Month: December 2012 Page 1 of 2

It was two days ago that I realized how I am not scared of this year’s Christmas anymore. Or apprehensive for that matter. The first Christmas in a different place can do that to someone like me, you see.

Unfamiliar places become familiar as you immerse yourself in them, and so has Kamloops since we landed here on September 1. It’s been a good and rich few months but Christmas still had a big cloud over it: It did not feel like Christmas and faking the joy just doesn’t do it for me. I painted like I usually do, I baked like I do (but had to convince myself to do it and thinking it will be worth the effort since the ginger-smelling house will summon some good Christmas thoughts) and got a nice (albeit spiky) tree. All like it should be. Yet not quite…

Two days ago I was heading downtown with snow falling so thick and plump you’d think the entire sky was draped very close to the ground. It makes you happy, you know, snow falling like that. There’s no hiding from snow flakes, they pinch your face, they hide in your hair, they tickle your nose and there is no better game than sticking your tongue out just to catch a few. Try it. Before you know it, the pre-Christmas pout is lost somewhere in the thick snow under round bushes that winter cold has cocooned into dormant blobs.

The downtown was white and slushy as one would expect on a day when snow kept falling and people kept throwing salt on the sidewalks to prevent bumps and bruises and broken limbs.

For half an hour or so I was tucked in the warmth’s of a nice lunch place owned by a dear friend and her mother eating soup and chatting about dreams and people we know, and snowy places where you have no other option but to count your blessings for being snowed in. We hugged and I was on my way to meet another friend who has seen my soul bruised from up close and has seen it dance with sparkling joy too, and embraced it all with kindness. Being the relationship minimalist that I am, there is no army of friends around me, but the ones I have come close to my soul wrapped in blankets of deep trust and I know, and they know it too, that they are there for the right reasons. It’s a two-way road, always.

We had coffee, laughs, shared memories and talked about our boys, about being mothers, about being us, about the places we would go to and about whether we ask too much of life. It started snowing again and we walked through snowy-slushy downtown and it looked festive all of a sudden.

I walked home and thought of Christmas again. Whiteness does wash worries and fears away, not sure how. I realized I was in a place where I have friends who laugh and cry with me, I have my boys who are trusting me to bring them a jolly Christmas, I have people who bring the world to me and show me the wonder of it when I am too teary or tired or frustrated that I fail to acknowledge it.

I am in a place that is as good to be in at Christmas as any other place, but being on the side of those who do not always see Christmas as an unconditionally happy time is a gift in itself. It softens one’s heart to match the softness of the very snow I’m stepping on. It’s good to see both sides of it so I can be grateful. Being grateful makes Christmas real. Like with every other part of my life, I’d take real over anything else any day.

May your Christmas be real and infused with gratefulness. Merriness  will find its way into it, somehow I came to learn that.

I believe many writers are chimeras of some sort. Writing different things at different times and hoping (I’d say knowing but that almost sounds like bragging) that each written thought will provoke others, it will inspire, or irk or make someone’s world slightly warmer, rounder and perhaps add some bits of meaning to it.

I write about what inspires me. Life with my boys and seen through the eyes of my boys, the challenges and heartache or not finding my way often times while raising them, the joy of seeing them grow into people who think and debate and wonder about the world around them.

My blog is often the repository for rants about the things that I cannot pass by and remain indifferent. Proof that I am, if you will. A most gracious way of acknowledging the gift of being alive.

My articles range from happy-go-lucky how to pieces to investigative pieces that look deep into the problems of today’s world. The ones that I see, anyway, the ones that I pick out of the many that trouble me in how they affect the world I live in and the world my sons will inherit. I am merely scratching the surface, I’d say, but always vowing to do more. To make people aware, to make them reflect and perhaps (hopefully) exercise change in their own lives and expanding way past that, since I have long said that we cannot afford to seek just the personal benefit and well-being. It’s an oxymoron really, since my actions will affect your world and the other way around. It’s a together dance, if you know what I mean.

