He’d visit her every spring. Even if at no other time of the year because the visit hurt him so much, he saw her then to ensure she had her tubs of living flowers. He ensured there were different scents and many colours. He didn’t know how much she could see anymore. He knew she could still smell, though. He knew her caregivers, the “Angels”, would describe the beautiful flowers he had painstakingly arranged. She would sit outside on her balcony in her special wheelchair with her tubs of flowers in the summer afternoons, enjoying the smells and warmth with a big smile on her face. It wasn’t just the warmth of the sun she felt.
Her eyes were often closed, but he knew she was still listening when he talked. Sometimes when he talked, she’d almost laugh. He thought there was at least the start of a smile. She couldn’t talk anymore, but he knew she understood. He could tell by the way she’d perk up at his jokes. Sometimes she’d be upset when he would start to leave: a single tear would slide down her cheek. He’d try to cheer her up. He’d tell her not to play too many tennis games, or not to wear out the other residents with late night bridge games.
They used to play bridge in a large group in their younger years. At the end of the evening, the bridge games would turn into poker. Most of the group were gone now. Those left were too few or too sick to play even one decent hand of bridge. Sad, but that’s the way life is. At least these two could still be together sometimes. There were many years of love, laughter, sorrow and joy between them.
Life. Family activities. Sameness, but differences. Closeness of a different kind because they were not married to each other. Their relationship was familial. It was a friendship, but it was much, much more. She had married his older brother during World War II. But the love amongst all of them had been growing since high school. It was as though they had known each other forever. She had known his wife since high school. While the men were away in service, the women volunteered together. They were in the Winnipeg Great West Life Troupe who entertained the military troops in Southern Manitoba.
All of them grew as friends during their marriages, through child rearing and vacations, joint family dinners and holiday gatherings. The younger brother moved to the same city to be closer geographically to his dear older brother. The two men and their wives shared dreams as a young generation. They had seen new inventions; revelled in their own power to make changes in the world; and raised their children to love God, family and country. They survived innovations that were not as wonderful as they originally seemed. Hell, they had even laughed at their own folly. They were, however, astounded and amazed at the many new ideasand technologies. They couldn't always figure out how to use the new technologies, though. Somehow, somewhere, suddenly, they felt they had outlived their usefulness.
Finally, they sat on the sidelines to rest as life swept swiftly by them like a flooding river. They retired to their own homes. He didn’t go quietly. He kept railing at the injustices in the world, kept reading the newspapers, kept telling his children and grandchildren they had to make a difference in the world at large. He continued making a difference in his own small corner of the world. He took physical care of his brother, her husband, when he became ill. When his brother died, he shared his brother’s widow’s sorrow.
He’d visit his brother every year on Remembrance Day to clean up
the gravesite and place a poppy, but only his eldest daughter knew that. She only knew because she followed him one time because she worried about him. She never told him she knew where he went: it was his own secret that they never discussed. He’d disappear for about an hour on the morning of November 11th, then come home to sit quietly for some alone time, remembering.
When his wife became terribly sick, his sister-in-law was already on her own downward decline, so he cared for his wife alone. When his wife died, he was heartbroken. It was so difficult to carry on. His daughters, son, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, friends, all tried to help. They were terrific, in fact. But life was just not the same. His heart missed the long-time love of his life. No one could remove that pain. No one filled that void. He went through the day-to-day motions of life in a fog. His wife died at Christmas. The winter was cold and lonely: it reflected his horrible grief.
Spring came. As usual, he painstakingly arranged the flowers for his sister-in-law. He visited her with the tubs of scented flowers. Somehow, by cheering her up, he cheered up. So, his annual ritual continued for a few years. They both received joy from this one perfect act of love. It was tougher each year, but he received help from his loved ones in preparing the tubs for his special project.
Then he, too, became very sick, needing help for his basic living. He could no longer prepare the tubs of flowers. He couldn’t visit her. He didn’t even remember her because of his illness. He couldn’t function alone, so was admitted to a nursing home.
She passed away the year after he became so ill. She only had one spring without his flowers. Did she miss them?
He continued gardening at the nursing home: he won an award for the biggest zucchini and had a ball showing it off. He passed in the fall after his sister-in-law. There were tears on earth and joy in heaven as they all came together again. The families left on earth continue placing flowers on her grave and at his resting place too.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Time: The Measure of One's Life
Time, that most precious commodity that cannot be regained once spent. We have so many expressions regarding time, and think somehow we control it. Ah, but time inexorably moves on, whether we mark it or not.
Let's save time. Now, how do we do that? We drive faster, do our work faster, and push ourselves harder. Do we REALLY SAVE time. Nay nay I say: we're not making time, either. Hmmm -- so what is the purpose of rushing anything in life? Why are we always running to the "next important thing" instead of enjoying THIS moment, THIS TIME?
Isn't that a novel concept? Let's enjoy being in the moment! Forget about yesterday, don't worry about tomorrow. Take the idea of time to the smallest degree, so put it into seconds or even nano-seconds. Forget about one second ago; don't worry about one second from now. Does that seem at all possible? To squeeze every single reaction, feeling, sensation and desire into and out of every single second in life?
I am fearful that that would only make life boring because we'd be so wrapped up in the seconds, we'd forget about the primaries, the firsts in our lives. Ah, there I go with the word play again. I love playing with words, their meanings, their sounds, and the concepts behind them. We need to focus on the larger points in time in order to better enjoy the seconds, don't you agree? How can I enjoy THIS second if I have no idea where it is leading me? If I have no plan, or organization, no way of marking what I am doing, what is the point of it? Where do I go each next second that follows the first one?
No, I'm afraid that I need to consider a longer picture of time. Perhaps I can take the proverbial ten-year slice out of my life. Now I can look back and decide that those ten years stretch a long way, with so many lessons learned, full of naiveté, believing in family love, and trying so hard to keep my family together. What good did that do? Dad died, as is the way with us humans when we wear out. Then my sister left because she couldn‘t handle some things that were happening in our lives. That's all I can say about my loss of her; other than it was awful, and I'm glad she's still alive.
I almost reached the end of my time after Dad died because we discovered I had ovarian cancer. Oooh, NOT a good time for me. I had barely scattered Dad's ashes when I went back for a follow up appointment to discuss my "kidney stone" and what we were going to do about it. Well, time to tell me I didn't have a kidney stone that needed anything done about it. I had a massive tumour growing inside of me. Cool -- about time I knew what that big gut was all about . . . I HAD been losing weight, so wonder why I didn't look too well, or even feel well.
I thought, at the time, that it was the usual stress of an dying parent who then met his ultimate fate. Nope, not this time!
Let's save time. Now, how do we do that? We drive faster, do our work faster, and push ourselves harder. Do we REALLY SAVE time. Nay nay I say: we're not making time, either. Hmmm -- so what is the purpose of rushing anything in life? Why are we always running to the "next important thing" instead of enjoying THIS moment, THIS TIME?
Isn't that a novel concept? Let's enjoy being in the moment! Forget about yesterday, don't worry about tomorrow. Take the idea of time to the smallest degree, so put it into seconds or even nano-seconds. Forget about one second ago; don't worry about one second from now. Does that seem at all possible? To squeeze every single reaction, feeling, sensation and desire into and out of every single second in life?
I am fearful that that would only make life boring because we'd be so wrapped up in the seconds, we'd forget about the primaries, the firsts in our lives. Ah, there I go with the word play again. I love playing with words, their meanings, their sounds, and the concepts behind them. We need to focus on the larger points in time in order to better enjoy the seconds, don't you agree? How can I enjoy THIS second if I have no idea where it is leading me? If I have no plan, or organization, no way of marking what I am doing, what is the point of it? Where do I go each next second that follows the first one?
