Reunions and Holding Space

The woman had a rapidly progressing, early onset dementia. She was admitted to hospital for assessment and was deemed incapable to live on her own. Her son had power of attorney but lived far away and his work obligations prevented regular visits.  She never mentioned any other family members. 

I saw a young couple standing nervously outside the locked door of the unit. I offered assistance and asked who they were coming to visit. The young man said he was the youngest son of this same woman. He had not seen her in over ten years even though he lived nearby. He was uncertain of the reception his mother would give him. I offered to tell her that he was there and would gauge her response to his name. She was a cheery person who retained her social graces and had no objections to having visitors. I led him to the room for their reunion and watched with emotion as he said anxiously,  

“Hi Mom, it’s me, Kevin.” 

I could tell she did not know who he was but she was able to cover her memory loss well. 

“How nice to see you!”, she said. 

They visited for a while, the conversation superficial and without much meaning.

I never asked what events caused the estrangement between mother and son in the first place. Every immediate or extended family experiences discord at one time or another but it is sad to see ongoing hostility and lack of forgiveness involving a parent and child.

I read an excellent article recently by Heather Plett on What it Means to Hold Space for People. (It is also worthwhile to read the follow up links at the bottom of the page). She writes,

“What does it mean to hold space for someone else? It means that we are willing to walk alongside another person in whatever journey they’re on without judging them, making them feel inadequate, trying to fix them, or trying to impact the outcome. When we hold space for other people, we open our hearts, offer unconditional support, and let go of judgement and control.”

What a beautiful concept! But it can be very hard to implement. Reunions would be so different without the judgements of others, real or perceived, causing us to be self-conscious and uneasy. 

How do I look? 

Am I successful? 

I feel stupid compared to _____! 

Why is that person avoiding me? 

I still can’t stand_______ even though I haven’t seen them in 20 years!

The candle holder in the picture above is from Ten Thousand Villages and is made of soapstone by artisans in Kenya. To me, it illustrates the ability to hold space in spite of different experiences, life choices, ideas and values while maintaining a connected relationship with others. Recently, it feels like our society is moving further away from this concept causing people to feel manipulated, judged and controlled. 

All I can do is work on changing my own attitude, thereby increasing my ability to hold space for others.

Outside or Inside the Cup?

Old Order Mennonites at the St Jacobs, Ontario Horse Auction

The monthly horse auction was held on the grounds of our large farmers’ market yesterday. I drove up in the early afternoon to get some apples and noticed more Old Order Mennonites around than usual before I remembered that it was the last Saturday of the month. In our region we hardly look twice when we pass a horse and buggy on the roadway. General stores in the surrounding towns and villages sell hats, suspenders, and dress materials that identify members of our Old Order communities. Our neighbourhood in the city is home to an increasing number of Moslem and Sikh families. They too are easily identified by their clothing styles. 

Toronto Hipsters

We have a natural tendency to quickly judge people by their outward appearance and gravitate toward those who look most like ourselves.  My high schools did not enjoy much ethnic diversity in the 1960s and 70s, but we knew how to sight a “hoodlum” or a “hippie”. Today’s hipsters are identified by their facial hair, plaid shirts, skinny pants, footwear and lifestyle choices. Tattoos and piercings are trendy right now even though I shudder think what they will look like on crepey 80 year old skin in the future. 

I have learned that you cannot judge a book by its cover. Inner character takes more time to assess. I am reading a book that was a 1913 best seller called “The Inside of the Cup” by American author, Winston Churchill. The title is based on Matthew 23:26 where Jesus says, 

"Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full of extortion and excess.” 

It is hard to believe the book is over 100 years old as the themes are so current. The exterior is often a poor representation of the true inner person. 

Recently, I was helping a nurse provide morning care to one of our patients with dementia. We were assailed with an angry torrent of racist, sexist and other crude language as well as attempts to hit, scratch and punch. Frontal lobe function does diminish with age-related brain atrophy and dementias but other patients remain sweet and kind in their confusion. From my non-scientific observations, the inner person will be revealed eventually. Hidden anger, anxiety, fear, racism, greed and hatred is uncovered when social graces diminish. Conversely, an inner character marked with love, patience, generosity and acceptance of others does not diminish with age. In this internet age, the outer appearance is hidden, but words and ideas identify the tribe. It is a challenge to wade through the rhetoric but we must check the source and context before we pass judgement.

A contact of mine posted a picture of the church bulletin where he attended today.  

Tribal markings will always exist but it is worthwhile to assess the inside first, starting with ourselves. 

Scars and Tenacity

Franconia Notch State Park, New Hampshire

She is the same age as me and has been a patient at the hospital for over 100 days. We walked outside in the late summer sunshine as she shared her story. Whether all the details were exactly true or not doesn’t matter as past memories are easily distorted by emotion and time. 

“I have gone through life with a pickaxe, pulling myself up a rock face,” she said. 

Above average intelligence, education, and good looks did not smooth the scarring from abusive relationships, years of mental and physical illness, job loss and community disconnection. Life was a struggle but she was still fighting to make it to the summit. She talked about life “outside the village” and her “misfit” faith which was not understood in any church she had attended.   