I was asked why I don’t write just happy pieces, heralding the great discoveries in science for example (medical, biochemistry, environment-related topics since that’s my niche) and portraying people who shape the world around into a better one. I do, but first things first and that is identifying the cause of the problems we have, facing our wrong-doing or overlooking of things (for various reasons) and looking for solutions. Looking for ways to inspire people. We live in times when trading health, compassion and common sense for convenience, superficiality and unaccountability is becoming too common place.

As long as I have faith and hope that things can be turned around, I will write about issues that are present and I cannot ignore just so my words will not rain on someone’s parade. I will write about all that cannot be left alone and hopefully create the kind of effect that will change things for the best. Not writing or discussing these things is akin to giving up or burying our heads in the sand. It’s never been a trendy thing, less so nowadays when information abounds and twirls our heads into a drunken embrace of complacency.

It makes me think of the band on the Titanic. They played their violins as the ship was going down. If there was any chance of helping in saving people’s lives they would have done it. But there was no hope. Making the end sweeter and wrapping it in velvety violin sounds was the one thing they could still do, one of those happy-sad acts of giving when the end was imminent. I believe we are not there yet. There is still time and opportunities to help before playing the happy-sad songs of renunciation. That’s why I write what I write.

At the same time, I write stories for children, some are plain silly and playing on words, while others reach deeper. I write blog posts and columns about my life as a mom of two boys who take me on the most breathtaking roller coaster that can be, drenching me in sweetness and just as briskly bringing cold winds in my face.

Through everything that I write, I keep true to myself and will never settle for less. That’s why I write what I write. With a good old cowboy coffee on the side. Fairly traded beans and all. Like I was saying, my actions will influence one’s world. Yours included. Mind-boggling, isn’t it?

First thing first: There are no zombies now, nor will there be any in ten years from now chasing people in order to feast on their brains or to cough some zombie phlegm in a carefully-designed prepper’s soup.

Now you’ll ask why would I even write about this. Well, it could be the fact that I am getting ridiculously ticked off when reading about zombie walks (including zombie walks for children), or hearing yet another theory about the world ending and zombies getting the best of us, or seeing an increasing array of articles in outdoors stores that are dedicated to those who call themselves “zombie preppers.” If the latter concept makes your hair stand on end, I’m with you. It’s severely dislocated from reality and the whole concept an insult to human intelligence.

The Center for Disease Control has blog entries about how to help people prepare for zombie attacks. I should state that they believe, just like most of the people do, that zombies do not exist. The reason they use it as a way to get the information out is because it gets people worked up enough to get ready for really devastating events such as hurricanes, earthquakes, etc. Now that’s where I scratch my head and ask: Can people not be addressed like mature individuals and be told how to prepare should a disaster occur? I never told my children they should stay in bed after bedtime because there are monsters under the bed ready to get them. Why would I want to be told that as an adult? What’s with the infantilizing of the adult humans and them nodding their heads in approval?

If the world ends, it will because we allow our minds to be invaded not by the zombie virus as one of the idiotic hypotheses out there is suggesting, but by gluttony and that incessant desire to have more, more of everything, better and more sparkling than yesterday’s stuff and ideally cheaper. And more. Oh wait, I already said that.

If the world ends it is because we cannot see the real threat to our world as we know it: Environmental disasters caused by pollution, overfishing and low-grade genetically-modified and processed foods; Health crises caused by lack of common sense when treating diseases and the saddening phenomenon of “creating” diseases in order to medicate (read make profits off of new drug prescription) while overlooking diseases that are real and in need of being addressed in a way that might not make anyone richer but would make for a healthy, better adjusted community; disastrous social situations caused by isolating from our fellow humans and hiding behind screens until we can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.

