meetings....

I spent the majority of my morning in a meeting. Normally meetings make my toes curl in my highcut go-go boots and my bum shapely ensconced in my power suit skirt wiggle in the chair. I rarely get comfortable sitting through a litany of items and believe it or not (big surprise here) I can't keep silent. Sometimes to stay focused, I write erotic poetry and draw penises on the printed agenda. Today, however, I was at a monthly meeting I enjoy attending. Why? Because it is outside of the ho-hum bureaucracy, right in the middle of community where life happens right in your face. I didn't draw a single do-hickey and i somehow stayed clear of words that rhyme with stuck....

ok...i'll get serious now.....

Once a month for the past few years, I have been involved with a group of women who work in the frontlines with individuals and families who are living in domestic abuse situations. This network of community based organizations and a few representatives from a couple of appropriate government departments and the university formed after we were invited to attend a workshop on the topic and realized we were all doing good work, but doing it in separate silos. When we began to consider how complicated and convoluted the maze of services must seem to someone who needs to access them and access them quickly, we decided to form a network in order to learn more about one another thereby being able to help someone in need more effectively. And it is working. If a person "enters" into the convoluted myriad of services through one agency but needs to access another, we now know who to call and how to help that person.

Two of us co-chaired the first two years.....me and a wonderful woman I got to know through this process who has run the Sexual Assault Centre in town....and for many years the only one in the province. Like any new group, we scrambled and stumbled a bit at the beginning before we could figure out a first year gameplan and some guidelines. The first guideline....no bullshit. We meet for two hours once a month, the minutes are roughly taken by whoever pulls the short straw and not all anal retentively compiled and collated and sprayed with perfume. Key stuff is documented and distributed through email. No big whoop. The second guideline....keep the atmosphere relaxed in order to comfortably share feelings, concerns, ideas and information. Simple stuff, but warmly embraced by a group of women who just wanted to get to know one another in order to make sure the people in crisis who need the services are getting what they need.

Interestingly, the gameplan came out of the guidelines. The first order of business....sharing. For a year an a half, we all had a turn presenting information about ourselves, our career roles and backgrounds and the services our organizations provide. Because it was an open forum, we all felt comfortable speaking up, asking questions, gathering more information, offering suggestions and cleary, VERY clearly seeing the gaps in what our community was providing. And whenever we saw one, we tried to rectify it by inviting others to our network. For example, we realized very early that services for people living with mental illnesses weren't adequate for their needs when they found themselves in abusive situations and that many in the frontlines didn't know how to help them. We also realized that women and children of immigrant families, whose cultures and languages may be barriers to understanding the legal system, their rights in this country and then how to access the services when everything in the telephone book is written in English.

Since it's inception, we have created a directory for others to use and a flyer small enough to slip into a pocket or wallet with all the phone numbers of services needed for anyone who is being abused....everything from legal aid to safe housing.....from individual and family counselling to victim services. All of our offices and colleagues have copies of this to hand out. We've arranged for funding to begin providing outreach counselling and intervention services to rural areas in the region. We've shared the responsibility of facilitating various workshops to one another. My knowledge of the legal system is much more thorough than it was a few years ago, and it helps when I'm counselling someone who has just confessed to a life in hell and needs to escape it FAST. This spring, we are piloting group workshops for which will run in tandem....for Moms and their children....helping the Moms learn how to help their children process the violent experiences they have all endured.

All good stuff....
All good stuff.....

Our next project as we continue to spend two hours a month with one another (and doing much of the work in between.....) begins in May when we meet for a full morning to brainstorm the creation of a speakers bureau. Because one of the key aspects we have learned is that around the table sipping tea and coffee and swapping thoughts feelings and ideas is an amazing group of women who have a multitude of gifts and knowledge to offer to others. All ages, all backgrounds, all political and philosophical angles....are represented....in both official languages of this province and then some.


I get to lead this one. Can't wait to have a go at pulling out the ideas sitting quietly in everyone's noggins.....engaging them in a productive brainstorm that will include some serious talk interspersed with some good laughs to lighten it up. A speakers bureau......all having to do with Awareness.



good stuff....and it came out of a meeting. who knew THAT could happen.

ps.....just so you know...i don't own a power suit. i dress like a gypsy. it's much more fun.

Two women

summer view from springhill road

Everyday, I go to work to work with people who can't, aren't, don't know how, and sometimes really don't want to...........work that is. Most can't.....for one reason or another, they can't find work, or simply can't because of their life circumstances. Consequently, they have to live well below the poverty line in a world where money is minimal, opportunities are abysmal, and hope is sometimes mixed with despair. They live on social assistance. I honestly don't know how they manage to keep hope alive let alone live and pay their bills. And yet they do. Their strength in the face of daily adversity touches me deeply. They are my teachers when it comes to keeping hope alive.