I marvelled at her insight and her inability to find an easier route on her journey. Surely there was a paved road somewhere on that mountain. In comparison, my life is a peaceful cruise in a small, seaworthy vessel. I have encountered a few storms but the sun quickly appears through the clouds as I follow the beautiful shoreline.

We live in a country that is at peace, with good social services and free medical care. I have no metaphors for the life journeys of people who live where there is war, who are displaced and surviving without their basic needs being met. Every day I see how unexpected illness and injury can change the world of an individual or family. My life could be altered in an instant too. We never know when we might need that pickaxe.

Vice and Virtue

"Ruth is getting over a mild case of whooping cough. 

It has never affected her liveliness or her appetite. 

She eats like a little pig, a whole BIG banana every afternoon 

and then she cries for more. 

She loves her toes now and chews them 

with or without her boots on…"

Grandma T. kept every “aerogram” sent to Canada from my parents in South Africa. They are neatly numbered in an old Ganong's Chocolates box and my aunt graciously gave them to me a couple of years ago. I was born abroad and every little detail of my development was shared by my proud parents. A common theme in all the letters was my voracious appetite and my astounding rate of growth. The quote above was written by my mother in letter #37 when I was nearly six months old. It is obvious that I was born a glutton. I love bananas to this day, and thankfully still have ten toes.

We were challenged this week to write about which of the Seven Deadly Sins we are most guilty of. 

The medieval list;-

lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and hubris, 

seems a little repetitive in my opinion and could be summarized in three words, 

Overindulgence, laziness and malice.

I am guilty of all of them. They may not always be evident in my external behaviour, but if you could read my thoughts sometimes…

In truth, all human conflict is rooted in these vices whether it is a major war or a conflict at home or work. Self-centredness and taking personal offence can ruin our happiness, whether it is getting angry at a perceived inequity or getting in an argument with someone who has a different perspective or opinion than our own.

In spite of my faults, I prefer to focus on the seven virtues;-

chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, 

patience, kindness, and humility. 

Chastity has a deeper meaning than sexual purity and includes caring well for one’s body, knowledge, wisdom, and honesty. It abhors ignorance, hostility, and corruption. 

Virtue abounds in our world but vice gets far more press time. Nurturing virtue--personally, in our homes, careers, communities and nation is more of a challenge than simply calling out the short-comings of others. 

Lessons on Staying Young

I see the worst of physical and cognitive aging every day in my work at a hospital. It is easy to feel disheartened and believe that this is the inevitable pathway to death. I seldom see people who age well as they do not enter the doors of our facility as patients.

I will share the stories of two people, born in the same year, who inspire me with their energy, passion and joie de vivre. 

Jim and Margaret Atwood in Mexico

Margaret Atwood is a prolific Canadian writer and poet who has published many successful novels, short stories, poetry collections and more. Her first graphic novel, Angel Catbird, is to be released September 6th after next weekend's Fan Expo Canada in Toronto. I follow her Twitter feed and drink her signature, bird-friendly coffee from Balzak’s.  (Her graphic novel explores the relationship between cats and songbirds.) She is a passionate environmentalist, feminist, and humanitarian. A good friend of mine met her at a writer’s conference in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico a few years ago. She posed with him in the photo above. She is not slowing down in her mid-70’s and is an inspiration to younger generations of writers and artists. Our youngest daughter Becka, has a table at Fan Expo and is selling her own comic books and art. She hopes to have an encounter with Ms. Atwood and purchase her new book. 

Aunt Ruth, in blue, with co-workers at her birthday party

I have a special aunt who shares my name. She has the busiest social calendar around and is a talented musician. She works for an insurance company in Toronto and commutes downtown four days a week. Her co-workers put on a big party for her 75th birthday. This year, the company sent her to Nashville TN to celebrate her next, or maybe next birthday. Did I mention she is a big NASCAR fan? She has known joy and grief and life has not been without struggles. But she is resilient, with the  gift of laughter and the making and keeping of friends. Her co-workers wrote the following comments on her birthday card.

“Your zest for life in an inspiration to us all” 

 “Happy birthday to a young team member” 

“You are so amazing! I want to be like you when I grow up”  

“You are such a joy to have on the team” 

“Keep that young heart beating” 

  “Looking forward to working with you over the next year”.

I have written about ageism and our tendency to segregate people by birthdate. It starts early in preschool, ends in nursing homes and is pervasive in churches. I have the privilege of working with many young millennials and our age differences are insignificant. As a team we complete the tasks and goals of the day. Sometimes I get to be “Work Mom” to younger colleagues when asked for advice or a shoulder to cry on. Every generation has something to offer to those younger and older than themselves.  

I posted the poem Youth by Samuel Ullman earlier today. It deserves its own reading and expresses so many truths about chronological age vs functional age. Even when the body slows down and faculties dim, we can be young at heart.

Doubt, fear, despair, pessimism and cynicism age people who are 20 or 80.

