life's reality

Pour yourself a glass of complications, 

life never comes with ease.  

As much as we strive for simplicity, 

it just ain't in our genes.  

You could say you want only simple things, 

I can say I want the same, 

but when it comes to human interaction, 

it never works out that way. 

Let me be touched by the simple gifts,

do not mire me in doubt.  

Don't let strings snag my spirit

when I am trying to live without. 

Crumple up your demanding neediness, 

I have no time for that. 

Then again, what's life without complications?

Its how we interact. 

Its how we interact.

It's how we interact.

Complications add the spice in life.

Its the elixir in a drink.

Its what heighens our awareness

It's what forces us to think.

Without seeming mass confusion, 

there be no need for clarity.

Pour yourself a glass of complications

Sip on life's reality. 

hellos, goodbyes and important life lessons

Miss Muskie and her crew of campers, circa 1980 

 I have never been able to encapsulate the intense feelings that accompany an experience of living for an extended period of time amongst a group of people who are all around the same age.  However, when I meet up with someone who has had such an opportunity, there is almost an unspoken smile, a nod and a faraway glimmer in their eyes.  They know.  They know.

For 12 summers during my youth, I spent time immersed in a community that offered this expansive emotional ride.  At age 9, I attended Camp Kawabi for the first time as a camper and fell in love with the place and its energy.  It began as a two week stint, but morphed into one month at age 12, and then the whole summer when I transitioned onto staff when I was 15, continuing until it was time to say goodbye the very last time the summer I turned 21. 

Even though its been more than 25 years since then and many of the events, activities, connections, the late night antics, days off, canoe trips, chapels, campfires, hot summer sunny days and rainy day hikes have blended together, there are moments which are still so crystal clear.   They allow me to revisit a time when I learned how intense a keenly felt sense of belonging can alter how you look at the world and what is really important in life.   Friendship, love, acceptance, trust in others, trust in myself, respect and appreciation for differences, mentoring, supporting one another, helping others .......... all continue to feed my sense of who I am, what I believe in and who I strive to be with confidence.  Most predominantly ensconced however are the feelings which I treasure... ALL of them. 

These are the same emotions and values which we learn from our families as well, but when a person has the chance to step out beyond their own nest into a group and experience the unbelievable joys and sorrows of belonging?  It takes you to a place one can only share with a kindred spirit who has experienced it as well.  Believe me, I've tried to explain this but I've never managed to get it right. 

These thoughts have re-emerged of late as I've done my best to help my children make sense of it.  In the past 5 months, they have experienced this amazing intensity;  last summer for my daughter when she signed on as a Counsellor in Training at Camp Glenburn and more recently for my son, who just returned from a month in Costa Rica with an organization called CISV (Children's International Summer Villages.) Both of them have ventured off our front lawn to live amongst a group of peers, led by trusting people. They have learned many new skills which will come in handy as they grow into adults.  The values we have done our best to pass on to them have been reinforced fully by their experience. And, they have made longlasting heart connection friendships with others who draw upon the same feelings and the same values.  Independently, they both found themselves immersed in a sense of belonging so wondrous that it left them reeling.  

Martha and her Glenburn kindreds, smiles from the inside out

Not wanting the moments to end, they returned home overwrought with the sorrow of saying goodbye to the friends who are like family and goodbye to life altering happenings.  Many stories.  Many questions and new ideas. Big tears.  Big pain.  Big transitions back to the ordinary reality of a home routine and the reconnection to family and friends they had left behind. To say this adjustment is difficult is an understatement.  To say these life lessons are important is also an understatement.  Why?  Because so many internal shifts happen during these opportunities and they happen within a relatively short time frame.  It takes a while to adjust, to refocus, to recognize the personal impact.  It's all positive in the long run, but in the short run, the initial feeling of pulling away from a group your whole spirit was blended into is akin to losing a piece of yourself. I wish everyone could have a chance to go through this ride. 

For some mysterious reason,  I spent their first days home with them alone.   With my daughter, I was the lucky one to pick her up at camp on the last day.  If you've never seen a group of teenage camp counsellors on the morning after the campers have left at the end of the summer, you'd never believe it.  Not only do they look like a train wreck because they haven't really slept much all summer because they've worked their butts off running "the show" caring for the "ankle-biters" and stringing the late nights "hanging out" with their buddies, they have just pulled one last all-nighter as a way to stretch their final moments together.  Believe me, it's brutal!  I've been the sleep deprived counsellor with a mitt full of snotty kleenexes and a heart that feels like its been ripped out.  It is the emptiest bone weary feeling.  Now,  I can say I was the Momma loading the van of half packed bits of summer memories, luring the sobbing daughter to the front seat and then listening through my own tears to the stories and pouring emotions while trying to keep the van on the winding road home. 

My heart broke for her......... the magically lovely summer moments of bonding with kindred spirits was over.  It has changed her in ways she still isn't fully aware of.   It stretched her, comforted her, AND discomforted her.  That's what important learning does.  It offered her a really good taste of independence, of learning how to make decisions, to weigh options, to be herself and to know the unbridled trust you can feel when sharing your deepest secrets with someone who not only "gets you" but accepts you unconditionally.  Those gifts of friendship will forever be quilted to her soul.  I know, because mine still are. And you know what?  I still miss my camp days..... all these years later.  It was that meaningful. The lessons linger...........  The lessons guide me daily.

We talked and talked, just the two of us for a whole day.......... I left her alone when she needed to sift through her memories and I tried to be there for her when she wanted to share a story.  I promised she could have all of her camp friends visit whenever it could be arranged, though I knew it wouldn't be the same.  My empathy was boundless and I knew her transition was going to be a rough ride.  Her friends whom she had left behind at the beginning of the summer couldn't understand her disinterest in coming back to "planet earth...."   It took time........ and a bunch of mini reunions throughout the fall to help her find her footing again while she readjusted to the changes inside herself and to have those leadership value lessons reinforced more fully.

Max in Costa Rica with his arm around his new buddy.....could the smile be any bigger?

My son who is younger than I was to have gone through such an amazing experience......... he's only 12......... also crash landed.  He returned home at the end of January.  His reaction was even more intense because the people he grew close to live in other countries around the world.......... Finland, Sweden, Brazil, England, Costa Rica, Thailand, Guatemala.... this put a whole new spin on it.  