No, I'm afraid that I need to consider a longer picture of time. Perhaps I can take the proverbial ten-year slice out of my life. Now I can look back and decide that those ten years stretch a long way, with so many lessons learned, full of naiveté, believing in family love, and trying so hard to keep my family together. What good did that do? Dad died, as is the way with us humans when we wear out. Then my sister left because she couldn‘t handle some things that were happening in our lives. That's all I can say about my loss of her; other than it was awful, and I'm glad she's still alive.
I almost reached the end of my time after Dad died because we discovered I had ovarian cancer. Oooh, NOT a good time for me. I had barely scattered Dad's ashes when I went back for a follow up appointment to discuss my "kidney stone" and what we were going to do about it. Well, time to tell me I didn't have a kidney stone that needed anything done about it. I had a massive tumour growing inside of me. Cool -- about time I knew what that big gut was all about . . . I HAD been losing weight, so wonder why I didn't look too well, or even feel well.
I thought, at the time, that it was the usual stress of an dying parent who then met his ultimate fate. Nope, not this time!
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
An Early Morning Surprise
At unexpected times, I like turning up at the nursing home where Dad is a resident. It’s nice to see how he’s being treated when no one knows that someone is coming. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I want to know that Dad is being treated as well when we’re not there as he is when we are there. Newspapers have so many horror stories about the elderly being mistreated that I don’t want to take chances with our father’s treatment at the hands of others when he can no longer tell me about possible abuses. So, no one ever knows when I’ll turn up. They do know, however, that I can turn up at the oddest of hours. I’ve even been known to arrive in the middle of the night to check on how Dad is doing. It doesn’t hurt to keep the staff on their toes. My sister and I play a game of “good cop/bad cop”. I think you know where I fit into the game. It’s not a role I like, but I handle it for my father’s sake.
I visited Dad this morning at 7:30 a.m. When I peeked into his room, he was lying there with his eyes open, just staring into the darkened room as though he was thinking about something important. I’m not sure what was on his mind, but I didn’t startle him. I said hello and he very pleasantly responded. Dad was wide-awake, without any trace of drug fuzziness to his demeanour at all. It has been a long time since I’ve seen Dad this alert and responsive, I thought. Perhaps I should visit him in the early mornings more often. Everyone in the home tells me Dad sleeps in until fairly late in the mornings. I wonder if they actually look in on him in his room. Perhaps because he’s so very quiet they don’t realise he’s awake.
We talked for a few minutes, and then I opened up the drapes in his room to let in the beautiful morning sunshine. I told him the day and date as well as let him know that it was a lovely summer day for Sneak-a-Peek at the Stampede. We both said “Yahoo” to celebrate the Stampede and laughed. We sang a couple of songs: “I Say Little Dickie Bird” being one of the songs his Dad used to sing to him when my Dad was young and “Good Morning to You” being one of the songs my Dad used to sing to me when I was young. We laughed a lot. We then moved into “Daisy, Daisy” and a few others, but I don’t remember them all. For some reason, we wound up repeating a few tongue twisters, too. All rather odd, because those are not easy things for anyone to say, yet Dad was speaking them clearly. I wondered if he was practicing his speaking for some reason. I wondered if he did this type of mental exercise every morning in some sort of personal effort to retain information or retrain his brain to think. Even though he’s never told me he knows what’s wrong with him, and I’ve avoided telling him straight out that he has Alzheimer’s Disease, I know Dad knows what’s wrong. He just doesn’t want it named. He doesn’t want the label. He’s so very far advanced in the disease that it amazes me he even tries to fight it still. I thought he’d given up a long time ago, so the thought he was going through these mental exercises fascinated me.
I brought Dad some apple juice to freshen up his mouth. He had a problem at first with swallowing. He held the juice in his mouth and wouldn’t let it go down his throat. I had to cue him by placing my hand on his throat and telling him to take a big gulp. Finally the juice went down. After the first swallow, the rest of the juice went down well. He talked with me about a lot of things. I’m not totally sure I understood everything he was saying, but it was nice to hear Dad trying to communicate again. Most times when I see him now, he’s quiet. Probably because he knows he doesn’t make much sense to other people anymore. He used to become terribly frustrated and upset. Then he sort of gave up -- he’d throw his hands up in the air as if to say, what’s the point? Once upon a time, I could find some way of figuring out what Dad was trying to say, but I’ve had a tough time following him at all if he’s tried to speak in the last while. We discussed what he used to sell for the company he sold for for 35 years. I told him there is a new type of laundry detergent out now called “Cold Water Tide”. He just laughed and shook his head. I could almost hear his thoughts: “another marketing gimmick,” I said. He looked at me with laughter in his eyes. Yes, I’d read his mind right on! We were both pleased!
I then asked him if he wanted coffee, but he told me they made awful coffee at that place. He probably only used the word “awful”, but I knew what he meant. I told him I’d phone my husband to see if I could find out how to make the coffee taste a bit better. Dad indicated that would be a good idea by nodding his head. My husband told me to put at least two packets of sugar and two creamers into the coffee they make at the home so that Dad could enjoy it. I also added a bit of 2% milk so that the coffee wasn’t too hot in the temperature department. Dad sipped it gingerly at first, and then relished the first half-cup. After that, he didn’t really want anymore, so I didn’t press the issue. The nurse brought in his medications. She’d crushed and mixed them in peanut butter which I thought would be awful, but Dad took them without complaint. I gave him more juice, partly to rinse out his mouth, partly to help the medicines go down better, and partly to keep Dad hydrated. Hydration is a big problem for Dad. It’s hard to keep enough fluids in someone who’s asleep half the day, who has his mouth open a lot, who drools a lot, and who has trouble swallowing!
After the nurse left, Dad seemed to have a sense of urgency about him. He put his hands on either side of my face and pulled me closer to his face. I had been sitting on the side of his bed as he’d patted it to have me sit nearer to him when I first arrived. He stared at me so intently that I finally asked him, in a joking manner, if he was trying to memorize my face. What a surprise his answer was when he said yes, he didn’t want to forget me. That shook me. Actually, it made me cry. I put my face down into Dad’s chest and cried very hard. Dad stroked my hair and gentled me as though I were a little girl again. What a lovely gift of time and love we shared. It wasn’t much time, but enough for us both to know how deep is the love we still share. Dad may not be who he once was, but I know that somewhere deep inside the confused person who is in his bed right now, the father I’ve always known is in there. The Alzheimer’s disease stops him from coming out as much as he wants to, but Dad pushed his way through today. It must have taken a massive effort for him to show his love for me the way he did. What a wonderful miracle we both experienced. He had a big smile on his face for a few minutes.
When the moment was over, it was truly gone, in some way as though it hadn’t happened. The nursing home day staff arrived to get Dad up and dressed for the day. I had to leave to start my busy day of errands. As quickly as Dad had shown his love, he reverted to the Alzheimer’s patient, but we all noticed he wasn’t so grumpy with the ladies this morning as he usually is when they’re dressing him. So maybe my early morning visit was good for everyone.
I visited Dad this morning at 7:30 a.m. When I peeked into his room, he was lying there with his eyes open, just staring into the darkened room as though he was thinking about something important. I’m not sure what was on his mind, but I didn’t startle him. I said hello and he very pleasantly responded. Dad was wide-awake, without any trace of drug fuzziness to his demeanour at all. It has been a long time since I’ve seen Dad this alert and responsive, I thought. Perhaps I should visit him in the early mornings more often. Everyone in the home tells me Dad sleeps in until fairly late in the mornings. I wonder if they actually look in on him in his room. Perhaps because he’s so very quiet they don’t realise he’s awake.