_______________________________________

Today, I met with a woman who has 505 dollars to live on for the month. She is considered "low employable" so receives the HIGHER amount of social assistance. Yes, there are others who live on LESS than that in this wealthy country. Her rent is 300 dollars and that doesn't include anything except electricity, which luckily covers her heat expenses. She lives in a rooming house which consists of one room of her own, and shared kitchen and bathroom facilities. She has no access to the thermostat. The heat is set for her room somewhere else. She tells me that in the summer, it's like an oven because there is no cross ventilation. In the winter, it's like freezer because the building has very little insulation, so the landlord keeps the thermostat on low because the heat escapes through the cracks and misshapen doors and windows and it costs too much to heat the place.


The rest of her money goes to everything else........food, personal necessity items like shampoo and soap, phone, busfare, over the counter medications which she is required to take due to her health issues, and anything else that arises. Cable is a luxury even though she is basically house bound..............or room bound due to her multiple health issues. She has an old radio, and little TV that receives one channel, a kettle and a hot plate. The room is big enough to fit a bed, a dresser and a little table.



She can't work. Her health is too precarious, but not enough to be certified disabled which would mean she would receive a few more dollars a month, but more importantly would be considered a "priority." This doesn't mean a whole heck of a lot because budgets for anything except the REAL emergencies have been cut to nothing. However, she would become a priority for subsidized housing..........where her rent would be less than half of what she is paying now. Then, maybe she could afford cable. For now and for the unforseeable future, her days will feel like she's just putting in time.





Empty time, in chronic pain. Alone.
I wonder when she last heard the words, "I love you?"
I wonder how long her nights feel.
I wonder if she has the ability to look in the mirror on top of her paint chipped dresser and see her own beauty?
I wonder where she continues to find hope despite her circumstances?
I wonder if I could find hope if I found myself in similar circumstances?

This woman exuded hope sitting in my office talking with me, so much so that we laughed out loud together. At one point, we were able to brush aside our perceived roles to chat like two women meeting for coffee swapping funny life stories, not "client and counsellor" getting the paperwork done.

She has no money, never has. She has lived a financially poor life, one fraught with bone aching hunger, violent angry relationships........one with more falls and scrapes and concussions imaginable. What she does have is strength in her spirit, something that has pulled others into her life. She has friends.......other women who live in the same rooming house who look after her when she is in too much pain to get out of bed. She is needed and they are needed and that's the ingredient for hope. Life is meaningful if we know we are needed. No doubt money would HELP make life a whole lot easier. Whoever says otherwise is lying. But, money is can never buy reality of being needed.


________________________


Last week, I met with a young single mom who is getting gouged by her own family who are making her pay $700.00 a month rent for a two bedroom basement apartment for her daughter, her infant son and herself. She receives a little more than her rent. Her story of how she ended up in the basement of a family member's home touched me deeply. She left a abuse behind, and wonders if her daughter will ever trust again. She doesn't know how deep the scars are inside her spirit and hopes that her safer home has a door which opens to healing for her little one.




Passive healing as opposed to healthy intervention? Such a big wish to throw out into the randomness of incomplete prayer. Potentially extensive wounds relying on the air to scab it over? How does the air reach a cut on a 10 year old's broken soul? She needs more than that. Air can't validate like a listening human being. Air can't rock a little one who needs to crawl up onto the lap of trust, to be held in warming recognition. Air can't speak a song of love. Not on it's own.


However.........her momma has the same wounds and many more which have accumulated over her life of cuts and bruises, of loud nastiness which has rung in her ears since she was a little one. Her own childhood needs were never met.

Now? She is struggling to overcome a prescription addiction through the methadone program and has in fact been on methadone three times longer than she was taking her addictive pain medication which was prescribed to her by a doctor who is known for handing out Dilaudid like candy. And, there is no end in sight. In dire need of consistent counselling and guidance with a competent counsellor she can learn to trust, she has found herself on a waiting list in limbo for months. She can't work. She can't cope. She can't pay her bills. And she has yet to meet with a legal aid lawyer to help her deal with pending custody issues. She's over her head and she's drowning.




I wish I could honestly state that these stories are unique. They aren't. Poverty cuts to the core, past financial need, beyond the superficial one dimensional view we often have of what it means to be without money.