Despite the language differences, and the adjustment to being so darn far away from home, he gathered a whole heart and head full of awareness that he will forever be changed.  Even though the geographical distances are huge and that reality is what hits him the hardest, he is tied to a group of kindreds who also absorbed the same huge lessons ..... global peace, equality, leadership, advocacy, problem solving and many many more.  He has joined a group of multi-cultural kids who have become enlightened while they became friends for life.  

On the day I spent home with my son before he returned to school, we shared tears and talked.   It was probably the most important relationship building day for the two of us.  I shared stories with him that I hadn't before.  He shared stories with me that perhaps he wouldn't have if he thought I wouldn't understand.  Like I did with his sister, I expressed to him how privileged he is to have had the opportunity to feel life as deeply as he has......... AND to know that the friendships he made will always remain with him along with his own learning.  I pointed out that he now has his own group of kindreds he will forever be attached to and that because of his opportunities, he has a responsibility to continue to expand his awareness of the plight of others.  He gets it.  At age 12, he knows that joy is eternally tied with sorrow.......... and all the feelings in between.  

It has been intense, but it has all be very very good. Tonight, I say a prayer of thanks for my own experiences at camp because once again........ they helped me understand what my children were feeling and guide them through big maze of milestones they are coping with in their young lives.  In turn, they have helped me re-evaluate those lessons I gathered up, as well as gave me another glimpse at how important those friendships have been all these years.   

 

Max learning a few new dance moves at a War Child fundraiser on Saturday evening.

dear santa..........

Dear Santa.

It's been a year since I touched base with you.  I hope you're doing well and are more organized than I am.  Though I know you've got a tinytown full of happy helpers, I'm still amazed that you're able to get all those toys in that sleigh of yours and whiz around the world in one night.  It seems a wee bit unbelievable, but then one does have to live making those giant leaps of faith or we'd all become pessimistic beings now wouldn't we?  However you manage such a feat, I applaud you.

So much has happened this year Santa, it's hard to know where to begin. But, then you've been paying attention havent you?  Besides, you have no time for lolly gagging reading at this point in the Christmas season.  And I don't have time either to lolly gag either.  So, perhaps I will put off any end of year reflections until after the big day.  I will use my emerald friend's 5 word exercise to try to sum up where I am right at this moment ......... flurried, blurried, worried, hurried, stillness-scurried.  Does that describe how busy and whizzy I feel?  'Tis the season ............. falalalalalalala.............

Hey Santa?? Did you know that Elvis is alive and rock in it out in my town?  It's true!!  He showed up at my house yesterday and entertained a bunch of ladies who were here for lunch.  He had a flashy gold jacket on, and shiny swingin' black shoes.... his eyes were as blue as the summer sky and his sideburns as black as coal.  You should've seen him gyrating Santa!  A couple of those pelvic thrusts verged on obsene! But, we took it in stride and howled with laughter!

It was so good to see my friend laugh and cry all at once when Elvis seranaded her.  That was the real reason he appeared.  He knew she needed to find herself revelling in a good time after suffering such grief and loss this fall.    Somehow Elvis knew what songs to sing....... it was a magical thing because he picked her favourites without anyone telling him.  Which makes me wonder if perhaps you had a say in this song selection??  I mean, you would know Santa.  You probably heard her singing the words long ago when she was a teenager in love with The King of Pop.

Hey, did you happen to see some fireworks last night Santa?  We celebrated Winter Solstice by gathering at our friend's home in Keswick Ridge for a potluck and a singsong inside.  Outside, the kids organized a pyrotechnic display of whizzing, banging, exploding lightworks that lit up our section of the sky.  It was so dark out which made the colours even more brilliant against that backdrop.  I watched it standing by a big blazing fire that cracked and popped and sizzled while it devoured large tree limbs cut up just for the occasion.

Personally, I prefer the campfire show over the fireworks.  It fills me up again with contemplative notions and a feeling of gratitude as it draws me into its alluring flicker.  I've always had a thing for this kind of atmosphere havent I Santa?  Do you remember when I used to set up a good blaze in the living room fireplace at home when I was young and fall asleep beside it?   Do you ever do that Santa......fall asleep in front of the fire?  I bet you do.

We have a whole bunch of people coming to our house tomorrow night and I can't wait for it all to begin.  It brings my home alive and fills it with Christmas cheer.  As you can see, I've been really busy. I know your list is long and you check it twice..........but I gotta say, my list is long too, all in preparation for the big day.  Tell me, what do YOU do on Boxing Day?  I'm going to be at the airport at 4 am with my family saying goodbye to the youngest as he embarks on his trip to Costa Rica for a whole month!  I must've lost my mind agreeing to that one.  Yeah, we're thinking we may just stay up all night and crash afterwards.  I don't know.

In the meantime Santa, let me get to my wishlist to add to yours.  I know its late, but i only have a few things I'd like under the tree on Christmas morning.  And you know I've been a very good girl..... sort of.  So, here it is.....

• Something shiny, like bling.
• Something sparkling, like a little enlightenment
• Oprah's timeslot.  I have always wanted to be a daytime talk show host.
  
• Dinner and music with Billy Joel.
• a new pair of jammies.... mine were chewed by a puppy we had to say good bye to earlier in the year.
• Slippers........same reason
• A bright red sporty car.  You can pick out the make and model.  I'm not fussy.  Oh, forget that, I really want my own Volkswagen Beetle.  You can surprise me with the colour.
• A plane ticket to the UK to attend the Greenbelt Festival again.
• A chance to see U2 live......with my family.  Oh, and can you send Pip over too?  I want to see U2 with him as well and watch him stand there with joy smiling all over his face.  
• And peace on earth.  We could use a little bit of that too.

Can't wait to see you again............ hope you have enough room to fit my stuff into your sleigh.  Take care........  I'll make sure I have a cold Moosehead ready for you.  I hear you're lactose intolerant now.

love you.......

signed,

Me.

ps. Can you fix the lights on my wreath hanging on the front of the house?  I've tried twice and I just don't seem to be able to get it right.

this made me laugh.....

