Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better and so does kindness

Month: March 2013

The Giant Panda Sell-Out

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On March 26, 2013

There’s something terribly wrong with this “greet the panda” picture, isn’t it? I mean, they are cute and cuddly, but to welcome them like royalty, that’s a whole different matter.

You are most likely aware that today our Prime Minister and his wife welcomed a pair of panda bears at Pearson Airport in Toronto. That’s right. Aside from the fact that having animals on display in a zoo is a horrifying idea, the fact that a pair of pandas were greeted by the Prime Minister and got extensive coverage in the news is a tad much, no?

As for the zoos and conservation work, I do not care for reasons such as “to educate and instill respect for disappearing species, blah, blah, blah…” There are books, there are documentaries like Planet Earth where dedicated people spent many hours getting amazing footage.

Children and adults alike can learn from that, no need for animals on display. That’s my next blog post topic perhaps.

But back to the pandas for now. The sell-out. It is, and if you think otherwise, please share your thoughts and I’d be happy to oblige by sharing mine.
A while ago Canada signed a dreadful treaty with China that will last for 31 years. Now the Chinese government is “lending” us the pandas. All stand and applaud: Canadian natural resources versus two pandas. Are we selling ourselves cheap?

There’s something awfully wrong with many aspects of this picture. First of all, there is massive elephant genocide in Africa. We’re talking grenades thrown in the middle of an elephant herd in order to kill as many as possible for their precious ivory tusks (National Geographic covered the topic not long ago.) The increased demand for ivory in China is behind it, and “it” has been named the scariest decimation of African elephants yet. Ivory, like shark fin soup, is a social status indicator in China. Go figure.

One cannot help but ask: How come pandas are so revered and have it so good then? If a country or its government do not care about animals in general, but plainly condones the near wipe-out of many other species, what gives? Well, pandas are China’s national symbol. In our case, housing them for a decade is but a “loan” to prove we can take care of their national animal as we are of the treaty signed not long ago, a treaty that bears a sinister echo for the next 31 years.

As for the black and white fluffy bamboo-eating fellows, they are, sadly, pushed into extinction by citizens of the country they are representing. According to the WWF, they can go extinct in two or three generations from now because their habitat is shrinking. The cause? You guessed it: the booming economic development, which comes at a high price for pandas and humans alike. For pandas it really does not look good if nothing changes. Save for the ones surviving in zoos, pandas will be all but gone… As for us humans, booming economies can lead to some or all of the following: increased pollution, dwindling natural resources and, to spice it up, some inhumane conditions for many of the workers that create the “Made in China” goods that might or might not be on sale this coming Easter…

So you see, things truly are upside down: we greet the pandas with much fanfare, spend some good honest Canadian dollars to do so, we will keep them in a zoo on public display because we need to be kept giddy that way, and, being so nice and polite, we do not ask for anything at all in return (say, some environmental promises that might leave our country intact…)

I love animals, I believe we have to respect them and love them, and yes, many species are nowadays threatened with extinction, but let’s not forget that we are after all the main perpetrators of the actions that contribute to their demise. So we should start by observing and changing our life habits perhaps.

What I also know is that our Prime Minister’s “to do” list (for example attending to pressing matters like the Enbridge Northern Gateway pipeline which raises serious environmental concerns) should have the well-being of every citizen in this country, and the wise use of our national resources as a primary concern.

No cuddly animal will ever make up for betraying our interests. Having a good set of principles that ensures that citizens are respected, and our children’s interests too are being respected, that ensures that no resource will be taken from any of our provinces unless we all agree to do so; now that would be, in my opinion, a decent place to start fair negotiations (is that an oxymoron? It should not be) with any bulging economic powers that stop at nothing to increase that bulge.

What’s next? If we stop applauding the arrival of pandas or other critters, we might be able to hear that inner voice that somehow has it right. The (national) gut instinct they call it…Because deep down we know to put things in perspective. We know that we have the freedom to do so and should exercise it.

 

The Food Thing

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On March 18, 2013

OK. I stocked up on gluten-free foods, made a pact to not buy milk no matter how clean and local and organic it is – kind of ironic since Sasha just started liking milk not long ago, and all of this because I am running out of options in helping Sasha deal with his skin itchiness, nose stuffiness, possible asthma lurking somewhere close, and the general irk caused by something we’re not sure what’s caused by to begin with.

How is that for a conundrum?

