew himself to be Paradise, even in the sad times, even in the fallow time after his wife's death. While he waited for life and hope to grow again, he watched the fawns appear and grow until they lost their spots and even had fawns of their own. He saw a fox dancing with snowflakes. He skied over his property, and ours, and he walked carefully and lightly on it, and he saw that it was beautiful.
You'll recognize this, Mommy: “Reader, I married him.” How could I not—a man of such sense and caring, who shares my values so explicitly? Three years (thirty-six months) ago today, in fact, we stood on the beach in front of the little camp where I write this, which your father built 85 years ago. We cried through the reading from Ecclesiastes—“To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven”—and through our vows to ourselves and to each other. This morning, I woke up with my husband in the house you made possible some 25 years ago, when you sold the middle part of our Paradise.
I cannot say enough good things about this man. Get this: he likes the family. Really, he does! He welcomes friends and relatives, some of whom are virtual strangers to us both, and helps them enjoy our Paradise in whatever way they like best. He was my Mr. Knightley in the time of Daddy's sickness and death. He somehow accepts me as I am, with all my imperfections, and yet challenges me to be my best self.
I'm not sure what I do for him. Sometimes I bring him coffee or bake scones. When we go out in the canoe, I let him steer. He gets to do projects. For example, he put a new roof on the little camp and dug the piano out of the collapsing floor in the back room and shored up the floor and foundations. He has the fun of using his chainsaw on the trees that threaten the various structures here. These things seem hardly enough, yet he claims they are plenty.
Mom, I am not daft enough to imagine you could have foreseen this particular life for me. But you and Daddy were people of faith. You believed, among other things, in the inherent goodness of humanity. You believed that we all have the responsibility to do what we believe to be the right thing, even when that action is unpleasant, while trusting that doing the right thing is the best way to serve the greater good. So you showed that faith is a verb. You sold the property and you trusted in the outcome.
And that is the greatest lesson for me in all this. I can't see the future, but I read Ecclesiastes, and I know that death will come again to Paradise. As if I needed a reminder, gold leaves are falling from the birches as I type this. Someday, my husband and I, as well as the rest of your “kids” and grandkids, will have more decisions to make. They may be hard decisions. They may require active trust and faith in the process of birth, death, and renewal, of a time for every purpose under the heaven.
Fortunately, we have your example to guide us.
Best of all, we don't have to make those decisions today. Today, our only decision is whether it's a good day for canoeing, because in Paradise, the best way to celebrate one's third anniversary (or pretty much any day) is by going out in a canoe, or on skis, depending on the season. Or even for a walk, perhaps with a chainsaw or camera.
In closing, Mother dear, I'll say again: thank you—you were right.
Love,
Marion
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Hosting with the Mosting
Things I have learned this summer about being a host: if you play your cards right, when the company leaves,
1. You still have half a batch of scones.
B. Also blueberry pie. That's two more times eating it!!!
iii. Have been to interesting places with your company, some of which you really mean to get to the rest of the year but often don't but now plan to, and some you have never been to before and may never seek out again. For example, I have seen a couple of really cool exhibits at The Thunder Bay Art Gallery (Norval Morrisseau! Frank Big Bear and his magic prismacolor pencils! and an exhibit devoted to ravens!!), and I have been to the casino (semi-comatose people staring at flashing lights!). I leave it to you to figure out which is which.
d. You lose your mind a little. Ergo, I'll be the one in the sugar coma (scones! blueberry pie!!) getting my toenails painted.
P.S. Yes, I know the items in the list above aren't parallel. It's for effect, a little writer-editor geek humo(u)r.
1. You still have half a batch of scones.
B. Also blueberry pie. That's two more times eating it!!!
iii. Have been to interesting places with your company, some of which you really mean to get to the rest of the year but often don't but now plan to, and some you have never been to before and may never seek out again. For example, I have seen a couple of really cool exhibits at The Thunder Bay Art Gallery (Norval Morrisseau! Frank Big Bear and his magic prismacolor pencils! and an exhibit devoted to ravens!!), and I have been to the casino (semi-comatose people staring at flashing lights!). I leave it to you to figure out which is which.
d. You lose your mind a little. Ergo, I'll be the one in the sugar coma (scones! blueberry pie!!) getting my toenails painted.