Johnny goes to modeling class in his school for special children and he gets his piece of putty and he's modeling it. He takes a little lump of putty and goes to a corner of the room and he's playing with it. The teacher comes up to him and says, "Hi, Johnny." And Johnny says, "Hi."
And the teacher says, "What's that you've got in your hand?" And Johnny says, "This is a lump of cow dung." The teacher asks, "What are you making out of it?" He says, "I'm making a teacher." The teacher thought, "Little Johnny has regressed."

So she calls out to the principal, who was passing by the door at that moment, and says, "Johnny has regressed."

So the principal goes up to Johnny and says, "Hi, son." And Johnny says, "Hi."
And the principal says, "What do you have in your hand?" And he says, "A lump of cow dung." "What are you making out of it?" And he says, "A principal." The principal thinks that this is a case for the school psychologist. "Send for the psychologist!"

The psychologist is a clever guy. He goes up and says, "Hi." And Johnny says, "Hi." And the psychologist says, "I know what you've got in your hand." "What?" "A lump cow dung." Johnny says, "Right." "And I know what you're making out of it." "What?" "You're making a psychologist." "Wrong. Not enough cow dung!"

Anthony de Mello.......... :)

rain reflections of camp.....

I had a short catch up kind of conversation with my daughter last night on the phone. She's busy at her camp in the counsellor in training program, and is having the time of her life. So much so, that I think she's almost oblivious of how crappy the weather has been all summer long.

We have yet to have a string of sunny days. The temperatures are cool. The skies have been grey. The land is soggy. It feels more like early spring except everything is so lush it looks juicy. The flowers in the garden are bent over in surrender, too damped down by the wet lashings that they havent the energy to spring to attention. Instead, the blooms cower in anticipation of another downpour.

I asked my daughter how bad it was there in dampcampland..... Upbeat and perky, she admitted that she doesn't have a dry towel left, but they were all coping with it. In fact, she had just been swimming in the river to clean up after sliding in the mud. "It was great Mom. We put our bathing suits on and ran around the camp looking for mudpuddles to slide in. We were coated in it! It was a blast!!" Fun? WOW!

After we said goodbye, she was off to the Lodge to hang out with the rest of the CIT's...no doubt in front of a big blazing fire in the old fieldstone fireplace. No doubt someone would have a guitar in hand. No doubt there would be wishes and dreams, and plans aromatically floating from their comfort of belonging. No doubt they would offer up their hopes and bits about themselves into the communal basket of growing kindredness. Relaxed, unhurried, content, my daughter and her friends sprawled out on the wooden floor of the old lodge in front of the fire most likely spent an evening of broadening their connections through conversations, cardgames, music, and comraderie. I could envision it like it was something I had experienced myself. Why? Because I have and those memories I hold dearly.

Rainy summers working at a children's camp conjure up very different nostalgic scenes than the hot sunny long hazy day ones. Regular activities are often swept aside for different open ended adventures where you learn to live within the elements and have fun. Mind over matter always wins! Though it was hard work to push past the expectations of sunny paddles and blue sky sailings, you learned different skills by recognizing that rainy days offer gifts of deeper friendships. If you let it happen.

I remember summers when the rain was unrelenting, when moods were attached to short fuses, when pushing through the elements took a lot of energy. Leaders couldn't whine no matter how consistently dour the skies were. They were the backbone of enthusiasm. But it would take its toll. When this happened.....when there was a shift to a sense of surrender, our number one much loved leader, Skip, would decide to change things up by allowing his staff to sleep in a bit and along with a couple of his senior staff, would take every single camper, usually 120 or so on a long rainy day hike. Sounds like drudgery doesn't it? Far from it!!! Those hikes were ADVENTURES.....SKIN SOAKING FUN.

But, here was the catch. While he entertained the troops....taking them through the woods, down untravelled paths, away into the mystery of the forrest to a long forgotten old logging road and a haunted house called Blagdon Manor ..... while he led them in songs and chants and quick stops to check out new fauna, the rest of the staff had the morning to stretch, work together drink coffee and plan. Why? Because when the troops returned, swampy, muddy, happy, hungry and a little played out, they would be expecting a full out camp experience like no other. Planning consisted of working as a team to conjure up a whole slew of activities, usually under a theme, and usually ending in a dance in Squamish Hall. So many of those fantastic days swim out of my memory bank this morning that I feel upbeat just remembering them.... Staff talent nights (always hilarious!), capture the flag marathons, water baseball in the rain, Skit nights, Indoor games.... Guys and Girls, Counsellor hunts, Kangaroo Courts.... and theme days!

One year, we turned the camp into a Pirate's Training Den. It all began while the kids, then clean, dry and finishing a hot hearty lunch when a group of Pirates sailed around the point, right onto the shores of Camp Kawabi...... We had decorated one of the old outboard boats, The Stable Mabel and turned it into a sailing vessel.... A group of the most "vicious" looking staff dressed in their very best pirate rags loudly announced their invasion. Within no time, the whole camp ran down to the lake to find out what was going on, only to realize they were all held capture, thrown into groups, given pirate family names and promptly introduced to the idea that in order to become pirates themselves, they had to pass a bunch of "matey" tests, which had been set up in various spots all over the camp. If they passed the tests, they would be given their own head scarf and eye patch (all created that morning by a busy bouyant group of leaders).

As the skies threatened above, we were able to ignore its menacing ways and band together in a day of fantasy and imagination. How cool is that? Fun? WOW! A rainy day..... and I bet it was one of the highlights of almost every single person, no matter what age, of their summer. Laughter and song shared with 150 people is hard to ever forget. I loved rainy day activities..... I loved finding those mudpuddles and showing my group of campers how to slide with glee. You can always get clean..... You can't always find the mudpuddles...

After a long energy spilling day, which always left everyone smiling in exhaustion, we'd tuck our campers in and head up to the lodge. In quiet small groups, we'd form around the fieldstone fireplace. No doubt someone had a guitar in hand. No doubt there were wishes and dreams, and plans aromatically floating from our comfort of belonging. No doubt we offered up our hopes and bits about ourselves into the communal basket of growing kindredness. Relaxed, unhurried, content, and closer than ever..... rainy days can do that.

Ah, I now want to go find Blagdon Manor again. And why do I all of sudden want to wrap a scarf around my head? Arrrrrrrrr..........matey.........

ps.... what do you know? I finished this piece and the sun came out.... for a little while. :)

Sir Paul

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise,

Where to begin?

