I Believe In Angels

This was a hard year for our family. I think it was a hard year for many Albertans. Heck, it was probably a hard year for most of humanity.

Because of this, I was a little apprehensive about heading into the holiday season. Being immersed in school work, I planned to wait until December before hauling out the tree and accoutrements. I made it to November 29^th before succumbing to my son’s big eyes, pleading for the tree to go up and one more box of decorations to come out. Just one more box. Just one more...

He’s smart. Last night I sat on the couch to study while the tree sparkled cheerfully in the corner and I felt content and peaceful. Maybe Christmas shouldn’t be postponed. Maybe Christmas is exactly what I need.

As I basked in the glow of the tree lights and reflected on my life, I remembered all the angels who have helped our family this year. Not winged seraphs dressed in white robes singing “Glory to God in the Highest”, but angels dressed in regular clothes, quietly going about doing good.

We all need angels, especially in these hard times. Angels in all shapes and sizes – mothers, fathers, children, friends, teachers, volunteers, healthcare providers, emergency responders, neighbours, employers, and strangers. They are you. They are me. Helping, sharing, loving, and spreading peace and good will to all men.

If this is Christmas, I’m ready.

I wish you all a joyous – and angelic – Holiday Season.

Inexperienced Judges

A few weeks ago Harambe, a male gorilla at the Cincinnati Zoo, was shot to save the life of a four year old boy who fell into his enclosure.

While this was a terrible tragedy, I was alarmed at the outcry on social media. Some suggested the gorilla should have been saved at the expense of the child while many others screamed gross parental negligence.

I have a few things to say about that. First, if she took her kids to the zoo, she was trying to be a good mother.

Second, those who don’t have kids don’t get to make judgments about those who do. Unless you babysit regularly or work in a daycare, you simply have no idea how fast and smart and resourceful those little people can be – some more than others. All it takes is one trip to the bathroom, or one glance in the opposite direction. Yes, care-givers need to be vigilant but perfection is impossible. Mistakes happen. Accidents happen.

Those with one child shouldn’t judge those with two, those with two shouldn’t judge those with three, and so forth. Likewise, if you don’t have teenagers, preschool boys, twin girls, or a special needs child, you don’t get to judge those who do.

Here’s a novel idea: Maybe we just shouldn’t judge one another.

That can be hard. For example, I wonder why those who noticed the child go through the fence didn’t grab him by the ankle and hang on. After all, it takes a village – to help, not criticize.

At Times Like This

I’m writing this on Wednesday, May 4^th, the day Alberta waited to see which way the fires would go next.  I’m watching the town I lived in for five years burn. I’m in shock. My heart is heavy. Tears are close to the surface. I’m grateful for social media to keep track of my friends as they leave Fort McMurray – some heading north, some south.

A family of six is asleep in my basement, in beds we made at midnight when we heard they were headed our way. It took them a gruelling twelve hours to make the four-hour journey to Westlock.

Two days before these events, I found myself restless and uneasy. I felt guilty sitting in my comfortable house with a full belly. I couldn’t think of the unrest in the world and not feel an urgency to do something about it. But what? Since January I’ve had to become vigilantly frugal and live on a budget tighter than ever, so donating cash wasn’t an option.

Forty-eight hours later, with our own evacuees headed this way, I had my answer.

At times like this I am so impressed with my fellow humans. They pitch in and give – time, money, food, shelter, and whatever else is needed over the next days, weeks, and months.

Amidst the tragedy and chaos there is purpose and calm as we put aside our differences and unite to preserve the things that matter to us all – life and love.

Here We Go Again

Once again, campaign signs are popping up on lawns and along highways. Between municipal, provincial, and federal elections it feels as though one barely ends when another begins.

As if we didn’t have enough elections of our own, Canadians also closely follow U.S. campaigns. No wonder it seems like we never get a break.

In Alberta, candidates are currently asking us to put our confidence in them. They smile and wave and knock on doors and try to convince us that they will represent us well.