Faith, hope, self-confidence, optimism, and wonder keep us young at any age. 

Vacation

Sun and shadow shroud the cliffs of the Grand Canyon as a

   Condor soars on air currents high above the Colorado River.

The San Francisco peaks are on the horizon but you cannot

   hear clanging cable cars, 

      see the Golden Gate Bridge or

         feel the ghosts of Alcatraz in the same-named city.

Pacific waters ripple over my feet in British Columbia, Ventura,
   and remote Mexican beaches with pelicans.

Cold Atlantic waves chill me in Newfoundland, Fundy, Rhode Island, 
   and New York City by the Statue of Liberty.

I stand atop Sulphur Mountain, Mount Washington, and float in the fault that

   holds the Dead Sea.

We cross Canada by land and sea from Victoria to Cape Spear, 
   over mountains, through prairies and forests, 

      and hear a loon laugh, the moon mirrored on a quiet lake. 

I listen to music in concert halls, on streets, in the hum of markets
   in Boston, Vancouver, Jerusalem, Guadalajara,

      and at home.

I ride a camel, travel by air, ocean liner, train, bicycle, bus 
   and drive California State Route 1.

History beckons from castles, cathedrals, communities, 
   and the Alamo.

Our world is large, yet closer, smaller and more

   accessible in modern times.

I watch a bright yellow Goldfinch tentatively

   remove a seed from a dead flower in my garden and

      wash it down with a sip from the bird bath beside me.

The search for beauty, relationship, rest, holiness,

   amidst the clamour of life brings

      a holiday for my soul.

First World Problem: How Do We Help the Third World?

I watched her grow from a child to a young teenager over the past six years while visiting my family in Mexico. She lives with her parents and brothers in a small cement house on the five acre property. Her dad helps care for my elderly father and also maintains the grounds of the school, factory and houses. Her mom, Irma, who gave my mother loving personal care when she was ill, cleans the home and also works at my brother’s guava factory. Fatima's innocent charm, wide smile and helpful nature made me want to scoop her up and bring her home with me. But she is the apple of her father’s eye and her mother’s pride and joy. She is where she belongs.

With Irma and Fatima at my mother's funeral

Many people from first world countries visit poorer countries on short term mission trips or secular volunteer opportunities. The Mental Health Unit at our hospital has partnered with medical professionals in Guyana. Staff members use vacation time for teaching and training in an effort to set up better mental health services in that country. I know retired people who work with local people in third world countries in their area of expertise. Other volunteers and agencies respond and provide urgently needed aid after natural or man-made disasters. These are worthwhile, productive endeavours. 

There are critics of short term mission trips. Participants are eager to visit a poor area, bring gifts, build structures, evangelize, play with orphans and then go home in a week or two with plenty of pictures and a feeling of self-fulfillment. The focus is on how much the first world volunteers have to offer, not on the strengths and capabilities of the local people. The motives of the volunteers may be sincere but misguided. I have seen people leave Canada with suitcases filled with blankets, candies, school supplies and clothing to distribute to the “poor and needy”. But the definition of poverty is relative and care is needed to avoid conveying a sense of superiority because of our affluence. Gift-bearing volunteers may not understand the values of the community and can undermine the local economy. 

No "Shoebox" gifts required (photo by my brother, Mark)

We used to fill a couple of shoe boxes with recommended items each year at Christmas time for distribution to needy children. It appeared to be an unselfish thing to do in the spirit of the season. The boxes are collected, unpacked and checked by volunteers at a warehouse and then distributed around the world. The practice makes little sense socially or economically. The purchased items are usually inexpensive imported goods that may have been made by underpaid workers in another third world country. They are then sent by air to a community that may not share our values or holidays. Once again the local economy in the poorer country loses out as “free” items are given to “needy” children. The donors feel good, but the money could be put to better use.

People who are materially poor may be rich in relationships, community, meaningful work, and happiness.   

Conversely, the materially rich may be poor in relationships, meaningful purpose and contentment. 

Eugene Peterson recently tweeted, 

“Living in the land of the free has not made us free. We are a nation of addicts and complainers.” 

He spoke as an American but his statement is true in many developed nations. We may forget that strain in life builds strength of character, just as lifting weights develops physical strength. 

Visiting third world countries is a valuable learning experience. I remember visiting a home in a Mexican village in 2006 with my brother, who came to pay the man for work he had done. The adobe and tin house had a dirt floor and chickens walked in and out the door. A TV was on the table and an extension cord ran to an outside power source. The family received us with great hospitality and offered us a drink. I wanted to take a picture of the surroundings but knew it was not appropriate. The FIFA World Cup was in progress and Mexico was playing a game that day. While we were there, Mexico scored a goal and a great roar rose from the hills as everyone living on that mountain cheered. These people enjoyed community, had their basic needs met, and were content in their circumstances in spite of their relative poverty. 

Roadside Restaurant- Mexico (delicious gorditas!)

