Health

Most of us take it our health for granted, me included. We exercise to stay healthy, try and eat right and maintain our sanity at work and try to attend church, that refocuses to look outside of ourselves, even if just for a few moments. Then something happens, seconds lapse into moments and those to hours and then are gone. Test, more tests, internet for consultation, (not the best) back to the doctor and then home again. When all fails after days of nausea, vomiting, diarrhea , and head-aches, we finally relinquish our human powers and let the experts take over.
I called a friend to take me to hospital since all family members were out of town. Humiliated by not being able to drive myself due to the Vertigo I had been diagnosed with, I gingerly removed myself from the bathroom floor, heaved over la toilet, and stealthily moved into the front seat of her car. Being Italian I hung on for dear life. I focused my eyes on the bottom of a R & W bag which almost worked till the last round about when I lost it. Fluid started coming out and not even the willpower of a rock could stop it. A young man at the hospital flopped me into a wheelchair like a sack of potatoes and kindly removed the bag and gave me a nice pink bucket. I held on while Sue, my friend parked the car and was even kind enough to hang on for the nurse to take my vitals. And, then in front of 14 other patrons in the weighting room, my body lashed out 5 times, before Sue could swivel me around obstacles and into washroom they all knew who I was. Hanging onto the guardrails for dear life, wafts of fluid escaped me. At first sounds of rushing mountain streams or gushing brooks could have simulated the chant. Yet the haunting dry heaves that escaped my vocals, not even I could comprehend. From deep within vast convulsions escaped, no horror movie could duplicate. My body rocked back and forth shoulders heaving as air sucked into my lungs crying as only horses can as it exhaled.
I hadn't looked up yet, as the vertigo would rush down into my innards and send another wave. My eyes cast downward for 2 hours I begged for time to past or my name to be called. And, once finally inside I thought my body would have the decency to grace doctors and nurses with some sort of decorum. But no, yellow mustard bile escaped me in rockets bringing humiliation to a halt. There was nothing more.  I passed out, like any decent human should have done hours ago.
Thus today, days later I am not recovered no where close, yet I bless the Lord for the health I have too often taken for granted, for my body that has up until now given me few, very few ailments. How is it that this has to occur for me to stop in my tracks and take note.
For those that have endured far more my heart is with you, especially those with dizziness, and nausea, I humbly bow at the feasts you must be going through and pray for your recovery. Let us take a moment and vow when we say grace to remember our bodies...one and all, for the glory they are.

How to become a Saint, marry one

Sadly God didn't grace all of us with sainthood, for those of us who do aspire to it we won't reach it, yet that doesn't deter us from being in complete and utter awe of those that are canonized. For they have devoted every morsel of their being to God, now that in itself brings a humble hear, a bended knee, an eyes facing skyward to our Father that has never seize to bless us again and again.

Today in church we had a guest priest walking towards the pulpit, all 6'5 feet of his being, with purposeful conviction. Hands out stretched towards the walls God's being took over him, and with fire in his voice raced through the gospel on overdrive. Our eyes widened with each cry for us to look internally at our "morals people". Had we truly given thought to our offering, as Catholics are not as fervent demanding 10% of their congregations as many evangelical denominations are, it is simply implied. "Are you looking at the blessings God has given and returning your 10% of your income, for only those that give will be given opportunities to work in larger portions of God's grace ." Motion was felt in the pews, side chatter, raised eyebrows, then with waving arms flung from one side to the other, he bellowed, Well have you?" Silenced reigned the cathedral....momentarily then he told...

An endearing story about a boy who was at church with his mother and she was revealing all the saints in each of the stained glass windows. One day in school a teacher asked the students how saints were created, and the boy energetically raised his hands and said, "Light goes through them." This metaphor blew us away. The literal meaning for this little boy was obvious, he only saw the saints in the  stained glass windows with light coming through, yet for us the possibilities were endless.  The Light of Christ, Christ light within all of us, and we are the beacon to guide one another, are just a few. Over supper and evening chatter this little story resonated so much into our lives, and those of our students in the coming days.

Hal had been discussing Salt and Light with his students asking them to come up with a saying and one of the most troubled students in the class drew a picture of one person assisting another who had dropped their books. The caption read" If I could help everyone I would, but for now, I'll start here."
Why is it so often those suffering the most teach us how to be in Christ.

I have never been so blessed as the day I met my husband. Our union revolutionized my theory of why God allows us to marry. Many a person has asked us how we have a strong marriage, and without a flint, an inch or a nudge, I say God. By bringing ourselves closer to him, we begin to comprehend the deep complexities of our spouses, and at the same time, it dawns that regardless if they espouse to use all their darkest emotions, we are far from ever understanding who they truly are. Another reason to rely heavily on Christ. We humans are multifaceted, a labyrinths of hard and soft wiring.

How to become a Saint, marry one

Sadly God didn't grace all of us with Sainthood, or perhaps for those of us who do aspire to it, won't reach it, yet that doesn't deter us from being in complete and utter awe of those that are canonized. For they have devoted every morsel of their being to his cause, now that in itself bring a humility, a bended knee eyes facing skyward to our Father that has never seize to bless us again and again.

Today in church we had a guest priest walking towards the pulpit, all 6'5 feet of his being, with purposeful conviction. Hands out stretched towards the walls his being, God's being took over him, and with fire in his voice raced through the gospel on overdrive. Our eyes widened with each cry for us to look internally at our "morals people". Had we truly given thought to our offering, as Catholics are not as fervent demanding 10% of their congregations as many evangelical denominations are, it is simply implied. "Are you looking at the blessings God has given and returning your 10% of your income, for only those that give will be given a larger portion for which to handle by God." Motion was felt in the pews, side chatter, raised eyebrows, then his waving arms flung from one side to the other, asking, well have you."

He told an endearing story about a boy who was at church with his mother and she was revealing all the saints in each of the stained glass windows. One day in school a teacher asked the students how saints are created, and the boy raised his hands energetically, light goes through them. This metaphor blew us away. The literal meaning for this little boy was obvious, he only saw the saints in the  stained glass windows with light coming through, yet for us the possibilities are endless.  The Light of Christ, Christ light within all of us, and we are the beacon to guide one another, are just a few. Over supper and evening chat this little story resonated so much into our lives, and those of our students in the coming days.

Hal had been discussing Salt and Light with his students asking them to come up with a saying and one of the most troubled students in the class drew a picture of one person assisting another who had dropped their books. The caption read" If I could help everyone I would, but for now, I'll start here."
Why is it so often those suffering the most teach us how to be in Christ.