I’m always conflicted as to whether I should vote for the party I favor even if I don’t like the local candidate, or vote for the candidate I feel a connection to if I don’t like the party they represent.

I wish we could do away with political parties altogether. Politicians could act as educators – explaining issues and options. Online referendums could be used to regularly poll citizens to find out what “the voice of the people” actually is, and a few elected representatives could work together to put those results into practice. I’m sure that would cost less than private jets and committees all the other nonsense we pay for.

Sometimes I wonder if it matters who I vote for since it seems like once elected, they just do their own thing or whatever their party tells them to do.

But my conscience won’t let me avoid the polls. As a citizen of a democracy it is my right and duty to both speak up and vote.  So here we go again – bring on the campaigns.

Past and Present

St. Patrick’s Day is a week away.  It’s not a day I get too excited about – I just make sure my kids are wearing green underwear so they don’t get pinched and we’re good to go.

Recently, however, I was bitten by the Family History bug.  I’ve become particularly interested in researching my mother’s side.  My Grandma Olive was adopted so we don’t know much about her biological parents, but I have learned that her father was part Irish – Patrick O’Neil was his grandfather.

So what do you know?  I’ve got a wee bit o’ Irish in me after all!

There’s something addicting about genealogical research.  When you find a record with names, dates, and places, stories begin to form and relationships develop – no matter that you’ve lived decades, centuries, or oceans apart.

My Grandma Olive’s parents were married with five children.  When they separated, the father took his three sons and the mother, Annie, took her two baby girls – though she was soon unable to provide for them and had to place them in an orphanage.  When Olive was three she went to live with a couple who later adopted her.

I truly appreciate Olive’s adoptive parents who gave her a good home, but my heart aches for Annie, my biological great-grandmother who had to give away her babies.  I’m drawn to her – and I’m grateful for every bit of information I can find to piece her life together.

And so I urge you to record your own family histories and share them on websites like Ancestry, Family Search, and My Heritage so that those searching for their past, like me, can find it.

Misery Loves Company

At the end of January we took our son to Edmonton for a long-awaited dental procedure.  Because of his asthma and the possible complications of general anesthesia, it needed to happen at the Stollery Children’s Hospital.

When we got there, I was amazed at the number of children going in for surgery.  Dressed in yellow and white-striped pajama bottoms and green hospital gowns with numbing cream taped to their hands, they sat on parents’ laps and played electronic games.

It’s an emotional thing to wait with a child before surgery.  Fear of the unknown coupled with the knowledge that every now and then something goes wrong is an effective recipe for anxiety.  But, for some reason, seeing so many others there made me feel better.  I guess misery does love company.

Finally, we were taken to a lonely hallway on the third floor where our son happily climbed onto his gurney.  I kissed him, told him he was “my best little boy”, and quickly moved behind him so he couldn’t see my tears.  Seven minutes later my husband came out of the Operating Room and reported he was asleep.  I dried my eyes and we went for lunch.

When we came back to wait for the dentist’s report, another mother was kissing her infant daughter “goodbye”.  Watching her cry made me start up again.  Our eyes met and I said, “It’s hard, isn’t it?”  We both chuckled through our tears and I think she felt better knowing someone understood her pain.

Sometimes, we just need to know we’re not alone.

Picked Last

I was not an athletic child.  There is a picture of me at age 10, standing at the start of a church picnic race.  I was wearing a red and white plaid shirt, red velour shorts pulled up nearly to my armpits, and flip flops.  But it was my posture – my totally nonathletic stance – that made me laugh.  And cringe.  And it became clear why I was often picked last in PE.

It took awhile for my muscles to catch up with my height, but by high school I wasn’t totally hopeless.  I was a mean shot in basketball and very good at table-tennis, though the memories of being picked last still remain.

Imagine my heartache when my daughter told me recently that she was picked last for a team.  It didn’t seem to bother her as it bothered me, but it made me wonder, again, why adults do this to kids.  It’s not like there’s only one way to balance teams.

