The Wrong Country

I celebrated my birthday in the middle of a blizzard.  A friend called to wish me happy birthday and asked why in the world I didn’t stay in New Zealand where I could blow out my candles on the beach.

Believe me, I’ve sometimes felt like I’m living in the wrong country.  While others are loading up their skis and snowboards, dragging out their sleds and skidoos, and lacing up their skates and snowshoes, I’m doubling up my socks and sweaters.

My aversion to winter sports may have started my first year in Canada when I was two and couldn’t see over the snow drifts.  Or maybe that same winter when I walked onto an ice rink in regular boots, slipped, and whacked my head.

Sledding is about the only winter sport I’ve ever enjoyed.  Growing up on the side of a BC mountain it was kind of hard not to.  Yes, I’ve done my share of sledding, also enduring the related injuries, including the worst bloody nose I’ve ever had when I crashed on crusty snow.

Skating and skiing were part of our PE curriculum (I think).  At least they dragged us off to the rink and Red Mountain ski hill enough times.  I tried, but I knew things weren’t going well when the teacher asked, “Kathryn, would you like to help the Kindergarten class put on their skates instead?”

I just don’t get what there is to like about skiing.  It’s cold, it’s fast, it’s high (chair lifts: “don’t look down, don’t look down”), and one can snowplow for only so long.

I’m glad many of you enjoy winter sports; I wish I did too.  Maybe I really do have Kiwi climate preferences in my blood.  But if I lived there, I wouldn’t get to shovel walks, drag garbage bins through snow, or start my car a half hour before I go anywhere.

 

Or have a white Christmas.

Anticipation

This time last year I wrote an article called “The Top of the Hill”.  It was about me turning thirty-nine and dreading turning forty.

Well, this week I’ll reach that milestone, and you know what?  I’m fine with it.  No big deal.  I’m forty!!  I’ve earned my gray hairs, spider veins, and skin tags!

Before I turned thirty, I also panicked.  And I’ll probably freak out about turning fifty.  But I’m starting to see a pattern:  Sometimes the anticipation is worse than the actual event.

It works the other way too.  Sometimes the anticipation is better than the event – like the vacation you planned for a year then vomited the entire time.

When I was a teenager, the thought of moving away from home was frightening.  I couldn’t fathom ever being ready to live away from my family.  But I did it.  I lived on my own for six years before I got married.

My daughter worries about moving away from home.  I tell her not to worry – that when it’s time, she’ll be ready.  Funny how that works.  Anticipation can help us to prepare for and accept what’s coming.  A wise man once said, “If you are prepared, you shall not fear”.

Then there’s cleaning toilets, ironing, and dusting – three chores I detest.  When I anticipate them, I am miserable.  When I jump in, get it done, reward myself, and bask in the triumph of a job completed, I am happy.  Why do I waste time and energy dreading things?

I hope that as the years go on, I will wisely remember to savour each moment and each challenge, looking forward – with the joyous, motivating kind of anticipation, not the worrisome, anxious kind – to what the next day will bring.

Reading Week

The week before Christmas was a bust, but the week after was perfectly lovely.  My kids were occupied for hours at a time playing Just Dance on the Wii, so I got to snuggle on the couch and catch up on my reading.

I love to read.  When I have a book on the go, I feel like I’ve always got something to look forward to.

My favourite genres are historical fiction and Christian romance, but at Christmastime I love short stories like A Stranger For Christmas by Carol Lynn Pearson and Christmas Jars by Jason F. Wright.

Lately I’ve been savouring Richard Paul Evans work, including his latest series – The Walk.  Last year The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows impressed me.

I prefer books that uplift and inspire.  I need to be a little more informed, happier, wiser, or motivated after reading a book.  If they don’t meet my criteria I feel cheated, so I’m also very picky about what I recommend to others.

For me, it’s not enough to be a page-turner.  I don’t like feeling disturbed or scared, but I guess some people do.  This past Fall I was dismayed to see some of the titles listed on the order forms that came home from the school.  It made me wonder if we’re putting literacy and the ability to read above the quality of what’s going into our heads.  I believe the books we read contribute to shaping our characters and identities, for better or for worse.  And once it’s in, it’s there to stay.

As a youth, a teacher shared the following quote with me:  “Some books are meant to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested” (Francis Bacon).  I agree.

Healthy New Year

This past week, before the New Year and its accompanying resolutions, I managed to lose five pounds.  I think that’s the first time I’ve ever made it through the holidays without having to undo a button on my waistband!

Unfortunately, I can’t recommend the diet plan I was on.  It’s known as “The Pre-Christmas Flu”.  Believe me, coming down with the flu less than a week before Christmas was not fun.

Twelve days before Christmas my eleven-year-old started us out.  Two days later the four-year-old succumbed, then my husband.  Six days before Christmas it was my turn, and the others, except the seven-year-old, quickly followed.

All the pre-Christmas outings and gift-giving we had planned for the week before Christmas quickly fell off the calendar, replaced by exciting events such as going to the hospital for chest x-rays and dragging ourselves to the store for more juice and Advil.