P.S. Yes, I know the items in the list above aren't parallel. It's for effect, a little writer-editor geek humo(u)r.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Don't Talk to Me. Just Don't.
If you have wondered why I have not enabled commenting on my blog, and even if you have not wondered any such thing, you can find the answer here. All is revealed.
Well, some is. I guess to be topical I could call it a boundary issue but that might be an example of stretching logic and sanity to fit the theme.
Okay. Carry on. Any minute now, a car will hurtle down the driveway and new visitors will arrive, and I'm using up the sanity I have left. I'm going to lie down and hum inside my head for awhile.
Well, some is. I guess to be topical I could call it a boundary issue but that might be an example of stretching logic and sanity to fit the theme.
Okay. Carry on. Any minute now, a car will hurtle down the driveway and new visitors will arrive, and I'm using up the sanity I have left. I'm going to lie down and hum inside my head for awhile.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Well...
So, people are coming to visit. That means I'm obsessing about the level of water in the well. Which I do with some frequency. Even though I know how it works, the diagrams and whatnot.
Most of the year, the well produces enough water for the two of us to do daily ablutions and one water-sucking activity, such as run the dishwasher or wash a load of laundry. Maybe two loads of laundry, if they're both medium-sized. It has to do with the 40 feet of clay through which the fresh water must filter when it slowly fills the well.
Most of the year, I don't have to think about the water, but when I do--which is late summer--I do.
And when do people come visit? Yes. Late summer.
Anyway, this year I have been trying not to whine about the high humidity. I grew up with 99 degrees and 99% humidity, so I know about humidity, and I know that what we have isn't nearly that bad, blah blah.
I also know that a constant 75% humidity is NOT NORMAL here, and we don't have air conditioning to take the moisture from the air, and every surface in the house feels wet. The facecloth doesn't dry out from evening to evening. (Also, I will point out, I live HERE because we DON'T have 99/99, so it seems unfair for high humidity to chase me up here.)
Mostly I can be grateful for this summer. The temperature is generally nice--also in the 70s (today). The breeze is also nice. Just damp. I'm just not used to living in a clammy, clammy world.
On the up side, when the visitors want to take a shower, I can hand them bars of soap and send them outside to dance. They don't even have to go in the lake. The air is liquid enough.
See? That's me, always looking for the up side.
Most of the year, the well produces enough water for the two of us to do daily ablutions and one water-sucking activity, such as run the dishwasher or wash a load of laundry. Maybe two loads of laundry, if they're both medium-sized. It has to do with the 40 feet of clay through which the fresh water must filter when it slowly fills the well.
Most of the year, I don't have to think about the water, but when I do--which is late summer--I do.
And when do people come visit? Yes. Late summer.
Anyway, this year I have been trying not to whine about the high humidity. I grew up with 99 degrees and 99% humidity, so I know about humidity, and I know that what we have isn't nearly that bad, blah blah.
I also know that a constant 75% humidity is NOT NORMAL here, and we don't have air conditioning to take the moisture from the air, and every surface in the house feels wet. The facecloth doesn't dry out from evening to evening. (Also, I will point out, I live HERE because we DON'T have 99/99, so it seems unfair for high humidity to chase me up here.)
Mostly I can be grateful for this summer. The temperature is generally nice--also in the 70s (today). The breeze is also nice. Just damp. I'm just not used to living in a clammy, clammy world.
On the up side, when the visitors want to take a shower, I can hand them bars of soap and send them outside to dance. They don't even have to go in the lake. The air is liquid enough.
See? That's me, always looking for the up side.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Claustrophobia
In October, Delta-which-bought-United-Northwest-whatever will suspend its air service between Thunder Bay and Minneapolis.