I’m guessing most PE teachers or coaches were athletic as children and, as a result, were popular – thus never experiencing the agony of standing there, kicking at the dirt, trying to look as if you didn’t care as you waited to hear your name, knowing your team didn’t really want you but, rather, were stuck with you.

You’d think, with all the bullying awareness campaigns, adults who inflict this psychological pain upon children would realize that they are helping the bullies – essentially putting a target on the backs of those picked last.

And I have one thing to say about that.  Please stop.

May Mittens

My preschooler recently discovered a pair of mittens hiding in the bottom of the diaper bag.  I put them there early in the winter to make sure we always had a pair in reserve.  He was delighted when he found them.  He’d been trying to wear his sisters’ gloves but they were always too big and he couldn’t quite get his fingers in the right places.

Now he wears his new blue mittens as often as he can.  Inside, outside, to the park when it’s seventeen degrees…

But who can blame him?  It might be seventeen degrees today but there’s no guarantee it will be above zero tomorrow.  Hi, I’m Kathryn.  I live in Alberta.

I’m often amazed around mid-March when people start complaining about the long winter and how spring just does not want to come this year.  I feel like taking them gently by the shoulders, looking into their eyes and, with as much kindness as I can muster, breaking the news to them that snow could be in the forecast for another two months.  Hi, what’s your name?  Do you know what province you live in?

I must admit, by early May I’m as tired of winter as everyone else and by then I’ve got seven pairs (each) of winter boots, splash boots, running shoes, and flip flops kicking around the house.  Enough!  So I start washing winter coats and packing away boots.  Away – but never too far.  At least until after the May long weekend.

If it snows after Victoria Day, I may have to move back to BC.

Social Media Scrooge

Citizens of Earth have lived through many ages – the Stone Age to the Middle Ages to the recent Space Age.  Currently, we’re in the Computer Age, also known as the Information Age.

Maybe it should be called the Social Media Age.  Facebook.  Twitter.  YouTube.  Pinterest.  LinkedIn.  So many social networking sites that connect us with people and information!

I often go on Facebook to learn all kinds of news about my friends and family.  At this time of year, I’ve noticed many status updates about Christmas preparations.

I’ve also noticed harsh criticism for those who like to decorate early.  In mid-November, I was shocked by the mean-spirited comments several people made after a friend posted a picture of her newly-decorated Christmas tree.

Seriously?  Of all the things to grouse about, people are choosing to get upset about decorating a Christmas tree?  Annoyed by someone wanting to enjoy the holiday season by starting early to avoid the rush and panic?

Let me explain something about Christmas:  It takes a lot of preparation and work.  You know that saying, “the magic of Christmas”?  Well, it doesn’t refer to waving a wand and having everything come together on its own.  The tree doesn’t decorate itself.  The presents don’t wrap themselves.  The turkey doesn’t remember to defrost itself and jump into the roasting pan.

Who takes care of those things?  The same person who set up her tree early and paced herself so she could keep the spirit of peace, good will, and cheer throughout the holiday season.

Don’t knock it, Scrooge.

Pro-Compromise

It’s an ongoing debate, but both Pro-Life and Pro-Choice groups have ideas I agree with.

I believe that life is precious and we should do all we can to respect and preserve it.  I also believe that freedom of choice is not only a right but a great blessing.

I also believe both groups could work on improving a few things.

The Pro-Lifers could tone down their graphic ads and shock tactics and focus more on offering help and counseling to expectant mothers who may be considering terminating a pregnancy because they don’t see any other options.

The Pro-Choicers could encourage women to make smart choices – like choosing to not use substances that impair judgment, choosing to use adequate birth control, or choosing to reserve intimacy for loving and committed relationships where a baby would be a blessing, not a burden.

I am against abortion, except in the rare instances when a mother’s life or sanity is at risk and competent medical advice urges termination.  After serious contemplation, a woman has the right to choose to save her life.

Does that make me Pro-Life or Pro-Choice?  Or something else.  Pro-Compromise?

During this time of Remembrance, I hope we will acknowledge that terminating life can have long-lasting physical and emotional consequences.  If abortion is here to stay, we need better regulation and education, more positive alternatives, honesty and accountability, and increased counseling.

