Harmony had her first full day at her parents' home today! She is just two days shy of 11 months old.
What a journey this has been.
Rob and I went out for breakfast to celebrate this new movement towards independence and we had a chattier (but in a nice way) server.
She ended up asking enough questions that I ended up telling her it was Harmony's first day out. After we were done the very abbreviated and 'for public viewing' version of the story, she said something like "Wow, you are good people."
Well, maybe we are. I dunno. I don't really feel like good people. (Though I don't have one of those annoying, "oh I am a terrible person' complexes.) All I know that is if YOU were asked to take in a three day old baby, and you had to look the parents and the baby in the eyes, you would have a darn hard time saying "no."
(Plus, I asked Linda if we should say 'yes' and she said OF COURSE, and what kind of help do you need? If she had said we were crazy I think I might have had the courage to say 'no.')
I noticed, today, as Harmony was with her parents, that for the first time in almost a year I felt very 'released' from her care. I did not feel responsible. I realized that there have been many, many sacrifices.
Well, I think there have been sacrifices. With Harmony, the flip side of sacrifice has been tremendous joy. She is just so. darn. cute. What a smile! What eyes! What a sweet little head shake when she is excited. How cute she is when she 'woofs' like Dixie. How cute she is when she crawls all over Jed. How cute she is, even, when she manages to wreck the entire house in just 3.5 seconds. And breaks my favourite mug.
How do you weigh that in the balance?
In some ways, having an infant to care for when our own kids were teenagers has been one of the most challenging things we've ever taken on. And yet so much of infant care is so mundane.
Feed, change, soothe, repeat.
There are no vision plans, no mission statements, no gatherings of thousands of people who would come to hear you speak.
It's bottles, diapers, laundry, lack of sleep, more laundry.
They don't even know that you're trying to help them. In fact, Harmony and I are having a bit of a power struggle over her diaper changing these days. She doesn't always think it's necessary. She tries to flip over and crawl away, I try to stop her. I think I win, mostly. At least I know that, eventually, her diaper gets changed. I think that means I win, though it also means that at times I forego the diaper cream.
We may never hear her say, "thanks." She may not even know us when she grows up. All I know for certain is that we have had the privilege of imprinting love on her for these past 11 months.
That's about the only guarantee. I wouldn't say that makes us good people, I would say that makes us people who have been privileged to participate in the Holy.
I don't have any other way to put it.
Sunday, May 06, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
My Opinions
For a long time, I was tired of my opinion. Or not so much tired, but tired of the kind of discussions that would sometimes follow when I offered my opinion.
Just today, I asked in response to someone asking me how I liked a conference (where it looked like everyone but me was having a FABulous time), "Do you really want to know what I am thinking? Are you sure?"
He said that he was sure, and so I gave him the double barrel blast of my opinion.
He turned out to be a safe person. His opinion was a little different than mine, and some of the things I said, he hadn't thought of. I appreciated that he had had some genuine moments at the conference, though I couldn't imagine having one myself. I appreciated that he listened thoughtfully and didn't try to convince me that my experience was inferior or that there was something wrong with me.
So often, in online and in-person, communities, I find that opinions fly, and people argue, and everybody tries to convince everybody else what is right and what is wrong.
I just don't need that in my life anymore. And so for a long time, I didn't post my opinions anywhere. I didn't write much on my little blog, and never said anything even mildly inflammatory on Facebook.
But you know, I like writing about what I am thinking, and when I look at old blog posts, I am glad that I wrote what I was thinking at the time.
And if you happen to read here, please be aware that I am happy for you to have your own opinion, too. Just please don't bother with long comments about why what I think is wrong. I'm likely not going to change my mind, and you are likely not going to change yours. Let's just agree that we can say one another's opinions are interesting, and leave it at that. You could always start a blog. I could decide to read it, or decide not to.
If you fear for my soul, then just pray, okay? Don't bother telling me.
Just today, I asked in response to someone asking me how I liked a conference (where it looked like everyone but me was having a FABulous time), "Do you really want to know what I am thinking? Are you sure?"
He said that he was sure, and so I gave him the double barrel blast of my opinion.
He turned out to be a safe person. His opinion was a little different than mine, and some of the things I said, he hadn't thought of. I appreciated that he had had some genuine moments at the conference, though I couldn't imagine having one myself. I appreciated that he listened thoughtfully and didn't try to convince me that my experience was inferior or that there was something wrong with me.
So often, in online and in-person, communities, I find that opinions fly, and people argue, and everybody tries to convince everybody else what is right and what is wrong.
I just don't need that in my life anymore. And so for a long time, I didn't post my opinions anywhere. I didn't write much on my little blog, and never said anything even mildly inflammatory on Facebook.
But you know, I like writing about what I am thinking, and when I look at old blog posts, I am glad that I wrote what I was thinking at the time.
And if you happen to read here, please be aware that I am happy for you to have your own opinion, too. Just please don't bother with long comments about why what I think is wrong. I'm likely not going to change my mind, and you are likely not going to change yours. Let's just agree that we can say one another's opinions are interesting, and leave it at that. You could always start a blog. I could decide to read it, or decide not to.
If you fear for my soul, then just pray, okay? Don't bother telling me.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Dancing to the beat of a different drummer
Part of the reason Victoria was chosen for my meetings is because the Truth and Reconciliation Commission is meeting here.
For those of you who don't know, these meetings occur so that people who were abused and hurt in residential schools have the opportunity to share their stories, and so that the people who are part of the institutions that perpetrated these terrible events (unfortunately, mostly churches) are able to enter into relationship and understand the harm that was done.
And so we went today, and heard stories, and met people.
These are stories I hear every single day. If I don't hear the story of actually being in the residential school, I hear the stories of the children, the grandchildren, or the parents who had to let their children go. It is part of what makes my work really difficult some days.
It's terrible. These stories are hair raising, at times. With all the fibre in your being, you do not want to believe. But you hear the stories so often, and the experience is unique each time, but also incredibly similar, and so you know you have to believe. People cannot make this stuff up.
Anyway, I know I am weary because I could barely listen. I had trouble sitting still. Hearing the term, "vicarious trauma' has helped me realize how hard it is to be a sounding board for these stories. I eventually went for a walk with my friend whose family suffered in residential school. She understands more than most what it is like to experience these stories.
After our walk through the beautiful city, seeing the beautiful gardens, we returned to the TRC and heard the sound of the powwow drum.
This is something else that has become part of my daily experience. The sound of the drum. And so we followed the sound until we came to a place where four elders sat, singing and playing the drum. There was another elder who would smudge with you, and so I asked for a smudge, something else that has become part of my almost daily existence.
In Aboriginal culture, the smudge has much of the same connotations it has in traditional Jewish culture, and now in many orthodox and Catholic churches. Sage, a healing herb, is almost always part of the mix.
Smudging always reminds me to pause, to think about the Spirit, and to offer my hopes and prayers up to God. Smudging reminds me that I need to be cleansed. It reminds me to let go of the past and begin anew. It reminds me that this cleansing can seep into my pores, be breathed into my lungs, can wash over every part of my body.
This smudge was beautiful, and being from a man who was from a different tribe than I usually experience, it was a little different than I am used to. I had to stand on cedar, which typically connotes healing. I felt very blessed.
And then my friend, who also smudged, realized that the elder offering the smudge was a very dear, long lost uncle. A beautiful family reunion followed and they exchanged numbers and email addresses so that they would not lose each other again.
We stepped out of the smudging area, and I saw one of the elders leave the powwow drum. Didn't know what he was doing, but the other three continued to play. He walked over to me and invited me to dance.
"Would you like to learn to dance?"
I stepped into his ancient 70 year old embrace and he danced me around the drum.
Probably one of the more beautiful experiences of my life.
For those of you who don't know, these meetings occur so that people who were abused and hurt in residential schools have the opportunity to share their stories, and so that the people who are part of the institutions that perpetrated these terrible events (unfortunately, mostly churches) are able to enter into relationship and understand the harm that was done.
And so we went today, and heard stories, and met people.
These are stories I hear every single day. If I don't hear the story of actually being in the residential school, I hear the stories of the children, the grandchildren, or the parents who had to let their children go. It is part of what makes my work really difficult some days.