My supposition is that the many chemicals we added and keep adding to the environment are messing our children’s health in ways that are getting out of hand. The numbers of children with immune system problems like allergies and asthma (respiratory and immune functions are growing and we are clueless when it comes to solutions. How do we upset their bodies in such a way that makes their otherwise perfectly working systems rebel and go berserk?

To say that on my little turf everything is clean and environmentally sound is sheer craziness. I breathe the same air you do, and we share the water. The produce that’s grown conventionally adds chemicals to our common soil, water and air.

The mainstream cleaning products and household stuff that we need to make our homes look pretty but reek of chemicals (paints, treated wood, carpets, for example) they are all affecting our common air, water and soil.

I feel helpless in helping my son overcome environmental allergies and occasional asthma attacks. I am willing to go as many extra miles as needed but something tells me that’s not where the answer is.

Chemicals will still be dumped around us; politely we will call them the new spring/summer/fall/winter stock that’s on sale for a short while, blah, blah, blah. Realistically I will call it “the end of health as we know it.” If you stop and ponder you’ll most likely agree.

On the other hand, humans and living creatures altogether are adapting to new life conditions as they go. Is this something our bodies will grow accustomed to? The chemicals, I mean, the fake (processed) food, the objects that we surround ourselves with in an effort to make life pleasant, or easier, the ever-growing mountains of discarded stuff and all that I cannot mention in a blog post but I keep discovering as I go.

For now I will take out as much as I can from his diet, I will switch mattresses and sterilize his bedding. Wake up at night when he’s once again so frustrated with not being able to sleep because his body is itchy and his nose is running without warning and continuously. While itching that is.

I don’t have a clear answer for now. Just questions.

The biggest question is: Are we going the right way with how we live our lives?

One thing I was told when I was little was that there is always room to do and act better. Right?

 

 

 

The Wrong Way Is The Better Way After All

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On March 16, 2013

It happened Saturday morning. The night had been unexpectedly chilly and wrapped the roads, cars and roofs in icy whiteness, but by 10 or so it was all gone. It was one of those perfect invitations to hop on the bike and go.

Since I moved here in September I have been reluctant to ride my bike because of big trucks speeding by, and on the two occasions I did, I stayed close to home. Unsatisfying at best.

This time I was told of a good place to ride; many cyclists go there: Barnhartvale area. You could say I went on assumptions: Park here, take this road, go. Not a doubt in my mind that I was going the right way.

But, it is a steep uphill. The sun can conceal steepness though. Sunny roads have a certain lure to them and you just go. So I did. There was still snow not far from the road, and the chill was still wrestling with the morning warmth, knowing it will lose anyway before noon or so.

The uphill was treacherous. A soul cleanser of some sort. And just when you think you’re done climbing, more uphill is coming. To conclude that the road is wicked is only logical.

I stopped twice, drank water, looked behind, looked ahead and hopped on. I cannot just stop and turn back, I thought, if this is a route then so be it. A few trucks roared past and I admit to short bursts of engine envy. Well, they make the climb fast and effortless, but that’s not where it’s at.

As I rode around the bend, I came upon houses and shops. Not a human in sight, Barnhartvale seemed to be populated by loud birds imbued with the sunshine the sky was throwing in buckets at them.

Then the road was all flat, quiet and sunny. You see the warmth hovering over it like it does mid-summer and that alone is enough to burn the pain of the climb and turn it into joy. That’s when you know you’re where you should be.

I rode past horse farms; past a field with three llamas that stared in unison as I rode past them. After a few more kilometers I stopped. I lay the bike down in the dry weeds by the side of the road that seemed to have been built just for me, and I sat beside it.

Thoughts tried to barge in like kids do after a day of playing that was so exciting they forgot to eat. Loud and rambunctious, they all wanted to be heard and paid attention to. But I allowed only one: “I am here.”

A whole lot of world rolling from that road in all directions. Hills, some still snowy; birds, loud and cheeky as one would expect in early spring, and the simple realization of having all of that, right there and being in no hurry to go anywhere else.

The way back came with a perk: An exhilarating downhill ride. No engine envy at all. Upon my return I found out that I took a different route than I was supposed to. The harder one. Be it so; to me, when I hopped on the bike, the Barnhartvale road was the only one I knew of.

Perhaps six kilometers or so of uphill are not an invite to riding. But to me they are a confirmation that when you think of the way in front of you as the only one – be it easy or tough – you just do it. Because deep down you can.