We live in a great country, so let’s find a great solution – even if that solution means compromise.

Scary Jeans

In honour of Halloween, I will write about something else I find disturbing.  Skinny jeans.

The first time I saw them I sighed.  I knew that this fashion – the painted-on look – was one I would not touch.  Some people don’t care how they look in certain styles – they just wear whatever they want – but I’m not one of those people.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not a twig so I have no intention of squeezing myself into such pants and inflicting pain on myself and those who see me in them.  That’s okay.  I’m at a place in my life where I can wear my boot-cut or straight-leg jeans and say pooh-pooh to particular fashions.

My daughters, however, do care about the latest styles.  When I take them shopping and we have trouble finding trendy jeans that will fit them, what do they think?  That they’re fat.

This upsets me.  My husband is 6’4” and I’m 5’8”.  Petite doesn’t run in our family, but even when I was totally skinny at 125 pounds, I still had to buy XL pants and queen-size pantyhose.

I don’t get it.

We spend time convincing women and girls that they are beautiful “just the way they are”.  We expend energy promoting self-esteem and healthy body image.  We explain that models in magazines are airbrushed and altered.

Then we allow skinny jeans and short-shorts to take over.  I thought we had smartened up and left the era of super skinny being the norm, but I guess we’re back.

It’s scarier than Halloween.

Live Without Regret

The one zucchini plant I managed to grow in my garden this year took awhile to get going.  It started producing in August and was still going strong in September when a friend called to warn me of a heavy frost forecast.

I looked at the tiny zucchinis growing on that plant and couldn’t bring myself to pick them yet.  Instead, I got two fleece throws from the car and covered as much of the plant as I could.  It worked!  I saved my little zucchinis and they continued to grow until ready to be harvested.

Meanwhile, more flowers bloomed and attempted to turn into zucchinis, so I continued the ritual of covering my zucchini plant at night and uncovering it during the day to allow it as much warmth and sunlight as possible.

After a few weeks, I noticed the zucchinis didn’t seem to be growing anymore.  Although my neighbour laughed at me, I went on covering the plant for a few more nights.  I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing something I could have saved.

My actions reminded me of the quote hanging on my kitchen wall.  It says: Live Without Regret.

When faced with difficult decisions, I have often considered the question, “In the future, will I regret not doing this?”  Will I regret not having another baby?  Will I regret not staying home with my children?  Will I regret not covering my zucchini plant?

I can’t always avoid regret, but I enjoy the peace of mind that comes from trying.

Stranger Danger

This morning, on the way home from dropping my kids off at school, I noticed a boy sitting on the sidewalk beside his bike.  By the way he was holding his leg and looking at his hands, it was obvious he had fallen.  He looked to be about 10, and knowing kids don’t accept help from strangers these days, I drove on.

As I neared my driveway, I looked back to see if he was on his way yet.  He wasn’t, so I pulled a U-turn.  I lowered the passenger window and asked if he was okay.  He said “yeah” though his face said otherwise.  When I asked if he needed help or a band-aid he ignored me and pushed his bike away.

I hope he’s okay and, of course, I don’t take offense to his rejection, but when you’re a well-meaning adult wanting to help a child in need, it’s hard to know that – to them – you’re the big bad STRANGER.

Last spring my daughter was also on her way to school when her shoelace wrapped around her pedal and she crashed her bike.  A man stopped to help, but that scared her even more so she told him she was fine.  Amidst tears, she got herself unwound just as her older sibling came back to check on her.

It’s rather sad that we are taught not to trust.  There’s got to be some way to recognize real stranger danger; some way to keep our kids and ourselves safe without being suspicious of everyone.  Is education or intuition the answer?

Community Involvement

Laundry was a big deal when I was growing up.  The wringer washer required the clothes to be agitated with soap, squeezed through rollers, rinsed in fresh water, then squeezed again.  My mom usually spent two mornings each week doing this, after which she’d lug the heavy baskets of wet clothes out to the clothesline to dry.