After 24 hours I thought I was getting better, but I quickly learned that for the next several days my legs would feel like jelly, sorting laundry would leave me short of breath, and the fever and chills could revisit at any time.  I’ve always been skeptical of flu shots but I can see why anyone would want to avoid what we just went through.

I was very thankful we were well enough to host family for the red-letter days – with a considerate warning, of course, that there had been recent sickness in the house.

Now the New Year is here and, as always, health is one of my top priorities.  We even got a Wii (finally) and Zumba for Christmas to help us with our exercise goals.  No matter how that goes, however, I am definitely starting the year of 2013 with a renewed appreciation for good health.

Christmas Spirit

I started the season by writing a short story, The Christmas Condition, about a young woman whose first Christmas home after moving to the city isn’t quite what she expected.  Eventually, she learns that the condition of her heart is more important than the conditions around her.

With those sentiments in mind, I got off to a good start – thinking of others, feeling the joy, not stressing over things that don’t matter.

Somehow, despite my good intentions, the evil elf squeezed his way into our home and began to spread anti-Christmas tidings.  Don’t you hate it when the “bah humbuggers” ruin things for the rest of us?

A few nights ago I couldn’t take the negativity anymore.  I mean, when you get to bickering over which holiday movie to enjoy as a family, things aren’t going well.  So I went to my room and finished reading a favourite Christmas book.  Then I stared at the ceiling for awhile until I had an idea.  Not just an idea; inspiration: “The only person you can change is yourself.”

Words from my novelette’s main character echoed in my head:  “I realized that my Christmas cheer was conditional – based on events that were happening NOW instead of THE EVENT that happened two thousand years ago.”

Was it possible?  Was I allowing my Christmas cheer to ebb and flow based on the actions of those around me instead of what was in my own heart?

I said a quick prayer then asked, “Who wants a story?”  Three of my children gathered around to hear an inspiring Christmas tale.  As we snuggled, our hearts filled and spilled with love, patience, forgiveness, selflessness, and gratitude.  The Spirit of Christmas, which is the Spirit of Christ, was back.

To you and yours this holiday season, I wish you hearts full of peace, love, and joy.

Ho Ho Ho or Boo Hoo Hoo

Seven years ago, upon the advice of a family member who said if we wanted our kids to trust us in the big things we shouldn’t lie about the little things, I broke the news to my six-year-old that Santa Claus wasn’t real.  She seemed to take it well.

The next year, however, she sadly admitted, “I wish I still believed in Santa.”  I decided then and there that I would let my children discover the truth about Santa when they were ready.

This doesn’t mean I actively lie to my kids.  I simply play the game and let them believe – the same as I do with the Tooth Fairy or when I eat their playdough cookies.

It’s not that hard to allow the fantasy without the fraud.  When they see Santa at the mall and ask, “Is that really Santa Claus?” I say, “No, that’s just someone dressed up like Santa.”  When they ask, “Does Santa really climb down chimneys?” I say, “No, there are lots of houses without chimneys – like ours.”  When they ask, “Is Santa real?”  I say, “What do you think?”  Then I praise them for their deductive reasoning, welcome them into the “grown up” world, and remind them to keep the secret so it stays fun for the little ones.

I don’t think allowing children the excitement and wonder of believing in something magical is a bad thing.  Of course, we make sure they understand the religious side of Christmas first and foremost – that we are celebrating the birth of our Savior, not Santa Claus.

But what’s really great about the Santa tradition is that it motivates adults to be selfless.  It’s a time when we think about bringing joy to others by giving anonymously, without expecting anything in return.

And that’s definitely a good thing.

The Cost of Democracy

(I'm a few months late posting this one!)

It’s been almost a month since we watched the US presidential election with interest.  I thought Governor Romney would have made a fine president.  I believe he has unique business experience and education that could have helped America at this time.

But the majority chose to re-elect President Obama, who also has many great presidential qualities.  I hope his policies and promises will improve circumstances for our neighbours to the south (though I’ve been enjoying the exchange rate the past few years).

Our democratic system allows us to elect those who share our ideas on what government should be doing (or not doing) for the people.  We research, we campaign, we argue, we vote, we wait…  Then we mourn or rejoice.

What comes next is the part I don’t like:  the mud-slinging and criticism.  If they lost, why kick them while they’re down?  If they won, they are now elected officials deserving our support.

I’ve been disappointed at some of the phrases used to describe the election and Mitt Romney, like “crushing defeat” and “cloudy future”.  The swing state percentages were very close, and being only 3 million out of 120 million (roughly) away from winning the popular vote doesn’t sound like a “crushing defeat” to me.  And if someone of retirement age who is independently wealthy and surrounded by a large and loving family has a “cloudy future” then what does that say for the rest of us?

Governor Romney spent a lot of time, money, and energy to give Americans a choice on the ballot.  That alone is worthy of praise, not scorn.

Whether American or Canadian, we should thank all who run in municipal, provincial, and federal elections – including those who lose.  If we don’t, we may find the cost of democracy is that no decent candidates will want to run in the future.