The service has apparently been faltering for some time. It's inconvenient, scheduled apparently without regard to matching the schedules of incoming flights, so that connecting from Tucson requires either a multi-hour wait or a sprint. It doesn't fly in bad weather, which I suppose is understandable, but summer flights are always iffy and nerve-wracking. It's not dependable service.
And it's hugely, hugely expensive, relative to the cost of other legs of a flight: $400 easily. Recently, a day's drive to Minneapolis, a night at a motel, and a drive home--repeated--has won out over this crappy service.
And I wonder: aren't most of these complaints about the TB/Mpls route applicable to other routes? The primary difference is that Delta was the only option. And now it's going away.
All of which makes me extremely claustrophobic. I feel trapped here.
It makes no sense. I have chosen not to use the service, so really I shouldn't complain if the service goes away. PLUS not using the service has given me first-hand experience in getting out of this country. (I drove across! Both ways! Twice! In the past two weeks!!) AND it's not like the Thunder Bay airport is shutting down. I can always get to Toronto!
Not only that, but I'm here in this country by choice. I really really WANT to be here. And I have a difficult time leaving, even to go on vacation.
But then, that's why they call it a "phobia": the fear has no basis in logic. Mentally, I'm standing under a transparent bubble at the airport, pounding on it: "Let me ouuuuuuut! Let me ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut!"
So much for what "they" say: that Canadians have stronger ties to their U.S. neighbours than to other Canadians. Try flying to Minneapolis from Thunder Bay.
Because I'm curious, I did some research. Minneapolis, you recall, is a city as close or closer to me than Winnipeg. Yet to get to Mpls from TB, I'd have to fly to Toronto (or Winnipeg AND Chicago). One of my favourite return routes would take me from Minneapolis through Houston (that's Texas, y'all) and THEN Toronto before bringing me back here.
Lest you think that "flying to Toronto" from here is equivalent, say, to flying to Phoenix from Tucson (a half-hour journey): The TB-Toronto flight is 1:42, 900km. As a drive, it's 18 hours or so (allowing for summertime construction). And all the connections were more than $500.
So, let's review: I'd be flying to a city easily twice as far away as Minneapolis to get, eventually, to Minneapolis. Possibly through scenic Houston, another 2000 km out of the way. Time elapsed: 3 hours Toronto/Houston, 3 more hours Houston/Minneapolis. Plus the 1:42. Add in connection times and an hour for time zone change: 12 hours.
Driving. That's the answer, as it is so often, when one doesn't have the luxury of staying here. Argh.
P.S. Because I know that Minneapolis is not often the final destination, I also checked into a flight to Tucson. There are no 1-stop routes. I can fly Toronto/Denver/Tucson, home Denver/Edmonton/Tucson. Other routes include stops in Phoenix or LA. Touring the U.S. through its airports: now there's a reason to visit my sister.
P.P.S. Yes, I should appreciate the miracle of flight. That it's possible at all. Et cetera. And I do. But I'm human, and we don't respond well when options are taken from us.
The service has apparently been faltering for some time. It's inconvenient, scheduled apparently without regard to matching the schedules of incoming flights, so that connecting from Tucson requires either a multi-hour wait or a sprint. It doesn't fly in bad weather, which I suppose is understandable, but summer flights are always iffy and nerve-wracking. It's not dependable service.
And it's hugely, hugely expensive, relative to the cost of other legs of a flight: $400 easily. Recently, a day's drive to Minneapolis, a night at a motel, and a drive home--repeated--has won out over this crappy service.
And I wonder: aren't most of these complaints about the TB/Mpls route applicable to other routes? The primary difference is that Delta was the only option. And now it's going away.
All of which makes me extremely claustrophobic. I feel trapped here.
It makes no sense. I have chosen not to use the service, so really I shouldn't complain if the service goes away. PLUS not using the service has given me first-hand experience in getting out of this country. (I drove across! Both ways! Twice! In the past two weeks!!) AND it's not like the Thunder Bay airport is shutting down. I can always get to Toronto!