I have never been so blessed as the day I met my husband. Our union revolutionized...to be continued

Slip sliding away

Wiping the last vestiges of cacao from my lips as the car pulls into our home. Heaving the bags of laundry carrying memories of spaghetti stains, dubonie, corn chips, and too few cloths worn for a week out, indicates success. Thoughts of crusty colleagues, and endless work projects creep into my mind during prayer while away, pleading with Christ this summer for a break, what I have learned is his intent of teaching me to discipline my mind. Life's been so good for so long I've become lazy, real lazy, in spirit, mind and soul. Forgot how to memorize scripture, no wonder vagaries reside in my head, tossing it this way and that like my mother sizes up cabbage at the grocery store. Away from idleness life begins, first in your brain, then the body follow.
Vast valley of greenery disguises the anxiety breaking the surface of my heart, as my head pounds against the waves needing to relieve, what, years of conformity to someone I never was. They say it's too late to rejig in your 5th decade, it can't be too late to be honest. Out in the wilderness is where I feel sane, at peace, out of touch with society and in touch with me. Me, what a concept, I plead my students to reveal, create, imagine, what the best of themselves is, and I face them desperate to get out, but my good conscious, duty, obligation and patronage, and responsibility to my mortgage, inanimate objects keep me from "loafing" - defined beautifully in The Razor's Edge, by Maugham, a character named Larry, 20 years of age, born at the turn of the 1900 century, that yearns to 'loaf', read 10 hours a day to become learned in his realm, to breath British history, taste its literature, feel the curves of Renaissance, and conquer the Greek God's, instead of being indoctrinated by a courses that contorts, and asphyxiate the last vestiges of our creativity at University.
Lying on a beach towel absorbed by the Somerset Maugham, I recall the first time I read, truly read 14 novels in a row, Jeffery Archer,  dodging work, my parents, boyfriend and rowing commitments. My first addiction, words, 26 letters necking, pecking, massaging one another, bringing tears, screams, revolts, a satisfaction like no other.....and don't say sex...regrets have weights.
Quiet nights, listening to squires drop bombshells, pine cones, hunting and gathering for winter feasts as the National Camping Parks close, leaving an even further peace without the intrusion of late night profane neighbors that didn't get passed the "F" section of Webster's dictionary and under the influence of bad beer, as Hal would say, they played with fire, the earliest invention to keep man warm, entertained with a stick, and drawing one's name in the sand, over and over again.
Sun lathered our bodies with warmth, caressing the endless nerves soothing years of under sleep, overwork, adrenaline junky, and the need to please all, feed all emotionally, psychologically, etc.
Each dip in the lake took layers of undealt with bullying releasing it into the waters, feeling lighter by the day. While others frolicked watching clouds crest the mountains forming shapes of animals, fairy tales, and fantasies kept me occupied.
With my parents reading, sleeping, beating me at cards, and wondering about further vacations, it was lovely to be in their presence, listen to their lives, over and over again, I never tire of it. Delicate movements, motions, once tight and precise, take time to form, yet sharp minds catch us watching them, caring to much. Don't do this, be care about that, "Stop pestering me, I'm not dead."

July 1st. Learning Patriotism

July 1st comes and goes and do we as Canadians' truly honour our country, well think again. We ventured down to Bowness Park and found the UN of Calgary. Large gatherings of Islam's, Jews, Nigerians, Somalians, Filipino's to name a few of the clans gathered to celebrate this day. Throughout our walk some were singing O'Canada amongst themselves while others quietly displayed our countries flags while others still others had face painting with maple leafs, and all enthralled to be in a beautiful park with extended family. You know what we didn't see, my family, with my extended family, that was so common when we were younger. Aunts, uncles, cousins, playing an assortment of games, eating cake first our course, then watermelon, spitting the seeds as far as we could, skipping my aunts tomato aspic, moving right into egg, cucumber and ham and cheese sandwiches, hot dogs cooked over open flames, and smores. No the absence of those of us that immigrated one to two generation ago was gone.
The question begs to be asked, are the new immigrants teaching us old timers how to live again. I think so.
My step son is dating a Filipino and twice a year they gather in large numbers to celebrate life, participate in the play egg toss, dress and run games, walk like an Egyptians four to a board, and dance the Zumba. I've never laughed so much, had so much joy and seen so much inclusion.
We decided right there and then to meet as our extended family, as we used to.

I thank the new immigrants who rekindled our family values, beliefs, and how to gather with our kin.

Finding Truth

I recently heard a podcast on NPR about a police unit in Denmark that decided to change how they were tracking boys that went missing in 2012. It all began when a distraught couple called the police station to inquire of their missing son, within 3 months 23 boys were missing. All had gone to ISIS. Originally they asked questions of the local Mosque, and this only sent the media into overdrive and the members of their community into a lack of comprehension and hatred grew quickly. The leaders of the Mosque were as equally upset about the boys and together they devised a system to begin inquiring.

Torlive and Allen, Danish police officers, got a hold of several of the boys who had returned from ISIS and simply asked them in for coffee. Coffee? No arrests, no questions, simply coffee.  When their trust had been established within months more and more boys intending on going overseas began showing up on their doorsteps. It was a 24 hours shift.
I call it the Complementary Shift. Instead of inundating teens and young adults with queries, they decided to allow the boys to fill in the gaps, regardless if they believed them, they took them at face valued and their community started to rebound.
The crime against Muslim's decreased, the bombardments of comments in schools about Islamic cultures declined. Did they save everyone ones, was their no hate, no, but they had found in the face of adversity that Care, Love, Understanding and admitting wrong brought humans of all races together.

Here is my challenge. Watching the hate crime against the blacks in the U.S. rise daily. Wouldn't it be past time that American police precincts begin to train their officers to do the same. Approach every pulled over vehicle with questions, instead of accusations. Form bonds between police officers and the communities they work in, opportunities for people to have coffee together. To begin to comprehend what each one is fearful of, dreading when they drive home, yearning in their lives, assisting one another instead of alienating one another.

Trump has an opportunity to speak about how they yearn for All American's to be Great, and truly include All American's. When I head the divisive advertisements coming out of the Trump Campaign, I am angered that All American's aren't demanding that he begin to see that if he truly yearns for a leadership role he can't alienate the Hispanics, the Blacks, the Women, and live in a world where he doesn't have to face poverty, homelessness, drug issues. A true leader is able to walk with his people when they are at their lowest, lead from the front and be able to nudge those that need support from the back.

All I hear is a campaign of bigotry, defamation of character, slander and biases, that divide a nation. It allows the worst of all of us to come out, and it will. He will be left with a 330 million people hurting on such a level he has no means to support them.

How about a campaign where both candidates truly dedicate the next 4 months proving how they are going to make America Great by placing policies into place and were the money is going to come from. Not lofty empty promises and cartwheel out of control, simple health care, education, and social services that all American can attain. Offering opportunities for All American's to be heard, have open mics, at all levels of government, set up websites where citizens can make constructive contributions to their community. And make all civil servants accountable to the citizens we serve.