If the world ends it is because we are forgetting to live as a global community. Preparing to survive should the apocalypse strike, is the ultimate proof that living as separately as we can from our fellow humans is a sad reality. What if preparing ing would actually involve becoming aware of what is wrong in today’s society (all of it, that is, all continents and humans included) and decide to act on it in a manner that’s accountable and compassionate. That kind of stuff has a ripple effect, a positive one

What if children will be told about the realities of the world and they’ll be listened to when they’ll come up with ideas on how to address them. Because they will, and the reason is quite simple: They have (still) unadulterated minds that can see right from wrong and call it as it is. And so do many people who are raising awareness about the goings of the world not because they want to make a buck or hide in zombie-proof bunkers, but because they want to make the world last and because they want to leave it better than they found it (is is still realistic to aim for that? Let’s hope so.)

What if adults will be told “here’s what you need to know and how to prepare should any disaster strike” but the zombie part will be left out because otherwise they might feel insulted. We do have approximately three pounds of brain material after all. What if there will be more of a collective consciousness and awareness of the fact that all we have is today and now, and making the best of every day for yourself, for the ones you love, and for the world you live in, is a worthy goal.

So I had it with the zombie crap. I am saddened that Discovery Channel caters to what some refer to as a “cultural phenomenon” and airs shows like “The Zombie Apocalypse.” So, you’ll say, watch it or don’t watch it, no one’s putting a gun to your head. True enough, but why cater to something that’s not only fictional but bad fictional and more over, puts a negative spin on the idea of being prepared for natural disasters (some caused by global warming, ahem).

I do not like the idea of any of my neighbors filling their houses with guns and ammo for zombies, or barricading their houses to prevent zombies from stealing their food and ravaging their homes. And I do not like the idea of any of my neighbors seeing potential zombie material in any of us who do not subscribe to the idiotic hypothesis that they zombies exist or will soon. I would like to think that my neighbors are just as willing to come and help me and my loved ones and offer us help in any form, should we need that extra help, just like I would help them and offer them what they need if a situation occurs.

If it’s not humanity that drives our actions then there is a high risk of dying inside. No amount of prepping will prevent that. According to Wikipedia a zombie is an animated corpse resurrected by mystical means, such as witchcraft.The term is often figuratively applied to describe a hypnotized person bereft of consciousness and self-awareness, yet ambulant and able to respond to surrounding stimuli. The way I see it, if there’s any danger of zombies coming our way, we are a few years too late to prevent it since they are already here in the shape of those who prepare for the very thing. Concluding with a “joke’s on you, zombie doomsters” seems darn appropriate. In the day and age of problems ans crises that are real and hard to resolve, spending money and funds for a “what if” scenario of the most ludicrous kind troubles me.

As for the world ending, the question is not whether you can survive on your own, I believe, but whether the journey to that point was worth it. Because if we only live for ourselves the whole time and prepare to face a possible ending the same way, we will find that the place we’ve saved ourselves for is one empty cold planet. Said Norman Cousins, American political journalist, author, professor, and world peace advocate (1915 -1990): “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” As always, do as you please.

Thoughts? Much obliged if you decide to share.

Dinner’s early tonight but we’re stretching it in a lazy guessing game that includes tricksters like “What’s blue and alive?” and “What flies and is a mammal?”…

I’m thinking a walk should be a good wrap up of a day that was a bit long, a bit tiring and a bit strange. One of those days. The vagueness may be annoying but explaining it would make it worse, trust me on this.

“How about a walk on a lake?” The boys latch onto the idea like their lives depend on it. It’s the opposite, really, but if I say it out loud I’ll burst their night adventure bubble and boys need that.

Snow pants, down jackets, snow boots, hats, mittens, headlamps. It will be dark. Too dark perhaps? We can postpone. “No, mom, not too dark. Please, please? And take the sled too?” If I were a snail I’d be long gone in my shell, silent and still. But I’m not.

So we drive to the lake. Walloper is the name and it is sleeping a frozen sleep under a thick blanket of snow. It’s dark, with plump dollop-like clouds swaddling the sky. Even our voices sound round and muffled. We step on hardened snow, headlamps on and pulling the sled.

We make out the edge of the lake but I still think of a Russian roulette of some sort.

“Mom, can we walk on the lake?” Yes, but be cautious. I’m awfully crumbly at the thought of underwater-plunging boys. But we’re here and the ice is thick. Just a few steps. Check, walk, check again, walk. We discover a water hole dug by an afternoon fisherman.