It's terrible. These stories are hair raising, at times. With all the fibre in your being, you do not want to believe. But you hear the stories so often, and the experience is unique each time, but also incredibly similar, and so you know you have to believe. People cannot make this stuff up.
Anyway, I know I am weary because I could barely listen. I had trouble sitting still. Hearing the term, "vicarious trauma' has helped me realize how hard it is to be a sounding board for these stories. I eventually went for a walk with my friend whose family suffered in residential school. She understands more than most what it is like to experience these stories.
After our walk through the beautiful city, seeing the beautiful gardens, we returned to the TRC and heard the sound of the powwow drum.
This is something else that has become part of my daily experience. The sound of the drum. And so we followed the sound until we came to a place where four elders sat, singing and playing the drum. There was another elder who would smudge with you, and so I asked for a smudge, something else that has become part of my almost daily existence.
In Aboriginal culture, the smudge has much of the same connotations it has in traditional Jewish culture, and now in many orthodox and Catholic churches. Sage, a healing herb, is almost always part of the mix.
Smudging always reminds me to pause, to think about the Spirit, and to offer my hopes and prayers up to God. Smudging reminds me that I need to be cleansed. It reminds me to let go of the past and begin anew. It reminds me that this cleansing can seep into my pores, be breathed into my lungs, can wash over every part of my body.
This smudge was beautiful, and being from a man who was from a different tribe than I usually experience, it was a little different than I am used to. I had to stand on cedar, which typically connotes healing. I felt very blessed.
And then my friend, who also smudged, realized that the elder offering the smudge was a very dear, long lost uncle. A beautiful family reunion followed and they exchanged numbers and email addresses so that they would not lose each other again.
We stepped out of the smudging area, and I saw one of the elders leave the powwow drum. Didn't know what he was doing, but the other three continued to play. He walked over to me and invited me to dance.
"Would you like to learn to dance?"
I stepped into his ancient 70 year old embrace and he danced me around the drum.
Probably one of the more beautiful experiences of my life.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Creepy
Victoria is really beautiful. I love it.
I have also noticed more Christian bookstores than is normal, per capita, for a Canadian city.
Sometimes I wonder what is wrong with me! I am a Christian. Have to admit it, but I sure do get creeped out by Christian book stores. In fact, I hate them. Lots.
Maybe it's the kitsch they are full of. Maybe it is the over abundance of books that encourage an odd Mad Men for Christians male dominant kind of behaviour. Maybe it's the Thomas Kincaid prints with bible verses superimposed overtop of them.
Don't know. I know I am supposed to like them. But they give me the creeps.
I have also noticed more Christian bookstores than is normal, per capita, for a Canadian city.
Sometimes I wonder what is wrong with me! I am a Christian. Have to admit it, but I sure do get creeped out by Christian book stores. In fact, I hate them. Lots.
Maybe it's the kitsch they are full of. Maybe it is the over abundance of books that encourage an odd Mad Men for Christians male dominant kind of behaviour. Maybe it's the Thomas Kincaid prints with bible verses superimposed overtop of them.
Don't know. I know I am supposed to like them. But they give me the creeps.
Toddlers Tiaras and Terrors
I'm not super lame.
I toodled around Victoria this evening, saw Beacon Hill (which was beautiful, by the way), visited the ocean in honour of Rob, etc. etc.
Ended up at the grocery store rather than eating out. Felt like a simple supper. You can tell you're in Victoria when there is a fine selection of essential oils at the grocery store.
Ended up watching terrible television. And because I am alone here and I can choose the terrible channel I want to watch, I ended up watching Toddlers and Tiaras.
I don't know why that show fascinates me but I did discover why it horrifies me.
It's not so much about dressing up little girls to look like mini strippers. It's that those girls are learning about an outer beauty that is completely devoid of any kind of inner beauty.
I'm not going to fill up this post with platitudes about inner beauty being more important than outer beauty and such, but the fact that each of those little girls has been taught since birth to value their ability to shake their little asses for the judges more than care about how they treat people, is sad. Sickening. Disturbing.
Doesn't matter if you treat people like shit. Go and get a facial!
There's gotta be a better way. And it doesn't involve lipstick and booty calls.
I toodled around Victoria this evening, saw Beacon Hill (which was beautiful, by the way), visited the ocean in honour of Rob, etc. etc.
Ended up at the grocery store rather than eating out. Felt like a simple supper. You can tell you're in Victoria when there is a fine selection of essential oils at the grocery store.
Ended up watching terrible television. And because I am alone here and I can choose the terrible channel I want to watch, I ended up watching Toddlers and Tiaras.
I don't know why that show fascinates me but I did discover why it horrifies me.
It's not so much about dressing up little girls to look like mini strippers. It's that those girls are learning about an outer beauty that is completely devoid of any kind of inner beauty.
I'm not going to fill up this post with platitudes about inner beauty being more important than outer beauty and such, but the fact that each of those little girls has been taught since birth to value their ability to shake their little asses for the judges more than care about how they treat people, is sad. Sickening. Disturbing.
Doesn't matter if you treat people like shit. Go and get a facial!
There's gotta be a better way. And it doesn't involve lipstick and booty calls.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Happy Plans
Tomorrow, I leave for Victoria. Haven't been there since the kids were 3 and 5, but I do remember it was beautiful. I am going for meetings, but I do hope to squeeze in some 'me' time.
Then, I have a conference in Burbank, California. I confess, quite freely, that I was eager to go to said conference because one of my dearest friends works and lives within spitting distance of this conference.
California, land of Trader Joe's and wineries.
How could I not want to go?
Of course I will need to put in an appearance at the conference. I will probably even learn something, but what I am really longing for is time to spend with myself. And time to spend with people who remind me of who I am.
Should be good.
While I am away, we will discover what the plans are for Harmony's next stage of life, as decreed by CFS. This weighs on me heavily these days. I am very hopeful for her, and for her parents, but letting her go, completely, will take a lot of time and self care.
Why is so much of life very good, but very hard?
Then, I have a conference in Burbank, California. I confess, quite freely, that I was eager to go to said conference because one of my dearest friends works and lives within spitting distance of this conference.
California, land of Trader Joe's and wineries.
How could I not want to go?
Of course I will need to put in an appearance at the conference. I will probably even learn something, but what I am really longing for is time to spend with myself. And time to spend with people who remind me of who I am.
Should be good.
While I am away, we will discover what the plans are for Harmony's next stage of life, as decreed by CFS. This weighs on me heavily these days. I am very hopeful for her, and for her parents, but letting her go, completely, will take a lot of time and self care.
Why is so much of life very good, but very hard?
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Our Foremothers had it right
Many years ago, mothers regularly placed their children in playpens.
I myself have vivid memories of playing in one. Wooden. Vertical bars. Hard floor, sometimes made softer by a small pad, but not necessarily. Full of toys. You played in the playpen until your mother took you out, or until you had the height and co-ordination to climb out yourself.
I did NOT know what to do with myself yesterday. Or with Harmony. She is in the prime home-wrecking phase of life. Yesterday she broke a little pottery bowl I have had for about 15 years, dumped a whole box full of little glasses cleaner packs all over the floor, threw a bunch of papers off our bench, figured out how to open the drawer of the little bench....
Normally this would not be a big deal but there were things I had to do. I finally remembered the pack and play, in which Harmony normally sleeps and decided to retool it as a good old fashioned play pen.
Magic. She loved it. She played. I got about 40 minutes of time to do some stuff. I knew she was safe.
Why have we stopped encouraging the play pen?
I don't know, but I highly recommend it to all my parents of young children friends.
I myself have vivid memories of playing in one. Wooden. Vertical bars. Hard floor, sometimes made softer by a small pad, but not necessarily. Full of toys. You played in the playpen until your mother took you out, or until you had the height and co-ordination to climb out yourself.
I did NOT know what to do with myself yesterday. Or with Harmony. She is in the prime home-wrecking phase of life. Yesterday she broke a little pottery bowl I have had for about 15 years, dumped a whole box full of little glasses cleaner packs all over the floor, threw a bunch of papers off our bench, figured out how to open the drawer of the little bench....