There isn't time for hatred, we have lives to change, minds to mold, body to heal, and soul to hold. American's deserve to Campaign that outlines goals, at all levels and a congress that is truly for the people, no American left behind.

Sunshine Coast Wonderlust

    
     Majestic blues penetrate our souls on our first moment of arrival. The district smell of the ocean pierces our nostrils as we turn away yearning to see the vista but escape its odors. The lapping of the waves eases the driving aches out of my neck and shoulder that have been stabbing for hours. With my parents riding side saddle their comments come as wafts in the wind, "Kathryn, your driving too fast and too close to the next car." I take pride in my driving expertise and believe the smoothness of the trip wasn't appreciated. We arrived in Hope, just in time for me to order some oatmeal, as 2 slices of cantaloupe wasn't going to satiate the simplest of souls. My father was always honest with his wishes and ordered a Big Mac as if it was the last one he'd ever order. My mother was a guessing game, she never liked what my father would order, but hesitated getting what she really wanted, this was her curse.

    We'd planned on taking highway 7 but then decided against it when the tourist guide in Abbotsford was greatly suggested that it would be "way....too....long... in her 20 year old wisdom...and besides she said, what for?" as if we'd lost our minds.

     We were to meander along the coastal route of Vancouver oohing and awing at all the homes architectural marvels yet that turn came and went along with the light house that never made itself present.

     Roberts Creek was truly a stones throw from the port up a lovely deeply forested road that appears on the map to be secluded, that is except for the hundreds of people that live here and are never seen. Each house is nestled into densely forested woods, shrew over in vast amounts of black berry bushes, holly and thistle. No home the same for in God's time their was choice, diversity and no universal paint that was on sale for home exteriors at the same time.

    With mom and dad nestled into the Adirondack chairs overlooking the ocean a few meters away Hal and I busied ourselves with unpacking. A stroll along the beach in high tide revealed tens of aqua,violet and mauve clam shells colors no canvas could duplicate, flowers hung from branches begging to be photographed and fifteen shades of green canopied the foliage. Nature had arrived, with contrasts to take us to the moon and back.

     We feasted on local fish, vegetables, and home bought cookies, our first of 40 days. I don't like to say that Hal and I gave up anything for Lent, for it is truly nothing in compared to what the Lord gave us, but perhaps to mention that we withheld from cookies, chocolate and cake and thus to indulge in a cookie was delightful, flavours burst forth that otherwise might have seemed mundane. Life was grand as we watched the sunset for hours from the upper balcony. The lapsing of the ocean gently caressing us to sleep at night, all was right in the world.

    
   

    

Bonded by Family

      

       I distinctly remember my mother being curt with a woman at Steinberg's when I was five. I recall looking at both of their faces and seeing how different their expressions were. From this day forward I observed how these abrupt tones, words and expressions affected me.

      Married to a man that has 4 siblings that have all done very well either in business and the oil scene, I have observed how differently their children see the world. Money does change things and perhaps the best word to describe it is, entitlement. I don't say this lightly and I am not judging yet when some parents present money to children, and inform them of their difference to others in wealth, their minds form differently than those that see the financial freedom their parents have yet are not entitled to it, or are taught how it was achieved, through hard work.

    My mother was brought up in an upper middle family and I recall her telling me that her cousins had to live with her because of their financial difficulties. Wouldn't we see this as a blessings as kids, more time with friends, and family. My older siblings informed me that our mother had told them that they were different than others, and that they were special, more so than other children. I never heard this message and as a Christian I would have had to rebuke it, as I've always believed in at a young age that we are all EQUAL, everything single last one of us. Rich, poor, fat, slim, gay, heterosexual, educated and ignorant, are EQUAL.

     We all want to be loved and humans will gravitate to people, and circumstances that will fulfill those needs if they are not met at home. I was the child that manifested what my siblings were feeling. I became quite ill in high school, eventually being hospitalized. I blamed the world, myself, my parents, and God for something I truly couldn't comprehend. Why was I in need to control my world. My world was unravelling around me and the only way I knew how to hang on was to control my eating and exercise. I had no real interest in either before, yes, I danced, swam and played basketball, yet I wasn't the star nor did I have any interest in being one. I was the kid who was athletically gifted without the competitive drive. What was striking to me was my parents lack of interest in anything I did by high school.

     The one sport I did finally entered at the end of high school took me so far away from who I really was, it was devastating for all involved. I was desperate to fit in and be with my older sister, and to her unfortunate timing, she was trying to strike out on her own. I was floundering,  I lost my compass, so I followed her University path and her sports. Destroying our relationship that I so yearned, I couldn't see the writing on the wall, and my parents weren't strong enough to say NO!. Most of my friends had gone to different high schools and I wasn't one to beg...thus although I enjoyed high school I wasn't focusing on my future, I was stuck in a vortex.

     My parents had their lives and it seems we were to somehow fit in. Both my parents worked, and so many times I had wished my mother was at home with me, but it was never to be. She was happy with her career, or at least that is what I thought, but there was always something lingering. She spoke often of other Aunt, neighbors, friends back in Montreal, categorizing them as wealthy, unproductive, fat or lazy. I recall in high school asking her why she did this, she never answered. My oldest sister was privy to far more of this banter than I and she became a manifestation of what she thought my parents wanted. Success to her was being slim and making lots of money. This couldn't be further from the truth, what I valued, and what we had been brought up with, and what I believed my parents to value as Christians.

     They brought us up like many families going to the cabin in the Laurentian's during the summer, and on week-ends to ski and hike. We moved out west and something changed dramatically, the distances were metaphorically and literally larger between homes, schools, work and eventually our family. By the time my oldest sister hit high school, I could our family was separating. She sought out avenues to attain love, then my next sibling did something else, by the time I came along, my parents thought that by the time I was 13 I was an adult, and thus no curfews, and few discussions. I was to behave as an adult with a child's mind, too scared to ask for permission to come home at a certain time. I began restraining myself in all aspects of my life, I bought my own clothes, I worked from the age of 12 and I didn't want to rely on them to heavily. Too bad for me I was the kid that yearned to held, loved, communicate to. I loved having discussions  at the dinner table, and those disappeared too.

   I recall asking my parents to "ground' us, they looked at me rather perplexed, "Why would we need to do that? You are all so well behaved?" How blind were they....did they not care, not see what was transpiring in front of their eyes. We needed boundaries to feel safe, boundaries to know someone loves us, and cares where we are? I got scared and my anxiety went through the roof. Weight dropped off my tiny frame long before I controlled my food. Several of my friends parents asked me if I had 'Anorexia?' I didn't know what it meant so I responded No!"