Little boy shining light his way, daring and independent. Little boy stepping knee-deep into the hole dug earlier by the afternoon fisherman. Screeches pile into a thin tower that balances on my head. Little boy and water holes have met before. It’s a rite of passage that keeps repeating itself.

“Why does it always happen to me?” Because you boys are adventurous and cheeky. Your brother did it too once, way deeper. It’s good to have a story like that trailing behind.

We’re on the shore and sledding towards another frozen bay. White all over, evergreens sewn all around the lake. The edge of reason? Perhaps, but ice is thick and holding. We’re standing on it. Suspended but not quite. Ice is thick and holding. Look up!

Clouds slide sideways revealing the night show. Stars sparkle so clear there’s almost a crystal tingle to it. Festooned onto the night sky stars become the Milky Way I’ve never seen before. Ursa Minor hanging high so tiny and cute, Orion on guard just about to touch the trees. How tiny we are and how big we think ourselves to be. Worries overlapping worries with no higher purpose but to make us forget the meaning of it all. All humans feel wiser under the stars and I’m no exception. Thought of the night: We’re here, now, and overall it is a short journey. Do as you please.

Headlamps turned off, we watch the sky, stardust dripping over our cold faces. Cloud gate slides shut shortly after and swaddles the stars into thick quiet air. It’s dark and the lake sleeps a frozen sleep under our feet.

Drive home, engine humming, think of stars.

“Can we have some bread?” Yes. I baked it fresh today. A long day with many attempts to make it feel like any other day. But it didn’t. One of those days. Not that it matters now. I pick the thoughts that stuck their tongue at me all day and send them to spend the night by the side of the lake.

Stardust dripping all over them will clean them nice and good and soon I’ll be back to pick them up. In a day or two I’d say. This coming weekend perhaps.

(Originally published as a column in The Kamloops Daily News as “Night adventure heals the soul” on December 18, 2012)

The day started early because we had to get the tree. We had it scheduled for two weeks or so.

It is Saturday morning and it’s snowing gently. The boys were hoping to sleep in but the deed has to be early, we were told by our gracious guides into the white woods and meadows. Not enough sleep makes for whining and some inelegant voicing of fears and concerns. As if locked behind a thick glass wall, I hear my own slow, muffled voice explaining why there should be no whining and talking back now. It’ll be fun you’ll see. As if. But imposing with a strong voice is not in me today…

All I can think of when I look at my boys is that I have them. Silly little beings with occasional crazy ideas and a bag full of back-talking words backed by the belief that mom loves them so – and so I do – I look at them and think that I have them. Silly boys, I love you so.

We pack layers of pants and sweaters and socks and mittens and oh, they are so fat on me mom, it’s uncomfortable, oh, I don’t like winter anymore. You do, like all children do, but you live in the now and can’t see past it… They squint with disbelief, get in the car, huff and puff and roll up the eyelids in a final affront as we drive away. Whining and stomping on crisp snowy morning air with booted feet, oh, how to like that? But my mind cannot think of many boundaries or sternness, not now, not today – the day after. I think how lucky to have them. How grateful. Silly little trolls with stomping feet and pouting lips, I love you so.

We park on a white ribbon of a road up on the hills. Silent and majestic, trees are draped in snow so thick you’d think they’d break. Snap? They don’t. Heaviness of the kind that’s meant to be does not break one but makes one stronger. The boys roll out of the car hip-deep into thick rolls of snow. They laugh now and hide their frowns in those thick snow sideburns by the side of the road. I take photos and think of a documentary where polar bear cubs rolled in snow and tumbled down a side of a mountain. White and fluffy, following their mama bear. The boys laugh out loud and that’s the only difference really. I take photos and I think how happy to have them. Grateful. Wild boys with big loving hearts and laughter so clean, I love you so.