We talked for a few minutes, and then I opened up the drapes in his room to let in the beautiful morning sunshine. I told him the day and date as well as let him know that it was a lovely summer day for Sneak-a-Peek at the Stampede. We both said “Yahoo” to celebrate the Stampede and laughed. We sang a couple of songs: “I Say Little Dickie Bird” being one of the songs his Dad used to sing to him when my Dad was young and “Good Morning to You” being one of the songs my Dad used to sing to me when I was young. We laughed a lot. We then moved into “Daisy, Daisy” and a few others, but I don’t remember them all. For some reason, we wound up repeating a few tongue twisters, too. All rather odd, because those are not easy things for anyone to say, yet Dad was speaking them clearly. I wondered if he was practicing his speaking for some reason. I wondered if he did this type of mental exercise every morning in some sort of personal effort to retain information or retrain his brain to think. Even though he’s never told me he knows what’s wrong with him, and I’ve avoided telling him straight out that he has Alzheimer’s Disease, I know Dad knows what’s wrong. He just doesn’t want it named. He doesn’t want the label. He’s so very far advanced in the disease that it amazes me he even tries to fight it still. I thought he’d given up a long time ago, so the thought he was going through these mental exercises fascinated me.
I brought Dad some apple juice to freshen up his mouth. He had a problem at first with swallowing. He held the juice in his mouth and wouldn’t let it go down his throat. I had to cue him by placing my hand on his throat and telling him to take a big gulp. Finally the juice went down. After the first swallow, the rest of the juice went down well. He talked with me about a lot of things. I’m not totally sure I understood everything he was saying, but it was nice to hear Dad trying to communicate again. Most times when I see him now, he’s quiet. Probably because he knows he doesn’t make much sense to other people anymore. He used to become terribly frustrated and upset. Then he sort of gave up -- he’d throw his hands up in the air as if to say, what’s the point? Once upon a time, I could find some way of figuring out what Dad was trying to say, but I’ve had a tough time following him at all if he’s tried to speak in the last while. We discussed what he used to sell for the company he sold for for 35 years. I told him there is a new type of laundry detergent out now called “Cold Water Tide”. He just laughed and shook his head. I could almost hear his thoughts: “another marketing gimmick,” I said. He looked at me with laughter in his eyes. Yes, I’d read his mind right on! We were both pleased!
I then asked him if he wanted coffee, but he told me they made awful coffee at that place. He probably only used the word “awful”, but I knew what he meant. I told him I’d phone my husband to see if I could find out how to make the coffee taste a bit better. Dad indicated that would be a good idea by nodding his head. My husband told me to put at least two packets of sugar and two creamers into the coffee they make at the home so that Dad could enjoy it. I also added a bit of 2% milk so that the coffee wasn’t too hot in the temperature department. Dad sipped it gingerly at first, and then relished the first half-cup. After that, he didn’t really want anymore, so I didn’t press the issue. The nurse brought in his medications. She’d crushed and mixed them in peanut butter which I thought would be awful, but Dad took them without complaint. I gave him more juice, partly to rinse out his mouth, partly to help the medicines go down better, and partly to keep Dad hydrated. Hydration is a big problem for Dad. It’s hard to keep enough fluids in someone who’s asleep half the day, who has his mouth open a lot, who drools a lot, and who has trouble swallowing!
After the nurse left, Dad seemed to have a sense of urgency about him. He put his hands on either side of my face and pulled me closer to his face. I had been sitting on the side of his bed as he’d patted it to have me sit nearer to him when I first arrived. He stared at me so intently that I finally asked him, in a joking manner, if he was trying to memorize my face. What a surprise his answer was when he said yes, he didn’t want to forget me. That shook me. Actually, it made me cry. I put my face down into Dad’s chest and cried very hard. Dad stroked my hair and gentled me as though I were a little girl again. What a lovely gift of time and love we shared. It wasn’t much time, but enough for us both to know how deep is the love we still share. Dad may not be who he once was, but I know that somewhere deep inside the confused person who is in his bed right now, the father I’ve always known is in there. The Alzheimer’s disease stops him from coming out as much as he wants to, but Dad pushed his way through today. It must have taken a massive effort for him to show his love for me the way he did. What a wonderful miracle we both experienced. He had a big smile on his face for a few minutes.
When the moment was over, it was truly gone, in some way as though it hadn’t happened. The nursing home day staff arrived to get Dad up and dressed for the day. I had to leave to start my busy day of errands. As quickly as Dad had shown his love, he reverted to the Alzheimer’s patient, but we all noticed he wasn’t so grumpy with the ladies this morning as he usually is when they’re dressing him. So maybe my early morning visit was good for everyone.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Teaching Language Skills
One of the major activities I provide my English as a Second Language adult students is the opportunity to work with their new language tools in their own offices or homes as homework.
Even the brand-new-to-English students can write a basic two word sentence: "I run." I ask my students to use the sentence structure that we have in our curriculum books, in which there are several examples. If all else fails, I've had a few students take nearly all the words from the written example and re-write it with a different verb or different person (1st, 2nd, 3rd, singular or plural) so that not only are they working with the sentence structures, but with grammar concepts too. That's what I do with the Beginners!
I expect Intermediate students to come up with their own sentences, and then dissect them in class with me -- what is right or why not. The first two levels of Advanced students actually have to write paragraphs for homework. But they write about tangible articles, not abstract concepts. The last Advanced level writes about abstract concepts.
We prepare a LOT of examples verbally before we even get into our books. I use whiteboards, drawings, and pantomime, whatever to get meanings across. In fact, there is often so much laughter coming from our classrooms that other people in the offices will poke their heads in to find out what is happening. I may start bringing a few items with me, if they're light enough; perhaps I can bring a piece of twine, or a thumbtack. My dang books weigh over 20 lbs. for my daily commute as it is, so I don't really like the concept of more weight!
So, if I, as an ESL teacher, can come up with a specific plan to teach all four aspects of language learning to beginners through to advanced adult students, why can't school boards write curricula which will include the same for our children? The concepts are: listening, speaking, reading and writing. Teaching all four at once may seem complicated, but they are simple because they work together and assist in the interweaving of the language skills.
We have to get in there, play with words, get a little nitty gritty dirty, have fun, and WORK with language: any teacher will tell you that students learn better when different teaching modalities are used.
C'mon, politicians: municipal, state, province, and federal: let's get our acts together so that our young people can learn how to communicate properly.
As I used to state to my students back at the U of C:
"It is counter-productive to have a fabulous idea if you cannot TALK about it, WRITE about it and DEFEND it. Grants, money and research possibilities only open up for those people who communicate their ideas clearly."
We humans need to communicate with each other, and we use language to do so. Yes, if languages are not the same amongst those talking, other means can be found to get ideas across to each other. However, no matter the language we teach, we need a proper plan to be successful. The ability to communicate well with others contributes to information exchange and the understanding between cultures.
Whatever will happen to our young people if they don't learn basic communication skills?
Whatever will happen to our countries if people no longer know how to clearly communicate ideas both in written and verbal form?
Aaaaagh!
Even the brand-new-to-English students can write a basic two word sentence: "I run." I ask my students to use the sentence structure that we have in our curriculum books, in which there are several examples. If all else fails, I've had a few students take nearly all the words from the written example and re-write it with a different verb or different person (1st, 2nd, 3rd, singular or plural) so that not only are they working with the sentence structures, but with grammar concepts too. That's what I do with the Beginners!
I expect Intermediate students to come up with their own sentences, and then dissect them in class with me -- what is right or why not. The first two levels of Advanced students actually have to write paragraphs for homework. But they write about tangible articles, not abstract concepts. The last Advanced level writes about abstract concepts.
We prepare a LOT of examples verbally before we even get into our books. I use whiteboards, drawings, and pantomime, whatever to get meanings across. In fact, there is often so much laughter coming from our classrooms that other people in the offices will poke their heads in to find out what is happening. I may start bringing a few items with me, if they're light enough; perhaps I can bring a piece of twine, or a thumbtack. My dang books weigh over 20 lbs. for my daily commute as it is, so I don't really like the concept of more weight!
So, if I, as an ESL teacher, can come up with a specific plan to teach all four aspects of language learning to beginners through to advanced adult students, why can't school boards write curricula which will include the same for our children? The concepts are: listening, speaking, reading and writing. Teaching all four at once may seem complicated, but they are simple because they work together and assist in the interweaving of the language skills.
