Gratitude makes the journey better and so does kindness

Month: November 2012 Page 1 of 2

Shopping Reminders

I vent. I stop. And then I vent again. It’s the season of shopping that ruffles my feathers the wrong way. So the witch in me has some more food for thought to offer. Old news you’ll say. Perhaps. Yet we’re still about to learn how to be more human than we were a few days ago. Steep learning curves deserve repeated attention. Like I said, the witch is in, read away and do as you please with it.

There is a subject I cannot chew on for too long without feeling appropriately nauseated: necessary evils. We each have our subjectively developed lists and while it is hard to place the many necessary evils in a particular order, the two that top my list are plastic and slavery/forced labor involved in making goods.

I know plastic has its uses in various objects I need or depend on, yet I am far from being at peace with it. Plastic is a classic example of a double-edged sword. With one edge sharper than the other.

Plastic has been around long enough for us to know that it is harmful to people and animals, harmful to the environment and so wickedly pervasive that it gets into places we had no idea existed. Recycle it, dump it, off it goes? Hardly. We are its ultimate destination. You, me, our children and their children to come. Plastic affects our health and it soils the planet. And maybe it’s just me, but the thought of it being around hundreds of years after I’m gone is infuriating. The irony.

As for slavery, it’s true. Many of the products we buy, and we buy a lot more during this time of the year, come with that invisible burden that we may choose to overlook but it ultimately leaves a nasty stain on who we are. Who are the slaves? Men, women and especially children, performing various low-paid or unpaid jobs, some of which are dangerous and plain hard. Think of a worker who has barely left his milk teeth behind. Modern day slaves.

I’ve heard people say “at least they make an income to feed their families.” Double-edged sword again. I am torn yet I maintain that slavery-imbued items carry a shameful imprint. ‘Tis the season to be jolly for some, unjolly for others. That kind of imprint. I choose to steer clear of it. I encourage you to do the same.

Slavery notwithstanding, there are lots of people in our own backyard who cannot think of Christmas as joyful. So it would only make sense to maybe take some of the money that we would pour into gifts that are bought just because, and put it towards making someone’s world a bit better.

Whether buying some hot meals for those hungry and cold, or hitting the thrift stores for mittens and hats and some warmer boots (it’s the lack of basic stuff that makes one’s life miserable), you’ll fill a need. That’s what the Christmas spirit is about.

Think about putting the money you would spend on a gift you’re not sure is needed into one that is: a microloan with companies such as Kiva or GlobalGiving. Your money will reach further than many of your gifts ever could. There are many options worth exploring. Stepping out the (Christmas) boxed gift.

It’s easy to forget accountability in the midst of Christmas shopping. Hurried as we are, it is understandable that we may overlook stopping to smell the rose. Understandable but hardly acceptable anymore, I’d say.

Everything we buy, whether edible or not, will shape the world around us, the environment and the community. By this I mean the immediate community and the global one. The offer reflects our habits. An image we may not feel honored about after all.

Living in a country that offers so much, and that includes unmatchable natural resources, I believe it is our responsibility to say no to things that come with an unfair environmental or denial of basic human rights. May we choose wisely and deck our halls with bows of goodness. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.

The Actual Black(ness of) Friday…

Here’s the thing: I don’t like shopping for the sake of it and I don’t think much of Black Fridays or any other major sales. In fact they scare me. Now you’ll say what a party pooper. Not really. I’ll explain.

First of all, shopping areas and those hordes of desperadoes trying to grab yet another amazing item at an unbeatable price are robbing us of quite of few humanity tresses that have been passed on for a while now. Dignity is the first one that comes to mind. People have used pepper sprays to get ahead. Truth.

You can play devil’s advocate and say that people need various stuff and they want to get them at lower prices, which makes sense, it does. But let’s pause for a second and consider something: Is it survival items we are talking about or objects that provide us with the kind of mindless entertainment that we don’t need more of, or toys that our children forget about soon after they receive them or things that we assume we cannot live without? What can you really not live without? A cool introspection exercise we can all benefit from.

Second: There is no free lunch. Truth. Here or anywhere else. To create something, you need an input of energy, work, time – all of them together or separate, depending on the things in question. If it’s food and cheap, its origins are as questionable as its quality. If it’s an object and cheap, then chances are that someone’s work, time and energy are not valued. Cheap labor that is. Or resources, digging deep to get the last bits out. Often times, heck, let’s say almost always, exploitation of people and the planet go hand in hand. Awful pairing if you ask me. So either way, cheap is bad news. Unless we’re talking reused items. Previously loved, recycled goods, call them whatever you want, the idea is the same: Someone bought something solid enough to last a while and they don’t need it anymore so others can get it at a fraction of the price.