Once I knew some of her story, I filled in the gaps from my own knowledge gathered working in the frontlines. My conversation with this young Mom then focused on validating her own childhood needs which were never met. Surprised that I went there instead of focusing on the here and now...........she lifted her head, and let the tears which were hidden just below the surface of her skin, flow freely. I could hear her intake as she quickly gathered her thoughts.......her complicated convoluted memories which were flooding her.

Spilling out the grief, the anger, the pain
And I wondered if this would help her find some strength to address her daughter's needs.
I wondered if under the flood of life, seeds of hope were waiting to open up on top of the water like a summer waterlily.
Pouring it out........brought her to a bit of calm, like she had grabbed onto a lifesaver.....a branch travelling downstream. A tentative smile shone through the tears. Strength and resolution was starting to form again.

Being needed, feeling needed, needing others........a circle which nutures itself no matter what the circumstances are because it is the key ingredient for sharing and recognizing our brokenness as the source of our strength. It makes me wonder if brokenness is where our hope stirs waiting to be gathered.

Aversion......a warning?

Contemplative walks, sharing our doubts

A taste of aversion

salivating bitterness

fills my mouth and I can't swallow it all.

What does it tell me?

Why do I want to turn and run the other way?

Why can't I lift my head and confront aversion?

I don't want to look inside the mirror.

I don't want to see the truth.

When you look at me
and I look at you
and I feel that bitter taste returning
am I being warned of what it is I don't like in myself?

Looking at you
reflects parts of me which I try to hide
from myself and the rest of the world.

I dislike what I see in you!

I don't want to see
the sinful,
painful
ugly scars of shame
weaknesses repressed
suddenly are right in my face
starring defiantly at me
like the shadows of unresolved inner conflict
which visit when 4 am vulnerability takes hold.

I want to hurl caustic words at you as my armour.
I want to tell you to fuck off with all the red fire I can muster
and hurt you as you have hurt me.

Aversion stops me.
Aversion tells my devilish Id to keep out of it.
Aversion is the warning bell
to let me know that I have to be cognizant of why I'm reacting.

Interestingly, if I take the chance to look
I see the light of aversion in your eyes too
Your secrets and incompetencies are stirred in your soul
when you see me.

I am your aversion.

I am your mirror ....

the one that shows all the stretch marks
pox marks
reflecting seeping sores of inadequacy.
And you will have none of it!
You try to cut me down with
passive aggressive tactics
and slithering snake oil marketing.

I see what you have done

I really want to tell you EXACTLY how I feel.
But I can't.

Because you see, you have the upper hand
in this unhealthy relationship
which you use with bullying precision.
It's your best defensive tactic.
Of course you will use it.

You have used it.
Your venom forced me into a submissive silence
which simmers with inner hurt.

And I know why..........
I know you're protecting yourself.
Throw the poison darts outward
and there will be no need to look inward
where the hurt and wounds fester.
Hurt me

Justify it, rationalize it, personalize it
You will avoid any more wounds to your psyche.

I can't help you.

But I can help myself.
I can choose how I respond.
I can try to find the courage

in the still silence of contemplation
to begin to nuture my own imperfections.

I can give them a name........

I can also look inward

to gather remembrance of my goodness too...
the bright light positives
crackling through the wounds.
the gifts I own, which I know I share with others
who see me in a balanced view
who accept me unconditionally
and encourage me to shine with smiling confidence.

It helps.

Weighing the gifts with the imperfections.

Seeing my imperfections as gifts
Seeing myself as a human work in progress.

As you are
As you are.


These thoughts were inspired by a few conversations I have had this week with wonderful strong women who are stumbling a bit as they learn to react differently to the bullies they have to work for.

Sometimes a work week has a theme of sorts. Usually I find this in the interactions I have in my counselling sessions........the same issues are brought forward, or the same illness or family histories are shared with no reason except serendipity. This week, the thematic conversations happened with friends and co-workers who are experiencing similar toxic environments as I have.

The shared experiences have helped us to realize it's up to us to figure it out.....to decide how to handle it...but also to applaud ourselves and each other for the gifts we know others are aware of. Its always a blessing to know you're not alone. Its a blessing to become reacquainted with your talents and gifts.

breathing..........

Yesterday, I sat with a woman in her new living space, out in the middle of nowhere. She and her children moved there on the weekend. They had no choice but to move away from their house.....to seek safety and piece of mind.

The middle of nowhere. Do you know where that is? I do. I've been there many times, in many places, in many spaces. Always feels and is the middle of nowhere. It's between here and there. Somewhere in the woods. Sometimes down the hall in an apartment building of anonymity. In the core of the city. Way out in the country. Tucked away and out of sight, down a dust splaying dirt road. Dead end. Under the radar. Behind the door. No amenities. Away, away. Lost.