We have all it takes to do it. The only reason we choose an easier way is because we have the option. But what if we didn’t?

Easy does not make us grow. It makes us stall in a place where we become complacent. There’s a deep throb of “I can do this” that follows such deeds and that open the way to “I can do whatever I set my mind to.”

My mom used to say that when you really don’t want something that you stumble or opt out. When you want to make it happen, you take the road, and if steep is the only option, you don’t call it steep. You still call it the road.
Because when we challenge ourselves, somewhere in between catching our breath and looking how far along we’ve come, we catch a glimpse of what we can be: better and stronger versions of ourselves.

I want my boys to know that.

(Originally published as a column in the Saturday edition of the Kamloops Daily News on March 16, 2013)

The Trouble With Floors…Or How To Be King On Any Given Day

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On March 16, 2013

SandOur floors are sandy again. About time I’d say. Some sand in my hair as well. If I don’t remember to empty the pockets they’ll too spill on the floor. And if I do remember, chances are someone will not so it’s all the same. Sigh? Nah, that’d be a wasted breath…

Normal floors, hardwood or otherwise, are somewhat overrated in the world of river rats, you see. My ideal house would have floors made of driftwood, that’s where sand feels at home… And us too.

It was a good afternoon today. We headed to the sand banks on the north shore after school. They’re endless. The sand sparkles with the cheekiness of a gold-bearing sediment. As if. There’s driftwood half-buried in wind-smoothed sand and if you’re willing to keep walking you’ll find old bones and shells too.

Just keep walking…

“Mom, look, it’s perfect for a king!”

EndlessAll of a sudden Sasha is the king; just like that; lack of nobility by birth notwithstanding, Sasha feels royal and I cannot blame him. The place inflates you to royalty as you walk barefoot through the golden sand.

He draws lines in the sand. “Follow the line, or else you’ll get lost.”  We follow; lost is no fun, although if one is to get lost, this would be a rather sweet adventure.

Winding our way on a sand bank where it’s just us. We find enough driftwood for a simple contraption and carry it back to the base camp to build the small fort where the kind shall sleep. Us pages will guard the walls, as per his instructions.

SparklingHe is so taken with the kingdom he runs, it’s delightful. I notice his feet are covered in sparkles and then check mine. Golden. I’m secretly hoping it’ll never rub off. It looks pretty, that’s all.

“Mom, is the water good for swimming?”

We try it. My ankles hurt from the chill after a few minutes. “Not yet babe, soon though…”

The river is shamelessly copying the blue of the sky, clouds included. It’s quiet here, except for the occasional geese that fly over honking. But you can’t fault anyone and anything here.

Flying colorsWe shoot our bows, and the arrows glide on the sandy surfaces. No target really, we shoot and watch them fly low like uncomplicated thin and quiet birds. Pick them up; again. And repeat.

More exploring?

The king regales us with a game he invents on the spot. Stick in the middle, try and hit it with a golf ball, then try and get the ball before others do. We plunge in the sand like the very arrows we shot not long ago, stir the golden specks and make tiny puffy clouds of dust.

I look at Sasha rolling in the sand, laughing round and perfectly shaped belly laughs as I plunge to get the ball from him. The game he invented, his pure joy, makes me think of the many kids who have invented games throughout time. Nothing scheduled or timed or reinforced by adults, just their minds finding games and causing laughs; many. Some of the rules may be silly and may be changing as needed to benefit the pint-sized player, but the sheer happiness is my shelter here.

When it’s time to go (simply because we have to get a hold of the king’s brother Tony) he stalls. Ever seen royal stalling? It’s one of a kind.

“I lost my special royal weapon.”

We look, there’s no weapon. Keep searching. Then he gets trapped in the midst of an arrow forest. Tough one. We save him and get him to say goodbye to the beach for now. I wouldn’t go either but acting mature is one of those things that humans do at times…

Tomorrow...Tomorrow morning I will make raspberry pancakes, squeeze a bike ride in there somewhere and then, as per the little king’s suggestion, we shall spend the rest of the day at the beach. If it rains, it rains. Can’t change that, can we now?

Where To From Here?

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On March 12, 2013

I am sitting at my dining table, facing the window. It’s snowing. It is March 12. This late snow that comes every year though; a farewell? How could I know.