Not only that, but I'm here in this country by choice. I really really WANT to be here. And I have a difficult time leaving, even to go on vacation.
But then, that's why they call it a "phobia": the fear has no basis in logic. Mentally, I'm standing under a transparent bubble at the airport, pounding on it: "Let me ouuuuuuut! Let me ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut!"
So much for what "they" say: that Canadians have stronger ties to their U.S. neighbours than to other Canadians. Try flying to Minneapolis from Thunder Bay.
Because I'm curious, I did some research. Minneapolis, you recall, is a city as close or closer to me than Winnipeg. Yet to get to Mpls from TB, I'd have to fly to Toronto (or Winnipeg AND Chicago). One of my favourite return routes would take me from Minneapolis through Houston (that's Texas, y'all) and THEN Toronto before bringing me back here.
Lest you think that "flying to Toronto" from here is equivalent, say, to flying to Phoenix from Tucson (a half-hour journey): The TB-Toronto flight is 1:42, 900km. As a drive, it's 18 hours or so (allowing for summertime construction). And all the connections were more than $500.
So, let's review: I'd be flying to a city easily twice as far away as Minneapolis to get, eventually, to Minneapolis. Possibly through scenic Houston, another 2000 km out of the way. Time elapsed: 3 hours Toronto/Houston, 3 more hours Houston/Minneapolis. Plus the 1:42. Add in connection times and an hour for time zone change: 12 hours.
Driving. That's the answer, as it is so often, when one doesn't have the luxury of staying here. Argh.
P.S. Because I know that Minneapolis is not often the final destination, I also checked into a flight to Tucson. There are no 1-stop routes. I can fly Toronto/Denver/Tucson, home Denver/Edmonton/Tucson. Other routes include stops in Phoenix or LA. Touring the U.S. through its airports: now there's a reason to visit my sister.
P.P.S. Yes, I should appreciate the miracle of flight. That it's possible at all. Et cetera. And I do. But I'm human, and we don't respond well when options are taken from us.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
What I Mean to Say Is
I know I've written about the Governor-General and the Queen before last Saturday.
What I don't seem to be able to "get over, already!" relates more to what I was talking about last Saturday.
People in Canada walk around internally okay with someone they didn't elect (or at least have the opportunity to vote against) representing them internationally as their head of state. They're OKAY WITH IT. It's status quo. Normal. NORMAL.
Not that they generally think about that kind of thing. Americans don't, either. But if you scratch the surface of your average American, she or he would say, quickly, that we-all want our official representatives to be elected. (Insert offhand reference to W's first term here.) It's the default assumption: we may not vote, we may not believe that our vote matters, but hey, we believe in the concept of voting. (Also Botox and gun ownership.) (Not me, so much, about either of those.)
Anyway. That's what I mean when I say that the default settings in each country are different, and the default settings of Americans are more familiar to me than those of Canadians.
All of which are the kinds of ideas and questions one ponders at times like these:
What I don't seem to be able to "get over, already!" relates more to what I was talking about last Saturday.
People in Canada walk around internally okay with someone they didn't elect (or at least have the opportunity to vote against) representing them internationally as their head of state. They're OKAY WITH IT. It's status quo. Normal. NORMAL.
Not that they generally think about that kind of thing. Americans don't, either. But if you scratch the surface of your average American, she or he would say, quickly, that we-all want our official representatives to be elected. (Insert offhand reference to W's first term here.) It's the default assumption: we may not vote, we may not believe that our vote matters, but hey, we believe in the concept of voting. (Also Botox and gun ownership.) (Not me, so much, about either of those.)
Anyway. That's what I mean when I say that the default settings in each country are different, and the default settings of Americans are more familiar to me than those of Canadians.
All of which are the kinds of ideas and questions one ponders at times like these:
and these:
Ahhhhh.
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