Neighbours? Maybe. But, no neighbours who have the capacity to be neighbourly.

Family? Maybe. But, no family members who have the strength and energy to look outwardly.

The middle of nowhere is a deserted place void of healthy community lifelines. That's how it feels because that is what it is.

I initially drove right past the turn off. Though I had travelled this road many many times, I had never noticed the turn off before. Nowhere is invisible when you have another destination. You need directions to get there even if it's a familiar community. So, i found myself backtracking with new eyes searching for a break in the road to indicate a turn off. Eventually, my eyes spotted it and I turned onto an ungraded drive feeling like I had come across a forgotten place which should've been called Despair Drive.

Give us this day our daily bread.........and a little bit more, please.

The buildings, 5 or 6 of them looked neglectfully dilapidated on the outside. Beyond repair, like it was going to eventually collapse into a heap of compost only to be swallowed up by weeds. And a church too. An abandoned little church. Out in the middle of nowhere. Was it a religious community at one point? Who knows? Did God walk away and forget about this place?


Situated as one of a bunch of inhospitable dwellings, their new home fit right in. Hope hadn't visited this cul-de-sac in the middle of nowhere in a while, or so it appeared. A mangy old dog greeted me as I looked around at broken bits rusting in tall grass and dirt paths and thought to myself, "Dear God..... Is this truly the "middle of nowhere? Are you keeping tabs on these people? How can I help this family I'm about to meet?" I had only been provided with minimal facts concerning their plight, enough to know the severity..... bad enough to be asked to make sure they were safe from harm.....bad enough to be asked to follow up promptly. I had to fill in the gaps to prepare my approach and to manage my own reactions.

Counselling in the middle of nowhere expects that of you. Being effective as a counsellor means you have to be open to the journey of discovery but also to be able to protect yourself by preparing as much as you can......judgements and expectations have to put on the back burner, especially when you're trying to make an initial connection. But, your intuitive antennae is never turned off. A balance between being open to whatever happens, responding supportively, and making sure of your own comfort level is assuaged is key. Especially in the middle of nowhere.

As I turned into the driveway to park, I spotted a group of children peaking out at me as they played happily together with the mangy dog. Guess he's a friendly old mange, I thought. Looks can be deceiving. Never judge the facade, I remind myself again.

Beyond the frollicking kids was a garden...a thoughtfully mended garden of daylilies and daisies which seemed to take away from the pockmarked painted homes. And yet, I wondered how deserted this alcove in the middle of nowhere would look like in the dead of winter. Barren and isolated. Coldly bereft. Yesterday, however, the wildflowers and lush landscape in the background allowed the light to shine through the cracks. Hope may not have been visible to the naked eye, but it was definately lurking yesterday. I approached the front door, swinging wide open.....the springs long gone and was greeted by a smiling little urchin dressed in her dress up clothes.......for fun. I told her she looked like a beautiful tulip. Smiling, she twirled for me to show off the magic of her sparkling dress. Her long brown hair, knotted from summer winds lifted up as she swirled around faster. At that, her mom came to the door to invite me in. Big smiles on her as well. This was a family in crisis, I had been told. What I was greeted with were genuine smiles.

I crossed the threshold where I left dilapidation behind, and where I entered into a clean and bright hallway that ushered me into her new living room that was painted a glowing sunny yellow which reflected off the shiny hardwood floors. The windows were propped open with plastic containers filled with magnetic letters for the fridge and multi-coloured building blocks for rainy day towers. Sweet summer breezes scented by wild roses wafted through. Hint of pine. She had already unpacked her family's belongings and managed to turn her kitchen into a functioning place...........no boxes to empty....everything where it should be. She even managed to hang a few decorations. Wow....such efficiency! Such focus and calm! This woman has made big strides in less than a day to turn the living space into a sanctuary.....into a home.

And the light shone brightly in the middle of nowhere, where we sat in a bright yellow living room surrounded by inquisitive kids eating fresh strawberries......the juice colouring their chins a delicious red. When I asked the woman how she was feeling. She looked me right in the eye and simply stated: "I can breathe again. For the first time in 14 years, I can breathe again. It feels like a dream."

She found a calm refuge in the middle of nowhere. Isn't that something? Tonight, I think of her and of the kids and know they are breathing deep breaths of relief. The other stuff they have to contend with? It will happen after they gulp up the fresh air they found in the middle of nowhere.

understanding venus....trying....

It's a known fact that a woman's worst enemy can be another woman for no other reason than some sense of threat. It's a weird and wacky conundrum, one that seems to rear it's ugly head on a daily basis. When you consider the ongoing strides made even in recent history to reach a point where equality may one day be attained on all fronts, you would think that women would've learned to be supportive of one another. And yet.......