With the flurry of cheap objects that last as long as a fruit fly can live (that’s about a month or so), you’ll wonder how on earth can we hope to keep second hand stores alive. Many of the things we fiercely fight for and proudly achieve are becoming but a pile of garbage sooner than later. You may argue it’s not true but do look around and ponder. How many out of ten objects you see around you can be awarded the “cradle to grave” award?

What then? Some stuff we can let go, some we can’t. At least not yet. Buy what you need, most of the time, anyway. Buy when you need, not when the want muscle is coerced by a giant sale. Buy good stuff. Those are the objects that rarely go on sale. For a reason. They are good, in fact they are so good that they come with a long-time or even lifelong warranty and you really have to think twice (or many times) before you commit to it. Cheapness invites to shopping frivolity. Previously loved stuff is abundant and cheap. But you still have to be wise about it. It could be bad quality too, it could be not worth the money, there is no perfect universal solution. And you can overdo that too.

Ad-free living is a good start. For clear thinking. Needs first, wants second. To avoid frivolity. And no shades of black or any other color. Life is one colorful adventure. To drape the Black Friday veil or any other gigantic shopping adventure over it really does flatten some of the colors out. For no good reason come to think of it. Say it isn’t so.

Anyone There? But Of Course

It’s the journey that each of us have to take. Life that is. We are ushered into life and expected to make the best of it. Along the way, we stumble. Grind teeth, get up, keep going. We allow part of that grinding of teeth to be heard and discussed. “It’s hard, yes, but you can do it…” Or the opposite “Well, maybe this is not your thing after all…” Choose what fits and move along. We let parts of us be seen but, secretly so, we leave out the parts that make us feel inadequate. Because where inadequacy starts, so does fear of failure.

So we want to have companions for the journey. We find people along the way and we learn how togetherness gives one strength and inspiration. We bump into people and cannot believe the luck of it. What a gift! We laugh and cry on each other’s shoulders, we talk crazy talks and let each other peek into each other’s soul. We let parts of it be seen but, secretly so, we leave out the parts that make us feel inadequate. Because where inadequacy starts, so does fear of rejection.

We stumble upon things we love to do. Uplifting things, they fire you up and making you shiver with that unmistakable feeling of knowing you’re growing into a better you. You want that. Don’t we all? And nothing stands in the way or so you declare. That nothing is perfect you already know. But you boldly and stubbornly assume that (undeclared) perfection – a perfect you, a perfect plan, perfect days lined up like birds on a wire – would be the key to making that feeling immortal. You got it figured out. Or so you let others understand. You let them turn you every which way hoping that the small crack in the pants (inadequacy, fear of facing one’s limitations) will not be seen. We hope, secretly so, that we covered the parts that, once discovered, might reveal our inadequate nature. Or actions. Or habits.

Truth is – my truth, that is, which might or might not be universal – some inadequacy is part of life. It powers the next step. But that’s beside the point of today’s rumble. The point is, as we take the journey, we learn, we succeed and fail, we keep trying and then we learn again. And succeed at some and fail at others. And we might get cheers or be advised on how to do it better. The insight could be too much or too little. It happens. But there is always the one little presence tucked in a corner that will simply be there. Always. It’s you. Or me in this case. Always along for the ride, always privy to all the parts that we might be left out for fear of inadequacy. Always willing to give the gentle (or less so) shove that means come on now, don’t give up just yet

Always there. And once we make peace with the truth that we truly only have ourselves for the ride at all times, and that nakedness of self is a state of being that makes the journey worthwhile, then we can let (some) people into our souls, we can show them the clear lakes and the stinky swamps, we can do things that we will succeed at with grace and others that will make us appear boorish and heading in the wrong direction.

But most of all, we will know that we are never alone no matter what and making peace with the one being that’s always there (until, that is, but we can overlook the obvious for now) is the first step towards that simple tingle in the heart that means I’m getting somewhere. And that somewhere is the point where your acceptance of yourself will allow you to accept others and make them comfortable with you seeing the parts of themselves, those parts that they, secretly so, have been hiding for fear of inadequacy. Because where inadequacy starts, so does fear of rejection. And lucky you, you have already learned that the two do not need to be associated anymore. For inadequacy is part of being alive. It powers us to take the next step. The courage to do so. And it allows you to be you. And it allows the ones around you to be themselves.