We have to get in there, play with words, get a little nitty gritty dirty, have fun, and WORK with language: any teacher will tell you that students learn better when different teaching modalities are used.
C'mon, politicians: municipal, state, province, and federal: let's get our acts together so that our young people can learn how to communicate properly.
As I used to state to my students back at the U of C:
"It is counter-productive to have a fabulous idea if you cannot TALK about it, WRITE about it and DEFEND it. Grants, money and research possibilities only open up for those people who communicate their ideas clearly."
We humans need to communicate with each other, and we use language to do so. Yes, if languages are not the same amongst those talking, other means can be found to get ideas across to each other. However, no matter the language we teach, we need a proper plan to be successful. The ability to communicate well with others contributes to information exchange and the understanding between cultures.
Whatever will happen to our young people if they don't learn basic communication skills?
Whatever will happen to our countries if people no longer know how to clearly communicate ideas both in written and verbal form?
Aaaaagh!
I See Beauty Wherever I Look When I Look For Beauty
I see beauty in a mother breastfeeding her baby. I see beauty in a father holding his little child in his arms and cuddling her close.
I see beauty in the wrinkles of an old woman's face because I know she has earned every one of those lines through her life experiences.
I see beauty in the colours of the leaves on the trees and bushes in the fall, before they land on the ground.
I see beauty in the flowering of crab-apple trees in the spring.
I see beauty in the rows upon rows of home-canned fruit and vegetables I've put up each year. They look as beautiful as the richest jewels to me.
I see beauty in the tanned, calloused, hardworn and yes, even dirty, hands of the farmers I know.
I see beauty in the order of the stars in the sky above us each night, and I see beauty in knowing that the sun will rise each morning.
I see beauty in the seasons of the moon, from the new moon to the glory of the full moon to the lack of a moon. I love the sheer gorgeous juiciness of the September harvest moon because it seems so close and big and beautiful; as though it, too, is urging the crops to hurry up, grow that last little bit before being harvested.
I love the beauty of a sunflower as its head follows the sun across the sky. I see beauty when the sunflower head bows down with the weight of all the seeds it holds in the fall.
I see beauty in a clean kitchen with all the clean cutlery, gleaming glassware, dishes, floors, and clean counters. And appliances shining back at me after a hard day's work of providing sustenance for my family.
I see beauty in a family kneeling at night together to say their prayers of praise and glory to a loving and kind Heavenly Father for all of His bounty in their lives, to ask him for their hearts' desires, and to wait upon His words of love and promise.
I see beauty in the wrinkles of an old woman's face because I know she has earned every one of those lines through her life experiences.
I see beauty in the colours of the leaves on the trees and bushes in the fall, before they land on the ground.
I see beauty in the flowering of crab-apple trees in the spring.
I see beauty in the rows upon rows of home-canned fruit and vegetables I've put up each year. They look as beautiful as the richest jewels to me.
I see beauty in the tanned, calloused, hardworn and yes, even dirty, hands of the farmers I know.
I see beauty in the order of the stars in the sky above us each night, and I see beauty in knowing that the sun will rise each morning.
I see beauty in the seasons of the moon, from the new moon to the glory of the full moon to the lack of a moon. I love the sheer gorgeous juiciness of the September harvest moon because it seems so close and big and beautiful; as though it, too, is urging the crops to hurry up, grow that last little bit before being harvested.
I love the beauty of a sunflower as its head follows the sun across the sky. I see beauty when the sunflower head bows down with the weight of all the seeds it holds in the fall.
I see beauty in a clean kitchen with all the clean cutlery, gleaming glassware, dishes, floors, and clean counters. And appliances shining back at me after a hard day's work of providing sustenance for my family.
I see beauty in a family kneeling at night together to say their prayers of praise and glory to a loving and kind Heavenly Father for all of His bounty in their lives, to ask him for their hearts' desires, and to wait upon His words of love and promise.
To See and Be the Whole Me
I forget about not seeing the whole me,
or the me that others see.
It's fun to imagine who it is others see,
but I might not like that other she.
Who is she and what does she do?
Is she the one that is Mother Earth?
Is she the one that is Miss Efficient?
Is she the one that is Miss Clean?
Is she the one that is the Chauffeur?
I don't know who the others see.
There are so very many parts of me.
I don't even know who I am day by day.
Just don't let any one me get in my way.
I have so much I need to do:
I have four sons to raise and grow,
I have a huge house to keep and gardens to tend,
I have a husband who thinks he's my fifth son.
I have friends who look to me to help them in the end.
I don't know who the others want:
I cannot keep up with all I should do.
I don't know what I'll do today.
There are so many people in my way.
What about the me I want to see?
The me I want to be?
The me who wants to be free?
The me who will come to be?
Will I recognize her in the mirror?
Will my sons still love her?
Will my husband still be there?
Will my friends still want her in their lives?
Will anyone still recognize who I am?
Yup, I will.
Since I will be the me I want to be!
That is the most important me to be!
or the me that others see.
It's fun to imagine who it is others see,
but I might not like that other she.
Who is she and what does she do?
Is she the one that is Mother Earth?
Is she the one that is Miss Efficient?
Is she the one that is Miss Clean?
Is she the one that is the Chauffeur?
I don't know who the others see.
There are so very many parts of me.
I don't even know who I am day by day.
Just don't let any one me get in my way.
I have so much I need to do:
I have four sons to raise and grow,
I have a huge house to keep and gardens to tend,
I have a husband who thinks he's my fifth son.
I have friends who look to me to help them in the end.
I don't know who the others want:
I cannot keep up with all I should do.
I don't know what I'll do today.
There are so many people in my way.
What about the me I want to see?
The me I want to be?
The me who wants to be free?
The me who will come to be?
Will I recognize her in the mirror?
Will my sons still love her?
Will my husband still be there?
Will my friends still want her in their lives?
Will anyone still recognize who I am?
Yup, I will.
Since I will be the me I want to be!
That is the most important me to be!
Talents: Nature versus Nurture
Lately I've given a lot of thought to the question of Nature versus Nurture when it comes to passing along various talents and skills.
For example: My paternal Grandfather was a writer. He was a professional journalist and book editor as well. He loved languages, the sounds and origins of words, and loved playing with words. He was expert when it came to words. So much so, that most people used him as their word resource! He knew at least six different languages fairly well, so I believe he was definitely in the league of "those who know" languages: how to acquire, commonalities, differences, etc. In addition, he linked his love of languages with his love of history. Granddad had a fantastic sense of humour and loved teaching as well as learning. Granddad was very involved in his community in the area of giving: The Empty Stocking Fund in Winnipeg was his passion, and he was a lay minister to four congregations in the United Church.
My own Father loved word play. He didn't write much, but he read everything he could get his hands on, especially in the area of history of Europe and N. America. He may not have travelled out of Canada a lot after his tour of naval duty during WWII, but he went to many worldwide locations through his reading. Because he was so well read, I could ask him for information when I was writing my own university research papers. We discussed so many interesting subjects. He was every bit as learned as any University Prof I ever had, and I found it wonderful to get home and discuss something with him that I'd been studying in one of my U classes. Dad was a successful salesperson all his adult life.
My Mom was a professional singer, directed many choirs over the years of her life, taught several young people who have gone on to score in the public world of music, and was herself in a number of stage productions. She was an amazingly talented woman with music. She was also very creative with oils, charcoal, and pastels. Both of my parents were involved with public service in the community most of their lives: from volunteering as a choir director to being a Scoutmaster, working on political campaigns and even running for office.