     Fast forward 30 years, still observing the world and finding that the same answers that held truths then, are still holding truths today. My sibling still thinks that success is found in being slim and finically wealthy. For 30 years our voices have been strained by the bonds of family, she not realizing that slimness and wealth are merely outside appearances, real success is what lies inside of each of us. How much we have pushed love into this world, sleep each night knowing we've changed a life for the better, seen the wonders in a tiny flower nestled in a rock, looked out over the ocean and felt small, worked for a cause that assisted another's life, and sought out family members in good time and bad. For family should never been bound they should be bonded by unconditional love.


   

The Perfect Day

 

 Seattle, 2016, February 27th, 2016. The three day conference was behind us as we woke up on Saturday to mixed skies with wild abandoned notions of what could be.
Like kids canoeing at the cabin, anything could happen, we could capsize with the joys of splashing under the canoe, making echo sounds or hanging onto the top stretching our arms across the bottom till we thought they might truly lengthen.
This was it, we had no plans and for me that is truly a rare occasion. I let the day take me rather than guiding, or shall we saw domineering what was to pass. Hand in hand we strolled uptown from the hotel into unknown territory in search of Hal's first cup of Joe.
Sugar Bakery, wafts of pastry filled our lungs as we entered, stretching our necks to see croissants, lavender shortbread cookies, decadent jam filled crumbles, cinnamon rolls dripping with maple sugar, macadamia cookies, and palmers decked in chocolate, and heart shaped shortbread with raspberry filling and eggs-spinach and mushroom quiche, Hal's favorite. My misto was made to perfection as we watched the frothing of the milk while our eyes wandered to a coconut cake creation just feet away.
Scents lingered like good perfume walking up the side streets lined with mauve, purple and pink hydrangeas. A feast, a cornucopia of colors as azalea met our eyes three houses up, aqua in color the veranda had the perfect French swing on it, tempting us to try it out.

Hand in hand two content kittens absorbed he heat of the sun working from one park bench to another till we reached the Arboretum. World trees exhibited, cared, and nurtured by horticulturalists year round. We meandered along pathways through a labyrinth of forests from the coastal range to Japanese gardens hosting lanterns, sand raked patterns, and ornamental trees bursting with five star flowers painted by hand.

Oh...and ah....were met at every turn, mother nature has never failed to intrigue us, if only humans had the capacity to exhibit all their creativity, what an amazing world this would be.

What goes up must come down, we had ventured down to the gardens and the hike up through glorious communities where every home was a masterpiece unto itself allowed our eyes to capture the curtains, doorways, fences, furniture and garden features for some time. A local watering hole had taken the bottom half of a home opening it up to a tiny restaurant/grocer of craft beer/ and a café all in one. People flowed out as the sun warmed the chairs outside. Doffing our coats, we too relished the welcome atmosphere of the lovely yellow café.

Climbing higher we found a watering hole for Hal to taste yet another craft beer, hopvine IPA. His smile, savoury delight is enough to send goose bumps up me spine. Up and down Capital Hill district enticed into artisan shops, boutiques for wine tasting and consignments clothiers. Within three blocks there are 12 count em, 12 coffee shops are thriving. Starbucks, being incepted in Seattle has more of a market, yet all of them seem to be doing well.

Down the backside of Seattle, back down it spine to the waters edge to be met by succulent food at "Black Bottle", hosting Gastro pub food, this menu was eclectic. Hal started with another craft beer, a stout no less, for our last evening and I had a glass of Chardonnay, a shocker as it doesn't normally pass my lips. Spanish fried olives blasted our taste buds right out of left field, ensuit, chorizo and penn cove clams, Hal was silenced for long moments as his tongue, lips, and old factory nerve sought out what flavor concoction this could possibly be. Asking the waiter too many times what spices were in our food was becoming obvious, his chuckle enticed us to keep asking questions. Two chicken breast on long skewers deep fried on a bed of collars was divine. And the piece de resistance was the lemon curd ricotta cake lavender crust. Died and gone to heaven!!! We didn't want the evening to end, we gazed into one another's eyes trying to find the reason...there was none.....let the day unfold while miracles abound.

Home

The sanctity of home is one of the most precious spaces that exist. We often treat it with less dignity than we should, for the purposes it serves are unsurmountable. Firstly, after a long day away, it opens its arms to all that arrive, and provides warmth, comfort, silence, a resolve.

After completing, The Shining Houses, by Alice Munro, a short story and a must read. I have come to comprehend that home presides in some people more than human connections. "Husbands may come and go but a home of 50 years, well that is just where I know things are." I learned more about my home through her than I'd imagined.

Renovations are my love and our home has lost walls, rugs, flooring, and for some this is a process, for me it is a love of creating a space for energy to be recuperated, a reading room where language filters, fills and creates fanciful escapes, with light streaming in, what could be more Shakespearean than creating my next masterpiece.

Going against builders molds, our home has become a place for ingenuity to take hold, we've placing laminate on a wall, not the floor, take that. And, we are placing windows in walls that aren't one the outside, simply allowing more light to shine through rooms. Wooden doors have glass in them now and a hanging door to place paintings on is our motto.

Instead of large garden beds, we've been using large, huge tubs to grow: carrots, beets, kale, kale and more kale, onions, garlic and tomatoes. So the next time someone tells you to do something a la carte, tell them your going ROUGE.

We are presently in Seattle for a week, staying in apartments that were refurbished into a hotel, and our bathroom is 2 rooms blown into one, closets with all our clothes is adjacent to the washroom and to the shower. Saves time, space and it is so cool. Our living quarters are small, quaint and unique with a feel of 1950 in the window décor along with our chairs, painting, and the fancy intercom system to order Hal's beer from the bar, 4 floors down. The best part, it is 4 blocks from the conference center and 2/3 less the price. Free Starbucks coffee in the morning and by the speed I'm typing at nothing can stop me now.