Automatic washers and dryers sure save a lot of time!  So do dishwashers, microwaves, blenders, bread makers, computers, and all kinds of other devices that most of us now own.

Many products are even advertised “…so you can spend time on the important things...”  I’d like to know what important things we’re spending our extra time on.  Facebook?

I hope family is number one, but I’d also like to see more volunteering in the community.  Many of us already do, but with all the time we’re saving these days with our helpful doodads, we should be seeing an increase in volunteers, not a decline.

Schools are a great place to start.  We need parents and grandparents to go on field trips, extra help with pizza and sports days, reading mentors, and people to weed our outdoor garden beds, to name a few.  Last year our pancake breakfast and hot dog days were cancelled due to a lack of volunteers.

Healthy schools are at the heart of healthy communities.  With all the time we’re saving now with our fancy gadgets, why not spend that extra time getting involved in something worthwhile?

An End and A Beginning

This is it:  The last week before school starts again.

About this time every year I look back on the summer and wonder where the time went.  Did we do everything we wanted to do?  Did we accomplish our summertime goals?

For me, the first goal of summer is to relax.  Sleeping in.  Hanging out.  Playing together.  Reading alone.  Preparing easy meals.  Not packing school lunches – yay!

Then I think about the things we need to do that are easier to accomplish during the summer, like swim lessons, painting with the windows open, and having garage sales.

The away vacations and leisure activities are bonuses – things to create family memories or write about the first day of school when the teacher assigns the inevitable “What Did You Do This Summer?” essay.

The last few weeks of August take on a life of their own as we prepare to go back to school.  This year I’m determined not to fall into the back to school shopping trap, though sometimes the school supply lists baffle me.  Since when are white-out and reinforcements necessary items?  At least I’m happy to see only twelve pencils listed instead of the sixty they asked for one year in Fort McMurray.  Sixty pencils?  That worked out to more than one a week!

In any case, as the end of summer arrives, another season quickly takes its place.  Funny how that works.

Now what do I want to accomplish this fall?

Lazy, Hazy, and Crazy

The lyrics of the popular 1963 song by Nat King Cole say that it’s time to “roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer”.

“Lazy” alright.  You’d think that being able to get outdoors would automatically mean more exercise but, unfortunately, lying on the beach, lounging on the back porch, and chilling in the basement don’t seem to burn many calories.

According to the song, we should be breaking out the “soda and pretzels and beer”.  For my family it would be more like burgers and ice-cream treats and tall glasses of lemonade, but they still don’t seem to keep the bathroom scales in balance.

I have more luck keeping off the pounds during the winter when I don’t need to think twice about turning on the oven to cook up a healthy, organic roast beef dinner, and when ice-cream is used as a garnish on homemade apple crisp or peach cobbler.

The good news is: my last year’s swimsuit is too big for me this summer.  The bad news is: I get to go shopping again for a cute and modest swimsuit – one that isn’t cut down to my navel or up to my waist and doesn’t float over my head when I jump into the water.  Ah, swimsuit shopping.  It definitely makes for a “crazy” day.

I’m not sure about the “hazy” part, but if I don’t eat those fresh garden veggies and ripe summer fruit, I may need to be “rolled out” by the end of the summer.

Vacation Recuperation

My husband hasn’t earned much vacation time yet, but he was allowed to take a Friday and Monday off so we could have an extended weekend away with the kids.

As usual, our vacation consisted of travelling south to see family and friends.  With careful planning, we managed to squeeze in lots of fun and worthwhile things.

We visited my parents (first time since my dad’s heart attack), spent time with my husband’s grandma (she’ll be 91 soon), and stayed and played with two of my sisters and their families. 

We spent a day at Calaway Park, had a picnic at a spray park, visited my Naturopath, played games,

enjoyed a barbecue with friends, walked around a picturesque lake, and attended an uplifting church service where my sister and niece spoke about the lessons they learned during their recent hair-raising canoe trip down the treacherous Milk River.