I loved dancing when I was a child. My parents put me into ballet when I was only three years old because I literally danced prior to walking. I love languages and studying them as well as how the words fit together, their origins and uses. I love linguistics classes where I have learned the basics of how language is acquired, basic phonological studying, and even remedial efforts. I used a lot of skills that seemed innate when I was younger: I had an easy time when acquiring languages, and performing music was a favourite pass-time. I write (A LOT), both for fun and profit! Writing is part of my personal growth and therapy too. History? Well I can take it or leave it, mostly because I cannot read nor draw a map for my life, which has something to do with how I see things, as I'm dyslexic. But oral histories and written histories so long as there aren't too many visuals, work for me. I teach and I love people, especially when I can tell they've had a light turned on in their brains when I've taught a particularly complex concept! I love learning, and still read voraciously. I love craft work and art work, with many different types of media. Volunteer public service was one of my strongest suits when I was younger, through working to make the schools better, through politics, and through doing things with my children.
My eldest son sang professionally, as well as danced on-stage, loves languages and how they work, and is an editor/speechwriter among other things where he works. He loves word play also. He reads voraciously for pleasure, despite all the editing he does at work. That son seeks out many different challenges, and uses his words to sell things from abstract concepts to manufactured goods. He is very engaged with his wife and children, but makes time for volunteer community service. He, too, is a lay minister.
My eldest granddaughter is fascinated by languages, sings wonderfully and is a true on-stage character. While she's only eight years old, she has been a lovely singer for a few years already. She is already a most confident and talented entertainer. My grandson loves art and creating things. He's somewhat musically inclined, but being that he's only five years old, we'll truly have to wait for awhile before we actually know where his talents may lead him. Same as with my littlest granddaughter: she's too young to know for sure where her talents are, but she certainly loves making noises!!
My other three sons are salespeople in one form or another, so they have excellent people skills and read people well in addition to having the gift of speech. They are confident and active young people who volunteer in their communities, from helping run a rummage sale, drumming up business for said sale, to working in political campaigns. Each one of my sons is a voracious reader and they can all tell a story, if not always write one.
So, the bottom question is: are these talents and skills inherited? Why are there so many in my family who are writers, successful salespeople, excellent speechmakers and active people in their community?
I didn't know my paternal Grandfather in his physical form, as he died the March before I was born in May. My granddaughters and grandson didn't know my Mom, 'cuz she died long before they were born.
So, do various talents run in our family through genetics? Or is it because we've seen so many in our family enjoy doing those things well that it is natural for us to do the same things??
Perhaps we're born with the inner talent, are then led to whatever projects and activities through our own devices; but because we've seen and heard role models who have worked hard on their skills and used their talents to the best use possible, we have all these common threads in our lives!
Basically, my thought is that it is a question of the nature of the person, and how that person is nurtured in his or her community of loving adults that defines how we become who we are and do what we do so well.
For example: My paternal Grandfather was a writer. He was a professional journalist and book editor as well. He loved languages, the sounds and origins of words, and loved playing with words. He was expert when it came to words. So much so, that most people used him as their word resource! He knew at least six different languages fairly well, so I believe he was definitely in the league of "those who know" languages: how to acquire, commonalities, differences, etc. In addition, he linked his love of languages with his love of history. Granddad had a fantastic sense of humour and loved teaching as well as learning. Granddad was very involved in his community in the area of giving: The Empty Stocking Fund in Winnipeg was his passion, and he was a lay minister to four congregations in the United Church.
My own Father loved word play. He didn't write much, but he read everything he could get his hands on, especially in the area of history of Europe and N. America. He may not have travelled out of Canada a lot after his tour of naval duty during WWII, but he went to many worldwide locations through his reading. Because he was so well read, I could ask him for information when I was writing my own university research papers. We discussed so many interesting subjects. He was every bit as learned as any University Prof I ever had, and I found it wonderful to get home and discuss something with him that I'd been studying in one of my U classes. Dad was a successful salesperson all his adult life.
My Mom was a professional singer, directed many choirs over the years of her life, taught several young people who have gone on to score in the public world of music, and was herself in a number of stage productions. She was an amazingly talented woman with music. She was also very creative with oils, charcoal, and pastels. Both of my parents were involved with public service in the community most of their lives: from volunteering as a choir director to being a Scoutmaster, working on political campaigns and even running for office.
I loved dancing when I was a child. My parents put me into ballet when I was only three years old because I literally danced prior to walking. I love languages and studying them as well as how the words fit together, their origins and uses. I love linguistics classes where I have learned the basics of how language is acquired, basic phonological studying, and even remedial efforts. I used a lot of skills that seemed innate when I was younger: I had an easy time when acquiring languages, and performing music was a favourite pass-time. I write (A LOT), both for fun and profit! Writing is part of my personal growth and therapy too. History? Well I can take it or leave it, mostly because I cannot read nor draw a map for my life, which has something to do with how I see things, as I'm dyslexic. But oral histories and written histories so long as there aren't too many visuals, work for me. I teach and I love people, especially when I can tell they've had a light turned on in their brains when I've taught a particularly complex concept! I love learning, and still read voraciously. I love craft work and art work, with many different types of media. Volunteer public service was one of my strongest suits when I was younger, through working to make the schools better, through politics, and through doing things with my children.
My eldest son sang professionally, as well as danced on-stage, loves languages and how they work, and is an editor/speechwriter among other things where he works. He loves word play also. He reads voraciously for pleasure, despite all the editing he does at work. That son seeks out many different challenges, and uses his words to sell things from abstract concepts to manufactured goods. He is very engaged with his wife and children, but makes time for volunteer community service. He, too, is a lay minister.
My eldest granddaughter is fascinated by languages, sings wonderfully and is a true on-stage character. While she's only eight years old, she has been a lovely singer for a few years already. She is already a most confident and talented entertainer. My grandson loves art and creating things. He's somewhat musically inclined, but being that he's only five years old, we'll truly have to wait for awhile before we actually know where his talents may lead him. Same as with my littlest granddaughter: she's too young to know for sure where her talents are, but she certainly loves making noises!!
My other three sons are salespeople in one form or another, so they have excellent people skills and read people well in addition to having the gift of speech. They are confident and active young people who volunteer in their communities, from helping run a rummage sale, drumming up business for said sale, to working in political campaigns. Each one of my sons is a voracious reader and they can all tell a story, if not always write one.
So, the bottom question is: are these talents and skills inherited? Why are there so many in my family who are writers, successful salespeople, excellent speechmakers and active people in their community?
I didn't know my paternal Grandfather in his physical form, as he died the March before I was born in May. My granddaughters and grandson didn't know my Mom, 'cuz she died long before they were born.
So, do various talents run in our family through genetics? Or is it because we've seen so many in our family enjoy doing those things well that it is natural for us to do the same things??
Perhaps we're born with the inner talent, are then led to whatever projects and activities through our own devices; but because we've seen and heard role models who have worked hard on their skills and used their talents to the best use possible, we have all these common threads in our lives!
Basically, my thought is that it is a question of the nature of the person, and how that person is nurtured in his or her community of loving adults that defines how we become who we are and do what we do so well.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Perceptions and Realtiy
"Suffering arises when you want things to be different than they are. Things can never be different than they are. What can be different is the meaning you give to what happens. You can't change what happens, but you can change what you think it means."
I'm uncertain I'm ready to believe that statement. At first blush, it seems good, but upon pondering it further, there is a part of me that rebels against the thought that I cannot change things, or if I try that I will suffer.
I intrinsically believe that perception and understanding helps us change how we feel about things. But, I also believe that I have many opportunities to make things change. Really small actions can generate really big differences. I can pick garbage up and put it in the barrels at the park, even if it's not my trash. I can recycle articles, using my motto: Reduce, Re-use, Re-purpose and Recycle EVERYTHING!! You'd be amazed at the number of outfits I've sewn from other's clothing, or how I've unravelled sweaters so I can use the wool to make something else, or used a recycled unused hospital door as a countertop. That's not only recycling -- it's frugal too! I can ensure that when MY dog does his business that I clean it up.