Normally this would not be a big deal but there were things I had to do. I finally remembered the pack and play, in which Harmony normally sleeps and decided to retool it as a good old fashioned play pen.
Magic. She loved it. She played. I got about 40 minutes of time to do some stuff. I knew she was safe.
Why have we stopped encouraging the play pen?
I don't know, but I highly recommend it to all my parents of young children friends.
Monday, April 09, 2012
Discoveries
Harmony has discovered the toilet roll dispenser. And the bathroom garbage can.
Previously it was safe to let her boot around in our rather empty bathroom while I got ready for the day.
No more.
She is on track to start having visits at home with her parents in just a few weeks. Maybe we'll have a few days when the laundry stays in the basket, the remotes stay on the coffee table, and the toilet paper stays on the roll.
I suppose 15-18 years ago, my kids were doing the same kind of stuff. I just don't remember!
Previously it was safe to let her boot around in our rather empty bathroom while I got ready for the day.
No more.
She is on track to start having visits at home with her parents in just a few weeks. Maybe we'll have a few days when the laundry stays in the basket, the remotes stay on the coffee table, and the toilet paper stays on the roll.
I suppose 15-18 years ago, my kids were doing the same kind of stuff. I just don't remember!
Sunday, April 08, 2012
I suppose...
I suppose I have always favoured freedom of expression over proper language.
For instance, I know it to be true that my boys swear.
Yup.
Even though it is hard to imagine that any less-than-acceptable word would come from their angelic lips, I have heard it myself, and it is true.
There are times when they have potty mouths.
I remember back in the day, when listening to the radio with little Joey, he heard the word, "damn" on a favourite (of mine) song.
"Mom," he said so very seriously, "dere is a bad word in dis song."
"Oh dear, what bad word is that?" I asked, certain that he had not heard, 'damn' coming from my lips.
"Mom, dey said, 'dumb.'"
"Oh, yes, Joey, 'dumb' is a very bad word."
And it is true. I don't care for 'dumb', and I don't care for 'damn'. I hate the word 'retard', and I have great trouble when 'gay' is leveled as an insult.
However, when my kids have chosen to gift me with their opinions, with what has happened during their day, with their thoughts and feelings and interests, I have not censored their words. Not one bit.
So, honestly now, they can tell me their day was fucking terrible, and I will not reprimand them for using the word, 'fuck.' I will, however, ask them what made their day terrible.
I don't care for the 'f' word, unless used in specific circumstances, but if your day has been so terrible that that is the adjective you need to attach to it, well then, I will listen to what has gone on in your day and not worry too much about the descriptors.
I have advised them about the appropriate times and people when and with whom they might use such words, and I have even asked them to tone them down with me at times, but in general, the rule is that as long as you are talking, I am going to listen.
Maybe some day I will find that this has not been a good idea. Maybe some day I will find that I would have encouraged greater honesty and sharing if I had asked for a more tempered language.
So far, I know that I am blessed to hear their thoughts on religion, drug use, girls, high school romance, and more. I believe that sometimes the use of the 'f' word is more than warranted, even if I don't think they should use it when they are talking to Oma. (Neither do they, by the way.)
I'm happy their language never extends to actual profanity, but even if it did, I think that I would continue to appreciate honesty and self expression over silence and lies any day.
That's, if I had to choose. Luckily, I don't.
For instance, I know it to be true that my boys swear.
Yup.
Even though it is hard to imagine that any less-than-acceptable word would come from their angelic lips, I have heard it myself, and it is true.
There are times when they have potty mouths.
I remember back in the day, when listening to the radio with little Joey, he heard the word, "damn" on a favourite (of mine) song.
"Mom," he said so very seriously, "dere is a bad word in dis song."
"Oh dear, what bad word is that?" I asked, certain that he had not heard, 'damn' coming from my lips.
"Mom, dey said, 'dumb.'"
"Oh, yes, Joey, 'dumb' is a very bad word."
And it is true. I don't care for 'dumb', and I don't care for 'damn'. I hate the word 'retard', and I have great trouble when 'gay' is leveled as an insult.
However, when my kids have chosen to gift me with their opinions, with what has happened during their day, with their thoughts and feelings and interests, I have not censored their words. Not one bit.
So, honestly now, they can tell me their day was fucking terrible, and I will not reprimand them for using the word, 'fuck.' I will, however, ask them what made their day terrible.
I don't care for the 'f' word, unless used in specific circumstances, but if your day has been so terrible that that is the adjective you need to attach to it, well then, I will listen to what has gone on in your day and not worry too much about the descriptors.
I have advised them about the appropriate times and people when and with whom they might use such words, and I have even asked them to tone them down with me at times, but in general, the rule is that as long as you are talking, I am going to listen.
Maybe some day I will find that this has not been a good idea. Maybe some day I will find that I would have encouraged greater honesty and sharing if I had asked for a more tempered language.
So far, I know that I am blessed to hear their thoughts on religion, drug use, girls, high school romance, and more. I believe that sometimes the use of the 'f' word is more than warranted, even if I don't think they should use it when they are talking to Oma. (Neither do they, by the way.)
I'm happy their language never extends to actual profanity, but even if it did, I think that I would continue to appreciate honesty and self expression over silence and lies any day.
That's, if I had to choose. Luckily, I don't.
Friday, April 06, 2012
I came outside to discover my decidedly post-Catholic friend explaining the difference between religion and spirituality to her decidedly transgendered student.
"Religion is more about a code of behaviour, and spirituality is more about seeking God," she said, and then, "Perfect timing," as I sat down. I suppose I am a resident expert on religion.
"If you find someone wanting to alter your behaviour so that it reflects their beliefs, and not what the Spirit is saying to you, then beware," I added. "There are people in every faith and belief system who take a fundamentalist view on behaviour. They will not care about the state of your heart, they will first be concerned with their own particular code, and what they think you should do in any given situation."
I hate the code of behaviour.
We sing, "Just as I am," and we say, "Come as you are," and then we say, "Oh yeah. There's a bunch of other stuff that makes us uncomfortable here. Please do not bring your same sex partner, please do not swear, please do not question 6 day creation, please do not smoke."
We also add, "Please do not notice my own hypocrisy. When I think that getting drunk is okay, but smoking pot is not. Please do not notice that gluttony and gossip are dear to me, because I would rather focus on the fact that you are 'living in sin' with your significant other. "
I was reminded of a conversation Joey and I had about six years ago. I acknowledged that a set of rules and proscribed list of dos and don'ts feels more comfortable for many of us. Stepping out of the previously accepted norms of behaviour puts us on what might feel like shaky ground.
However, I submit to you that that is the very foundation of Christianity. Jesus took a highly religious group of people, the Jews, and said, "The law of God will now be written on your hearts. And this is all there is. Love God with all you are. Love others as you love yourself. Give to everyone as they have need. If someone wants you to walk one mile, go for two."
Later the Apostle Paul added, "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love."
The only thing. Really? Can it really be so simple?
I do not believe I am on this earth to import my own particular brand of morality on others. I work with a lot of people who will never measure up to any of society's norms, much less the norms of most mainline churches. And yet I see God at work there every single day. I see people who are broken in spirit and contrite of heart. I see the poor, the meek, the humble.
There are so many people that I learn from, each and every day. Some of them reek of alcohol, so long in their system that it oozes out their pores. And yet they have more ability to be honest than the most committed small group adherent.
"I am an addict, and I am really struggling." "I am thankful the Creator has given me another day to be alive and enjoy the sunshine." "I need help." "I am grieving because my son is in jail."
So when a mother comes in, and she is pregnant with her third child, and none of them have the same father, I don't say, "Wow. Sleeping around, are you?" My job is to love.
And when my kids ask hard questions about matters of faith, I don't say, "Shhh." I say, "Keep talking."
And when people say that "Christians shouldn't ______," (fill in the blank) I'd like to remind us all to look at the plank that's sticking out of our own eye before we attack someone else's speck of dust.
We are all lawbreakers. We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. It is not my place to judge another person's walk. It is my place to love. And if I think that I am the more spiritually mature person, it then is doubly my place to love.
"This is how people will know you are my disciples, by the quality of love you have for one another," said Jesus.
