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.

Little Climbers

The first phrase I spoke was “Get down!”  I said this sternly after standing in my high chair.  No doubt I’d heard those words a few times.

Some grandparents secretly – or not so secretly – chuckle to themselves when their escapist child winds up with an escapist child, or their drama queen granddaughter is as dramatic and stubborn as their own daughter once was.  Those grandparents would be laughing at me now too.

“Get down” has been spoken frequently in our home the past thirteen years.  Also “Get off” (the counter, the dresser, the piano) and “Get out” (of the fridge, the pantry, and the dryer).

It’s a sad day for me when the baby learns to drag chairs across rooms.  Nothing is safe any longer.  HE’s not safe any longer.  This morning he climbed on a chair, stuck a knife in the toaster then smeared butter all over it.  That was a new trick.  Dancing on the table and swinging the chandelier is an old one.

All of my children have been climbers.  I’m sure many parents can empathize.  We really should organize a Parents of Climbers support group.

For now, I’m done with chairs.  I’ve stacked them in the sunroom. We’ll bring them in for dinner, or saw the legs off the table.  If you come to visit, bring a pillow.

But it’s worth it.  Someday my chairs will all stay where they belong and I’ll long for little grand-climbers to come and visit.  And I’ll chuckle as I watch my kids pull them down, off, and out.

Too Much Info

At first I thought the trend to put decals representing family members on rear vehicle windows was a cute idea.  But when I considered buying some for myself, I realized it was a bad idea.  Why would I want strangers to know how many family members, including pets, rode in my vehicle or lived in my home?

Consider the following:

Someone sees your vehicle with 6 stickers on the back:  mom and dad, 2 boys, 1 girl, and a dog.  He follows you home and learns where you live.  Later, he watches from a safe distance while a teenage girl rings your doorbell.  A few minutes later, mom, dad, 2 boys, and a dog leave.  Now Mr. Rapist knows only a babysitter and your daughter are home.  Too much info.

Someone sees your vehicle with 3 stickers on the back:  mom and dad, and 1 boy.  He follows you home and learns that you have a big house, two vehicles, and an RV.  He realizes that a wealthy family with one child is more likely to have expensive furniture and electronics inside.  So Mr. Burglar waits for mom, dad, and son to leave the house then strikes.  Too much info.

Someone sees your vehicle with 5 stickers on the back:  mom, 3 girls, and a cat.  He follows single mom into the grocery store and strikes up a conversation with her in the kitty litter aisle.  Before long Mr. Pedophile is dating mom and knows he’ll soon have access to 3 daughters.  Too much info.

It turns out those cute stickers that display our family pride are a security risk.  They simply give out too much information.  Maybe I’m being paranoid but if I ever buy them, it’ll be 5 men and 12 dogs that never leave the house.

Watchful Citizens

Last week a friend of mine posted on Facebook that there had been an abduction a few blocks from her home in Fort McMurray.  Roads were closed, police out in full force.

The next day another friend posted that HE was the one the police were looking for.  He had been on the way to the park with his two children when it started to rain.  His autistic son began to scream and run, so he gave chase with his 4-year-old daughter on his shoulders.  Someone heard the screams and saw the man running with a little girl on his shoulders – and came to the wrong conclusion.

Some think this story is hilarious.  I have mixed feelings about it.  Of course I can see the humourous side and I’m thankful it has a happy ending, but I find it rather alarming that an entire city was disrupted and the police’s time wasted because of a misunderstanding that could have been avoided if the witness had spent a few more seconds to understand what was really going on.

On one hand I want to say “thank you” for watching and helping to keep our children safe.  It’s nice to know people are willing to step in and be good Samaritans and pro-active bystanders.

On the other hand, sometimes I wonder if we are too quick to assume the worst of parents and others – labeling them neglectful or abusive without any real understanding of what’s actually going on.  As in my friend’s case, how many innocent situations are being turned into dramatic, traumatizing ones?

But speaking of traumatic events, I’m sure nothing could be as awful as having a child kidnapped, so let’s continue to be watchful citizens, using our brains and our intuition to keep our neighbourhoods safe.

Home For The Holidays

When I was single and living in Calgary, travelling home for the holidays meant an eight-hour journey through the Rockies into British Columbia.

The first year I took this trip, I put my life in my brother’s hands.  He put me in an old Chevy with a leaky radiator.  It was minus twenty-five and we crawled into Nanton just as the car died.  With cardboard in the grill we continued on, detouring around a twenty-one-car pile up, then creeping up and sliding down Kootenay Pass.  We arrived home after midnight, cold and exhausted.

The return trip was even worse.  Kootenay Pass was closed so we had to take the ferry which, due to high winds, was shut down right after we crossed.  Then we found ourselves stuck in a snow bank on a nearly deserted road.  Fortunately, three big guys in a pickup truck lifted us out.  We continued to Fernie where we spent the night trying to get warm.

The next year I took the bus.  It was a holiday-crowded overnighter and my seatmate was a clean lumberjack-look-alike whose legs were too long for the seat.  When I awoke, I apologized for using him as a pillow.  He said, “That’s okay, you can sleep on me anytime.”

You never know what might happen on a bus.  My dad learned this in 1961 when a large, white-haired woman wearing a red coat boarded and the drunks in the back began to sing Here Comes Santa Claus.  Luckily the woman wasn’t offended and the passengers enjoyed the moment.

However you choose to travel this holiday season, I hope you do so safely.  If you drive, why not tuck a shovel, candle, matches, blanket, and extra drinking water in the back seat?

Season’s Greetings, Merry Christmas, and Safe Travels to you and yours!