Halifax was definitely blessed on Saturday with the most beautiful sunny summer day and the most amazing concert I have ever attended....(though I haven't seen U2 or Springsteen yet, so this may be a benchmark I intend to step over one of these days). However, I have attended many concerts in my young life and by far Paul McCartney blew them away and left me gobsmacked. Heaven knows I wasn't alone, but like everyone else who attended, I was into my own trippy nostaligic thoughts that seemed to unravel like a bunch of colourful ribbons floating right out of me into the night breeze.

As soon as Sir Paul began to sing, I was transported into places in my memory which held all those ribbons of happiness. Though I was expecting to feel a sense of glee, I don't think I was prepared for the deeper ties I felt to the music and to Paul McCartney's voice. He sounded exactly how he did long ago when I listened to he and the Beatles on a scratching tape deck recording in the old craft shop at Camp. For some reason, I didn't think that would be. I thought he would sound like an older version of himself.....kind of like how Sinatra's voice altered as he aged. He didn't! He sounded like Paul before the whole Knighting thing.!

Not only that, the man ROCKED it out for almost three hours and played several different stringed instruments, and the piano. Bass, electric, acoustic, mandolin...even the ukelele he was given as a gift from some guy named George Harrison which he started the song "Something...." after he told a wonderful story about his collaboration and friendship with George. There he was strumming the uke and singing all by himself to an oh so familiar and much loved song, with the background screen showing a montage of old photos of the two of them. Then, the song went into full orchestration and continued with a little help from his band.

Every single song was memorable. 36 in all....in one evening......every single song pulled up memories, some more predominantly touching than others. There were several "pinch me" moments. All you had to do was look around at the crowd of people to see just how perfectly happy they were to be there witnessing and listening.....to be caught up in the throngs of people who were generating their own warm nostalgia and letting it freely catch the breezes above the crowds was quite simply....magical.

I loved seeing so many people in their 50's and 60's there together as couples, arms wrapped around one another swaying and remembering....love is all you need....

I loved seeing the younger folks, many with long hair and head bands....the strings hanging down in the back. Tie dye t-shirts blended in with tank tops and mini skirts. Oversized t-shirts and baggy bottom jeans..... it was a collage of fashion spanning 40 years.

I loved seeing the parents with their younger children, coming together to experience a moment.

I loved seeing the old fart druggie types who seemed to be on the wrong end of a cigarette butt....all scraggy with scruffy unshaved faces and a bit toasted from one or two or three too many parties. They were transported back to better days....

I loved watching the interactions between the seasoned concert goers and the uncomfortable suburban types who have never been to a full on outdoor rock concert before let alone interacted much with this type of crowd. They soon fell into the magic of sharing a moment with strangers who all seem like friends...

But mostly, I loved watching my son take it ALL in!

Every time there was a whiff of marijuana in the air, which surprisingly wasn't as often as I had anticipated, he'd look at me in wonder! Too funny. And when one of the men who was part of a rowdy happy group next to us came over an in full inebriation put his arms around me like we were the best of friends and wanted to chat about his excitement over being there.....? WELL! I just laughed, and agreed. He then told Max how great it was to see someone his daughter's age at the concert just as excited as he was to be there.

My son's reaction to this display? "Mom, you attract the strangest people!" hahaha! I take that as a compliment.... and it's true. It certainly happens to me often!

Since we ended up somehow being one of the first thousand or so let onto the grounds, and therefore made our way to the front area with no problems, we had lots of time to observe and to take all of it in..... And we both did.

There were many memorable moments, but the one which fills me with something akin to gratitude and grace happened during the first few notes of Blackbird. It was when I realized just where I was standing....unbelievable to hear a song which has always always touched me in a place very few songs reach. I can't really find the words to describe that place. There is a holiness feel to it, like a pluck of perfection....like a harmonious blend of what makes up who I am.... the very foundation of who I have become from living, experiencing, sensing and feeling. Blackbird is one of those songs that rings that tiny bell.

Needless to say, I was awash in memories, mostly of the summer camp I attended and worked at so many years ago, but remain fresh in my heart. So often that song was played in the craft shop where I worked with a friend who loved the Beatles..... We'd have it playing in the background as we helped the campers create.....

Tears came bursting out of me before I could stop them.... I felt flushed and so darn happy to be there with my son experiencing such an amazing day..... Max took notice right away his Momma was kind of stunned by it all and he spontaneously put his arms around me and hugged me with such love. He held me and I held him as we sang the words together.... and listened to Sir Paul sing it as fresh as he did so long ago.

And when the first notes were played on the piano for Let it Be? I looked over at my 11 year old son and saw the emotions rush through him. He was very surprised by the flooding feeling! But, I was simply grateful to happily hold him and sway to the sounds of a song which seems to have the formula to last beyond lifetimes....

And when the night is cloudy,
there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music,
Mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Brilliantly gobsmacked! We will never forget this day.
Love is all you need......and it was felt in abundance.

home....

We are 142 years old today.

Every year there seems to be more and more Canadian patriotic paraphenalia out there in consumer land for our purchasing pleasure most of which makes me laugh...especially the Moose motif stuff. Gotta love our gangly Moose.

My son and I were in the local dollar store the other day to stock up on a few of these items so he can take them to Costa Rica when he attends a CISV village in late December and use them as traders with the other kids who will be there from around the world. We stood in front of the HUGE display which ranged from hilarious hats shaped like leaves to dancing beavers, maple leaf key chains, tatoos, frisbees, squishy footballs, stuffed moose, neck ties (FOR A BUCK!) and were in fits of laughter over the tackiness of the lot. Of course, we were determined to grab the best kitsch we could. Let's hope he's allowed through customs with that Canuck craziness in his suitcase.

When I was a kid, the annual fireworks were lit on Victoria Day in May. This was the tradition. We all saw it as the beginning of summer.....the first long weekend. Of course as members of the Commonwealth, we all understood the seriousness of celebrating Queen Victoria's birthday in style.....er, I guess...... by blowing off little checker firecrackers and running around with abandon holding onto a sparkler, also known as a piece of wire on fire.

Though we still have the long weekend in May, and the Monday of it is still recognized as her birthday (funny how it changes dates every year). But, somewhere along the line, our country's fireworks celebration moved to July 1rst, Dominion Day.....the day we recognize as the anniversary of our national status within the Commonwealth. Maybe we switched because it was easier to make a cake in the form of a maple leaf flag than the head of a sexually inhibited sourpuss? Or maybe we began to embrace our own sense of pride, separate from another country?