And that is, as far as I know, the first step towards that beautiful tingle in the heart that says we’re getting somewhere. Because we are.

 

 

Boundaries – A Beginner’s Quest

The walks home from school with my boys are a treat. We live a good distance from the school so there’s time to talk, be silent, stomp feet if the situation calls for it, laugh our hearts out, play tag or have a snowball fight.

Today is different. My oldest son’s sulkiness sniffs at my shoes like an angry cat.

I know he is upset before he even looks into my eyes.

“How was school?” I ask.

“Good, let’s go!” he says.

No amount of squinting will help me see into his heart right now. Rolled up like a hedgehog, he has a good set of prickles out, telling me that looking for soft spots would be a fool’s errand, and a bit of a warning I might get hurt while looking too closely.

I want him to talk about what’s wrong.

Somehow I think I have the answers because the hardest thing to see is my boy’s struggle and fight invisible battles inside and me not being able to help.

Trying to hold my tongue is like holding a mouse by its tail. When you’re not swift enough it’ll jump and bite your fingers, mice are agile like that. I ask again.

“Lots of homework?”

“No. Mom, I am fine. Let’s walk.”

We walk. Silently. My youngest holds my hand, somewhat tighter than usual. A sweet reminder of his needing me. Small and warm, his hand cradles into mine.

We walk. His brother walks faster. Whatever happened at school today may or may not be forgotten tomorrow. That’s not the point.

“May I go ahead mom?”

“Sure, but take the back lane, it’ll be just us three.”

“I’ll go ahead.”

Every now and then a leaf twirls and falls into a puddle. The end? Hardly. A passage to
a different stage. Learning to let go.

My son has set boundaries I vow to respect. He’s starting early. I have barely discovered the magic of not letting people step over mine.

I am learning from them, my boys. This is the line, they say. You may be allowed to go past some times but not always.

We’ve had this conversation before about boundaries. I tell them how I always imagine the right way to be. If I’m angry, I need space. And time. If I’m sad I need the same.

Or I might need those who can be there without sticking long questioning fingers into my soul to judge me.

I call on them because I trust them to be there for me. Not how they want to be but how I need them.
Boundaries.

My boys are growing. They need me there. To understand. To know where their boundaries are and know that I’ve been entrusted with respecting them. For what’s ahead.

The wind picks up and the mountains look darker. It might snow.

“Can we make cookies tonight?” Sure. Neither is too old to ask or to be cheated out of sweetness.

Over dinner we talk and laugh and make silly jokes. Irreverence and cookies for dessert.

I still don’t know why my oldest’s mood was crumpled earlier but that seems behind him now. If it’s not he must’ve found a way to put it aside, at least for now.

A lesson about boundaries in itself.

(Originally published in the Kamloops Daily News on November 20, 2012 under the title “Personal boundaries are about respect”)

Confessions of A Candy Witch

It’s been two weeks since Halloween and the boys have quite a bit of candy left in their treat bags. In plain sight. I never believed in hiding sweets away. Encouragement to gorge on sweets? Nope. What’s the catch you ask? No catch.

If it has to be hidden it’s lacking an explanation. The “why not” discussions are a must. We started them when Tony was two and had his first taste of chocolate. Since then, we’ve had many conversations about sweets and their appeal. Which ebbs and flows with age, holidays, and possibly the morning mood. Like today for example.

“Can I take candy to school?” Tony asked.
“I’d rather you don’t. You can have some when you come home.”
This is the part where the loving gaze becomes the menacing glare.
“Why not? Kids have candy for snack…”

I carefully lay my answer in front of him like I would a sleeping baby.
“Candy is not snacking food. It is dessert and it should stay that way. Candy has lots of sugar in it and that makes your body less able to defend itself against winter bugs…It’s like having your arms tied and being attacked… ”

Cue rolling of the eyes. I am the candy witch. Again. So I know it when I see it. But can’t you see, I tell them, how children get sicker just as Halloween drags its long sweet tail around the corner? It’s always like that.

Since I never believed in saying “No” just because I have the power to do so, I am offering the reason. Again.
“You have cells defending your body against germs, like dedicated warriors, always on the job. But when you eat candy the warriors get all slugged and unfit to protect you for a few hours until the sugar gets out.”