 

Valentines

Victuals dripping with innuendoes lacking luster might be what you think about Valentines, until you read on.
This Valentines I decided to observe the world for a long week-end recording its boons. To my surprise love isn't a four letter word soaked in rhyming poetry from Hallmark's for those with no time, talent or energy to write. Wilting flowers, nor Belgium chocolate adorned my home nor many others yet true gratitude was abundant.
Long walks in Longview allowed time to reflect, a common trait most have forgotten, or never had the pleasure either to indulge in or been taught. Perhaps schools might replace grammar lessons with empathy, compassion and adulation.
Grandparents patted one another's arm strolling along the Glenmore Reservoir for hours, while others sipped sweet teas in a local café gazing into one another's souls after 45 years. Movie goers chose films that provoked concepts instead of adrenalin, choosing to voice less of their dislikes, silenced by  philosophies.
Restaurants reduced their succulent sauces with attainable phonological verbs keeping change for a late night cocoa. Fashion writhed a dramatic drop in real-estate, as K-mart became Vogue once again.
Our world, Alberta, Calgarian's came to grips with what most of the world lives with on a daily basis, basic sustenance. The value and life force of what it means to have a meal, a warm bed, a hot shower, clothing and water. Humanity is beginning to become rekindled in a province, city and people that have lived so far above their means, and at what cost? Repossessed credit cards, clothes, cars and now homes, was borrowed time on our tongue, with bitter essence now our only spice. Think of the potential that can come from where we are right now, to begin a new as a people, city, and province. Potentials are unsurpassed, if moving away from addictive drug of finance and titles are allowed.
This is where the true Valentines appear, the hero's in all of us, every single last one of us, this is where cupid meets the heart, the heart of a city, and province.

Conformity is not a choice

When conformity isn't a choice and your conscious is screaming for you to witness the truth, there is little choice but to stand for what you know to be true, even when lies are being hammered out right in front of you.

Christ has asked us to witness his truth, standing up to slanderous letters, and voices at all levels and letting them know in action what you are made of, your convictions, your fundamental beliefs, values, knowing you will be chastised, ousted, and ridiculed vehemently by those that have never stopped to think about what they are believing in, how their need to fit in affects the most vulnerable in society, and how their incapacity to stop and reflect about what Christ stood for, really means.

To denounce an act is one thing, but to blatantly fear mongrel thousands of people with hypocrisies, using God's name to judge those who are different, those that are on the fringe of society, those that have been reaching out for our care, has crossed a line I will never conform too.

Making claims that evil needs to be rid from our society and that if we allow these people into our schools ALL children will be affected, like a disease. The only disease is that of an institute that isn't willing to look at every human as a creation of God, and made perfect in his image, and that our job as humans is, TO LOVE THY NEIGHBOR.

Think of the parents, the millions of  parents who would never have chosen this for their child, yet they are turned away by the institute when they need support the most. All the beliefs they have had over the decades, are those all lies, who are they to turn to now.....the secular world. For they might receive far more care, honesty and compassion in a time when we all need to walk humbly with God. When we all need to be reaching out to one another, being accepting of all people regardless, of gender, age, preference, or creed.

Today I left the institute, didn't sign the doctrine they claim will push back on legislation, today and each day forth I will never allow an  ecclesiastical to claim to know God's will. For they have deeply missed Christ purpose and our service to him. Instead of standing by his principals and going it alone, he spoke for us, lured congregations to do his work. Used the Papal's name to claim what is right and just, making it alright to straighten those broken, to fix those souls damaged and condemn their acts.

If asked if you conform, think about what it is you are doing, who is being affected and what Christ has placed on your heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow, it might allow you to reflect on what Mother Teresa said, "If you are judging others, you have no room to love."
We come to Christ in mercy and in so doing he gives us grace.

Shifting Paradigms

If you judge people you have no time to love them.

 

Mother Teresa

 

 

Classes began this week with bright eyed, dreary eyed, and those blinded with boredom entering our domain. After the introduction, course outline, viewing a short clip from 'Ferries Bueller's Day Off '- skipping techniques, sadly going over most of their heads, except one bright light that asked if she could use this, I said if the modus operandi works, try it. It would be unfair to admit that the lower level classes are a struggle for me, emotionally, physically, and intellectually. I asked each student to introduce themselves with one new piece of information that we might not know about them.  

After the third Filipino student stating that they were from the Philippians, it took everything morsel of my being not to send metaphors, after verbal ironies into the air waves.

 

I walked to the back of the class, shook the deleterious mindset, and decided to seriously question every students words, watching how the class reacted. Their responses soared with each query, they were holding the conch, at the helm of the ship they saw a captivated audience, moving from anxiousness to commanding mastery in seconds, shifting the paradigm of a classroom.

 

'Walk Humbly with the Lord' posted in my room keeps my pride aligned daily, to see the miracles, I call potential in all students. It seems to take them longer each year to find themselves, truly comprehend who they are in Christ. Rid the adverse affects of what society has allowed them to believe they are worth. Many enter with a metaphorical percentages of their self worth stamped to their forehead, others wounds of home life, bullying, and the torment of insults.

 

Prayer commences each class, again too many students think it is for them, it is for God to seep into our lives for an hour and show his glory, his compassionate love for each one of us. My student learn early on that literacy is Christ's mode of entry, for they will never remember me, yet I pray they will remember those around them that have changed their lives.

 

There is rarely a day that something profound doesn't occur. When our eyes, and hearts are open to see his miracles, we are his instruments and should celebrate. As Ferries stated -  life goes by pretty fast, if you don't stop and look around you'll miss it.

 

 

 

It is not how much we do

but how much love we put into doing them

It is not how much we give

but how much love we put into giving.

 

Mother Teresa

Reflection

Ghandi watches me daily observing my daily reflections, comparing his diligence to mine. Have I done better today than yesterday, grown closer to Christ, grown stronger as a person for man kind, or reverted to my complacency. Ah! this too often feeds my soul, especially as I age, my strength of youth hood wanes. My judgement wanes too or is indifferent, for the energy to fight the good fight as it lingers in memories. The defences are few, justification flood my mind, only my moral conviction stops me short of blaming another for my weakness. How is it this occurs, it didn't happen over night, but now that I am so conscious I fight like a drowning victim for dry land.

Potential

 

Mid-afternoon our living room is flooded with sunlight illuminating an acrylic painting splashingmintgreen, apple red, orange, sunflower yellow, sky blues, and birch trees as the day awaits my intentions.The luxury of having a moments to reflect, look out onto the horizon and dream. With the world waging wars seemingly so far off, this is where rejuvenation occurs amongst collected thoughts, steeped in my gratitude for what I have been provided. It seems illogical that this existence

of simplicity, is so spiritually rich. God has provided so graciously for our family. Mother nature blessed us this morning snowing lightly as our feet trudged up mountain paths filling our lungs with new blueprints that will not leave an imprint when we are gone.

An Indian comedian spoke about that if all human slept an hour longer each day, it would substantially decrease the destruction of our earth. I have held onto his words for decades rising simply to observe my breath, my thoughts, and my surrounding. Nature has nourished me since birth, blessed with parents who brought it into our existence daily. Design is innate, I think in tessellations , contours, prisms hoping to find opportunity to expose students their creativity through these mediums, along with a healthy dose of music, which abundantly teaches us all.

Water lilies exposed themselves to me at three with scents, blossoms, patterns, reflections, surface tension in their floating leaves, now that was magic. Nature has continued to mesmerize my soul. Loving the fact that most will never know I've walked, hiked, climbed in front of or behind thousands as I try to leave no mark.