Obviously it wasn't an overnight thing.....one day we scoured at any display of patriotism and the next day we adorned our homes in all things red and white? No. It was a gradual, albeit swift turn around. Even now, I would wager a bet that most Canadians feel an attachment to this vast and magnificent wilderness we call home more so when we cross its borders? But there is definately a different feel to our celebration of our "home and native land...." Hence, the desire to don a goofy leaf pointed hat, pull on a Moose motif t-shirt and go with the flow of our known sense of humour while sucking back a few pints and singing off key?

Did you know Canadians are a very funny lot? Absurdity is in our blood. Satire swims all around us. We crack each other up! And it turns out we do a pretty good job exporting our finest comedians. I think it has to do with choosing to remain on this freakingly cold tundra in February and go about our daily routines like it was just a little irritation to start your car when its -40 degrees and a wind chill? You gotta LAUGH! You gotta bundle up too or you will die!

Then of course there is a that wonderful myth created by the late Pierre Berton who stated that you know you're Canadian when you can make love in a canoe. Ask any Canadian if they've accomplished this feat and they will affirmatively reply, with a sly smile and a look in their eye that tells you..... wouldn't you like to know how this is done? Ah, its all in the balancing between the thwarts. Its in the melodic movement of the gunnels....its how you hold your paddle.... Is there any other country who defines their patriotism through such a lens? We crack each other up.

There are definately benchmark events which foisted us forward into a more contented place. It wasn't so long ago when our national past time was a collectively navel gaze..... where the cry of the "True north strong and free" wasn't an anthem we now sing loudly at sports event and instead was "Who are we? How are we different than our neighbours to the south? How do we define ourselves...." Such nervous nellie self absorption is finally disappearing. We have grown up a bit. We've won our fair share of international hockey tournaments. We gave the world Celine and Shania.

Dominion Day. In 1982, the same year the Canadian Constitution and Charter of Rights was signed, Dominion Day was renamed Canada Day. Hindsight makes me wonder if this was the turning point. Before this significant moment, maybe we were allowing someone else to make our beds? Whatever caused us to stop feeling so damn inferior and to care so much about that fact that the rest of the world doesn't really give a rat's ass about our identity, I'm glad. Why? Because what matters most is how we have come to terms about our own selves as multi cultural individuals who call this place home. The confidence felt is new to us. But it will be our growing confidence along with the accumulative stretch marks from eating the most recent national food concoction...."poutine...." (dont ask! it's gross! I'd rather smoke pine needles) that will allow us to shine on any international stage. Or not.

When I was 18 years old, I flew across the pond for the first time with a backpack on my back and a much searched for Canadian flag patch stitched on the outside of it. I had to look high and low for it. For one thing, there were no dollar stores around, and I didn't live in the middle of a tourist hotspot like Niagara Falls where touristy kitchy gift shops were at every corner. It was a different time. Patriotism was kept under wraps. Patriotism was frowned upon as a tacky display of emotional wanking best left to the flag waving country below the 49th parallel. But, I found one, and proudly sewed it onto my backpack. And I'm glad I did. Because every time someone saw that little flag, they would ask me questions about my home....my country, and I would have to think about how I would describe it's beauty, it's strength, it's people......its history.

Like many of my neighbours, we learned our patriotism....and our heart filled fondness for Canada by leaving it's borders and looking from a far. At age 18, I began to see just how lucky I was to proudly state that I am a Canadian. Though, it was said in a tentative whisper compared to my open flag waving loud anthem singing boldness of today. OH, who am I kidding?? I may be wearing my very best moose t-shirt today, and I will definately take part in some of the Canada Day celebrations this afternoon down on the beautiful Green along the Saint John River. Fireworks are in the plans after a big potluck at a friend's house. But, when it's time to sing O Canada? My boldness will quickly evaporate and my silly red pointed leaf hat will be lifted off my head. My heart will fill with gratitude.....and I will lose my way in the meaning of the words. I'm too much of a softie...... and our anthem always leaves me choked up and in tears much to the embarrassment of my family. It's a good thing they're used to it.

This place I call home......? I loveitloveitloveit.....

Happy Canada Day.....with a glowing heart from me

Kitchen parties from the past....

During the long bitter cold days of winter, the welcoming warmth of Canadian kitchens filled with savoury aromas and the comfort of fresh baking help the gentle folk of the Great White North survive....and thrive. In fact, our interactive always active sweet tasting kitchens are sometimes the ONLY allure that will entice us enough to don our parkas, and furry paraphenalia when the temperatures dip below what is humane on a Saturday night and head outdoors. When its so damn cold that the moistness in your nose insta-freezes into scraping shards, when the night air is so freaking frigid your blood chatters like ice in a manhattan, the anticipation of a kitchen party keeps the engine rumbling.

I don't know where the idea that the Maritimes are known for their raucous music filled kitchen parties came from, but it's true. The very best parties take place surrounded by the beer fridge and the munchies oven. Actually if I stop to think about it, these Maritime gatherings most likely began when the majority of houses had woodstoves in their kitchens that may even heat the whole house....it was a survival thang....the rest of the rooms too cold to be comfortable except under a thousand quilts. The tradition continues.....people simply gravitate.

So, it was on one dark dementedly frigid February night when a bunch of families gathered at one house for some fun, 50's style. Normally we don't get into themes, so I don't know where the idea generated from and can only assume the host and hostess were listening to Dean Martin again while reading cocktail recipes....they do this a lot.....it's an obsession. :)

Attic costumes and second hand stores were rummaged as we chose our own garb....our own "take" on the theme. Internet recipes sites which promoted the rib sticking blandness of 50's cuisine were scoured. Hairdos, red/orange lipstick, high heels and little evening purses were pulled out of the air along with cardigans, berets, and hair gel. And all at once the modern kitchen was transformed into a place from the past. It was HILARIOUS! The food was mostly disgusting looking but memorable. And some of it was surprisingly tasty. Gotta love meatloaf, and jello mold salads....YUMMY!