That is the reason I still like Jesus, and still consider myself a follower of his. Because he cut through the crap and accepted the prayer of the tax collector, but not the Pharisee. He told the religious leaders they had it all wrong, but invited the children to come to him. He said that we could have life, and have it to the fullest measure.
If you are a follower of Jesus, you will do well to remember that he was a man of sorrows and acquainted with suffering, that he went to parties that were considered scandalous for the time, that he preferred the company of the lowly over the offices of the powerful, that he turned all of rules of religion upside down, to the point where the religiously powerful actually had him killed.
I'm thinking about what makes church people angry. What would Jesus say about our typical response to smoking, homosexuality, swearing, abortion?
I wonder what it would mean if we went the way of love.
"Religion is more about a code of behaviour, and spirituality is more about seeking God," she said, and then, "Perfect timing," as I sat down. I suppose I am a resident expert on religion.
"If you find someone wanting to alter your behaviour so that it reflects their beliefs, and not what the Spirit is saying to you, then beware," I added. "There are people in every faith and belief system who take a fundamentalist view on behaviour. They will not care about the state of your heart, they will first be concerned with their own particular code, and what they think you should do in any given situation."
I hate the code of behaviour.
We sing, "Just as I am," and we say, "Come as you are," and then we say, "Oh yeah. There's a bunch of other stuff that makes us uncomfortable here. Please do not bring your same sex partner, please do not swear, please do not question 6 day creation, please do not smoke."
We also add, "Please do not notice my own hypocrisy. When I think that getting drunk is okay, but smoking pot is not. Please do not notice that gluttony and gossip are dear to me, because I would rather focus on the fact that you are 'living in sin' with your significant other. "
I was reminded of a conversation Joey and I had about six years ago. I acknowledged that a set of rules and proscribed list of dos and don'ts feels more comfortable for many of us. Stepping out of the previously accepted norms of behaviour puts us on what might feel like shaky ground.
However, I submit to you that that is the very foundation of Christianity. Jesus took a highly religious group of people, the Jews, and said, "The law of God will now be written on your hearts. And this is all there is. Love God with all you are. Love others as you love yourself. Give to everyone as they have need. If someone wants you to walk one mile, go for two."
Later the Apostle Paul added, "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love."
The only thing. Really? Can it really be so simple?
I do not believe I am on this earth to import my own particular brand of morality on others. I work with a lot of people who will never measure up to any of society's norms, much less the norms of most mainline churches. And yet I see God at work there every single day. I see people who are broken in spirit and contrite of heart. I see the poor, the meek, the humble.
There are so many people that I learn from, each and every day. Some of them reek of alcohol, so long in their system that it oozes out their pores. And yet they have more ability to be honest than the most committed small group adherent.
"I am an addict, and I am really struggling." "I am thankful the Creator has given me another day to be alive and enjoy the sunshine." "I need help." "I am grieving because my son is in jail."
So when a mother comes in, and she is pregnant with her third child, and none of them have the same father, I don't say, "Wow. Sleeping around, are you?" My job is to love.
And when my kids ask hard questions about matters of faith, I don't say, "Shhh." I say, "Keep talking."
And when people say that "Christians shouldn't ______," (fill in the blank) I'd like to remind us all to look at the plank that's sticking out of our own eye before we attack someone else's speck of dust.
We are all lawbreakers. We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. It is not my place to judge another person's walk. It is my place to love. And if I think that I am the more spiritually mature person, it then is doubly my place to love.
"This is how people will know you are my disciples, by the quality of love you have for one another," said Jesus.
That is the reason I still like Jesus, and still consider myself a follower of his. Because he cut through the crap and accepted the prayer of the tax collector, but not the Pharisee. He told the religious leaders they had it all wrong, but invited the children to come to him. He said that we could have life, and have it to the fullest measure.
If you are a follower of Jesus, you will do well to remember that he was a man of sorrows and acquainted with suffering, that he went to parties that were considered scandalous for the time, that he preferred the company of the lowly over the offices of the powerful, that he turned all of rules of religion upside down, to the point where the religiously powerful actually had him killed.
I'm thinking about what makes church people angry. What would Jesus say about our typical response to smoking, homosexuality, swearing, abortion?
I wonder what it would mean if we went the way of love.
Friday, March 30, 2012
All the rage...
Seems to me in the past six months or so I've heard more and more about The Caveman Diet. I suppose they actually use the more politically correct term, "paleo."
Search it, you will see.
However I am reminded of the very first time I heard of it. I believe I was with my sister Linda. And she said, "Didn't all the cavemen die young?"
I believe the age of 30 was considered old back then.
So, go ahead. Forage for berries and eat a lot of blackened meat. You might get skinnier but I won't be guaranteeing you long term health.
Search it, you will see.
However I am reminded of the very first time I heard of it. I believe I was with my sister Linda. And she said, "Didn't all the cavemen die young?"
I believe the age of 30 was considered old back then.
So, go ahead. Forage for berries and eat a lot of blackened meat. You might get skinnier but I won't be guaranteeing you long term health.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Happy 80th!!
We have had a wonderful time in Ontario, visiting because it is my mother's 80th birthday. Harmony came along and it was really nice to have her with us.
We had a delicious cake made by an older Dutch woman. Wow, was it ever good!
Nice time at the party.
I met up with two childhood friends! I am blessed to have a few lifelong friends in my life. Glenda and Marcella, I am thankful for you down to the bottom of my toes.
My siblings and my parents. I was feeling so lucky today. All five of us together, and we all get along. Though I hope you never have to watch television with us. They are obnoxious as I am in front of a TV. I am sure you would find us terribly annoying. However, we're pretty good at a party, if somewhat loud.
Happiest of birthdays, Mom. I hope you are reading this on your new iPad.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Napping on the couch is not a good idea
Now we are closing in on 1:00 a.m. and I am wide awake.
This would normally be fine as tomorrow is a free Saturday, but there is a baby in the house and so I'm not sure what the rest of the night will hold.
So here I am watching late night television.
I would watch Craig Ferguson but that skeleton puppet drives me crazy.
Noticing that Jimmy Kimmel is looking very air brushed. Wonder what he did?
Wondering about the weirdness surrounding the Kony video guy. Just couldn't handle the fame? Dunno.
And that terribleness of the American soldier who shot up all those kids in Afghanistan? I cannot comprehend that. If you're going to go crazy, perhaps something less destructive? So very sad.
Harmony will be going home. I am happy about that. It will be incredibly hard, too. I think I might do really nice things for myself that first week.
Going back home next week! My mom is turning 80. 80!! I can't believe it. Kind of like I can't believe my sons are 18 and almost 16. Where does time go, indeed. And how did I get to be 44?
Well, I am starting to get sleepy again. Might creep back up to bed.
This would normally be fine as tomorrow is a free Saturday, but there is a baby in the house and so I'm not sure what the rest of the night will hold.
So here I am watching late night television.
I would watch Craig Ferguson but that skeleton puppet drives me crazy.
Noticing that Jimmy Kimmel is looking very air brushed. Wonder what he did?
Wondering about the weirdness surrounding the Kony video guy. Just couldn't handle the fame? Dunno.
And that terribleness of the American soldier who shot up all those kids in Afghanistan? I cannot comprehend that. If you're going to go crazy, perhaps something less destructive? So very sad.
Harmony will be going home. I am happy about that. It will be incredibly hard, too. I think I might do really nice things for myself that first week.
Going back home next week! My mom is turning 80. 80!! I can't believe it. Kind of like I can't believe my sons are 18 and almost 16. Where does time go, indeed. And how did I get to be 44?
Well, I am starting to get sleepy again. Might creep back up to bed.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Ucksiest Mom
When my boys were little, I often said, "I am the luckiest mom!"
In their vernacular, it was translated into "ucksiest."
My boys had the best speech impediments. Micah virtually had a secret language that only family and close friends could understand up until Grade 1, when he started with speech therapy.
Speech therapy was necessary, of course, but I do miss those cute consonant reversals he used to do. Anyway, it was Joey who coined ucksiest, but Micah picked it up in a similar fashion.