We need to share resources in collaboration with people who live in poorer nations. Education is essential and children often need uniforms, books and tuition to go to school. There are charities that work to address the root causes of poverty. People in third world countries have a voice, dignity, potential and ability to achieve their dreams. We cannot jump in and impose our values on them but need to listen and view their world from their perspective. It is important to do our research before giving to charities to make sure that the organization is using funds to empower the recipients, and not making them dependent on handouts. The same principles are important when dealing with poverty at home. 

Robert D. Lupton wrote an thought-provoking book, Toxic Charity: How Churches and Charities Hurt Those They Help (And How to Reverse It). He recommends an "Oath for Compassionate Service" with six guidelines: 

1. Never do for the poor what they can do for themselves; 
2. Limit one-way giving to emergencies; 
3. Empower the poor through employment, lending, and investing, using grants sparingly to reinforce achievements; 
4. Subordinate self-interest to the needs of those being served; 
5. Listen closely to those you seek to help; 
6. Above all, do no harm.

Other resources:

Poverty, Inc. - I highly recommend this documentary, available on Netflix and elsewhere

When Helping Hurts- a book with similar themes as Toxic Charity

Living on One - Two documentaries available on Netflix

Financial Post: Charities of the Year 2014

Barbie Savior- Satirical look at the "white saviour" complex

Pilgrimage

“Faith is not the clinging to a shrine but an endless pilgrimage of the heart.” 

Abraham Joshua Heschel

We took the cog railway to the summit of Mount Washington in New Hampshire a couple of years ago. Travelling up the steep incline, we passed the tree line, a huge boulder field and arrived at the top in an unwelcoming mixture of wind, driving rain, cold temperatures and fog. Our temporary discomfort and risk was nothing compared to that taken by adventurers who hiked the distance, frequently passing markers with names of people who had perished on the same journey in the past. They had a more intimate knowledge of the mountain and its moods and gained strength and wisdom during the challenging trek.

Hikers on Mount Washington NH

It is easy to give advice to others about where they should go and how to get there. It is harder to allow them to take their own pilgrimage, perhaps on an alternate path with different experiences, making mistakes and learning their own lessons. It is especially difficult to free our grown children to forge their own way in life.

This is a year of drought. Scattered thunderstorms form on humid afternoons but we have not had long, soaking rains for weeks. Newly planted trees need water but they also need to develop large tap roots that reach down to the water table. Some people heap large amounts of organic mulch around young trees and pour pails of water on the pile. The trees send roots upward to the mulched surface rather than downward to a sustaining water supply, a journey that will ensure longevity for the tree, even in dry years. 

Gros Morne Park, Newfoundland Canada

We come to a time when we need to walk away from our shrines and become a pilgrim. Shrines can feel safe with someone there telling you what to think or do, saying this is the best or only destination. We may receive shallow watering, rote answers to hard questions, and acceptance from the group who hangs out there with us. We tend to unfairly judge those who are in different places, but in time we will see cracks and weaknesses in our own shrines as well. Shrines come in many forms and may be religious, political, social, career based or even family oriented. 

Jesus called a group of disciples to join him in pilgrimage. They travelled with their teacher but never envisioned where the journey would ultimately lead them. He taught hard truths in parables leaving his followers with more questions than answers. He encouraged them to walk away from the rigid rules and expectations of religion to seek righteousness, truth, justice and reconciliation with God and man. 

Toll road along the Devil's Spine, Durango-Mazatlan Highway, Mexico

The chaplain at our hospital is a Kenyan lady, gracious, wise and from an evangelical Christian denomination. She supervises chaplaincy students from different faiths, including Islam, and works with a diverse group of patients. When I asked her how she reconciled her own beliefs with her work at the hospital where proselytization is discouraged she said,

“Everyone is on a spiritual journey. My job is to find out where they are and to walk beside them.”

We will cross paths with other pilgrims. We may share a table briefly or stay with them for a longer season, and we may journey alone at times. I remember how hard it was when I began to question and move away from the inflexible doctrines of the church I was raised in. In my journey I have had spiritual mentors from every walk of life. I have grown in strength in times of difficulty and in times of favour. I want to continue my travels in wide open spaces, not in walled rooms. 

Blessed are those whose strength is in you (Yahweh);

    who have set their hearts on a pilgrimage.

Passing through the valley of Weeping, 

they make it a place of springs.

    Yes, the autumn rain covers it with blessings.

They go from strength to strength.

    Everyone of them appears before God in Zion.

Psalm 84: 5-7 (World English Bible)

Ottawa River, Ontario Canada

Citius, Altius, Fortius

William Blake- "Jerusalem"

We never had a television at home when I was growing up and I have no memories of the Olympics until the 1976 summer games in Montreal, Quebec. Two of my friends volunteered at the event and shared their first hand stories. After that, I looked forward to watching the games on TV every 4 years and then every 2 years starting in 1994. I prefer the Winter Olympics which have more cohesive coverage because they are smaller. Besides, who can resist at least one really excellent hockey tournament. Olympic hockey is so much better than NHL hockey in my opinion.