Nothing like white bread and the melted plastic processed cheese which ALWAYS sticks to your teeth and won't let go.....Add cooked greasy bacon on top and you've got yourself a gourmet delight.....aka a cheese dream.... oh, i have dreams of those lip smacking treats every night....

It was concluded that one needs a tropical fru fru drink on hand while stirring the simmering stews and mashing mounds of potatos. It gives the whole enchilada a lemony twist. And if you're drunk enough, you'll eat the crap you've served.


These three kitchen divas know how to keep a party hopping and hot.....their secret? Shaken not stirred..... hahaaha! God, I love hanging with these women! They look so proper don't they? Well, one of them introduced me to the term manscaping. Amazing where the conversation leads while playing an innocent game of rumoli.

This post was inspired by friends who know how to live the life of creative kitchen party absurdists at night while posing as serious professionals by day....and by CARMI at Written Inc, whose photo them this week is "Kitchen..." Thanks Carmi.

red wine to gladden your heart.....

He calls me "Grace" with a tinge of sarcasm and I call him whenever i want to go out back for a good laugh and a smoke or whenever I needed to have someone rein me in from my over reaction to the latest bizarre happening in the world of work. He has always been my second sober thought tied in with being my comrade in arms when it came to grasping onto the absurdity and hilarity of the living script which unfolds everyday in the frontlines. My God, we have laughed out back together with a couple of other folks who knew how to see it from our angle. ....until the tears came.....until we had to drag ourselves back inside for another go at it. But, with a lighter bounce to our steps.

For years, he would leave articles he'd purposefully photocopied for me to read on my desk. I'd often stand there with my coat still on glancing it over wondering just exactly why he had chosen a particular article, especially the New Yorker pieces slathered in dark humour like it was a puzzle piece of the portrait of how he perceived me. But then it finally dawned on me that it was because he enjoyed both the literary talent and the message and knew I would to. A compliment......an affirmation of respecting my need for food for hungry brain. He knew.

He also knew before I did that I was searching for something more meaningful to anchor me. Before I had picked up a pen again, before I started this blog.......before I was even cognizant of my own desire to be open to seeking God in my life again, he would leave me articles written by his dear friend he endearingly calls "the Pope." He knew. And from there, I began a winding path back to writing again, but this time with a purpose of trying to understand where my faith roots are and what meaning do they have. Since then, our conversations are spiced not only with politics, world events, music, literature, sports and jokes.....religion is on the table again too.

Have you ever met someone from the Miramichi? Luckily for me, I know a few of these unique folks and every single one of them is a big bold expressive character. I don't know what is in the water up there, or what it is that has made them so lyrically eccentric....I think it may be a combination of irish lunacy and growing up surrounded by the realities of hard work survival, with a whole lot of musical and literary influences. You just never know where the conversation will take you....

There are more unique "sayings" which spill out of the mouths of a Miramicher than from any other region in this country. Most are not ones you'd hear yourself saying in church. But, my God, they make you laugh. My friend has this market cornered and I shake my head wondering how he has managed to get away with some of the things he says. People expect it, and yet he still manages to shock and titilate even the crustiest non smilers. They LAUGH and shake their heads in wonder! And when he's managed to ZING someone, I often was the one to hear the full story regalia from the Zinger himself...laughing at his own bravado!

There is a serious side of this man too.....one which blooms from his big heart and sense of justice. We have shared many a story of someone in need, be it a mutual friend or a family in crisis. I've seen his compassion, his generosity, his quiet way of touching someone to let them know they matter. He gives of himself in ways that touch deeply.......a dozen cookies baked the night before....a book he knows you will love....flowers for a friend....a phone call. Quietly. No fanfare. That's how he conducts his life. That's how he likes it. And for fuck's sake, don't be gushing about it or you'll piss him off!

Today he retires. I knew it would happen one day. We've talked about it. But, sweet Jesus! It happened overnight and I can't believe he won't be sauntering into my office next week. TOO quick for me! Too quick for many.....but just right for him and that's what matters. I'm not allowed to make a fuss. No one is. There will be no fanfare. No fuss. That's what he wants. That's how he likes it. After more years than we have fingers and toes, he will pack up his stuff and thats it. In fact, I may have just ended up on his shitlist for blogging this. Oh well, I'll take it like a woman and stand up to his fury!

He calls me "Grace" with a tinge of sarcasm, and what do I call him? My dear friend. I love you and will miss you more than you know, my friend....but I look forward to our gut busting laughing chatty coffee chats post Saturday market jaunts on your front porch. Just next time, will you please put some clothes on when you answer the door? You can't expect an innocent lady like me not to look away now can you? And for God's sake, quit asking about cabbage patches!

Go n-éirí an bóthar leat, my friend.....may the road rise with you....and may red wine always, always, always gladden your heart.

belonging

There is a difference when you get to play under the lights. It's like the air is electrified with magical faery dust alerting the senses that perhaps something grand is occuring.

Do you remember when your mother told you to come home when the lights went on? In the summer, the lights don't come on until it's really late, and if you pushed that "rule" envelope and stayed out past twilight when the sky is a deep purply blue, it felt like you had entered into a realm usually forbidden to children. There was a lightness in the new freedom of crossing into evening play.

As the sun set on the evening at the ballpark, I watched the kids on the field take on a different intensity in their play..........like they were on their own field of dreams playing like the pros. They loved their time under the lights. Beyond the diamond a group of wee little ones, the brothers and sisters attending? They were swarming and buzzing all over their own play field dancing like little faeries free from the regular rules of bedtime routines. Their own excitement electried the air around them.

Night time can be foreboding if it is enveloped in loneliness and detachment. It can seem like eternity gone sour. So many live under this kind of streetlight in our communities.......no fun there.....no sense of connection to the magic of possibilities. No playful feelings. The focus is solely on survival in the margins. Our human being needs encompass more than survival but when that's what is front and centre, the other needs are left out in right field........ And yet, if somehow the alone person can feel that welcoming sense of belonging to a team, to a family, to a group of friends who can show them that living under the lights doesn't have to be so frightening all alone, then survival becomes manageable.

Attachment to others, on a level playing field, and under the lights? It is what we all yearn for isn't it? We can't play the game without a team, and without knowing you're a part of it.

snippet

The van is pulling into the parking lot of the old general store, passing a telephone pole plastered in flyers. One in particular...........with colourful lettering catches the eye......