Recently we have established a family date of sorts. After church, we visit burger joints as we search for the best burger in Winnipeg. It's been a lot of fun and we have great anticipation throughout the week, as well. "What burger place will we visit this week? Will it be better than Daly Burgers? Better than George's?"
Afterwards, we do something... go to the zoo, whatever. And I still feel like the ucksiest mom.
In their vernacular, it was translated into "ucksiest."
My boys had the best speech impediments. Micah virtually had a secret language that only family and close friends could understand up until Grade 1, when he started with speech therapy.
Speech therapy was necessary, of course, but I do miss those cute consonant reversals he used to do. Anyway, it was Joey who coined ucksiest, but Micah picked it up in a similar fashion.
Recently we have established a family date of sorts. After church, we visit burger joints as we search for the best burger in Winnipeg. It's been a lot of fun and we have great anticipation throughout the week, as well. "What burger place will we visit this week? Will it be better than Daly Burgers? Better than George's?"
Afterwards, we do something... go to the zoo, whatever. And I still feel like the ucksiest mom.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
International Women's Day
I had a lot of thoughts about IWD this year. In so many countries around the world, women are oppressed, mistreated, simply because of their gender.
In our own country, it seems that in many places of power and control, men still have the upper hand. Simply look at how many women are in the workforce, and how few are CEOs and such.
But I haven't really been thinking about that. I've been thinking about men.
Virtually all the men who come through our centre are men without power. They are men who have mental illnesses, are addicted to a variety of substances, have been oppressed since the day they were born.
There are very few opportunities that exist for such men. The levels of funding (and I can't remember the specifics at the moment) and the programs that exist for women in similar circumstances outnumber mens' programs by 10:1. Likely even 20:1.
There is no one more alone than a mid fifties man with no family. If they are on disability (and many of the men that I know, are) they will receive about $500 per month (total, that includes the money they get for rent) and somehow they have to make due.
If you are a man living in poverty in Canada, the world is a pretty bleak place, I would say. From what I see, women living in poverty still have support networks, friends, children. Men most often end up alone.
You might say it's their own fault. Perhaps they spent a good part of their middle years in prison, perhaps they beat their wives, perhaps they lacked the social skills to keep a job. But if they wanted to change, if they want to change, it's still far more difficult for them to access programs, get help, make a change.
And so on International Women's Day, as I thought about my sisters around the world who are living in oppressive situations, I also thought about the men that I know. Men with few opportunities and for whom the world is pretty cold and lonely.
In our own country, it seems that in many places of power and control, men still have the upper hand. Simply look at how many women are in the workforce, and how few are CEOs and such.
But I haven't really been thinking about that. I've been thinking about men.
Virtually all the men who come through our centre are men without power. They are men who have mental illnesses, are addicted to a variety of substances, have been oppressed since the day they were born.
There are very few opportunities that exist for such men. The levels of funding (and I can't remember the specifics at the moment) and the programs that exist for women in similar circumstances outnumber mens' programs by 10:1. Likely even 20:1.
There is no one more alone than a mid fifties man with no family. If they are on disability (and many of the men that I know, are) they will receive about $500 per month (total, that includes the money they get for rent) and somehow they have to make due.
If you are a man living in poverty in Canada, the world is a pretty bleak place, I would say. From what I see, women living in poverty still have support networks, friends, children. Men most often end up alone.
You might say it's their own fault. Perhaps they spent a good part of their middle years in prison, perhaps they beat their wives, perhaps they lacked the social skills to keep a job. But if they wanted to change, if they want to change, it's still far more difficult for them to access programs, get help, make a change.
And so on International Women's Day, as I thought about my sisters around the world who are living in oppressive situations, I also thought about the men that I know. Men with few opportunities and for whom the world is pretty cold and lonely.
Monday, March 05, 2012
Formerly...
I had interesting thoughts and well formed sentence structure.
Then I had a baby.
A baby who is now commando-style crawling all over the house and finding every. single. piece. of. crap and floor fluff possible.
Luckily we have a dog who handles the crumbs because watching her eat bits of yesterday's dinner would gross me out more than the fluff does.
We call her the one-toothed wonder. She has had only one lower tooth for about three weeks, now. It is fully out, while her other teeth seem to be taking their time. I'd love to get a picture that shows off that single tooth, but she is very opposed to opening her mouth on command.
She also hates sleeves and getting her face wiped.
She loves the dogs. Would kiss them on their big wet noses if they let her. Loves to play with their paws if she can get that close. Normally they move away before she gets her chance.
(And don't worry, she is never alone with them. I am fully aware of the husky who chomped the new baby.)
She also loves music, in church or when Joey and Micah play. A cranky baby is easily remedied by a concert, preferably guitar.
Her parents are doing very well. In fact, we now foresee a time when she won't live with us anymore. I will get my brain back, and will miss her like crazy.
I just hope we get to babysit.
Then I had a baby.
A baby who is now commando-style crawling all over the house and finding every. single. piece. of. crap and floor fluff possible.
Luckily we have a dog who handles the crumbs because watching her eat bits of yesterday's dinner would gross me out more than the fluff does.
We call her the one-toothed wonder. She has had only one lower tooth for about three weeks, now. It is fully out, while her other teeth seem to be taking their time. I'd love to get a picture that shows off that single tooth, but she is very opposed to opening her mouth on command.
She also hates sleeves and getting her face wiped.
She loves the dogs. Would kiss them on their big wet noses if they let her. Loves to play with their paws if she can get that close. Normally they move away before she gets her chance.
(And don't worry, she is never alone with them. I am fully aware of the husky who chomped the new baby.)
She also loves music, in church or when Joey and Micah play. A cranky baby is easily remedied by a concert, preferably guitar.
Her parents are doing very well. In fact, we now foresee a time when she won't live with us anymore. I will get my brain back, and will miss her like crazy.
I just hope we get to babysit.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Uh, Waiter...
Rob was out with a friend today. A nice lunch.
Very nice.
The friend bit into his hamburger and THERE WAS A PUBIC HAIR IN THE BURGER. Not just any hair. A pubic hair.
(Shiver in revolted disgust.)
Yes, folks, this is true.
Said friend got his platter free, and a dessert! Woo Hoo. Rob continued to eat, apparently, and did not get a free meal for the vicarious trauma he suffered as a result of seeing his friend with pubic hair between his teeth.
I can't imagine what I would do if that was my restaurant.
I think I would do more than a free burger and dessert.
Very nice.
The friend bit into his hamburger and THERE WAS A PUBIC HAIR IN THE BURGER. Not just any hair. A pubic hair.
(Shiver in revolted disgust.)
Yes, folks, this is true.
Said friend got his platter free, and a dessert! Woo Hoo. Rob continued to eat, apparently, and did not get a free meal for the vicarious trauma he suffered as a result of seeing his friend with pubic hair between his teeth.
I can't imagine what I would do if that was my restaurant.
I think I would do more than a free burger and dessert.
Monday, February 20, 2012
44
I've been trying to write a blog about my 44th birthday since well before my 44th birthday.
Babies. They take up a lot of your spare time.
Anyway, I feel pretty happy and content at 44. Our sons are in the process of launching, which is great fun to watch. Our dog is getting a grey muzzle and continues to be a source of mirth. Our marriage is better than ever. We are s-l-o-w-l-y picking away at things that need to be done in our home. I am in decent shape though I would like to be more disciplined at working out.
I can't wait to take Harmony to work on the bike. It seems the only way I can actually get exercise is to make it part of how I get around in a day.
And then there is work. Wow. Work has been good. We just climbed the last mountain of the past few months.
First there was a broken commercial dishwasher and no money to get a new one.
Miraculous events beyond my control resulted in a new dishwasher plus extra money.
Then there was a break in.
Miraculous events beyond my control resulted in a 100-fold return on books and toys. We went from planning a wee book corner with a chair to having a mini community library with over 4000 books and more to replenish the shelves when those ones start depleting.
Then Sandy died.
We miss him.
Then we planned an event for 150 elementary and high school students.
No miraculous events, but we survived. Perhaps there is a miracle in that.
Anyway, after all that, I'm going to take some time to coast. I always find myself wanting to plan the next thing. In this case, I'd love to plan for a new kitchen that would allow us to do more teaching and more catering. But, as my wise board member and friend said, 'wait for the strategic planning.'