I can smile at someone who might need a little recognition that he or she actually exists, and is important just for being alive. I can teach people of all ages and many different subject: from ESL to quilting to zoology and dinosaurs. While I do not have ALL the answers, I can help others learn HOW to get the information, and be with them WHILE they do it if necessary. I can lead people to a happier place if they're willing to follow, just by caring and loving them.
I can be a positive influence on others. If I cannot act in faith that something I say or do will make this world a better place, then WHY AM I HERE?
Do not my actions create my reality? Yes. Do not my perceptions also cause my reality? Yes. Do I have the ability to change things in my own life? Yes. But I need time for quiet reflection upon what is happening, and then time to formulate a plan, and then the energy to enact that plan. In the meantime, I can love myself and others too. Just as we are, warts and all. Actually, that is a phrase my children and I have often used: "I love you just as you are, warts and all." That phrase acknowledges that someone has value, regardless of what they or others may perceive as problems, or even what they have done or not done recently. Hmmm -- I guess it would be based on MY perception of what I've done or not done.
Babies and animals are wonderful examples of how to live life. Accept the moment for whatever it is -- a learning experience, pleasure, happiness, or even pain and sadness. Hungry? Cry -- someone will eventually feed you if you can't do it yourself. Happy? Wag tail. Well, I guess my examples are somewhat flippant and don't totally work in the real world when performed by real people, but you know what I mean. Maybe that's why we're told in the New Testament that we need to become more child-like in order to enter the Kingdom. Children have fewer hangups about what people do. Innocence is wonderful.
But what about that person who is NOT innocent: that person who perpetrates violence on others? Can I accept that person in my life? What if it was one of my own who was that person? I've given a lot of thought to that issue, because I was married to a venomous man, after suffering emotional abuse by my Mom as I was growing up. Who in her right mind stays with an abuser, and what effect will that have on my children? Well, maybe I didn't have a right mind then. Certainly the events that occurred have had long term repercussions for me -- I still fight against PTSD and depression. But then, I've come to accept that those things are PART of who I am -- the staying married even if the marriage was unpleasant; battling PTSD and depression. While I could believe I'm handicapped because of those things, I've come to appreciate the woman I am BECAUSE OF THOSE EVENTS that made me who I am today. I celebrate my ability to grow from those experiences and turn them into a positive influence.
So, while I will agree wholeheartedly that perception makes the difference, I will NOT agree that I cannot change things. I will at least continue trying to make things better in this world, for myself and my progeny!
I just won't let it bother me so much when my actions don't always bring the intended results!!
I'm uncertain I'm ready to believe that statement. At first blush, it seems good, but upon pondering it further, there is a part of me that rebels against the thought that I cannot change things, or if I try that I will suffer.
I intrinsically believe that perception and understanding helps us change how we feel about things. But, I also believe that I have many opportunities to make things change. Really small actions can generate really big differences. I can pick garbage up and put it in the barrels at the park, even if it's not my trash. I can recycle articles, using my motto: Reduce, Re-use, Re-purpose and Recycle EVERYTHING!! You'd be amazed at the number of outfits I've sewn from other's clothing, or how I've unravelled sweaters so I can use the wool to make something else, or used a recycled unused hospital door as a countertop. That's not only recycling -- it's frugal too! I can ensure that when MY dog does his business that I clean it up.
I can smile at someone who might need a little recognition that he or she actually exists, and is important just for being alive. I can teach people of all ages and many different subject: from ESL to quilting to zoology and dinosaurs. While I do not have ALL the answers, I can help others learn HOW to get the information, and be with them WHILE they do it if necessary. I can lead people to a happier place if they're willing to follow, just by caring and loving them.
I can be a positive influence on others. If I cannot act in faith that something I say or do will make this world a better place, then WHY AM I HERE?
Do not my actions create my reality? Yes. Do not my perceptions also cause my reality? Yes. Do I have the ability to change things in my own life? Yes. But I need time for quiet reflection upon what is happening, and then time to formulate a plan, and then the energy to enact that plan. In the meantime, I can love myself and others too. Just as we are, warts and all. Actually, that is a phrase my children and I have often used: "I love you just as you are, warts and all." That phrase acknowledges that someone has value, regardless of what they or others may perceive as problems, or even what they have done or not done recently. Hmmm -- I guess it would be based on MY perception of what I've done or not done.
Babies and animals are wonderful examples of how to live life. Accept the moment for whatever it is -- a learning experience, pleasure, happiness, or even pain and sadness. Hungry? Cry -- someone will eventually feed you if you can't do it yourself. Happy? Wag tail. Well, I guess my examples are somewhat flippant and don't totally work in the real world when performed by real people, but you know what I mean. Maybe that's why we're told in the New Testament that we need to become more child-like in order to enter the Kingdom. Children have fewer hangups about what people do. Innocence is wonderful.
But what about that person who is NOT innocent: that person who perpetrates violence on others? Can I accept that person in my life? What if it was one of my own who was that person? I've given a lot of thought to that issue, because I was married to a venomous man, after suffering emotional abuse by my Mom as I was growing up. Who in her right mind stays with an abuser, and what effect will that have on my children? Well, maybe I didn't have a right mind then. Certainly the events that occurred have had long term repercussions for me -- I still fight against PTSD and depression. But then, I've come to accept that those things are PART of who I am -- the staying married even if the marriage was unpleasant; battling PTSD and depression. While I could believe I'm handicapped because of those things, I've come to appreciate the woman I am BECAUSE OF THOSE EVENTS that made me who I am today. I celebrate my ability to grow from those experiences and turn them into a positive influence.
So, while I will agree wholeheartedly that perception makes the difference, I will NOT agree that I cannot change things. I will at least continue trying to make things better in this world, for myself and my progeny!
I just won't let it bother me so much when my actions don't always bring the intended results!!
25th High School Graduation Reunion
I went to my 25th Anniversary of high school graduation. There were only 125 of us who graduated in our class. Many turned up: after all, we'd opened up different schools all through our neighbourhood from elementary to high school, so we were a tight group.
It was excellent to find out about everyone. However when I first walked in to the reception area, I could not believe I was in the right room: everyone there was so old!! It was eerie to see how we were no longer the young fresh faces we remembered. The first thing I did when I got home was ask my kids about that phenomenon: did I look old too? Well, don't EVER ask your kids that! They told me I didn't look OLD old, but of course I looked old to them, I am their Mom! LOL!!
Some of the guys who'd worn the longest hair in high school were bald!! The fanciest dressers were still well dressed, the greatest speakers were still excellent speakers, the intellectuals were still smart, the comics were still funny -- and the goofballs had pretty well settled down into domestic bliss: but we were all older, wiser, and quieter! But it was fabulous seeing everyone again. We'd seen each other at our 10th Anniversary, so it wasn't quite the problem identifying each other as it might have been.
I was goofing around with some of the guys I'd kicked around with in high school when one of my buds said to me that I hadn't changed: I was still the fun-loving, happy-go-lucky and lovable gal I'd always been. I could have kissed him right then and there. What a huge boost for me: if he only knew all the stuff I'd gone through in my life and how hard I'd worked to come back to the me I am now, he'd know how much that compliment meant.
If ever you have the opportunity, absolutely, attend your high school reunion. You’ll have a lot of fun with your high school colleagues: you might even meet some you didn't know then but would like now. There are wonderful memories to look at in the yearbook, fabulous stories to read in the histories and see in the pictures that people send in, neat things to discover about your classmates' activities since graduation, and much more to discover about yourself too.
Go -- it's the time of your life!
It was excellent to find out about everyone. However when I first walked in to the reception area, I could not believe I was in the right room: everyone there was so old!! It was eerie to see how we were no longer the young fresh faces we remembered. The first thing I did when I got home was ask my kids about that phenomenon: did I look old too? Well, don't EVER ask your kids that! They told me I didn't look OLD old, but of course I looked old to them, I am their Mom! LOL!!