A good day for cowboy coffee. Take slow sips, smell it mostly; on days like this every sip is a world apart. Memories of times past, sunny mornings not long ago, words, whispers, promises…

Today is different though. I’m angry. I know there is a way out but for now I am here, failing to see the end of it. The last few weeks have been trying. Life as it happened but mostly Sasha’s on and off asthma, itchiness, moodiness caused by it, his waking up many times a night, stuffed nose, nose bleeds.

This was not part of the deal. He has cat-triggered asthma, I know that. So we stay away from cats because they cause severe itchiness and asthma. But that’s where it should end.

It doesn’t. Dust does it too now. Will pollen? The insolence of it all is infuriating. I keep telling myself that it could be a lot worse.

I keep telling myself that other people have it worse. Some strange guilt complex though people suffering is not my doing. The strange, often trying balance between gratefulness and guilt…

So I play nice, for the boys’ sake. I act like a grown-up who knows how to deal with it, but inside I am quite little and clueless. Throwing rocks into a big pool of dirty water and getting all muddy.

I ask for nothing but health, I always have. For the boys first of all. This is not it though. I feel cheated and that angers me. By no one’s fault, by no one’s doing. Life as it happens? Who knows?

Sasha comes at night in my bed when he’s bothered by his problems. I usually take him back to his. We do that dance many times a night. Back and forth. Tuck in, hug, kiss, please sleep baby… But lately I don’t want to take him back to his bed every time. I want to hold his little body and make it all good. Make him better. Make him healthy.

But he is, he is. Healthy and beautiful and happy. It’s just this thing, it might go away. Hope, pray, hope. And hug. Hug them tight; both of them. Laugh with them, don’t show them my fear and never tell them it cannot be. Tell them about what matters the most: today. And show it.

There is only one way out of here: the way out of anger. Anything else would mean robbing them of that conviction that we never give up. Hope, pray, hug. Today…

It stopped snowing. Coffee is done; the tumble of memories is dozing at the bottom of the cup and all there is to come is nestled in a place that I know the way to. I do.

Acceptance is the only way to go. I am not there yet.

Grateful for everything else…The only way to see through.

 

The Pursuit of Kindness

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On March 3, 2013

We bought the pink shirts a while ago. I still don’t fully understand how a T-shirt will prevent or stop bullying but I bought the T-shirts so that the boys won’t stand out as non-wearers.

It made me think of that Seinfeld episode when Kramer gets bullied for not wearing the pink ribbon that everyone was wearing during an AIDS march. “Who, who doesn’t wanna wear the ribbon?…” Remember that one? A well placed sarcasm if I’ve ever seen one.

That Thursday morning was a noisy one. Sasha had yet another night of interrupted sleep and he was in a bad mood when he woke up. By the time we flew out the door, moods were bruised and we did not remember to take the pink T-shirts.

So I drove back to get the T-shirts. Tony that he’ll pass since he might face being laughed at if mom shows up with the forgotten item. The irony of that happening on anti-bullying day was striking.

Sasha wore his, Tony didn’t. Later when I picked them up he told me how a kid walked by him and swore at him. Some nasty words; aside from my sadness that he knows them, it’s even sadder to know that he was addressed as such.

What about going to the principal with it? Nah, he says. The worst of what a kid would face should someone inform the teachers or principal would be “You are not allowed to…” or “Don’t do it again…” Right. Like that would curb it.

I could not necessarily call it bullying. It’s a mean put-down remark, it’s swearing, it’s bad. But then Tony told me the kid is known to swear at people. Other kids do it too sometimes. They’re being told not to do it, if someone hears them, that is.

But then again, Tony tells me of adult supervisors who appear bitter and punitive for reason that elude him. They yell and get mad at kids for not playing their notes well during music class, for not wiping their feet when they come back. Often threats are used too. We’re all human you could say. We all make mistakes.

Where do we draw the line then? How do teach the kids what’s acceptable and what’s not? Who is responsible for setting and example and how should they do it? Help children be kind not out of fear of punishment but because they are aware they could hurt someone’s feelings, that sounds good and noble but that could only happen if we do it first.

Pink T-shirts or not, children should know that being kind is not a one day event. They should be able to trust the adults in their lives to help them deal with swearing or aggression of any kind. Yet in some of my darkest moments I fear that that’s simply not the case.

Kids are living the same rushed lives we are, they are bitter and angry at times, they forget to be kind. Most, if not all, do not know any better until later on, if then. But what excuse do adults have? If they choose to work with children they should set an example. No excuse and no exception.