That is in April. It would be good, smart, wise to wait.
Babies. They take up a lot of your spare time.
Anyway, I feel pretty happy and content at 44. Our sons are in the process of launching, which is great fun to watch. Our dog is getting a grey muzzle and continues to be a source of mirth. Our marriage is better than ever. We are s-l-o-w-l-y picking away at things that need to be done in our home. I am in decent shape though I would like to be more disciplined at working out.
I can't wait to take Harmony to work on the bike. It seems the only way I can actually get exercise is to make it part of how I get around in a day.
And then there is work. Wow. Work has been good. We just climbed the last mountain of the past few months.
First there was a broken commercial dishwasher and no money to get a new one.
Miraculous events beyond my control resulted in a new dishwasher plus extra money.
Then there was a break in.
Miraculous events beyond my control resulted in a 100-fold return on books and toys. We went from planning a wee book corner with a chair to having a mini community library with over 4000 books and more to replenish the shelves when those ones start depleting.
Then Sandy died.
We miss him.
Then we planned an event for 150 elementary and high school students.
No miraculous events, but we survived. Perhaps there is a miracle in that.
Anyway, after all that, I'm going to take some time to coast. I always find myself wanting to plan the next thing. In this case, I'd love to plan for a new kitchen that would allow us to do more teaching and more catering. But, as my wise board member and friend said, 'wait for the strategic planning.'
That is in April. It would be good, smart, wise to wait.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Addendum
Having said all that, I am going to go INSANE if Harmony keeps waking up at night.
She was such a good early sleeper, and has gone for long periods of time without waking. But lately, whenever she sleeps upstairs in her little attic space, she wakes. Not when she has a sleep over at Auntie Linda's, not when she's at Kristen's. Just when she's in her own bed.
I don't know what to do! It's exhausting.
How do I work full time and have a life and get up every night with a baby? To be fair, Rob does his share, but no matter who gets up with her, we both wake up.
She was such a good early sleeper, and has gone for long periods of time without waking. But lately, whenever she sleeps upstairs in her little attic space, she wakes. Not when she has a sleep over at Auntie Linda's, not when she's at Kristen's. Just when she's in her own bed.
I don't know what to do! It's exhausting.
How do I work full time and have a life and get up every night with a baby? To be fair, Rob does his share, but no matter who gets up with her, we both wake up.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Thoughts on babies, birthing and life in general
I would never have imagined that I would approach my 44th birthday with a baby in tow.
Sometime during transition, almost 16 years ago, I grabbed Rob by the shoulders and said, "I am never doing this again."
And I didn't. Birth again, that is.
Over the years, we thought about adoption and fostering from time to time, but the time never seemed right, or ripe, depending on how you think of such things, and so we waited. Once Micah reached the age of 10, I figured that although we had been open to the idea, it wasn't something the universe held in store for us. We were supposed to have our two sweet boys, and other babies would come through those we loved and knew already. We would be auntie and uncle, godparents, guardians and maybe some day Oma and Opa.
And then Harmony dropped in. With about 24 hours warning. I mean, we knew she was coming; we knew her parents, but we didn't know that we would have such a large part in raising her, at least for her early months. We still don't know how long our present situation will last, all we know is that for now we get to love her every day.
I feel simultaneously old and young with her: My knees creak when I walk up the stairs to get her up from her nap. Some days I feel arthritis in my fingers. Today I was researching how soon I could hook up a bike trailer and take her for a ride. When young moms talk about good deals and where diapers might be on sale, I listen for good first hand information. Sometimes I feel kind of ridiculous. I am certainly not as old as Sara when she gave birth to Isaac, but it does make me laugh. I am too old to be a Mama.
Harmony calls us Papa and Mimi. Or at least she will, when she's old enough to talk.
What is most interesting to me is that when Rob and I first married, I wondered whether we would ever have our 'own' children. I thought the world was over populated, that there were so many unwanted children that we should just take care of them, that I was incredibly fulfilled working with (other people's) teenagers that I didn't need any children of my own.
And then Rob had cancer and we were told it might result in no chance for children, ever.
Kinda realized I wanted kids after that. Thought that we should quit at two. Felt good about that. Still wanted to care for other people's kids. Figured it would never happen after the first 10 years passed by with no nudging in sight.
Interesting thing, God's timing. Long after I thought that dream had died, there came Harmony. And she came, not in the way I was expecting, but completely differently. We won't adopt her, I believe her parents will eventually gain custody, she will never be mine.
But this time we have, it is precious. She knows she is loved. She expects love. She expects that each person she sees will love her and be interested in her funny little sounds and her show-offy head shake. She expects that if her diaper is dirty, someone will come, and it better be soon, to take it off. She expects a warm bath and the chance to kick. She expects new and interesting toys, and she expects a lot of attention. She has two big brothers after all. She also has a Mom and a Dad and a Mimi and a Papa and a whole bunch of cousins.
The other day I was holding her at church and she got really animated and excited. I looked up and there was Ben. She mostly just sees him on Monday nights, and he's busy with his own kids, but Harmony recognized him as one of her own.
That is part of the sweetness of life.
Sometime during transition, almost 16 years ago, I grabbed Rob by the shoulders and said, "I am never doing this again."
And I didn't. Birth again, that is.
Over the years, we thought about adoption and fostering from time to time, but the time never seemed right, or ripe, depending on how you think of such things, and so we waited. Once Micah reached the age of 10, I figured that although we had been open to the idea, it wasn't something the universe held in store for us. We were supposed to have our two sweet boys, and other babies would come through those we loved and knew already. We would be auntie and uncle, godparents, guardians and maybe some day Oma and Opa.
And then Harmony dropped in. With about 24 hours warning. I mean, we knew she was coming; we knew her parents, but we didn't know that we would have such a large part in raising her, at least for her early months. We still don't know how long our present situation will last, all we know is that for now we get to love her every day.
I feel simultaneously old and young with her: My knees creak when I walk up the stairs to get her up from her nap. Some days I feel arthritis in my fingers. Today I was researching how soon I could hook up a bike trailer and take her for a ride. When young moms talk about good deals and where diapers might be on sale, I listen for good first hand information. Sometimes I feel kind of ridiculous. I am certainly not as old as Sara when she gave birth to Isaac, but it does make me laugh. I am too old to be a Mama.
Harmony calls us Papa and Mimi. Or at least she will, when she's old enough to talk.
What is most interesting to me is that when Rob and I first married, I wondered whether we would ever have our 'own' children. I thought the world was over populated, that there were so many unwanted children that we should just take care of them, that I was incredibly fulfilled working with (other people's) teenagers that I didn't need any children of my own.
And then Rob had cancer and we were told it might result in no chance for children, ever.
Kinda realized I wanted kids after that. Thought that we should quit at two. Felt good about that. Still wanted to care for other people's kids. Figured it would never happen after the first 10 years passed by with no nudging in sight.
Interesting thing, God's timing. Long after I thought that dream had died, there came Harmony. And she came, not in the way I was expecting, but completely differently. We won't adopt her, I believe her parents will eventually gain custody, she will never be mine.
But this time we have, it is precious. She knows she is loved. She expects love. She expects that each person she sees will love her and be interested in her funny little sounds and her show-offy head shake. She expects that if her diaper is dirty, someone will come, and it better be soon, to take it off. She expects a warm bath and the chance to kick. She expects new and interesting toys, and she expects a lot of attention. She has two big brothers after all. She also has a Mom and a Dad and a Mimi and a Papa and a whole bunch of cousins.
The other day I was holding her at church and she got really animated and excited. I looked up and there was Ben. She mostly just sees him on Monday nights, and he's busy with his own kids, but Harmony recognized him as one of her own.
That is part of the sweetness of life.
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Not much going on...
It's a quiet night for me here at home now that Harmony is finally asleep and has stopped crying.
Wow. She had a hard time. An over stimulated day led to this veteran of parenthood's most difficult evening.
I am a little overstimulated, too. We did some educational activities with a school today, and I have to say that I have never encountered such an unpleasant group of high school students in my life. And working with teenagers used to be my job.