Yesterday, a young woman in my office who has been juggling two full time jobs to stay afloat and to pay her bills was offered a new permanent job with benefits and a future. She was beyond excited as we all were for her. It has been a long haul and she deserves it and more. With no family for support, this means the world to her. And yet..... when she called her supervisor (a woman who has done nothing but put up nasty roadblocks for her over the past year......BECAUSE SHE COULD and nothing could be done about it because my co-worker was in a casual position and had no "hand" in the situation....thank you George Costanza for the term) all she received was hums and sighs and catty replies. This is SO common.

Last week, I was informed of a situation which occured over MSN between a few friends of my daughter......all girls...... being nasty and ganging up on another in their supposedly closeknit group. Though there wasn't MSN when I was 13, I do recall the nasties loud and clear. It's girl bullying, and it continues with adults in the boardrooms, on the sidelines at a ballgame, in the schoolrooms, in church meetings, at committee meetings.......just about anywhere.

Time and again, I see the actions of women who are just plain rude to other women. I remember not too long ago sitting beside a male friend chatting with him. We were sitting at a table that was half empty enjoying the conversation with others. Along comes voluptuous vixen in a push up bra and poofy blonde hair (from a bottle) who grabs a chair and somehow slides it in between me and my friend and promptly sits down with her back to me. So, what did I do? What did I want to do?

Today, I had a conversation with another colleague.....her question to me....out of the blue....was, how do some women move up in the ranks while others more qualified stew in under the ranks and never move in their careers? Million dollar question, really though sometimes its pretty darn obvious, at least to someone else standing on the sidelines observing. They use the tools they were taught to use, and some are able to samba their way better than others.

I'm totally fine with that...........use whatever you want, but don't stomp on other women in the process. Where I completely turn off is when this happens and it happens way too much. I don't really know why, but i have a few theories as to why some women have this way of completely turning off all other women.

Territorial.......... it's in our ancestral genes, and it can manifest itself in many ways. Come to close to my world, watch out for the claws is one end of the continuum. The other end? The territory is open and relaxed and welcoming. Most of us are some where in the middle. If my "territory"........be it my circle of friends, my family, my husband is somehow targetted you better believe my antennae is up and alert. If I see another woman brazenly and rudely interfering with any of these people in my life, I wont stand idly by. AND I will point out the behaviour afterwards to the intended target.....cause sometimes? It's mesmerizing!!

Temperment......and this one doesn't seem to be solely found in women, well neither is the territorial one, but there is a mamma cat and kittens feel to the territorial reaction. Someone who is introverted by nature meets up with an extrovert and there's a feeling of disconnect while one sniffs out the other. These are two very distinct planets sometimes and it can be difficult finding your way. Though I think if we took a step away from our own labelled temperment, we would see we have both in us. It's just that they are revealed in different scenarios.

Values.......aka.........stay at home moms versus career moms. A field of landmines this one because it is a longstanding discourse on justification of existance peppered with religious beliefs, socio-economics, role identification and clarification, marital support, familial history and last but not least what's best for the children. When there's a clash of the momma titans on this one, just get out of the way, because it's a no win eternal tug of war. If you want to hurt someone badly, start criticizing the way they are as parents. The thing about women who bully, it is never done directly. Rather it's a slight here, a dismissal there...........and dig underneath. It's all quite passive aggressive. Where is the respect?

Kids vs. no kids............see above........

Mistrust of other women...........a lesson somehow gleaned from others........perhaps even from past experiences.

Confidence: In the long run, it really comes down to confidence doesn't it? I mean, if you're confident about the choices you have made and the opinions and values you have chosen to have as your foundation to make the choices than you're comfortable with yourself. It's as easy as that. But, if you're struggling with your self-esteem to a point where you're protecting yourself from not being friendly to others, you are going to act like all wounded people act......in an obnoxious rude manner.

Women who are obnoxious...........who flirt and ignore others around, who use their sexuality especially in a coquettish teasing manner, like they are unaware that they are even doing so, who think of themselves above and beyond the other female minions may think they are invisible to the rest of their venus sex. I've got news for them. They glow in the dark.............a bright neon pink....... and will live their lives with very few female friends.

how sad..................because a life without girlfriends is an empty one.

ps. can someone out there in blogland please help me. i can't seem to arrange my posts with spaces between the paragraphs. I set it up and then click on publish and it all squishes together. it looks awful........and it makes it difficult to read. AND it's driving my aesthetic eye crazy. please and thanks....if you can tell me what i'm doing wrong.

above the radar

Out Standing Diana

On my way to work this morning, I stopped to grab a tea and paper. It is the same place I wrote about just before Christmas, where I met the muffin lady, Diana and ended up sharing a heartfelt moment chatting it up in the middle of the store. Today was no different, though it had been a while since I had seen her. As usual, when I walked into the store which is filled with customers at this time of day, I greeted Diana with a good morning. She in turn lifted her head up from the muffin shelves and with an amazing exuberance greeted me with a big hello........