Some of the guys who'd worn the longest hair in high school were bald!! The fanciest dressers were still well dressed, the greatest speakers were still excellent speakers, the intellectuals were still smart, the comics were still funny -- and the goofballs had pretty well settled down into domestic bliss: but we were all older, wiser, and quieter! But it was fabulous seeing everyone again. We'd seen each other at our 10th Anniversary, so it wasn't quite the problem identifying each other as it might have been.
I was goofing around with some of the guys I'd kicked around with in high school when one of my buds said to me that I hadn't changed: I was still the fun-loving, happy-go-lucky and lovable gal I'd always been. I could have kissed him right then and there. What a huge boost for me: if he only knew all the stuff I'd gone through in my life and how hard I'd worked to come back to the me I am now, he'd know how much that compliment meant.
If ever you have the opportunity, absolutely, attend your high school reunion. You’ll have a lot of fun with your high school colleagues: you might even meet some you didn't know then but would like now. There are wonderful memories to look at in the yearbook, fabulous stories to read in the histories and see in the pictures that people send in, neat things to discover about your classmates' activities since graduation, and much more to discover about yourself too.
Go -- it's the time of your life!
Life Just Might Be a Rose Garden
I learned a long time ago -- and believe it or not, maybe through my Mom -- the uselessness of the “what if” game. She used to play it on herself, and unfortunately, the tag was, "What if I didn't have you children?" So of course I took it completely the wrong way and felt guilty because I'd personally ruined her life!
Ain't necessarily so!
I learned to live my life DESPITE or TO SPITE any what if's!
I decided that instead of having any what if's in my life, that I'd still go for things and do stuff, maybe at a different age or stage than what one would normally do them, but I'd give life all the gusto I could. I believe that's one of the reasons I have held so many different jobs, and tried so many different volunteer positions and been so many different "people" (worn different hats; basically I've stayed the same person). I've been the earth mother, high-powered executive secretary, school bus driver, wife of the President of a large company with all the requisite duties therein, political pundit, supporter of worthy causes, mover and shaker in the political world in my small hometown, (if anyone wanted something done, they came to me to get it done); I was the penultimate Mom to the whole town of children as they grew up and I always listened to those who needed something -- and gave whatever was needed if I had it to give! I was even the perfect divorcee -- stayed friendly with my ex and his new woman, was strong for my sons, stayed involved in the Church we belonged to, didn't date or anything for a long time, and kept up all the right appearances for the whole works.
Then, I decided to move to Calgary so I could attend University, grow, learn and become even someone else, which I did -- in a far greater way than I ever imagined I would, in fact. It was an amazing journey of 16 years there, and I'm not going into the details here, but I made up for some of those "What if's" of my earlier life! Big-time! Had a ball, but worked bloody hard too: excellent grades even though I worked at night, took care of my children and terminally ill Mom during the days as well as taking University courses. Trust me, my life was FULL! There were NEVER enough hours in the day! NEVER!!
In fact, I joked about wanting to go to the metric minute, hour and day, etc.: 100 seconds to a minute, 100 minutes to an hour, 20 hours to a day, and 20 days to a week, and 100 weeks to a season. That meant dropping winter, but that would have been fine with me!!! LOL!
So, I've lived a very full, interesting, and WOW life. My only what if now is WHAT IF I'd not worn myself out quite so much? Maybe I'd have a little more energy to sustain me through this time of my life. Ah, that's another question/concern for another time!! LOL! I'll survive this and grow into an even better me as I overcome this whole physical trial thing!
WHAT'S holding YOU back now from trying something new, interesting or exciting now? Why don't you experiment, experience something different? I've actually dabbled in the public art forum myself using my quilting as my media. It is a fabulous community -- all kinds of wonderful artisans are out there, trust me. The Women Artists I became involved with accepted ALL media -- from canvas to charcoal to fabric to even one woman who used, and recycled, garbage. It was wonderful to work together occasionally, and talk together and BE together in that community. Some of my most favourite memories are of all of us together for a year, working on a project for International Women's Day, where we each creatively put a piece together to celebrate the woman who influenced us most in our lives. Guess what? Most of us, myself included, did something to honour our Moms!
The works were actually either photographed, or in some other way put into a collage so we could quilt them together and use the quilt as one of the pieces that we displayed, as well as all the individual pieces being shown. One of the women artists had drawn pictures of us as we'd sat there in meetings discussing what we were going to do, or as we were doing our artwork, and it was amazing the way she connected us -- weaving us together. We were twenty or so women of varying ages, talents and interests, using different media to honour the women in our lives, and this artist connected us with each other, also managing to put some of our conversations into the drawings in the form of pictures, and drew our grandmothers and past generations into her work. It was so amazing, and so wonderful to be part of that work and community.
That was my long way of telling you that you don't have to be a professional at any specific thing to get a whole lot out of being involved with any community that works in your fields of interest. Look into itl, because it may help you decide to go further into your field of interest. Look into other areas of interest, even if you had already thought of it before but pushed it aside for SOME now unknown reason.
That would be one What If that you can explore. Some artisans don't even come into their own specialty until they're well into their senior years -- so don't fuss about ageism!!
I think we shouldn't be afraid to examine our What if's, so I hope you don't mind what I've suggested. I encourage you to look at some of those What if's from your past and present. Re-write them into something that you might just be able to answer now in a new and creative way. Or, if not, don't worry about it. It might be time to put those what if's away, because you have so much more in your life because of the way you have chosen to live.
All of our life's experiences, good AND bad, go into making us the creatures we are today. Bad experiences can make us good people, strange as that may sound: you have more understanding and compassion for others because of what you have grown through, even though you have not walked the same path anyone else did. Each of us has a unique path to walk, set especially for us to learn what we need to learn. However, I may have a glimpse of the sadness, loss and hurt you have experienced because of what I grew through, so I can empathize with you because of my life's experiences, as can you with me.
Let's face it, there never was a Norman Rockwell family life. If we were to put any single family's life under the microscope, it would come up as dysfunctional. Or if we x-rayed the people in the family, we’d likely see many broken bones from various heartaches and disappointments. But, that is part of what we as humans are here to learn to handle.
We were never promised a rose garden: or maybe we were and we forgot that rose gardens also have those pricklies and hurts in them, and weeds and bee stings, and some other not so wonderful things in them. There's even mildew and rose rot there to be honest! But, if we tend those gardens, beautiful roses can grow there too.
That's what we need to do with our lives -- tend them as best as we can so we can grow into the gorgeous, radiant roses we know we are! And sometimes manure is the best antidote for anything! LOL!
That's life in the rose garden. Hugs! I’m off now: weeding and feeding!
Ain't necessarily so!
I learned to live my life DESPITE or TO SPITE any what if's!
I decided that instead of having any what if's in my life, that I'd still go for things and do stuff, maybe at a different age or stage than what one would normally do them, but I'd give life all the gusto I could. I believe that's one of the reasons I have held so many different jobs, and tried so many different volunteer positions and been so many different "people" (worn different hats; basically I've stayed the same person). I've been the earth mother, high-powered executive secretary, school bus driver, wife of the President of a large company with all the requisite duties therein, political pundit, supporter of worthy causes, mover and shaker in the political world in my small hometown, (if anyone wanted something done, they came to me to get it done); I was the penultimate Mom to the whole town of children as they grew up and I always listened to those who needed something -- and gave whatever was needed if I had it to give! I was even the perfect divorcee -- stayed friendly with my ex and his new woman, was strong for my sons, stayed involved in the Church we belonged to, didn't date or anything for a long time, and kept up all the right appearances for the whole works.
Then, I decided to move to Calgary so I could attend University, grow, learn and become even someone else, which I did -- in a far greater way than I ever imagined I would, in fact. It was an amazing journey of 16 years there, and I'm not going into the details here, but I made up for some of those "What if's" of my earlier life! Big-time! Had a ball, but worked bloody hard too: excellent grades even though I worked at night, took care of my children and terminally ill Mom during the days as well as taking University courses. Trust me, my life was FULL! There were NEVER enough hours in the day! NEVER!!