Not all of them were unpleasant, and I have to say that there were too many of them and it was after lunch and some of them had eaten and were probably carb filled and tired, and others had not eaten and so were hungry, but really.
I came home thankful for my boys who have learned to be polite even if they need a sandwich. Or have just eaten one. And may I say I came home to a nice neat house because Joey cleans up every Tuesday?
Joy. Even after an over stimulating kind of day.
Wow. She had a hard time. An over stimulated day led to this veteran of parenthood's most difficult evening.
I am a little overstimulated, too. We did some educational activities with a school today, and I have to say that I have never encountered such an unpleasant group of high school students in my life. And working with teenagers used to be my job.
Not all of them were unpleasant, and I have to say that there were too many of them and it was after lunch and some of them had eaten and were probably carb filled and tired, and others had not eaten and so were hungry, but really.
I came home thankful for my boys who have learned to be polite even if they need a sandwich. Or have just eaten one. And may I say I came home to a nice neat house because Joey cleans up every Tuesday?
Joy. Even after an over stimulating kind of day.
Sunday, February 05, 2012
Got 5.7 minutes?
I keep listening to Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long. Especially the song I linked you to, This is my Voice.
You see, he is coming to Winnipeg on March 31 and we bought tickets to see him, and by the time he comes here, I am hoping I will be able to get through the whole piece without crying.
If you've never heard of him, you might remember that he performed in the Vancouver Olympics opening ceremonies.
If you're not a link clicker, then here's a few lyrics to whet your appetite.
You see, he is coming to Winnipeg on March 31 and we bought tickets to see him, and by the time he comes here, I am hoping I will be able to get through the whole piece without crying.
If you've never heard of him, you might remember that he performed in the Vancouver Olympics opening ceremonies.
If you're not a link clicker, then here's a few lyrics to whet your appetite.
this is my voice, there are many like it, but this one is mine.
and this time it’s for the sons and daughters
who watch their mothers and fathers drown in shallow waters while
panning for the “American dream” in the polluted creek called the main street.
This is for the homeless people sleeping on steam vents,
making makeshift tents out of cardboard and old trash,
trying to catch 40 winks in between the crash of car wrecks
risking their necks by surviving another day so that they can starve
so that famine can carve their body into a corpse before their heart stops beating
so that men in a boardroom meeting
can make it harder for them to get welfare, health care,
it’s no wonder some of them pawn off their own wheelchair
and every time I walk ‘em by, I can’t help but feel at fault,
that maybe I didn’t search myself hard enough
for the control alt “s” so that I could save the world.
Or at least this little girl curled up into a ball
I’ve spent most of my life throwing compassion back like a fish that’s too small.
Gotta cash in my reality checks. drop her some spare fantasies
cause I’ve got three separate degrees from different universities,
but the most valuable thing I ever learned
was to believe people when they say “Please.”
This is my voice, there are many like it, but this one is mine.
Monday, January 30, 2012
How time does fly...
I've been back at work for over two weeks now and it has been busy busy busy. Lots of changes are coming and they kind of threw me for a loop for a few days but I think we have some pretty good solutions worked out for the interim and things are going to be okay.
One of the dearest things I've heard over the past two weeks is that shortly before he died, Sandy spoke with Marj and outlined all the things he did to 'take care' of me. Things that she should be sure to do if he was no longer around. (Yes, it has become pretty clear that Sandy knew he was dying.)
"Tell her to take a day off now and then... don't let her work too hard... don't let people tell her all their problems, she listens to too many people..."
I'm not sure if he included, "Make her morning coffee and make her oatmeal on days she didn't eat breakfast," but Marj has done that recently, as well.
I am loved.
So here I sit with Harmony while she munches Cheerios and smiles and babbles at me, and I drink coffee and contemplate our day off. I don't know too many babies who go to work every day, but she is so easy going she seems to take whatever comes her way without too much fuss.
She loved swimming at Pinewood this past Christmas. It's so fun to do things like that again. So fun to hear Rob play with a baby. So fun to see the boys hone their parenting skills. It's actually a great honour to teach your teenage sons the care and feeding of babies, and I find them to be able students.
They still know how to have fun doing those simple things, as well. One of the greatest times on our trip? Eating at Krispy Kreme. No, our trip was not lame... we went to Universal Studios and saw Harry Potter World, we walked the beach on the Gulf Coast of Alabama, we stayed in a cosy beach house. But the sweet simplicity of eating a dozen donuts was, well, just that. Sweet.
Last week, Joey received a letter of acceptance to the University of Winnipeg! It was expected, so I was surprised at how excited I felt for him. Off to university! I'm glad he still wants to go on trips with us.
And where will the next trip be? I am not happy if I am not plotting a trip, even if it's far in the future.
One of the dearest things I've heard over the past two weeks is that shortly before he died, Sandy spoke with Marj and outlined all the things he did to 'take care' of me. Things that she should be sure to do if he was no longer around. (Yes, it has become pretty clear that Sandy knew he was dying.)
"Tell her to take a day off now and then... don't let her work too hard... don't let people tell her all their problems, she listens to too many people..."
I'm not sure if he included, "Make her morning coffee and make her oatmeal on days she didn't eat breakfast," but Marj has done that recently, as well.
I am loved.
So here I sit with Harmony while she munches Cheerios and smiles and babbles at me, and I drink coffee and contemplate our day off. I don't know too many babies who go to work every day, but she is so easy going she seems to take whatever comes her way without too much fuss.
She loved swimming at Pinewood this past Christmas. It's so fun to do things like that again. So fun to hear Rob play with a baby. So fun to see the boys hone their parenting skills. It's actually a great honour to teach your teenage sons the care and feeding of babies, and I find them to be able students.
They still know how to have fun doing those simple things, as well. One of the greatest times on our trip? Eating at Krispy Kreme. No, our trip was not lame... we went to Universal Studios and saw Harry Potter World, we walked the beach on the Gulf Coast of Alabama, we stayed in a cosy beach house. But the sweet simplicity of eating a dozen donuts was, well, just that. Sweet.
Last week, Joey received a letter of acceptance to the University of Winnipeg! It was expected, so I was surprised at how excited I felt for him. Off to university! I'm glad he still wants to go on trips with us.
And where will the next trip be? I am not happy if I am not plotting a trip, even if it's far in the future.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Back to work tomorrow
And how I will miss Sandy.
What can I say about him?
He was my Selkirk Avenue Father. He was the unofficial CEO of Indian Family Centre. He was the Mother of the North End. He had an uncanny ability for watchfulness. He knew when something was out of the ordinary. He knew personal histories. He knew who he trusted, and who he didn’t. And he always had a good reason.
Oh, Sandy, how I will miss you. You taught me how to do my job. You worried about me like the proverbial mother hen. You made me coffee every morning, bossed me into eating breakfast, cooked me way too many eggs in way too much lard. You smoked cigarettes and even though you went through a pack a day, you shared half of that with anyone who would ask.
You played the tough guy very well, unless it concerned children or animals.
I just realized, now that you are gone, that you had slowed down considerably. You weren't as desperate at 8 in the morning for the store to open so you could get your pack.
I suppose you knew your heart was going. And so a bit of mine is gone, as well.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Christmas Review
A lovely weekend, all in all.
There were games, skating, babies, food. Lots of food.
There were presents, laughter, puzzles, food. Lots of food.
I am so thankful I have a family that makes these long days of holidaying fun.
I ache for Sandy, knowing he is gone, knowing that I'll need to return to work without him.
Life is so weird sometimes. Happy and Sad. Joy and Grief. Loss and Heartache and Peace and Laughter.
There were games, skating, babies, food. Lots of food.
There were presents, laughter, puzzles, food. Lots of food.
I am so thankful I have a family that makes these long days of holidaying fun.
I ache for Sandy, knowing he is gone, knowing that I'll need to return to work without him.
Life is so weird sometimes. Happy and Sad. Joy and Grief. Loss and Heartache and Peace and Laughter.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Occurred to me...
that perhaps because he "wasn't much for religion," that Sandy did such a good job of exemplifying Jesus to me.
Duh.
Duh.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Fare thee well, my friend...
Since I began my work at IFC, there has been one constant in my life.