With a society that is so keen to explore the unknown, seek the unheard, and taste the bazaar, if we could all do this knowing what ever we created couldn't have a large impact for the many generations to come, perhaps those are who should be receiving the Nobel Peace Awards. I recall our first microwave and the hundreds that ended up in the dump......now think of all the technology in the last 20 years, how much have we thrown out so easily never thinking about the impact of mother earth, how much can she absorb, decay, and break-up, now create similar technologies without the path, that is worthy. What is the future of the water lilies?

The Gift of Receiving

The idea of receiving a gift seems almost unnatural. I have always told family and friends, that it isn't necessary, most occasions are off limit to giving me a gift. Their company is always more than enough.
Last night a friend came over for dinner and brought me a box of chocolates. I believe it was my first box of chocolates wrapped beautifully for Valentines, even in January, and I was taken aback. Design is my second nature and this box was uniquely wrapped with ribbons, stickers and even a tote bag, my heart fluttered yet there was an unknown, a lack of certainty, control.
Perhaps it was more a lesson than anything, in my humbleness to never need anything I was losing out of the ability to receive. To allow others to give. Many of us love to see our friends and family members light up when we've bought them something. Knowing it was exactly what they wanted, or knowing it was unexpected and they truly needed a boost that very day. While feeing joyous, I immediately sensed a hollowness in my years of not being able to receive. I had unknowingly rejected, and undervalued people when I had refused gifts, for decades. I sensed my husband looking over my way as I tucked the gift away smiling. He had tried so many times to give me something of his desires, and I had insisted that I didn't need him spending hard earned money on me, how I had failed to see his love language and his yearning to do something special for me. It didn't strike me until last night that in all the gifts I'd given, if people had forbidden me, I would have been devastated. I was robbing people of the exact sensation I loved in giving.

The selfishness of my independence, is as far away from Christ wishes for us to be in relations with others. My need to be in control, to think less of others than myself and not sanction myself to be vulnerable to someone else, that cared enough to share a gift with me, was sinful.
The gift was truly not as important as the gesture that was acted upon. Relationships deepen when we receive without judgement, and blithering excuses, that destroy joy. Sounds odd yet it took us time to eventually open the box and savor every morsel of salted caramel cashews drenched in dark chocolate.

The lesson she taught me was invaluable, there is a maturity, humility and appreciation in receiving. I needed to linger in that moment and allow the giver to cherish their moments too. The giver receives as much benefit from the gift as the receiver, an internal bliss. From this day forth my efforts will commence to receive graciously.

Our society is funny, when I compliment colleagues, women often tell me that the item is old, cheap or not in fashion. I'm always struck at how others struggle with compliments as much as I do. Perhaps in our desperation to be independent, which is truly a North American thing, we are distancing ourselves from one another's blessings.

When the rare and unexpected happens leap for joy and relish in the moment. I've read that euphoric sensation we feel does wonders for our entire body, from blood, to nerves, to organs. It springs forth juices of wellness that satiates, and coats the body in dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin and endorphins warding off illness while proving delicious nourishment for our cells. How often have you every heard of anyone practising that butterfly feeling we get. It usually last 5-10 seconds yet with practise you can stretch it out to minutes. The next time someone asks if you've exercising, tell them your bringing forth happiness.

“Gracious acceptance is an art - an art which most never bother to cultivate. We think that we have to learn how to give, but we forget about accepting things, which can be much harder than giving.... Accepting another person's gift is allowing him to express his feelings for you.” 
― Alexander McCall Smith, Love Over Scotland

Goodness

The simplicity of the word "goodness" often eludes us as we search for bigger accolades in honoring those so deserving. As our society stretches to find new cliché we often lose the essence of humility. When travelling through Africa the most profound statement I heard from an elderly gentlemen strolling along a sandy Sunday afternoon was, "The saddest time in a man's life is when he doesn't need a neighbor." The statement has punctured my soul deeper each day as we strive so desperately in our western cultures to prove our worth. Yet, we live in a society riddled with depression, loneliness, and suicide by many wanting approval, for their existence. I observed hundreds of children in Africa with absolutely no possessions but the cloths on their backs. I found profound depth and goodness in them, it was I that so longed for them to come home to Canada and show us pure joy, laughter, forgiveness, hope, appreciation, gratitude and humanity. I'd been sent there to collaborate with teachers and administrators and within days I was brought to tears by their ingenuity, genuine care for their colleagues, I knew I would never look at life the same.

In our race to compete in every aspects of our lives we've lost the earnest ability to see one another's humanness. Our desire to be loved for who we are doesn't seem enough. Many are more concerned with a list of letters, awards, abilities, honors, and even praises. What happened to goodness, pure goodness,

Tomorrow look into the crowd and honor each person for their goodness, that you may or may not see, but in all of us we are seeded with love, and if allowed to flourish it will bloom. It's a state of mind that we choose each day to reside in, even in the complexity of our lives. When we search for goodness it is ever present in each and every moment. See it in all people you meet and it will come alive.

Hope

Peter might not have believed it was possible to have hope for an alternate path. He followed with many doubts keeping focused, with constant prompts heaving his life into the storm only to have it saved again and again and again.

Today with the knowledge we have, his wisdom, evidence, we continuously falter in our faith, looking to this world for answer that will never come. I explain to my students that throughout our lives if we keep his word, prayer, fellowship, and holy spirit in the center of our focus we will fall, and he will be there with arms open to catch our bodies, tears, minds and souls. Difficult as it might be, the sooner we learn that this world will never satiate us, the sooner we learn to be enveloped by his love that is completely unsurpassed.

My grade 12's are reading "Night" and I'm humbled by every word, every deed a human race can be moved to preserve their minds, their souls, and their existence. How can one have hope knowing in the end you will die, or is that the simple task having hope because you know?

I am challenging my students to form a chart that will allow them to learn about their culture, who is the dominant country, people and their purpose in crushing another race and for what cause? They are becoming aware, terrified, that as humans we are still doing this to one another with few positive results. So why haven't we learned from our predecessors? Oh! we have, we just turn a blind eye claiming our agenda is above those of the past. Is that why Putin was allowed to host the Olympics and then invade Ukraine, Trump spews hatred yetis revered by millions, Isis kills tens in France and still exists, an endless list ensues.

Hope, it allows us to rise each day knowing 90% of the world does believe in goodness, even when we cut one another off racing out of the church parking lot and curse, whilst the rosary hangs from our rear view mirror. We are humans and everyday we need to remind ourselves, pinch ourselves, that in this wild wonderland we call earth, there is a deep purpose for hope to exist.