 

Amidst the fun, there were some unexpected surprises:  a drenching downpour at Calaway Park, a debilitating, day-long migraine for my daughter, and waking up in Calgary the second morning of our trip to find the left back window of our van smashed out. 

 

Now we’re home, it’s time to deal with four days’ worth of laundry, a dirty and broken van, and some coughs and colds.

My grandma used to say (about her grandkids):  “I love to see them come, but I love to see them go!”  I feel the same about vacations.  I love to get away, but I love to come home!

Let the recuperating begin.
 

Hot Summer Nights

We finally got the hot summer days we’ve been waiting for.  I remind myself of this as I lie in bed at night with my sheet kicked off and the fan on full blast.

But the discomfort of hot summer nights is worth it because of all the things we can do on hot summer days that we can’t do on cold winter days.  Right?

I remember the care-free summer days of childhood.  After the morning work of weeding the garden (I was responsible for a 20-foot row of beans when I was five), there was plenty of time for playing in “Pine Needle Palace” where mud pies were served on rhubarb leaves and “Cops and Robbers” in the woods with walkie-talkies.  In the evenings there were trips to the lake or the creek to wash away the dust and sweat of the day.

I try to help my children have happy summer days like I did.  The younger ones I can hardly keep inside the house, but the suggestion to “go outside and play” is usually met with moans and groans from the older ones.

What happened?  When did “go outside and play” become a punishment instead of a treat?  Is it age?  Or apathy?

If all we want to do is watch Netflix and play on our iPads, we might as well have winter all year long.  So I’ll send my kids out and you send yours out and maybe they’ll find each other and learn what summer’s all about.

People Are Priceless

There were several things I considered writing about this week.  End of the school year, etc.  But it’s hard to focus on normal activities when so much is going on south of us.

Television and social media has been bombarded with pictures and news stories of the flooding and destruction in southern Alberta.  While some of the stories have been negative (looting, price gouging, etc.), the majority have been positive:  people helping people, donations pouring in, emergency responders working round the clock to ensure public safety.

When disaster strikes, I think it’s interesting to note our first reactions:  Where’s my family?  Is my family safe?  What about my friends?  Who can I help?

We’re willing to leave everything, grab our loved ones, and get out.  We’re willing to open our homes to family, friends, and even strangers.  We’re willing to donate food, clothing, blankets, toiletries, toys, money, and time to help those in need.

Why?  Because deep down, we know our families and friends – and all people – are the most important things in this world.

Money and possessions are nice and even necessary, but when we lose belongings it’s the photographs, family mementos, and heirlooms – the reminders of times with those we love – that we feel most sick about.

Homes and vehicles and electronic gadgets can be swept away in a moment.  But relationships last forever.  That’s why we feel the urge to help, give, serve, praise, work, lift, and pull together in times of need.  Because we know people are priceless.

I wish we acted that way all the time.

Ringing Bells

One evening a few months ago, I went to the library.  When it was time to check out, no one was at the front desk.  Instead, there was a bell and a sign that said “Ring Bell For Service”.

I stood there and looked at that little bell.  Then I looked around to see if anyone noticed me.  If they did, they didn’t let on.

So I took a deep breath and rang the bell.  Someone immediately appeared and happily served me.

For some reason, I’ve never liked ringing bells like that.  I’d rather catch someone’s eye and smile to let them know I’m ready, or touch them on the arm and say, “Can you help me, please?”

As I left the library, I thought about why I react the way I do to ringing bells for service.  I was reminded of a book I read years ago called The Color Code by Taylor Hartman.

The premise of the book is that all people have a dominant “colour” or personality type.  In a nutshell, “Reds” need power and respect, “Blues” need relationships and appreciation, “Whites” need peace and kindness, and “Yellows” need fun and attention.

I’m a blue-red.  My husband is a blue-white.  The book helped me understand myself, family, friends, and co-workers better.  I found it interesting to see how other colour combinations interact.

It turns out I didn’t want to ring the bell because it might interrupt or annoy someone – in other words, hurt a relationship.  I was being a true Blue.

What’s your colour?