Sandy.
He was there, waiting for me every morning. In fact, I got him keys to the centre when it became clear to me that he would wait patiently outside, sometimes for over an hour, even on cold winter days.
It wasn't that I was late to work. It was that he would come so very early.
I have learned this about ex-cons. They often don't sleep very well. And they never sleep in.
But I don't want you to think of Sandy as an ex-con. He was so much more than that.
He made me coffee every morning. It was so strong it took me a while before I could drink a cup down to the bottom. And I'm a good Dutch girl, used to the black stuff.
He called me "Darlin'," and meant it.
He made sure I ate breakfast. He bossed me about working less. He told me who I had to keep an eye on in the neighbourhood and who was okay. He noticed when things were amiss, out of order, suspicious. Every day he went to the back yard to pick up the paper. He remembered garbage day. In good weather, he sat on the bench outside the centre for hours. People would stop by to talk for 5 minutes or for an hour--it was all the same to him. He thought I was silly for wanting to pick up litter in the neighbourhood, but then proudly told everyone about the 'crazy white woman' he worked with. Once in a while he would burst into song--usually a little east coast shanty, maybe a bit of Johnny Cash. He had the sweetest voice.
I depended on him. More than anyone else, he helped me do my job.
And yesterday, he didn't show up. Something was amiss.
By the time we got into his suite, it was apparent he had passed away sometime the night before. It looked like he was napping on his couch. Peacefully.
Sandy was an orphan. No living relatives that he knew of. He had one son whom he loved to distraction, and one grandson who he loved even more. He was gentle with women and babies. He was always 'safe' in a world where men are often not so safe for women. He had little patience for people who were rude, unkind, hypocritical, or fake in any way.
He loved bacon and eggs, dark chocolate, french fries, jam buster donuts, fish. I always wanted to buy him one of those Costco-sized cans of salmon, because he loved it so much. Last Christmas, he gave me a kielbassa. It meant so much to me. A $10 sausage is a lot of money when you are on an old age pension.
He always told me he wasn't much for religion, but he offered me the kind of love that the bible talks about. He showed me the love of Jesus. He made me feel special, cherished, cared for. He reflected the love of a Father-god.
I'm pretty sure there is a bench for him in heaven, where he can sit outside and smoke (because of course it is not bad for you, addictive or smelly in heaven). He will observe the goings-on. He'll know who is supposed to go where, and at what time. He'll dispense his wisdom in folksy sayings. He'll bounce the babies. He'll make people laugh.
And after a difficult, challenging and sometimes lonely life here on earth, he will have peace.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Here you go, Mom
Click on the links, soon! I think they are only available for 7 days.
First, we were broken into. Then newspaper wrote an article.
http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/wfpfeatured/theft-dashes-family-centres-plan-to-have-reading-centre-135564858.html
Then, CBC Radio interviewed me.
http://www.cbc.ca/inforadio/2011/12/14/a-simple-little-dream/ (I hope you have speakers on your computer!)
Then, the newspaper did an update.
http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/local/spirit-of-giving-thrives-after-toys-books-stolen-135643608.html
And so did CBC.
http://www.cbc.ca/inforadio/2011/12/16/update---a-simple-little-dream/
One other radio station and a few television news teams did some stuff, too, but there are no online links to that.
Enjoy!
First, we were broken into. Then newspaper wrote an article.
http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/wfpfeatured/theft-dashes-family-centres-plan-to-have-reading-centre-135564858.html
Then, CBC Radio interviewed me.
http://www.cbc.ca/inforadio/2011/12/14/a-simple-little-dream/ (I hope you have speakers on your computer!)
Then, the newspaper did an update.
http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/local/spirit-of-giving-thrives-after-toys-books-stolen-135643608.html
And so did CBC.
http://www.cbc.ca/inforadio/2011/12/16/update---a-simple-little-dream/
One other radio station and a few television news teams did some stuff, too, but there are no online links to that.
Enjoy!
Sunday, December 04, 2011
Sleepy Sunday Morning
Harmony woke up around 6 this morning, and after Rob fed her, she came to snuggle in our bed for a while. She fell asleep again and then Rob brought me the most delicious cup of coffee ever.
I don't know what chemistry conspired to make it taste so good, but it's perfect in every way.
And so now I have a sleeping baby and a great cup of coffee and it strikes me that it doesn't take much to be in the moment and enjoy these times of great contentedness.
I'm also feeling content because we had such a nice night last night. Nothing spectacular, but nice.
The Jets won.
Joey and Micah were out with friends. I didn't get to meet Micah's friends, but I really like the boys Joey is hanging out with.
We had a nice visit with Wes and Linda.
Harmony was up past her bedtime and so content and cute. Usually she is in bed by 8 pm and cranky for the last 45 minutes or so. Last night she was up until 10 and said "good night" smiling.
We have a flight voucher that we are using up after Christmas. Have to fly in the States, and from Minneapolis, so it's a bit of work to redeem it but we are going to spend some time in Alabama(!) and Florida. If we are really ambitious we just might go west to New Orleans, as well.
I know it's silly that I am happy when the Jets win... who would have thought I'd be watching hockey? But when 3/4 of your family really cares, you kinda get caught up in the excitement. It's more fun to care than to resist caring.
One great bit of family news is that Rob will be doing a PhD, starting in January. Natural Systems Agriculture. Makes us sound soooo granola. I love it that he is interested and excited and has such a great opportunity.
More reason to be content.
I don't know what chemistry conspired to make it taste so good, but it's perfect in every way.
And so now I have a sleeping baby and a great cup of coffee and it strikes me that it doesn't take much to be in the moment and enjoy these times of great contentedness.
I'm also feeling content because we had such a nice night last night. Nothing spectacular, but nice.
The Jets won.
Joey and Micah were out with friends. I didn't get to meet Micah's friends, but I really like the boys Joey is hanging out with.
We had a nice visit with Wes and Linda.
Harmony was up past her bedtime and so content and cute. Usually she is in bed by 8 pm and cranky for the last 45 minutes or so. Last night she was up until 10 and said "good night" smiling.
We have a flight voucher that we are using up after Christmas. Have to fly in the States, and from Minneapolis, so it's a bit of work to redeem it but we are going to spend some time in Alabama(!) and Florida. If we are really ambitious we just might go west to New Orleans, as well.
I know it's silly that I am happy when the Jets win... who would have thought I'd be watching hockey? But when 3/4 of your family really cares, you kinda get caught up in the excitement. It's more fun to care than to resist caring.
One great bit of family news is that Rob will be doing a PhD, starting in January. Natural Systems Agriculture. Makes us sound soooo granola. I love it that he is interested and excited and has such a great opportunity.
More reason to be content.
Thursday, December 01, 2011
Music to a Mother's Ears
"The only reason I didn't text you to tell you I was in a Wade Davis lecture was because I was in a Wade Davis lecture."
Monday, November 28, 2011
Hellllooo, Little Miss Muffet
Harmony takes a while to wake up. I hear her rustling around in her crib for quite a while before she starts to squawk a little bit.
I think learning to be alone, and comfortable in your cozy bed is a skill that many of us have forgotten in our Western world view of activity and schedules. And so I like to listen to her talk until she sends out a more insistent, "I think it's time for breakfast" kind of sound.
And so that's when I go and get her bottle ready. And when I come back, I see her on her tummy, sometimes still and sometimes wiggling, and I say,
"Hellllooooo Little Miss Muffet," and her little legs start to kick like crazy and she tries to roll over, and she looks at me and gives me the biggest smile of the day.
Good morning, Little Miss Muffet, it's time to start our day.
I think learning to be alone, and comfortable in your cozy bed is a skill that many of us have forgotten in our Western world view of activity and schedules. And so I like to listen to her talk until she sends out a more insistent, "I think it's time for breakfast" kind of sound.
And so that's when I go and get her bottle ready. And when I come back, I see her on her tummy, sometimes still and sometimes wiggling, and I say,
"Hellllooooo Little Miss Muffet," and her little legs start to kick like crazy and she tries to roll over, and she looks at me and gives me the biggest smile of the day.
Good morning, Little Miss Muffet, it's time to start our day.
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