The eye roll stops. Or so I think. They understand, but not succumbing to my argument completely, they throw a “Have it your way” kind of look over the table. We finish breakfast. Battle won, but the war… not quite.

Still, he doesn’t want to be the only health freak on a 10 mile radius, Tony explains. I love it when he characterizes my eating habits with those two words that seem to embrace each other as soon as he utters them like friends who have not seen each other in ages. Same oomph of a hug… It is hard being a pre-teen and belonging to a mom like me. At times. Perhaps I am being too hard on myself. The witch.

I know, don’t you think I don’t. Being an adult means I can make choices without ever feeling any peer pressure or becoming the target of silly jokes. Children have hard time holding their ground that way. My boys included.

I explain to them how we have to be choosy with everything that we eat. You eat garbage, your body will behave accordingly, it’s a fact. Healthy and ethically is a good start when choosing food. Not shoving kale chips down their throats – though I do make that and at least one of them approves of it – for now, hoping to recruit the other soon…Treats are yummy, I know that, but I don’t approve of plain sugar dipped in questionable colors to pass as a treat. Regular – call it mainstream – chocolate comes with a bitter price. Unless it’s fairly-traded (third party verified if possible) chocolate consumption encourages child labor. Unfair? To say the least. Would you ever approve of your children or children you know working in the field all day, hungry and underpaid? Thought so. I wouldn’t either. It’s easier to say no when you have an image attached to a questionable treat.

The time will come for my boys to make choices of their own. I want them to know why they’ll say no if it’s a no. Not to simply comply, a destructive attitude in itself, but to question what’s being offered and refuse if their better judgment says so. In time, that will also shape the offer. And their offer is affecting more than just themselves and the shelves of the closest grocery store. It’s the community they live in, their well-being, the environment and future generations. The ripple effect indeed.

I am not opposed to treats. Yet accepting sweet stuff that someone labeled “candy” and made it look appealing to my children? Never, unless I know what’s in it. Most mainstream sweets contain high-fructose corn syrup, which is one of the hidden causes for obesity and insulin resistance and many contain food coloring that may or may not have been tested properly. Like I said, saying no when you know the facts becomes but a logical thing.

There is nothing evil about sweets, but like with everything else, reaching for good quality is the way to go. Cheapness, abundance and low standards though, a different story. A deceptively bitter one.

How We Live In Fear – Still Lacking A Way Out

The National Post published a short piece about a new alleged “enemy” of some children, according to one concerned mother: the oak tree! Surprised? Thank you, we’ll march together from here on then.

The Ontario mother whose child has severe nut allergies is asking the school to remove a bunch of oak trees from the playground because the sapling droppings may cause her child to have an anaphylactic shock should she play nearby and come in contact with the very thing. Shocked? I hope, because it is absurd that the issue made it this far. But like with many things that happen, this one must’ve happened for a reason. Hopefully not a wasted one by the time today’s news are all classified and everybody moves on. If you want my take on it, it is an invitation to act.

An allergy is a serious thing, there is no two ways about it. My own son is allergic to cats: The mere presence of a cat or us visiting a house with cats causes him itchiness all over the upper body, a runny nose and, shortly after these somewhat innocuous symptoms, full-blown asthma. It’s not pretty and potentially life-threatening. Potentially. There are cats everywhere though, and, what can we do? The idea of eradicating some of them – I know, chuckle away – it’s so preposterous it does not perhaps deserve even a half-chuckle. That’s not where the problem lies. Same with the oak trees. Aside from the fact that I am particularly fond of oak trees – their sturdiness and ability to withstand the test of time is beyond impressive – the wrongness of shooting the messenger is clearly understated.

Living in fear of oak trees or cats or any other naturally occurring living things and their droppings will simply not do. Living in fear in general, is no way to live. Yet we have come to fear diseases and germs to such degree that we act rather irrationally when a problem arises. Not addressing the problem though. There’s an increasing number of people accusing food allergies and environmental sensitivities. While some could be solely fear-based (according to statistics), many are real and yes, dumbfounding. Why do they happen? Perhaps it is time to look at our lifestyle habits. The things we eat, the air we breathe, the stuff we choose to put on our bodies (think cosmetics and clothes).