It allows us to see past our present reality,  into a realm unworldly, unfathomable to most, but not you. It brings a plan, a method to our value and worth. If we look for blessings they appear minute by minute, if our hearts are open to them, we are flooded, in our patience there is abundance. Help one another in gratitude, respect and treat others are you would like to be treated. That is hope.

Pause ---for light thought

Blame my father for illuminating the morning skies, saffron sails billowing intense blood orange/fuscia with hints of indigo momentarily captured in real time. Light, a moment that eludes most of us that rise daily, work on our minds, missing the brilliance of God's creation for us. Our five senses have a new years resolution for you.....to use them. Crunching of snow beneath the tires. Lift of a backyard bird pleading for a mate, neighbors coffee wafting across hedges, hands forming snowballs, drinking cold mountain fed waters, and frosted willows begging to be photographed.

Living room perched watching clouds configure, deconstruct, compose sweeping melodies, is grace I'll never take for granted. Minutes pass admiring the aqua marine ebb and flow onto the stage expanding, enveloping my frame deepening my breath to know this might be my last. Blinding light forces sheer curtains to only transmit Christmas lights in minute bursts of white light moving through a prism.

Luxury, a selfish entity that I cherish yearning so deeply to envelop into my being.

The late afternoon pillows grey slate gently rolling over coral palates seeping opal hues at the ends
bringing warmth after a satisfying ski day taking the last run with the ski guides looking into the sky yearning to trap that essence into a bottle. Now you can, that fleeting moment of wonder bubbling up can be reproduced for health, spiritual wealth, and clarity of the moment. Rein act your first kitten, first bike ride, holding someone's hand, kissing, knowing someone loves you....pause....and bring those sensations forth, daily, they ignite our endorphins, spark oxygen within lasting infinitely in our minds. Absorb the senses this world offers daily, in the midst of plights, take note, and rejuvenate.

Love beyond....

 

Today at work I was pushed beyond boundaries I hadn't experienced before. Staff becoming petty with one another leaving me exhausted emotionally, physically, and unwilling to go to the distance.

God's always given me strength to reach out, and when they came calling after several bouts of stupidity I assisted naturally then recoiled, realizing that it is in the wisdom of experience that their is no "I" in team. Teaching others to come forward is rarely easily, yet necessary for building capacity.

I crawled into my car feeling overwhelmed and defeated and turned my thoughts inwards. I slowly unwound yet not enough to not tell my husband, and together we sat in prayer. What allowed me to truly know I was off, was the lack of beauty I saw on route home. Travelling past Nose Hills strewn with deer grazing on the southern slopes, grasping the last warmth of sunlight while peering sporadically for preying foxes and coyotes. Blowing grass fluttering in the light breeze catching the hues of light washing over the hillside blesses my eyes and soul daily. And the fact I was so focused on other's driving was a telltale sign.

When I lifted it to God he placed it in the right compartment and priority. I am truly amazed after all these years with God, how human I am, and his wondrous capacity to deal with our issues, when and if we allow him into our hearts, souls, and agendas. He graciously transforms us. I'm humbled to tears often by God's creation in nature, rejuvenation of my being begins here. May I always be drawn near to him here.

Tough Love

 My husband and I have had so many discussions about our son's room that I can't recall if we have ever precipitated debate about anything else.

I believe in being firm, fair and friendly, yet with your own kids or my step kids or adults that is difficult. I've been called a dictator once and that hurt. I've learned a lesson or two over the years, that I might never get the gushy love that I might have thought I'd receive from them, but I do believe behind the tears of manipulation that have been present they respect me. I have never waivered from my stance. Tears have held strong for hours and I have said nothing but been there and eventually they have asked if it still holds true and the answer has always been yes. I expect a clean room of someone in their 20's, heck I expected that at 12 year old, along with doing the dishes, laundry and cleaning the bathroom.
What has floored me is the lack of gratitude, or perceived gratitude and even more importantly to watch their father have to ask them again and again. He has given his life for these kids and he would continue allowing them to wrap him around their finger.
They are polite, yes, but we have enough polite people in the world, let's make accountable men, that I never have to say I've enabled.
I don't expect perfection, I expect effort, and someone that offers to do something without asking, that I don't believe has occurred yet. I feel more saddened by this than anything.
I feel that I have failed to demonstrate the myriad of times their father and I offer to assist with all aspects of the household. They have had role models forever, but that doesn't seem to matter.
When I feel that I am not working harder than my kids at doing their work, success will be had. I wish them love, luck and diligence, for in the real world, second chances come to those that succeed.

French Cuisine

 

The chinking of the glasses says far more of friendship than any morsel touching our lips, but once it had love resonated on our palates.
I left for France when I was 24 and had no idea I would fall in love the land, it's people, it's wine and food.
I landed in Bordeaux by sheer accident. I'd met Gary in Quiberon, Brittany and learned that they needed any hand to pick grapes. For 4 grueling days I ventured along the coastal route on my bike as fast as my legs would peddle, while Gary followed by train. One night in a lighthouse youth hostel, a group of young designers were meeting to celebrate their friends wedding anniversary and being the only other resident invited me to join them.

Lavish colors, fabrics, textures and designed painted the palate of the clothing, intricate necklines, lace adorned each garment. I revelled in their schooling wishing to attend. It was here that I knew my love for design was ignited. With a father as an architect, design was in my blood, he'd taken me to myriads of cathedrals, mosques, temples, castles, designed my own clothing, and tasted some of the world's best food, and sat and watched and calmness of the sun sinking into the ocean.
Leonel, the manager of the vineyard wasn't happy with my late arrival and rather aluff at my lack of working permit. I heaved my bike off the tiny boat that separated, the Isle de Chateau de Margeaux, a tiny island spanning 1 km. long and 500 meters square, and the mainland, a mere 150 feet away. I'd read a book on route and been so disillusioned by the horrid conditions they described, no showers, no food, short breaks, long hours, and low pay, why would I endure this agony. I was on holidays, I didn't need the money. My thought was, if they fire me, well I'll continue into the Pyrenees and Spain.

Catherine Lavoire stood opposite me, with a boyish smile, hidden from the vines that reached head height with the grapes situated waste height. The first lunch break I had no idea what to do, they had already been working for 1 day when I arrived. Leonel invited us into the shed where they repaired the trucks. I was astonished, a u-shaped table set for 25 people. When Marie, his wife served up some salad, I wafted it down twice the speed of anyone there, and took doubles when she offered. If this was my only meal, lettuce, it better be good. I'd already missed breakfast and how was I to get dinner stuck on an island. Then as my plate was cleared she served soup, that too, I took 2 servings. Just when my eyes were adjusting she brought out our entrée, plus a fruit and cheese platter and then dessert. I rolled out of the garage and landed at the bottom of an apple tree. I passed out within seconds, not having drank much prior to this, the glass of wine I had a lunch did me in. When the bell rang to commence work, I was two sheets to the wind, dreaming of crème brulee, tart au pomme, and poison gratine.