Husband: WOW.....there's tandem paragliding advertised. I'd love to do that.


Me: Paragliding naked?

Husband: No......laughing.........two people together.

Me: Oh!

Son: You're thinking of the word commando Mom.


Me: Now that's more like it. I'd love to do that.


Son: Going up there naked?

Me: Why yes...........in tandem of course.

Son: I don't think that's a picture you want in my head, Mom! It's disgusting.



Thank God for car trips, and 10 year olds with big vocabularies and a sense of humour. Given that his goal is to be a stand up comedian, these three ingredients will go a long way to fill his repetoire. So does time spent in quiet contemplation skipping stones with the family dog.

filling up.

"We all must hold the cups of our lives. As we grow older and become more fully aware of the many sorrows of life -- personal failures, family conflicts, disappointments in work and social life, and the many pains surrounding us on the national and international scene -- everything within and around us conspires to make us ignore, avoid, suppress, or simply deny those sorrows. "Look at the sunny side of life and make the best of it," we say to ourselves and hear others say to us. But when we want to drink the cups of our lives, we need first to hold them, to fully acknowledge what we are living, trusting that by not avoiding but befriending our sorrow we will discover the true joy we are looking for right in the midst of our sorrows. " Henri Nouwen.

I had many coversations yesterday through various venues........on the phone, face to face, through the internet, across the table, standing in line, when i was ordering tea at the Deli, in my office, in my home and in the van driving 5 boys to baseball tryouts (that one was a keeper, and will blog about it separately!). I had a great chat in the evening in the garden with a friend which stirred up lots of feelings. I think I even had a few conversations with myself...........don't know if I listened more than that I rambled on, but they seemed like good chats nonetheless.

Interactions, conversations, updates, thoughts shared................love them all because it is what fills my cup of life. Big feelings, little moments, wondering........all meaningful droplets into my goblet.

One of my student interns and I discussed whether altruism really exists. Thought provoking! We agreed that it didn't, even if you were Mother Teresa.

Over lunch with two of my dearest friends from work who have since retired, we tackled big heart stuff as well as shared more than a few bawdy laughs. If you had walked into my friend's kitchen during our lovely lunch, you may have thought you had walked into a conversation with three sailors............the expletives and colourful language would've taken the hair right off of your chest.......! But, it was a blowing steam kind of lunch filled with eye brimming tears and doubled over laughing and stuff in between.

Kibittzing and joking in the office................and some serious work too all brought people flowing in and out of my day. I love that.

I spoke to a woman on the phone to book an appointment to see me. So anxious is she to come in, she spilled a great deal of her story in the first 2 minutes of our very first connection. She needs to tell it...........and I told her I would be all hers next week for as long as she needed. It's what I do. It's what I love to do.

Lots of chatter at home too......updates, organizing stuff, sharing how we're feeling..........how's it going.......touching base.....always touching base. Home interactions begin and end my day..........like beautiful bookends of belonging.

We fill our cups daily with joys and sorrows, with frustrations and yearnings, with anger and confusion, with curiosity and craziness. And by sharing our cups, and by adding to others and allowing others to spill their reflections into our own, we link arms in kinship as we toast life's reflections. Personal fulfillment needs other human touch to add the silver clarity we yearn.

Yes, it seemed like a "three cupper" day..............a silver goblet day filled to the brim......

I'm off to see what today brings................and wonder what I can take to the party.

Torridly Nice

An old joke:

How do you get 25 Canadians out of the pool?
Answer:

"Can everyone please get out of the pool?"

The prompt this week at writer's island, which is located in the searing tropics under the persistant heat of the noon day sun, is torrid. The word fits well THERE but HERE in the cold northern tundra where winter has choked the passion out of the land???......you have to use your imagination.....close your eyes and envision lying on the island's white sand warmed by penetrating rays, while being massaged by a dark mysterious beautiful man whose deep voice soothes and stimulates with it's charm as he encourages you to relax..........to let your mind flow into a fantasy of timeless lovemaking with the person you have always wanted to.......

But, torrid in Canada? Does torrid exist here? And if it does, do we import it? Or do we just keep it under wraps until the timing is right to let a flaming sense of fervour lap up with sizzle?

One of the qualities that always tops the list of describing a Canadian is "nice." It is somewhat complimentary, (I think people are being nice when they describe us that way, so you have to accept it nicely........:) )but it does have a scent of vanilla wafting around the word and vanilla is anything but passionate. Can nice evolve into a hip grinding salsa without apologizing for stepping on the partner's feet......? (We say "sorry" a lot around here too. ) Can the citizens of this country embrace the raging hunger of the heart needed to engage in torridly fueled passion? Or are we a doomed group of frontal lobotomized chipmunks who get bent out of shape doing the right thing? Can our brains turn off in order to allow the spicy feelings to be squeezed liberally from the heart?

Yes. It may show up in different milieus, but it's there, not too far under the surface. When it rears up into the soul to stir the loins and hearts of a Canuck, it echos across the ice covered tundra like a mad woodsman pining for the love of a voluptuous woman after being out too long in the wild. There's nothing as torrid as a lumberjack in heat except perhaps a Moose. May I recommend that you be nice and just get out of the way if you happen to see either?


Have you ever gone winter camping? This is a practise many fellow Canadians embrace as a really hot time. A tent, a coleman stove for hot toddies, bundled up clothing layers to wear while cooking dinner and doing all those hearty outdoor pursuits, and sleeping bags filled with materials to withstand the arctic cold of the middle of the night. The key to staying warm? Slipping into the sleeping bag with your buddy to thaw through naked friction. Frigidly rigidly Torrrrrriiiiiiiid!


Have you ever been to a peewee hockey tournament? Not only are most of our arenas hooked up to provide heated elements and fans to blow skin drying torrid producing heat down from the rafters to the hard benches along the sides of the rink where you sit to cheer on the local team, you will find pent up impassioned parents, particularly the mothers bellowing like that Moose in heat again.......encouragement to their son or daughter playing the game. Torrid tempers reign supreme in the hockey rinks across this vast and magnificent land. I have spoken to parents who describe the moment their kid scored their first goal. With choking teary emotion, they replay the scene with such intensity you'd think they had witnessed the coming of Christ. That's puck stopping torrid.