“The snow’s too deep, my legs from my knees to the feet are so tired, can I have the sled? The sled is filling up with snow, how much longer, there’s so much snow on my back now, mom…I’m cold…” Those cold cheeks and the warm tears. Frustrated little boys, you did not bury the frowns like I thought you did, they came with us and will now troll all over the white meadows. I wish I knew how to breathe smiles into lumpy moods and often I do but I am not good at it now. Not today, it is the day after and it is hurting so. I turn back to look at the boys and think this is hard and trying me, but I know I have to be grateful. For here they are, I have them to love them so. My boys.

Snow is padding every corner of the woods and shy snow angels are spreading on the white meadow. About time… The boys make snow angels and laugh. Mom, this is fun, can we come again to play in these woods here before the snow goes? Oh how could you say it with such nonchalance you trolls who’ve been stepping on the thin corners of my patience all morning, how cruel of you… Their faces lit up with joy for a bit, but I am afraid they’ll dive into cold misery again. My silly wild boys, I love you so.

We find the tree we want and then make our way down the same path. Some joy, some puffing discontent, same as always. But it’s downhill now, and little feet love it so moods pop up shyly licking their wounds. The boys theirs, I mine. We walk along the path, chatting of winters with rain versus the ones with snow. How lucky to see white meadows and hills I tell them. How lucky for me to see them through the eyes of boys that need guidance, help and encouragement. And trust. My boys, I love them so, and only if they knew how easy it is to not see the forest for the trees.How careful one has to be.

How easy it is to forget to look at how it really is: Them, my boys, needing me to be stronger than I ever imagine myself to be, to pull them along, to allow for their childhood to not be ushered through strange dark corridors, to watch over them. Now as much as ever. A snowy time today peppered with whines, stomping, laughs and tumbles. I wish I knew the order in advance so I’ll be better prepared. I don’t. Unpredictable little boys, I love you so.

Life unfolding, my boys in hip-deep snow taking their snowy layers off and jumping in the car. They wrap themselves in thick dry jackets like blankets and hum “Oh Christmas Tree”… Are you being ironic now? No mom, we like to sing…

A morning spiced with loudness and occasional shrieks of frustration it has been. But they’re here, my boys, silly little trolls with red cheeks and frozen noses. I look at them and heavy thoughts of those little ones who were killed yesterday in a school on the east coast are way bigger trolls than any frustrated children could ever be.The saddest of times, the stark reminders of what we have, and of what really matters. Them, my boys, today. That much I know and I can touch. For tomorrow could be or could not be. A good reason to hold them tight. Again. And hug, again. And again. Just like Sasha asks every night. One more?

On the drive back the boys talk about warmth. Can we go to some hot springs soon, mom? You know what’s nice to do? You get in the rain or snow and then you go in the hot water and it feels so so good, you know? I do know. The cold, the warmth, everything I have is them and now. Grateful that I have warmth.

It snows again, thick and silent. Thoughts are still heavy and hurting. Prayers for the children who are no more, prayers for the hurting parents, prayers that we become kind and forgiving with each other.

Pray for the children. For the ones we’ve lost and for the ones we have. Because everything we have is here, now. Tomorrow is still a sleep away.

Remember the story called “The emperor’s new clothes?”. A great read, solid food for thought, don’t you think? Good lessons about being outspoken and real.

Sometimes kids say the darnedest things. They ask the darnedest questions too. And somehow they have the ability to point, sweetly and innocently, to the elephant in the room. Or the missing clothes. You get the idea.

It happened a couple of years ago, when Tony was in grade one. Him and I were about to go and buy a gift for a child whose name was in the gifting tree at their school. The gifting tree is the one where tags are placed with the names of children who would otherwise have no gifts on Christmas day. Thoughtful thinking of course, a good thing.

There was no way to foresee the troubling question. It came swiftly and caused a myriad of others in my head. Some sharper than I care to admit. Tony’s question back then: If Santa exists than why doesn’t he bring gifts first of all to the children who have less?

It’s been troubling me since. Coming from a child who is figuring out the world like all children do. It’s been troubling me because somehow I felt that the coordinates I was providing were missing the essence. The truth. Was I misleading? I wish I didn’t.