In recent years, the Olympic image has become increasingly tarnished by scandal, money and power. Judging of artistic merit in sports such as figure skating and gymnastics is flawed and political. The Olympic movement is controlled by corporate money with endorsements and sponsorships required for athletic training. Performance drug use has been rampant for years and we are learning the creative ways athletes, trainers and even countries have acted to prevent detection. There is no longer any distinction between amateur and professional athletes.

My all time favourite Olympic story is told in the 1981 movie, Chariots of Fire. Athletic games were a vehicle for developing character, leadership, loyalty, honesty, mutual responsibility and national spirit. Eric Liddell, played superbly by Ian Charleson, was the epitome of an Olympic athlete. In his struggle between two callings, Eric Liddell wrote,

“I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast! And when I run I feel his pleasure.” 

He trained hard but did not compromise his personal convictions. He was gracious and encouraging to his competitors. He wrote, 

“In the dust of defeat as well as the laurels of victory there is a glory to be found if one has done his best.” 

In the movie, the Olympic Committee tries to get Eric Liddell to change his mind about running on the Sabbath. One member comments, 

"The lad, as you call him, is a true man of principle and a true athlete. His speed is mere extension of his life and his force. We sought to sever his running from himself. 

Eric Liddell went on to win the 400 m race at the Paris Olympics in 1924 and set a world record which stood for 12 years. He then left Scotland and fulfilled his calling as a missionary to China. He died in a Japanese prison camp in 1945. 

The Olympic motto is Citius, Altius, Fortius, Latin for "Faster, Higher, Stronger". We may have reached the limits of human performance without artificial enhancement. But the Olympic Creed is timeless. 

"The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, 

just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. 

The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."

Photo: Manitoulin Island sunset July 2016

How My Best Teacher Gave Me My First Job

My school years involved many moves and I attended more schools than grade levels. My husband can name every grade school and home room teacher he had but I remember only a couple of names. No single teacher left a great impression on me personally. I believe a great teacher teaches more than a lesson plan. They instil a passion for learning and make themselves vulnerable by sharing learning experiences from their own life.

The head of the physiotherapy school I attended was a real "battle-axe". She acted like a drill sergeant and never cracked a smile. Half of our class dropped out before the last year, usually leaving in tears. She made a cake for us on the last day, just before we graduated. I distinctly remember her talking about using unsalted butter in the icing. It was such an uncharacteristic comment. We were in shock as she smiled and started to tell us about her life in England during the war. She spoke of a love lost and how she was returning to Britain to care for her ageing mother. My education was excellent but I wonder how much more I would have learned, without fear, if she had shown us her personal side earlier.

My best teacher and the person who recognized I was ready for my first "job" was my mother.

Mom went to university and teachers' college before she was married. She taught kindergarten in a poor Toronto neighbourhood for a couple of years after she was married and then she and Dad went to South Africa. Mom was a gifted teacher and even though she did not work at a paying job again, she taught at church and at home. She taught me to read before I went to school and encouraged academic excellence in all of us. She was confident and instilled confidence in each of us.

I was 5-1/2 years old when my second brother, Philip was born. My first brother, Nathan is 18 months younger than me and I don't remember life without him. He was my main playmate and confidante. I remember the excitement of having a baby in the house and I loved to look after him. I changed his diapers which were bulky flannel things with big pins. I carried him around on my hip before he could walk. (After he learned to walk, he refused to be carried and that is an analogy of his entire life)

Mom brought Mark home when I was 8 and Stephen arrived when I was 9. I was happy to look after them. When Stephen was 3 months old, our family was in a serious car accident and Mom was in and out of hospital for a few years. Dad was also badly injured. That is when I truly became the keeper of my little brothers and learned how to manage household chores.

In spite of Mom's injuries and surgeries, she cooked, canned, prepared food for the freezer, sewed our clothes, made curtains, and was active in the church, even when she was on crutches. When I was 11, she bought material and a pattern and I made my first dress. I learned to cook and do laundry around the same time. I was always encouraged, not criticized for my efforts which I am sure were substandard at times. My maternal grandmother rounded out my education, taking me on trips, introducing me to many good books and going places with her interesting friends. She was a retired doctor but volunteered at the local nursing home on Saturdays. I worked in the tuck shop with her, serving ice cream and learning to count change. 

This morning I watched the owner of this fishing camp and his teenaged daughter doing repair work in one of the cabins. She was using a drill and worked under his casual direction fixing some latches. After that job was done, she drove him in a golf cart, as a work partner, to their next project. As well as spending time with her dad, she is gaining confidence and learning valuable skills. 

Some of my friends and coworkers spend a lot of time driving their children to camps and various activities. They don't have time to cook proper meals and home is just a place to sleep. Children are eager to help and no task is too mundane, especially if it involves the time and attention of a parent or grandparent. We took music and sports instruction too, but our most important life lessons were learned in unstructured time with the family. 

Ginger wrote a poignant post about giving and the need throughout life to contribute to your group. We all need community, purpose, and a job whether we are 5-1/2 or 85 years. The lessons my mother taught me can be applied through a lifetime.