In fact, I joked about wanting to go to the metric minute, hour and day, etc.: 100 seconds to a minute, 100 minutes to an hour, 20 hours to a day, and 20 days to a week, and 100 weeks to a season. That meant dropping winter, but that would have been fine with me!!! LOL!
So, I've lived a very full, interesting, and WOW life. My only what if now is WHAT IF I'd not worn myself out quite so much? Maybe I'd have a little more energy to sustain me through this time of my life. Ah, that's another question/concern for another time!! LOL! I'll survive this and grow into an even better me as I overcome this whole physical trial thing!
WHAT'S holding YOU back now from trying something new, interesting or exciting now? Why don't you experiment, experience something different? I've actually dabbled in the public art forum myself using my quilting as my media. It is a fabulous community -- all kinds of wonderful artisans are out there, trust me. The Women Artists I became involved with accepted ALL media -- from canvas to charcoal to fabric to even one woman who used, and recycled, garbage. It was wonderful to work together occasionally, and talk together and BE together in that community. Some of my most favourite memories are of all of us together for a year, working on a project for International Women's Day, where we each creatively put a piece together to celebrate the woman who influenced us most in our lives. Guess what? Most of us, myself included, did something to honour our Moms!
The works were actually either photographed, or in some other way put into a collage so we could quilt them together and use the quilt as one of the pieces that we displayed, as well as all the individual pieces being shown. One of the women artists had drawn pictures of us as we'd sat there in meetings discussing what we were going to do, or as we were doing our artwork, and it was amazing the way she connected us -- weaving us together. We were twenty or so women of varying ages, talents and interests, using different media to honour the women in our lives, and this artist connected us with each other, also managing to put some of our conversations into the drawings in the form of pictures, and drew our grandmothers and past generations into her work. It was so amazing, and so wonderful to be part of that work and community.
That was my long way of telling you that you don't have to be a professional at any specific thing to get a whole lot out of being involved with any community that works in your fields of interest. Look into itl, because it may help you decide to go further into your field of interest. Look into other areas of interest, even if you had already thought of it before but pushed it aside for SOME now unknown reason.
That would be one What If that you can explore. Some artisans don't even come into their own specialty until they're well into their senior years -- so don't fuss about ageism!!
I think we shouldn't be afraid to examine our What if's, so I hope you don't mind what I've suggested. I encourage you to look at some of those What if's from your past and present. Re-write them into something that you might just be able to answer now in a new and creative way. Or, if not, don't worry about it. It might be time to put those what if's away, because you have so much more in your life because of the way you have chosen to live.
All of our life's experiences, good AND bad, go into making us the creatures we are today. Bad experiences can make us good people, strange as that may sound: you have more understanding and compassion for others because of what you have grown through, even though you have not walked the same path anyone else did. Each of us has a unique path to walk, set especially for us to learn what we need to learn. However, I may have a glimpse of the sadness, loss and hurt you have experienced because of what I grew through, so I can empathize with you because of my life's experiences, as can you with me.
Let's face it, there never was a Norman Rockwell family life. If we were to put any single family's life under the microscope, it would come up as dysfunctional. Or if we x-rayed the people in the family, we’d likely see many broken bones from various heartaches and disappointments. But, that is part of what we as humans are here to learn to handle.
We were never promised a rose garden: or maybe we were and we forgot that rose gardens also have those pricklies and hurts in them, and weeds and bee stings, and some other not so wonderful things in them. There's even mildew and rose rot there to be honest! But, if we tend those gardens, beautiful roses can grow there too.
That's what we need to do with our lives -- tend them as best as we can so we can grow into the gorgeous, radiant roses we know we are! And sometimes manure is the best antidote for anything! LOL!
That's life in the rose garden. Hugs! I’m off now: weeding and feeding!
Go Forth in God's Perfection
If we buy into the idea that each of us is a child of God, made in His image, then we are already perfect the way we have been made. We are not necessarily perfect the way we think perfect is, but we are perfect for the purpose we have been made for. It is our responsibility to live our lives in such a way that we learn all we need to learn through schooling and life experiences; yes, sometimes even through suffering.
Do you have faith? Do you believe what the Scriptures tell you? Can you find a way to connect the dots the way I do, even though you likely feel incapable sometimes to live up to what you think you should be doing? It is not our judgment that really matters -- it is that of our Creator. As a Christian, each of us has a blanket of white, which provides us with grace: our Saviour, Jesus Christ. It is He who provides the difference when our own works are insufficient. When we need guidance in life, the Holy Ghost is there ready to guide us when we are willing to listen.
You are right where you should be right now. As you let all your skills and new tools work for you, you will discover that you are doing what you need to do to learn, to become more compassionate, and to be able to serve others in an even stronger way. Heavenly Father loves you just as you are, but also knows the lessons we need to learn. He is good. He provides us with our lessons in His time and with His love. We have to learn patience while being aware of His influence in our lives.
Perfectionism and worry serve as static which disturb the normal flow of energy from the Divine to us. It is best to leave our insecurities behind, and to listen with renewed, hopeful spirits for what our Heavenly Father wants us to hear. Be still, and know that He is God. In Him, all things will come to pass in His time.
You say it is hard to sit and be still. That is so true, but in practicing that skill we may find we are more aware of so much in our world that we missed before when we were upset or disturbed that we was not doing enough, or were not doing whatever we were doing well enough. Please know, if we do things with a clean heart, a hopeful spirit, and with the desire to serve, where we might fail alone -- if we have Jesus Christ with us, failure is no option. Success is guaranteed with His Grace.
Please be kind to yourself. Know that you are loved by the Divine, that you are protected and guided by the Holy Ghost, and that you still have much to do once you relax into a new way of living.
Open your hands rather than clenching them, breathe easy rather than holding your breath, love fiercely, and know that you are fiercely loved. Use your words to pray to Heavenly Father with your heart. Go forth in peace and joy, with a clear heart, mind and spirit to serve others.
Do you have faith? Do you believe what the Scriptures tell you? Can you find a way to connect the dots the way I do, even though you likely feel incapable sometimes to live up to what you think you should be doing? It is not our judgment that really matters -- it is that of our Creator. As a Christian, each of us has a blanket of white, which provides us with grace: our Saviour, Jesus Christ. It is He who provides the difference when our own works are insufficient. When we need guidance in life, the Holy Ghost is there ready to guide us when we are willing to listen.
You are right where you should be right now. As you let all your skills and new tools work for you, you will discover that you are doing what you need to do to learn, to become more compassionate, and to be able to serve others in an even stronger way. Heavenly Father loves you just as you are, but also knows the lessons we need to learn. He is good. He provides us with our lessons in His time and with His love. We have to learn patience while being aware of His influence in our lives.
Perfectionism and worry serve as static which disturb the normal flow of energy from the Divine to us. It is best to leave our insecurities behind, and to listen with renewed, hopeful spirits for what our Heavenly Father wants us to hear. Be still, and know that He is God. In Him, all things will come to pass in His time.
You say it is hard to sit and be still. That is so true, but in practicing that skill we may find we are more aware of so much in our world that we missed before when we were upset or disturbed that we was not doing enough, or were not doing whatever we were doing well enough. Please know, if we do things with a clean heart, a hopeful spirit, and with the desire to serve, where we might fail alone -- if we have Jesus Christ with us, failure is no option. Success is guaranteed with His Grace.
Please be kind to yourself. Know that you are loved by the Divine, that you are protected and guided by the Holy Ghost, and that you still have much to do once you relax into a new way of living.
Open your hands rather than clenching them, breathe easy rather than holding your breath, love fiercely, and know that you are fiercely loved. Use your words to pray to Heavenly Father with your heart. Go forth in peace and joy, with a clear heart, mind and spirit to serve others.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