"Look at you today! Where did you get those capris pants? I love the little black and white checks. And it goes so well with your red coat..........OH you always look so beautiful and bright," she says quite loudly for all to hear. The woman makes me feel good and makes me laugh. Good thing I don't embarrass easily.

As I poured the hot water for my tea, we began chatting.........me asking her how she's doing.....is she excited about retiring in the summer..........how she looks healthy and rested (she was feeling ill the last time I saw her).......and she asking me about my plans for the day.

"I'm on the road most of today, visiting people in their homes."

"Oh, how lucky they are to have you visit them," she replies with a big smile on her face. The woman is a delight.

Then, she closes in and begins to whisper..........her face changes from happiness to desperation.

"I know you're busy, but I'm wondering if you could visit me at my home. I'm having a terrible time of it. Terrible! I have to get out of here and find another job. Can you help me find another job?"

"What's the matter? What's happened? You're so close to retiring." I ask.

"My Manager keeps yelling at me in front of customers. He's an evil man and treats me like I'm doing something wrong all the time. He has done this 4 times.....yelling at me and cursing me out in front of everyone. It happened on Sunday. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. My daughter is so upset with him. I'm not sleeping at night. All of sudden after 4 years working here, I get stomach pains when I have to come in for my shift. He's a hateful man. He has no right talking to me like that."

Then, we head outside away from other ears..............to continue talking. This beautiful full of sunshine woman is being brow beaten by a crazy maker of a boss who tells her to shut up and do her work, who emotionally harasses her with words like "stupid", "unfocused", "nosey", "dense." I wanted to go find the guy and choke him.

I shared with her a little bit of what is going on in my work life.......just enough so that she knew that crazymakers are everywhere and that I totally understood her situation.

I said.......

"Diana.....you're not someone who can just put your head down and do your work are you? You need to connect with people and help them. I'm afraid you are in this guy's radar, and the others arent because of this......"

Oh, no, no, no. I CAN'T work under the radar.........that's not me! And I bet that's not you either!"

"Nope............I'm an above the radar person too. We are always in the line of fire you know with crazy maker bosses! For some reason we threaten them. I think it's because we can connect with people. You know........it's much better to live above the radar don't you think?

"Oh yes, oh yes......." she said smiling. "I couldn't live any other way. We would never have met if we had both gone about our business with our heads down, now would we honey? But, then God would've found a way for us to meet don' t you think? He knows what He's doing....."

Then, Diana laughed...........gave me a hug...............which I returned..........and then went back to work, as I went off to do my work.

I thought about her all day...........hoping that she could get through the rest of her shift without any scenes. 3 months to go before the woman retires and the boss is browbeating her? What a sicko that man is.......displacing his own anger and self-loathing on an innocent 64 year old woman.

Why are there so many crazymaker bosses out there? How is it that they manage to secure jobs where they are allowed to treat people like shit? It's beginning to feel like it's a prerequisite.

Canada's Conscience..........our own Saint June

"The heart is never "successful." It does not want power, honours, privilege or efficacy; it seeks a personal relationship with another, a communion of hearts, which is the to-and-fro of love. This opening of the heart implies vulnerability and the offering of our needs and weaknesses. The heart gives and receives but above all, it gives. The heart goes out to those who are humble and who cry out in the weakness and their need for understanding and love. It is the human heart and its need for communion that weakens the walls of ideology and prejudice. It leads us from closedness to openness, from the illusion of superiority to vulnerability and humility. Because of this instead of finding security in the group we find it in our hearts, which have found a new inner strength, a real maturity."

Jean Vanier,
an excerpt from his book entitled Becoming Human.

Today, we mourn the loss of a beautiful Canadian woman who lived, advocated, created and from her own vulnerable compassionate heart. The legacy of humanity and goodness June Callwood leaves behind is beyond remarkable. She was a feisty role model who stood up for others more vulnerable that herself through her actions and her beautifully written words.

Serendipitously, I had read the above passage from Jean Vanier's book last night and was taken by the very idea that we need to redefine what success is in our society. The words quickly resurfaced this morning when I heard the news that Callwood had passed away. Vanier could've been thinking of his friend June Callwood when he penned the words because they fit her approach to her life passions.