A Cup of Peace

Tea is my favourite beverage. Period.

Why drink water when you can drink tea?

Black tea, white tea, green tea, chai, kombucha, tisanes. 

Made properly from quality leaves, not sweet, milk in my hot black tea please.

Several times a day, every day.

I started experimenting with coffee recently, grinding freshly roasted, bird-friendly beans and steeping them like tea in a French press. A little sugar and cream please...delicious!

Our daily indulgences, including tea, coffee, chocolate and sugar, can come at a great cost. Low wages, slavery, child labour, limited access to education, poor working and housing conditions, use of dangerous chemicals and ecological disruption are some major production issues. Pesticide traces in some teas exceed recommended limits which matters more for people like me who consume it frequently.

Fortunately, we can take small steps to improve the lives of people in countries that produce these products and also decrease our exposure to harmful chemicals. Awareness is the first step.

The Ethical Tea Partnership website states that they are creating a fairer, better, more sustainable tea industry -for tea workers, farmers, and the environment. Their current partners are listed here and include many of the popular tea brands. 

I have purchased Dilmah tea recently because of their commitment to ethical production practices. It is available in specialty shops in our city and online. I also order organic loose tea from Tealyra. It is hard to go back to teabags once you use full-bodied tea leaves. I truly do not understand why tea and coffee pods are so popular. Besides the expense and waste, the tea and coffee is low quality and heated plastic disrupts our hormonal balance. 

Join me at the dock, early in the morning for my next pot of really good tea.

Light, Darkness, Hope and Despair

She sat in the chair with her knees to her chest and her feet on the seat. She was so thin it seemed possible to fold her up and put her in an envelope. Her struggle with anxiety had gone on for decades and she craved medication more than food. Multiple investigations in the hospital revealed no specific pathology but she was too ill to function on her own.

He sat on the ground, his deformed, paralyzed legs folded beneath him. Spina bifida had left him this way from birth. He moved around in the dirt, pushing and lifting his body with his strong arms. He had no wheelchair or mobility aid. I watched as he sat in the shade in the courtyard of his home, singing and playing his guitar to no one in particular. Contented and part of a family and community in a poor Mexican fishing village, he had no complaints. 

All creatures are designed to survive in the best of times and the worst of times. It is normal to store fat in times of plenty to sustain life in times of famine. Animals, birds and other creatures are in a constant struggle with the elements and predators. Humans have always dealt with uncertainty. Natural disasters, wars, economic crashes, plagues and other illnesses have been present throughout recorded history. The human spirit is resilient and heroic human behaviour is usually born in adversity. Challenge and struggle is necessary to attain our full potential and strength;- emotionally, spiritually and physically. 

Canada is a country free of war and famine, a country with free medical care and social assistance. We have a democratic government and a fair judicial system. We have a better standard of living than the majority of people in the world, past and present. Most people I know are generally happy but there is an undercurrent of cynicism, criticism and dissatisfaction in our affluent society that is pervasive and destructive. Too many people struggle with addiction, depression, anxiety, lifestyle related illness, autoimmune diseases and a lack of purpose and hope. It is as if we expect life to be perfect making it difficult to cope with adversity in a healthy way. 

I watched a discussion recently where Bono and Eugene Peterson discuss the Psalms. In it, Bono says: “I would love if this conversation would inspire people who are writing these beautiful voices and writing these beautiful gospel songs — write a song about their bad marriage, write a song about how they’re pissed off at the government, because that’s what God wants from you. That truth — ‘the way, the truth’ — and that truthfulness — know the truth, ‘the truth will set you free’ — will blow things apart.”

Praise is meaningless if we have never experienced pain. We cannot appreciate light without experiencing darkness. It is important to face trouble with honesty and hope, not blame and cynicism. We need to make sure our children learn early that life is not always easy, maturity develops though adversity, and that perseverance is essential. Happiness and fulfillment comes from an attitude of gratitude, cultivating meaningful relationships, proper care of the body and soul, having achievable goals, and developing the ability to handle stress. 

Steve Bell is one of my favourite musicians (as well as being a Canadian) and I find his lyrics very meaningful and honest. Here is part of his adaptation of Psalm 90.

Psalm 90- Steve Bell 

Satisfy us in the morning with Your love

That we may sing for joy

And be glad in all our days

Satisfy us in the morning with Your love

Match the days Lord of our sorrow with Your joy

May Your deeds be always known

To the ones you call your own

Match the days Lord of our sorrow with Your joy

May the favour of the Lord

Rest upon us and our land

And establish for us all

The work of our hands

Yes the work of our hands

Summertime

Lake Manitou, Manitoulin Island, Ontario, Canada- view from our cabin

My childhood summer memories are spread across two hemispheres and much travel. I was born during a summer thunderstorm in January and my Christmas break from school was also our summer holiday. I remember trips from Durban to northern, higher, cooler altitudes during the hottest season as well as weekends at the beach on the Indian Ocean. I had no sense of seasons in South Africa.