No matter what level of hockey it is, but particularly if it's a game between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadiens, the torrent of torrid which emanates in a room full of lovers of the game is comparable to the frenzied feeling of losing ones virginity in the back seat of a car. "He shoots! He scores!" Ask any man to describe where they were when the goal that woke up a nation was scored by Paul Henderson in the 1972 Canada-Russia series and you'll know how quickly things can get torrid. No need for viagra when those sweet memories are produced.

Then there's curling. Have you heard those maniac beer slogging stone throwers when they are down to their last rock and it needs to hit the button? You'd think you were privy to the last vestiges of an orgasm. They bark and bellow and moan out the most bizarre phrases......"hurrrrreeeeeeeee...... ......haaaaarrrrrrd! ....... as they sweep with a passion comparable to scoring with the local puck bunny. The typical nice Canadian watching this openly expressed passion usually blushes, but deep down they a grateful for the chance to be close to such expressed animalistic passion.


But, I'd have to say that most of our torrid packing punch is saved for politics and satire. It is this arena which pops the lid off the pressure cooker, which makes our kettles whistle, which produces the foaming boil in our beastie breasts. Whether one LOVED or HATED former Prime Ministers Brian Mulroney, Pierre Trudeau, or Jean Chretien.......whether one is on the side of the Harper government or not........one's opinions are fueled with kerosene exploding as it is poured onto a campfire. And it doesn't matter what level of government is the source of the topic for the day, municipal, provincial or federal, torrid packs a wallop. Trudeau, known for his standoffish eccentricities once said that politics do not belong in the bedrooms of the nation. He's wrong, wrong, wrong........Not only is it discussed in the bedrooms of this nation, it can actually spark the passion, which in turn kicks the temperature in the room up a few notches.


Our comedians know this is where it lies............and satirical political commentary is a cottage industry in Canada. Humour bites hard and furious. It's like we have been weaned on it's quirkiness and lap it up like an aphrodisiac. When you ask a Canadian what is the most important characteristic you look for in a mate, humour tops the list. Not sexy cheeked butts, or faraway eyes.........NO! "She's gotsta make me laugh, bye......it's a right turn on doncha you know? Who gives a flying fig if she's not got a funny way about 'er?" The next two characteristics on the list? Knowing how to put up a tent in -35 degree weather, and enjoying Hockey Night in Canada. HOLY! I just described myself! And as an added bonus, I have a sexy butt too. :)



I do think we have uncorked our repressed desires to keep our patriotism, our lovemaking, our stirrings and yearnings under wraps over the past two decades. We wave our flags a little more often. We share our opinions more vehemently. We speak passionately and with feelings which recently were too hot to handle. And given the length of this particular winter, I would hazard a guess that there will be a torrid little boom of babies born in the early fall.

I guess you just have to be in the right place at the right time to feel it..........and you just may be in luck to be in the room where torrid comes a callin.' Anyone for some road hockey shinney?

For more torrid stories, visit Writer's Island.............it's a hot hot site.

M is for Memory Keeping Momma

It always amazes me how a whole group of people can take part in the same event and yet walk away with a diverse assortment of memories. It makes me ponder over just how reliable our memories are, especially after time has it's way with them.

When you think of all the filters one human being has that affects how a single moment is viewed, felt and remembered it's a wonder we ever find a common ground during those "remember when" conversations. How we are feeling emotionally and physically, what we are thinking at the time, when it takes place, where we are, who we are with......all of these variables act as a prism refracting the interpretation of the moment. Then tack on the external events happening at the same time......you know those connectors that sometimes help us place the memory in a certain time and setting? Add to that, the level of importance of the event............then stir in how much wine you've had.......

Christmas memories, impressionistic in their artistry are unique to the individual. Though we may share some of them..........the bigger brush strokes perhaps.......the fine details blend in colour and contrast, in shape and size and importance, are based on how we choose to remember them. It's like we have our own scrapbook filled with momento photos which flicker in our own light.



As an experiment to see if my theory holds any eggnog, the spiked kind........... I asked my family this morning what their memories are of last year's Christmas.



"What are your most vivid memories from last year," asks Mom.



My 14 year old daughter's reply?



"I remember waking up at 4 in the morning and having to watch some extreme sport show on TV because I was so sick of watching that movie, The Christmas Story........oh, and doing my nails to pass the time. Oh, yeah, and I remember running a bake sale at the school to raise money for the soup kitchen........"



My 10 year old son's reply?



" I couldn't sleep on Christmas Eve and there was lots of bacon."



How utterly profound............ note to me............ make sure we're stocked up on the bacon. Hmmmmm, perhaps I need to go out today and buy two pairs of hot pink bunny pyjamas with feet. They would most definately remember that wouldn't they?? :)



My husband's response?



"I remember how much fun the open house was, and seeing friends we hadn't seen in a long time, and Christmas dinner. I remember it being a wonderful dinner just sitting around the dining room table with our friends. Then relaxing afterwards watching Waking Ned Devine with our friends and watching my family fall asleep all around us."





And ME?



I remember walking into my living room in the middle of our open house we had on the 23rd of December to find everyone singing Christmas carols........an impromptu moment which could never be replicated. Oh, then there was the solstice celebration at our friend's house. I remember spending an inordinate amount of time in the kitchen and enjoying the pace and busyness of entertaining. I remember looking around and seeing people engaged in good cheer conversations................I remember the wrapping and opening of presents on Christmas morning, the big breakfast the four of us shared.......yes, I do recall the pound of bacon I cooked....

I do remember basting the turkey, pulling together the Christmas dinner while my good friend Anne plied me with chilled white wine. But, for the life of me? The whole dinner conversation and subsequent movie? Yeah, I'm sure it happened, but by then I was toast.



yes, we all do have different memories don't we? It's a good thing mothers were invented to ensure that the memories are expanded upon and added to for future reference. Photos help too......so do blogs!



Perhaps this year, starting today...................I will point out key potential Christmas memories to my kids who seem to have amazing brains when it comes to reciting every Simpsons episode, right down all of Krusty's infamous lines. Better yet.........wait til they see what I have planned as a kickstart to Christmas dinner this year. Photos will be taken to preserve the moments.

Anne? Bring on the wine.

Hark the Herald Angels sing............

This week's Sunday Scribbling's prompt was "holiday memories." For more versions of those memories, click here.