June Callwood redefined success in our society.

To read more of June Callwood, go here and here. She truly was and is inspiring.

end of a long week..........

Sometimes I prefer the one second delay on my digital camera because it allows me to capture a completely different moment than the one I had intended. This is a picture of my youngest sister with her youngest little guy, Thomas. I took it on Thursday evening at her house where we had all congregated for my brother in law's birthday. 7 cousins, 3 sisters and their husbands for dinner. Thomas is the youngest of the brood, and turns 4 in a couple of weeks. He's also our little miracle. Born 3 months early and weighing less than 2 pounds, Thomas began life thriving despite the odds because he's a stubborn little scrapper. Normally, he'd be leading the pack of cousins, or demanding that he is included in the melee, which was taking place behind the photo, away from the quiet corner. But, the little guy had the stomach flu all week. He stayed close to him mom and dad and we didn't have much of a chance to see him during our visit to Burlington. When I got the camera out to take a photo, Thomas was sitting on Lindsey's lap facing me. Usually, he's a ham in front of the lens. But, his energy was low, his belly was growling and it was the first time he had seen his mom all day, having spent it with his dad, while Lindsey went to work. In fact, it was the first time Lindsey has sat down since 6 am that morning. Her energy was low, and she needed a hug just as much as her son. It had been a long emotionally draining week for this family. Aside from work and school responsibilities, the flu kept them from sleep. As well, my sister was grieving for a friend who had been killed in a car accident the week before. I look at her face in this picture.......captured fatigue, a surrender into an embrace....... I'm impressed with her strength and ongoing sense of hope. I'm impressed with her ability to manage getting both of her boys ready for school early every morning, and then heading out with both in tow to the school where they attend and she teaches 6 year olds all day. I'm impressed that she can do all the daily things found in her basket of to do's, with hope and knowledge that tomorrow will be more manageable. She's a quiet doer, my sister. As she figures it all out, as she scrapes some time for herself every now and then, as she provides for many others........I think of her as a wonderful role model. It makes me smile.

Sabahat

If I was to choose any piece of clothing I own as my favourite, it would be my blue wool shawl. No contest. Shaped in a large square with a plaid stripe of light brown on it, I have worn it every winter under various coats for over 20 years, and it has held up. Draped in a triangle over my shoulders and wrapped around my neck (and face when it's really cold), my sentimental shawl keeps me warm and makes me feel like I have been hugged by a special woman who was there when I first purchased it at the Bazaar in Istanbul.

It wasn't the original shawl that I paid 11 whole dollars for after proudly thinking I had negotiated the price with the stall owner. No, the shawl I ended up owning was the 10 dollar one that Sabahat, my guardian angel in Istanbul, purchased for me at the stall next to it. When she found out that I had been ripped off by the equivalent of a dollar, and was left thinking that I had made a good purchase, she was very angry and took control of the situation. She purchased the second shawl with her own money, then stomped back to the sneaky first stall owner, ripped a strip off him in fast talking turkish that I couldn't understand and embarrassed him in front of his male peers. Probably to end the loud tirade as quickly as possible, the stall guy gave Sabahat the money back. She in turn, pointed to me to return the original shawl to him. Then, she took the 10 dollars out of the money, and with a big radiant smile handed me my new shawl and the change. As soon as we were out of sight and ear shot, she gave me a kiss on the cheek and then laughed with hearty glee over the fact that she had embarrassed a proud sneaky man.

Sabahat was no pushover. In a country and city where women were (and still are) subservient to men, Sabahat continued to show her cheeky side where ever we went with her. With a twinkle in her eye, and a streak of troublemaking, I witnessed Sabahat quietly step into the hearing area of a group of men who were circled around discussing serious men issues just to find out what they were bantering about. We had originally pointed them out and asked her what they would be debating. So, she took it upon herself to find out. After eavesdropping for about 5 minutes while we stood by laughing, she was finally noticed and shooed away, only to return to her brood (3 adopted North American girls backpacking their way through Europe that she handpicked and saved during a melee in a bus depot the day before, and her 15 year old daughter) to inform us that the serious debating men were talking of nothing important.

In a previous posting, I described my first memorable night in Fatih, Istanbul after being saved by this woman from the chaos of Turkish bus depots. Our time with Sabahat and her family turned out to be a series of lessons in everything from true generosity, trust, love to a front row view into the life of a family in a country that was very different from anything that I had encountered or experienced. To this day, I consider her someone who made a tremendous impact on my life and sadly I will never see her again. I don't even know how to attempt to find her.