After 14 days the rains came and we needed to take a small break. Francois de Mecquenem, Leonel cousin asked if I'd like to see the ocean. En route he stopped along the Gironde pulled up to a man shucking oysters took out his "Laguiole" a folding knife and handed me oysters in lemon juice. He was smitten....

The rain started pounding down as the evening approached and we ended back at his parents home just outside of Bordeaux on a tiny acreage. They were concert pianist and accountants and I looked like a drowned rat as they served up soup, salad and an entre of poison fuille. We discussed religion, politics and the plight of France, every possible topics you should never discuss. I was in heaven, as polities wasn't in my blood. His mother picked up that I wasn't conjugating my verb correctly, how French.

His mother had baguettes delivered every morning, like my mom had milk,  flooding my childhood memories of the smallness of life. The comforts that I had running to the milk shoot and checking to see if it was there, or peering out the window searching up and down the street for the milk truck. The thought of plastic, or cardboard milk containers lacks romance, lacks authenticity, and mostly lacks a sense of connection to nature.

Days after, back on the vineyard the French workers sang songs from wars gone by, even kids as young as 18, and we'd listen, smile, and admire how truly bonded they were as a country. Then someone would find a cluster of white grapes as hands clamoured over the vines to taste the succulent sweet miracles that appeared in a pinot noir vineyard.

As I observed the men and women of France, they had a collective gratitude for the smallest of conversation. Yes, they worked for money, yet their livelihood was about relationships that nourished their souls during the day, especially around a meal, and walking back to their cars, they were never short for words of encouragement.

Love in the time of Cholera

How quickly we forget that 3/4 of the world living in refugee camps, slums and overcrowded environments are exposed  again and again to this infectious disease. Clean water that we take so readily, is unattainable to over half of the world's population. Water, a natural resource that's abundant for so few, takes lives of so many daily.

It is more than mere water that has stopped our planet from living as one. The infectious disease has more to do with our hearts than the small intestine. It is our ease at which we turn a blind eye to those out of sight, out of mind. If each one of us was faced with someone in our home, in our workplace, in our church, or soccer team facing life and death, compassion would reign over consumption. People were created to be love, things were created to be used, why are so many people loving things and using people. The unsurpassed satiation for inanimate object will never fill our souls, yet day after day, China and other developing countries are paying workers far too little to make far too many polymers for western ingestion. Injecting no hope, love, joy or peace into their lives, yet they have been brainwashed to believe wealth comes from outside of themselves instead of inside.  

The next time someone asks if you are caring for someone, say yes, our human planet. Share your tremendous wealth with those that can't, give until it hurts and then ask God how to give more. Lean on one another for support, God intended this to happen, he left part of our heart empty to be filled by relationships. He made sure no human was gifted abundantly so we would have to work collaboratively, like a colorful woven tapestry.


 

Living it live

Stupefied or sycophantic that 90% of us want peace in the world, perhaps 100% do, yet some have been brainwashed to believe that security in a host of resources will enrapture their soul. As Catholics I've had my share of criticism from friends and foe misguided, ignorant about what Christ is. The way we look at it, is simple. If I'm wrong and I've spent a lifetime trying to serve God and through that the immediate community I live in, my family, friends, and all those I encounter, what have I lost, nothing.....But if they are wrong, eternity in damnation is infinite. Long ago I learned to grasp the best in people, try not to gossip, as peace resides in those that don't, follow Pope Francis first rule, stop using Facebook for gossip, which after numerous inquiries would shut down 90% of users from blethering, find rejuvenation in nature, and learn to listen, for those that do instill perspicacity.

Roots

          

Stabs of anger linger, then recoil and strike for my desire to comprehend why as humans we haven't captured the quintessence of how to live harmoniously. My addiction to Burma began when my father lived/worked in Rangoon in the 50's. I have studied their countries history for 20 years, admitting ignorance yet always yearning an opportunity to lose my soul in a country so plagued by corruption that I have given up hope. Yet in the same breath I have renewed my drive to speak to the myriad of generals and military men that have slaughtered their own people and ask why? Have their lives gained such wealth by doing so? I have read not, and yet for 60 years this country has been mired with minority groups undermined and petulant attacks of its own people that even the 1988 student uprising was punctured with abscesses.

I can't imagine an entire people to be flummoxed, they are well educated and have suffered so much, why persist? Not a country that exists is not choked with historical regret, but to continue on knowing there is an alternative, and yes I realized many countries other than Burma are living with ambient animosity. Can it be so simple as greed and power? Can a human master serpentine ingenuity knowing the truth exists. It is solely a matter of survival, what about the millions of people that have lived through this. I am sickened by my sense of entitlement, living in Canada, just by sheer luck, while someone else, has been born into a country, with no means of escaping, has to subsists with little hope of change.

In the Beginning

A new year is upon us and with it comes 

A recipe for Love

Each one of us comes into this world developing values, beliefs and for most we are lured to a passion. One of mine is righteousness, it began early in life, as my parents exposed me to far too many scenes, and episodes through novels, films, and travel of those that didn't get the chance to experience truths. Thus,according to my husband, I am overly conscious of trying to right the wrongs of the world, I like to think of it as simply acknowledging reality. Lest to say beyond the human condition, sin, the secular rule, I have never understood why we haven't captured, bottled, and sold peace. There are many that have succeeded at a particular cause, U Thant, Leca Walesa, Thich Naht Hanh, Betty Williams, Malala Yousafzai, and Sri Chinmoy, I am speaking of living for peace alone.

Today our priest compared abortions to what Harod was doing in Galilei by slaughtering all babes under the age of 2, and how both justified their killings for their own purpose, their own lifestyle, agenda and comfort. What if at birth we were brought into a community, as they say - it takes a village to raise a child - and early participated in a communal responsibility to care for others. Recognizing self worth through kinship, kindness, not the latest shade of lipstick. Schools have sought to teach academia at the expense of teaching connections, at a great loss to the individual and community. Western culture idealizes independence while suicide rates sore regardless of age, gender, race and financial eminence. Africans have a saying - the saddest day in a man's life is when he thinks he can do it on his own, for they know the value of relationship. God made us empty to seek him and to rely on one another, this was a plan, not some fictitious dream. Why have we tunneled our vision to only the eye of the needle, instead of dreaming, illuminating a prism beyond this world, to an unknown so wild, so feral, not even our frenetic thoughts can glimpse at its realm.

Today we begin our journey to the other side....We begin a germ of solidarity, rich loam of ignorance with a visceral sense of purpose, taking on this mission indubitably yet assiduously.