What do we allow for and why? We allow food to be grown with as many pesticides and fertilizers as needed (when I say needed I am sarcastically referring to the unnatural “need” to have everything cheap, no blemishes, and readily available, no matter the season). All of this brings a huge number and also amount of chemicals (some of which possible carcinogens) very close to our bodies straight into our bodies. To think that it would not affect the intricate workings of our cells would be irrational and slightly immature. They do, yet we have barely scratched the surface, knowledge wise, or so we think. I believe though that there’s enough knowledge to make us act, yet action is still lacking for the most part.

We allow for genetically modified foods to be presented to us as good options. Why not, you’ll say, aren’t most of the crops these days genetically improved (for a lack of a better term) anyway because that’s what survival of the fittest is after all. You select the sturdiest plant and improve it further so you’ll get a good solid crop at the end of the season. Right? Precisely, except that Nature still had its say in it. Not so with genetically-modified foods. We’re playing God and some of us know it. Yet we don’t know what the consequences are. There are studies on rats that make GM food consumption look grim and unappetizing. For humans, animals alike. The environment is also affected. Sadly though, crops such as corn, soy, canola, wheat, and rice, to name a few still find their way to your dinner table. You would not know who’s who though because there is no labeling. And there’s no fear of not having them labeled either, which to me is frightening.

So you see, oak trees are not the problem. It’s us, our lifestyle and our willingness to put our health, our children’s health and the state of our environment on the line just so we can have everything cheap, abundant and readily available. To live within one’s means is a concept we have yet to master. It should not be out of fear, but drawn from a deeper understanding of how things work…

The oak trees will most likely stay. I hope we will dig deeper though into the whole issue of why do we have to come to the blaming of trees and rely on taking them down to seemingly eliminate possible threats.

The price of not acting is always higher than one expects but we end up paying it anyway. In increments, that is, so it doesn’t feel that high. It is. With interest.

About time we stand by the old oak tree and rethink our choices.

Someone’s Son – Lest We Forget

When you meet someone they put out their hand and say their name. And you say yours making sure you say it loud enough. Well, that particular time was different. I met his mom first. She talked about her son being deployed and her calm was impressive.

He was in Afghanistan searching for IEDs or improvised explosive devices, she explained. Bombs that don’t really look like bombs, you know, and can blow up anytime. I did not know any army acronyms back then. There’s a lot of them.

I remember walking home that day along the back alley and looking at my feet. They were there, walking on solid ground. No bombs to snap them off. I thought of the soldier whose name I did not know. I thought of him walking on sand sowed with explosive devices; breathing dust and restlessness the way I was breathing my calm morning crispness here. A bubble of perfect life colliding in midair with realities most people could not care less about, realities that were far away yet somehow became more than shadows through the virtue of learning about someone so immersed in them. Someone I could forget about just like we forget about so many people we’re told about… But now I knew of him and could not get that out of my head.

I walked home thinking that he might never make it home, praying that he will. For he was someone’s son. That was reason enough. I have sons of my own, and one day they could choose to go to a faraway place where being alive is not a given and not taken for granted. I would fear and pray for them, I’d try to be calm as I would tell people about them and perhaps they’ll pray for their safe return.

He made it home alive and in one piece.

A few weeks after that, he sat and talked. We talked about guns and tanks and all that dust that entered his lungs. He could no longer run longer distances for the first few weeks after he got to Afghanistan, he said. Running up those dusty hills was almost impossible. Frustrating. It took a while to get used to it; dust there is so different, everything is, he said. Light brown walls, so thick you couldn’t take them down no matter what. More pictures. He was proud to share stories and I felt honored to be the one listening.

Children there are so happy, they laugh a lot, he said. And they are wearing beautiful colorful outfits. That’s where he started really noticing kids for the first time, he said. There were groups of them, the older ones taking care of the young ones. Kids playing house for real.

He told me of the special bond he has with people who have been there once or several times. It’s like they speak a language only they know and share a special space others cannot understand. True as it can be. He told me how all returning soldiers hope they’ll be spared the prying question that no one has the right to ask them “Have you killed someone?”

A few months later on Remembrance Day I looked at all the white crosses laid for the fallen soldiers. I thought of all those times when I was in school and we took wreaths to the cemetery where all the soldiers rested. Most of them had “unknown soldier” engraved on their tombstone.

Now I had a face for all the unknown soldiers. I thought of all the soldiers people like me have heard about and who never made it back home. I thought of what I would say to them.

Nothing more than thank you. To all who came back, to all who didn’t, to the soldier who taught me how to say it without asking prying uncomfortable questions.

Thank you.

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