In Canada, I enjoy the marked change of seasons but prefer the transitional ones, fall and spring. My perfect calendar would include two months of May and two of September, sacrificing November, December or even July. Some of our best holidays have been in September and October.

Lake Huron at Goderich, Ontario

I love the months we can sleep with the bedroom window open and when going outdoors is comfortable and convenient. Canadian winters are beautiful, treacherous, long and unpredictable. In our area of Ontario, summers are hot and humid and mosquitoes and other biting insects keep me away from my favourite trails. We have stayed in summer cottages in central Ontario where mosquitoes, black flies and deer flies have left us with scores of welts and sleepless nights as whining insects buzz in our ears.

Common Loon on Manitoulin Island

In my opinion, the only place to spend an Ontario summer vacation is on a LARGE body of water where insects are kept away by lake breezes. I love the beaches on Lake Huron and we vacationed at Southampton for several years when our children were small. Now, we usually spend a week on Manitoulin Island, the world's largest freshwater island in Lake Huron. The sound of waves, the call of the loon, the full moon on the water at night all speak the best of summer to me. A Muskoka chair, a good book and a cup of tea at the water's edge is a picture I keep in my mind on stressful days at work.

Inukshuk on the shoreline of Lake Huron at Goderich, Ontario

One thing I would advise my 20-something year old self would be to settle and work in a community on one of the Great Lakes. We are within 1 to 2 hours driving distance of Lakes Ontario, Erie and Huron but I would love to experience their moods every day, not just in the summer. Perhaps that will still happen. 

Sing, Sing a Song

Street Performers, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island

Birds sing, frogs sing, cicadas sing, mice sing, humans sing. Even if we think we are not musical, our hearts beat and our nervous systems hum. Each community and culture has a musical identity and we learn the nuances of our native rhythms, scales and tones at a very young age. Musical memories are long lasting and are often seated with emotional memories. Learning is enhanced when it is put to music and children learn the alphabet and numbers quickly to song.

Communities are increasingly diverse with a rising number of popular musical genres. My childhood home was filled with music. We all took music lessons and practiced our instruments in the living room. When records were played, everyone shared the experience. Dad listened to classical music on the radio every night after we went to bed and we went to sleep hearing the likes of Beethoven, Mozart and Chopin. Now, we are plugged into our individual iPods and seldom share music together. Once in a while I listen to my daughter’s playlist and try to make sense of “ska”, “metal” and other alternative songs that are as familiar to my brain as speaking Punjabi. My brain is too set to become fluent in new language or music styles.

Singsongs in Miramichi NB and Twillingate NL

This past summer we went to Newfoundland, the only Canadian province we had not visited. Newfoundland culture is unique as geographic isolation has allowed language and music to change at a much slower pace than the rest of North America. Communities on The Rock are often remote and all generations work and play together. Newfoundland kitchen parties are common and we attended a couple of them. The events have live music with instruments that range from guitars, fiddles and keyboards to spoons and ugly sticks. There really isn’t much distinction between audience and performers as everyone is free to sing and dance along. I loved Newfoundland and its people and their spontaneous, joyful musical expression.

Every Friday afternoon, a group of “Newfies”, who now live in Ontario, come to the hospital for a singsong with the patients. They play from a book (words only) with at least 100 songs and take requests from the audience. It is a transplanted kitchen party and they sing for a couple of hours at least. I took a patient with early onset advanced dementia to the auditorium when they were singing  “Leaving on a Jet Plane” by John Denver. 

“Peter, Paul and Mary,” he said as he sang the words. 

I am always amazed at music memories people retain. Each week we have a drum circle where patients choose a rhythm instrument and sing simple, familiar songs. Even if they don’t know the words, they can carry the beat.

We risk losing a shared musical community in our diverse urban world. The best music experiences link us with others. Christmas carols and songs are one of the few genres of music left that are widely familiar across generational groups in Western culture. Give me a kitchen party, a street party, a performance in a park or a singsong in the hospital. Give me a song I can sing and play too. 

Music on the street in old Montreal PQ

Sing, sing a song

Sing out loud

Sing out strong.

Sing of good things not bad

Sing of happy not sad.

Sing, sing a song

Make it simple to last

your whole life long.

Don't worry that it's not

good enough for anyone

else to hear.

Just sing, sing a song.

Joe Raposo

Unsolicited Advice

Fifty years later...impossible!

I received a five year diary for my twelfth birthday and remember thinking that I would be 17 years old when I finished my entries. Seventeen! I could not image being that old. And so I entered my teen years in the late 1960s.

What would I tell my younger self from my vantage point several decades later? Would I listen to advice, sound or otherwise? The voice of the moment is stronger than voices of experience in the past or future. And that present voice is usually our own. I doubt my younger self would have listened to all these words but this is what I would say.

The world will still be here in 50 years. Don’t stay awake at night worrying about the cold war or the rapture. 

You will continue to be part of a growing family you love and who love you.

You cannot even imagine the changes that will happen in the next half century. Embrace change without fear. Don’t be afraid to ask hard questions but be wary of people who think they have all the answers.