Sabahat's home consisted of two bedrooms a small living room/dining room, kitchen and bathroom equipped with a porcelain hole in the floor. It was full of her few prized treasures that made it welcoming and cozy. When we first arrived late one night, her husband was still away fishing so it was only her son that greeted us. I'm sure he was surprised to find three tag alongs with his mother and sister when he opened the door. We were given the largest bedroom complete with soft beds and homemade quilts to sleep in. Her son was given the master bedroom. Sabahat and her daughter slept in the livingroom on a small daybed. At her insistence. When I went into the livingroom to make another attempt at convincing her that we could sleep on the floor and she could have the bedroom, I found mother and daugher snuggled together, arms around one another talking and laughing quietly, sharing their thoughts. It was a bond of love between the two females in the family that I felt would remain tender and close for eternity.

Saturdays were Haman days. The Haman was the local Turkish bath where all the females in the neighbourhood congregated for their weekly bathing ritual. Since communication consisted of basic sign language and acting out gestures, all we knew were the basics about our trip to the Haman. All I cared was that I wanted to get clean after travelling for 2 days without a shower.

The local Haman in Fatih turned out to be nothing I could've envisioned. The entrance to the building was quite non-descript. Inside, however was another story. This new world had high arched ceilings in the central part of the Haman that let in natural light. From there, were smaller rooms decorated with white and grey marble tiles on the floor and walls, large metal sinks shaped like conch shells , slabs of marble situated in the middle of every small room. And as we entered, it was obvious that we were the first lily white females ever to be allowed to enter this sacred place. All eyes were on us. This was not a tourist haman. No, we were the guests of honour and once Sabahat had explained to her friends who we were, and how she had adopted us, the other women and children welcomed us to their cleansing sanctuary.

As the morning evolved, the Haman filled with steam and laughter. Tentatively, we took our soap, haman cloth and began a ritualistic soaking that quickly turned into a water fight with women of all ages. One at a time, Sabahat took her little chicks aside to scrub us down. As I laid on the marble slab that had warmed from the steam, she massaged my back, and scrubbed my limbs with a rough cloth all the while smiling and making kissing noises to ensure that I felt at ease and loved. The layers of filth that I didn't even know existed fell off me until I was left with a glow of pink skin.........so clean and so cleansed. It was the most relaxed I had felt in the two months that I had been travelling.

The moment that I want to always recall as a picture in my memory took place after Sabahat had finished her kissing/massaging/scrubbing ritual with the 4 of us. It was then that she relaxed, sitting with her best friend and quietly talking about their week. As much as these women in a lot of ways seemed like kindreds to all women I had known, their lives were very different. For, it was only once a week generally, that they were able to connect with one another without the pressure of their responsibilities floating over them. Their role in their families, and communities and the rules that they had to live by, only allowed them this precious time every week to be with one another. The Haman truly was their only female santuary. it was the only time and place that was theirs and theirs alone. It was a truly spiritual place, where freedom of thought and action was embraced.

It was 4 days of being unconditionally accepted and cared for by a woman who for all intents, did something quite out of the norms of her daily routine and life. In her own way, Sabahat showed that she had some control over her destiny, despite the subservience and inequality of her reality. She opened her heart fully with trust and love to three young women whom she inherently knew she could share a bit of her life with. Somehow too, we all figured out how to communicate with one another despite the lack of a shared language. And by so doing, we were able to bring to her a snapshot of sorts of our very different lives and perspectives into her livingroom.

On the last evening, while Sabahat's husband (who had arrived home after day 2 of our visit to an unexpectedly boisterous and chaotic home) presided over a dinner table laden with many wonderful and strange dishes, including the fish he had caught that week, I presented Sabahat with her own shawl. I had purchased it in Athens the week before, not knowing that I would meet this generously loving woman. The shawl was a fine white lace, woven and delicate; not something that I normally would buy for myself. But, it was perfect for her. When she opened her present, which to me was so little given how much she had shared with us, she was overcome with tears and smiles. She placed the shawl lovingly over her head to frame her face, wrapped it around her neck, and then looked up with her gorgeous smile. It made her glow.

I would love to see her again. She'd be a grandmother many times over now. I'd love her to meet my daughter who's a little younger than her daughter Sengul was when we met and to know that there are nights when I crawl into bed with the only other female in my family to laugh and share thoughts. I'd love her to know that I still wear my shawl during my Canadian winters to feel her presence and loving smile. My guardian Angel so far away....

Honestly, I think she somehow does know..........just like I know that when she places her shawl around her shoulders, she thinks of me and wonders.......................