How to keep the magic around then? Until when? Is magic at Christmas a luxury? It felt like it… Which kind of trampling is more troublesome in the end? The release of the truth (which is not really trampling since it opens the door to compassion and gratefulness) or the maintaining of the magic of that luxury item that only some can put together…

See what I mean? Do you have an answer? Much obliged.

“When people walk away from you, let them go. Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you, and it doesn’t mean they are bad people. It just means that their part in your story is over.” – T.D. Jakes

One thing my parents never told me was that, by no one’s fault, on a sunny or rainy or windy day, or on a day that simply is, people would go on their way and that’s that. I went through holding onto friendships the way a baby koala bear holds onto its mother’s back, as if the fall means the end. It doesn’t. It’s a fall. Often a bruising one, but a fall and nothing else. Hurting is implied but does not always happen.

I love meeting people and I choose to think of each of them as forests. I am one too, if we apply the same rule. Some forests are bright and sunny and pulsating with life and they go on forever, and you walk through them and discover worlds and wonders, of yourself, of the “forest” and of the friendship that is or becomes.

Others are deep, dark forests, often gloomy and difficult to stroll through, not by anyone’s fault but because things are a certain way and that’s that.  So you take a few steps and then reach for a way out. Ever so gently, kind and forgiving, you’ll keep walking and leave the woods you don’t belong in behind.

As you go through life you traverse many forests and the memory of some will haunt you rather painfully, while others will huddle up sweet and bright near your soul for the rest of your journey. Different shaped worlds, different in how the sun sparkled through rich leafy branches or slumped its way through barren ones, all of them shaping your world and the forest you will become as you go.

And you never know from the very beginning what you need,  but once you take a few steps you do. There’s also the little voice inside that tells you if you are on the right path or not. You may say “nah” for a while, shake your head incredulously because how could that be. And then you learn to heed the voice as you walk through life. It’s like swimming in a way: We do it instinctively for a few months after we’re born but then it’s all forgotten or tucked away in a corner of our brain until we learn it again.

I think it’s fair to know the woods you’re in, and not disturb the leaves once you know you’ll trace your steps out of there soon. By no one’s fault, that is, but because it is fair to do so just like it is fair to expect that others will not disturb the paths in your neck of the woods unless they have a reason.

It is or it isn’t, that’s what it comes down to. I do not want to pretend that I have words to speak and thoughts to share when I don’t. I do not want others to pretend they have thoughts to share or words to speak when they don’t. The truth shall set you free, you must know that one. It’s like that. You admit it to yourself, the truth I mean, and it’s nothing but proper and respectful to the ones you come across.

Sometimes, by no one’s fault, on a sunny or cloudy day, or on a day that just is, you may walk out of someone’s life, after your part in their journey is done. And if there’s nothing else to leave in those forests life happens you upon, then you’ll thank for the shade, you’ll thank for the soft morning songs you got to know while traversing, and just as softly you’ll be on your way.

I don’t believe in crowds of people walking through my door, unless every one of them is there for the right reasons. I believe in having those who want to be walking through my door, I believe in being offered the gift of being myself and me offering the gift of letting those around me be themselves.

I have no filler people in my life, no plan B friends in case plan A fails. Just like I don’t think there are friends, best friends and best of the best. Life is no dojo with different colored belts. I sure hope I am no orange belt in someone’s life either. Because what if I don’t make it higher? It’ll make me doubt that I even made it that far to begin with. Self-doubt is a beast you don’t want to meet on a dark path as you’re strolling through some unknown woods.

Acceptance is what it comes down to. The old story I keep bringing up. You can call it the starting point but I say it’s not. It’s what becomes once you know the deep pockets of the forest you’re strolling through and accept them as such. You know the muddy patches and you’re fine with them. You have your own.

If it’s not the real thing then it’s worth nothing. It’ll peel off sooner and later. And that is also beneficial. More sun will shine through. I believe this makes a decent amount of sense. Perhaps?