Everyone has a story. Take care to listen closely without judging. Be gracious and kind to everyone. There will always be one difficult person in your life and they will help you grow and mature if you are willing to learn. 

Don’t gossip or criticize others. And take great care not to become cynical, bitter or sarcastic. Don’t try to have the last word but know when to walk away from conflict. Live joyfully, peacefully and with contentment.

Most of us resist unsolicited advice. But the impact of stories, film, music and other expressions of popular culture can strongly affect the way we see the world. This song was popular in my teen years and I still have a copy of the Desiderata poem above my desk at work. One of my younger co-workers read it recently and remarked at its wisdom and beauty. She had never heard it before! So here is is to enjoy. I couldn't express advice better than this.

A Whiff of Memory

He was diagnosed with dementia several years ago. His high intelligence beforehand, supportive family and set routines allowed him to live alone in his house in the country until recently. He came into hospital with an infection and delirium and is now waiting for a long term care bed. His body is strong and he is accustomed to walking outdoors. The locked unit is confining and frustrating so I try to take him outside for a walk a couple of times a day. He picks up sticks on the lawns and checks the downspouts and drains of the outbuildings. We sit at the lookout over the river and watch the Turkey Vultures circling above. Like many people with dementia, he has lost his nouns, including the names of his children and his deceased wife. I talk about our surroundings and he responds politely with normal conversational cadence and tone but the words he strings together make no sense at all. 

As we walk along a ridge at the back of the property we come upon a sweet, strong smell. I ask him if he knows what it is. 

“Lily-of-the-valley,” he responds without hesitation.

I pick one stalk of fragrant white bells and put it in his buttonhole as we walk back to the locked unit.

Logos and Mythos

Trent Evans was a Canadian involved in making the ice for the hockey tournament at the 2002 Salt Lake City Winter Olympics. He secretly placed a “loonie”- our dollar coin- under the surface at centre ice. He did tell the players of the Canadian men and women’s hockey teams about the talisman and both teams went on to win gold medals. The “lucky loonie" was retrieved and is now in the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto. Similar coins have been placed beneath the ice at subsequent international hockey tournaments and the Royal Canadian Mint has released a commemorative edition "lucky loonie" for each Olympic Games since 2004. 

Logic would tell us that the teams won gold medals because of skill and hard work. But adding Mythos to the formula added confidence and initiative which may have contributed to the victory. Having a ritual or physical lucky charm can decrease stress and anxiety, give a more positive focus and an illusion of control. Superstitions can provide meaningful psychological benefit, giving a sense of power thus diminishing negative emotions such as helplessness. 

My best friend from childhood is a tenured professor at a Toronto university who has published several books and is one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. We had brunch together this past weekend and she shared how the number “5” or better still, “55” had significant meaning for her. Both of us were born in 1955. When applying for her doctorate program her application form had her special number on it. She sets her alarm for x:55 AM and goes to bed and x:55 PM. When she bought her current home, she knew it was the right place because the street address was “55”.  And of course her vanity license plate includes the number 55. I have known her for over 50 years and was not aware of her private idiosyncrasy. 

Medicine is an interesting field where Logos and Mythos go hand in hand. Medical practitioners are well educated scientifically but patients are emotionally vulnerable and need more than facts. When we visit a doctor we expect a diagnosis, adding great pressure to quickly provide a name for our ailment and a prescription for an appropriate remedy. Imagine going to a doctor and coming out without a diagnosis and a concrete treatment plan! Misdiagnosis is a huge problem and the overprescription of antibiotics and pain medication is at crisis levels. Using inert formulas as medication can bring about real physiological cures in what is known as the placebo effect. Placebos were used frequently when I first worked at a hospital but they are now only given with patient consent, which erases their value in my opinion. Brian Goldman is a Canadian doctor who has an interesting show and podcast on CBC Radio One called “White Coat, Black Art”. He explores the “art” of medicine which has not changed all that much over the millennia. 

Most of us have some interest in mystical and supernatural phenomena. I wrote a post a few years ago about the ghost, Francine, who supposedly haunts our hospital. We blame all unexplained events on her, from call bells that go off in empty rooms to consistently similar visions reported by patients at night. I do not have Logos to accept or refute the presence of ghosts so Mythos prevails.

Is faith different than superstition? Many times religion becomes “religistition” - a mix of faith and superstitious belief and ritual. There are people who seek indulgences, works, or a trail of “signs and wonders” rather than focusing on a faith that quietly sustains the soul in good times and bad. I see God at work around me and use prayer as preparation for my day. But it is easy to slip into rote prayers, expectations of blessings, and pronouncements of finding "God's will".

The human mind is very susceptible to suggestion. Superstitions change the way people behave either by increasing fear and anxiety or by boosting confidence, performance and positive outcomes. Knowledge is a combination of logic and intuitive insight which is not always present in balance. Mythos varies culturally and from person to person and helps explain the gaps in Logos which we all experience. How boring would life be with nothing but logic?