Kindness is not the same with weakness just like discipline is not the same with meanness. As a parent, I can say that when I behave in a mean way the last thing my boys learn or feel is to be kind to each other. Would they trust me to solve any aggression that might occur between them if I handle myself poorly? I hope not.

I think no matter how many T-shirts we pile on children, pink or not, they will only learn to be kind to others when they see it happening. The whole teaching by example thing. It applies, it really does.

Your thoughts on this? Thank you for sharing should you decide to do so.

 

The Critical Thinking How To

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On March 2, 2013

There’s no quiet dinners in our house. The boys have yet to master not talking with their mouths full but I am guilty of overlooking the very thing when other pressing matters are at hand.

“Where do the potatoes come from?”
“British Columbia.”
“How about broccoli?”
“Same”
“Meat?”
“Same.”
“Why do we buy them like this?”
“Because it’s good to eat food that grows close to where you live; it’s fresher and you’re helping the people who live close to you. And there’s no big trucks or ships or planes hauling it in from somewhere else, so you help the planet too.”

“Why don’t you like birthday goodie bags, mom?”
“Because I don’t like the thought of one-use trinkets that end up in the garbage soon after. And I think the fun is in celebrating…”

It’s not righteousness and my arguments are definitely not fail-proof. It’s what I can live with and what I hope for my boys to learn: critical thinking. Not accepting something just because someone expects you to. Asking why.

It’s a lesson in double-edged swordsmanship.

Something you don’t agree with today may become the argument for tomorrow’s deed. And that is but the nature of the beast: Learning to keep the mind open at all times and think for yourself. Reject or accept not out of pride or to make an impression, but because it makes sense.

There is no perfect way of carrying oneself through life; it’s what you can live with.

The question is how do I teach my children that? It’s not always a comfortable ride, that much I know. Yet if there is one thing I want them to have in life, this would be it.

Trend following among young ones is not a new topic. Young age is no longer the time to affirm one’s true beliefs. We’ve all been there: Tasting the fear of standing out as we express our true thoughts; the fear of being left in the one-man camp, chewing on those beliefs and wondering if it’s worth it after all.

But there’s an extra twist lately. Media and rabid marketing create tough-to-avoid temptations and one could say that it is not entirely the fear of being left out that makes our young ones follow blindly. It’s that it sounds too good to miss.

Children fall into following trends before knowing what hit them. They are born asking why and ideally they should never lose that. Us adults should never lose that because all that’s left once the ‘why’s are gone is complacency. Hardly an incentive for cultivating critical thinking in our young ones or encouraging them to ask questions.

Any opportunity for discussions with our children should be greeted with open arms. Be it the walk from school – and that might be filled with complaints about the day – or the talks around the dinner table.

I don’t mean poking them until they talk but letting them speak their mind; whatever thoughts they have on a subject because you are the only presence in their lives that accepts them entirely for what they are. No fear of standing out and being ridiculed (hopefully.)

They learn from sharing as much as they learn from listening to us. And from watching us. The choices we make speak volumes. When we stand behind our choices with arguments we came up with ourselves, we teach our children an important lesson: Do it if it makes sense, choose it if it makes sense, but don’t just accept something because it’s there, because someone thought of putting it there.

I have never believed in denying something without an explanation. I don’t have much respect for the “because I said so.” It may be that I don’t think much of sheer obedience. I believe that behind any interdiction there has to be an explanation.

For example, I never cared for junk food or bad food altogether. The boys know that and they know why. We talk about what makes a food worthy of eating and why. They used to grin silly and tell me how junk food is oh, so yummy and one day they’ll buy lots. I never said they shouldn’t. I told them why I don’t.

I rejoiced when the grin was no longer there. I had nothing to do with its disappearance though. Occasionally they ask for junk food, you see, but they want the acceptable version. The compromise between tasty and somewhat healthy.

Then one day they finally asked the question: “How come that junk food is made to taste yummy?” Because people need to be made to buy it.

It applies to many things, not just food. Why are they made to look or taste or feel a certain way? Because it takes convincing people to go after them and overlook asking the very question in the process. Because when people think critically, they make choices and that has the potential to change the world. In a good way.

There’s no sole opinion that’s always right. It’s a fallacy to even think that by thinking we’ll find the ultimate truth, always. But if we teach our children to think and ask questions, they’ll honor who they are and ultimately do better for themselves and the world around.

Originally published as a shorter version as “Critical thinking a skill taught by example” in the Kamloops Daily News on March 2, 2013.

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