Month: July 2013

I picked a basketful of Calendula flowers today. It is like picking little orange suns, you have to be grateful for the warmth of each of them. Soft petals surround a blob of pollen that calls on bees and butterflies. Two days from now the orange army will be renewed, and I will fill my basket again.

My sister uses them to make soaps and salve. They turn out orange and the deep bitter but pleasant fragrance transfers smoothly from flowers to the things she makes.

We are now in the middle of Transylvania, among hills with tufty tops that hold an intensely blue sky midday and an equally intense pink during sunsets. Countless rainbows must’ve dripped colors all over my sister’s garden, it’s that colorful. A good place to be.

We pick mint and lemon balm too, stop to smell the roses along the way and notice some tiny fluffy clouds gathering towards the west. A storm’s coming tonight, the weather people said. Storms here are powerful and many of them often turn into hail.

Just like hurricanes and tornadoes in other parts of the world, storms here, way more powerful than ever before, are signs of the environmental chipping we cause with many of our actions. Awareness should come from somewhere and lamenting or blaming is never the answer.

Beauty is compelling though and provided that we each remember Mahatma Gandhi’s “be the change you want to see in the world,” gardens and deserts alike can continue to exhale their colors and fragrances, and the storms to come will not be regarded as threats but blessings. The way we had it for so long.

Here’s hoping that my sister’s garden, yours too, the wildflower-brimming mountains I hiked a few days ago and all the wild and beautiful places we all have yet to see, understand and be grateful for, will continue to feed bees and butterflies so they can feed us too…

So little (big) darkhaired boy, you turned 11… Yep, gone are the one-digit age birthday celebrations and the lightness of being that all little kids have when they are little… Self-consciousness is real, but worry not, we will face it with dignity. It’s not an easy game, but so what, many life-caused ones aren’t. Why? Because life is fluid, right? You might find better answers as you grow up…

You’ve always called life by a different name. You were born to question things. A lot. Which you do. Parenting an emotionally alert child like you has been one of the greatest and most challenging experiences of my life, a me-today-building experience one could say. We add your brother to the equation and Peter Pan stories become real… We’re but dollops of clouds chased by wild winds, hugging sunsets with much care for every color; to taste, to feel, to question… The way it should be.

You’ve taught me to keep my promises, and to look for better words when the seas are heavy with clumpy waves. You’ve taught me about a love so deep and strong that no bear hugs could do it justice. You’ve taught me trust so I can teach you it. You’ve taught me the way to being open by closing up like a little clam.

You’ve humbled me many times with being wise, and caring. Firstborn children are always facing a bit of stumbling in the dark of their parents; the road to good parenting is a tough one. A most worthy one though, both of you taught me, never forget that.Your wild boys’ hugs have been love, forgiveness, silliness and a whole lotta promises, they still are.

Happy Birthday! My wish for you is to be kind, bold, to be who you are today and never stop walking around with an lively heart; you will grow up to be the man you want to be, I know you will.

You see, a dear friend once said, embedded in a gentle, loving scolding, that children should follow their own paths, live every day as their own journey and become …not a replica of any of the people in their lives, but simply themselves. All they can be, encouraged by the ones who love them and free to choose their steps.

Eyes open, a light heart, follow your dreams and know that I’ll be there to taste some of the sunsets with you, celebrate early morning light and the music and laughs that we will happen to stumble upon together. Deal?

It was a rainy day and the SPCA thrift store looked like a good refuge. Browsing over old treasures and leafing through books; buying, when it happens, it’s good for both parties. In today’s self-centered world, it is important to try and make it right for all around us.

That day I got two books for the boys: one by Brian Jacques and one by Jane Goodall. Three dollars later I was ready to continue my rain walk. But there it was, on the counter, a glass lizard. No bigger than my index finger, if you didn’t count its broken tail. I knew the boys would think it special.

They did. We called him Humphrey and he lived on the kitchen windowsill for a long time. We would occasionally wonder where it came from; suppositions like that make for a good game…

It’s nice when toys have the right story. We have a slinky Kermit I got from a garage sale once. He has a good story of compassion and a reminder to never judge in those green velvet-wrapped slinks.

A few weeks ago in a toy store I noticed a bunch of fluffy green things shaped like small croissants with eyes. The label indicated that each was a malaria bug. Intrigued? I was too. A stuffed toy, all plushy and cuddly, but representing something terrible.

The green bugs were in cahoots with some others: Ebola, black fever, the flu; also some fluffy representations of cells: muscle, blood, reproductive and some neurons too. I can understand the cheeky side of stuffies that depict cells in the body or non-killers such as cold bugs or fleas or louse. But I choke on the ones like Ebola, typhoid or malaria.

According to the World Health Organization, there were approximately 660,000 deaths caused by malaria in 2010, mostly children. There are four types of malaria bugs, and Plasmodium falciparum (the fluffy green thing) is the most deadly.

When my partner was in West Africa working for an NGO he contracted malaria twice during the six months he was there. The first time was the worst. Like a very bad case of flu, he said, but much worse. The sudden chills and dizziness were scary. He saw children suffering from it too, and found out that many do not win the battle.

Can we make peace with the image of a child on this side of the world choosing to cuddle with malaria as she goes to bed, versus a child on the other side lying in bed with the same bug, but the live and often deadly one? The child on this side wakes up just as bouncy and happy the next day, while the other one…well, the other one might not. Unfair? To say the least.

It is not out of callousness that I point to such a striking difference; I rather think that the idea of such a toy takes serious matters in jest and is crossing a line that should not be crossed.

A friend argued that perhaps these toys are meant as educational tools. The manufacturer claims the same. The website lists various categories of bugs: Tropical, Exotics, Calamities, Alimentaries, Maladies, Venereals (!) and many others. And cells.

One that made me shudder, besides the malaria bugs I had already seen in the store, was a grey cancer cell (malignant neoplasm) that could be turned inside out and made into a white, non-cancerous version. To depict healing.

Grey to white… A fluffy figure of speech one could say. A toy it may be, but what about those unfortunate patients whose tumors do not respond to treatment? Can we rely on cancer cell stuffie to explain that to a child or any other member of the patient’s family? It is by far a most sensitive matter, a toy may not be the right tool to address it.

If the stuffies and other vinyl-based toys made by the same company are most likely made with non-renewable resources and spewing some extra pollutants, some cancer-causing, during the manufacturing process, then the message carried by the very cancer cell toy is defeated; the cancer-causing pollutants may reach people before the stuffie does its magic, ironically so. There is no magic, really. Or educational value associated with most bugs.

The short website intro for the malaria bug reads: “The tropics have coconuts, soft beaches, clear water, shiny fish, colorful birds, steel drums, umbrella drinks. And Malaria.”

Donating a part of the proceeds or all, at least the ones from ill-famed bugs to eradicate the real ones would perhaps make it better? Debatable.

Where do we draw the line? How far do we push the jokes? We have it good here, we can afford to be cheeky with matters that end in death in other parts of the world. But is it right?

Will such a thing, making light in a joking way, of serious issues help us and our children understand the needs of others and the necessity of helping, or will it numb them and us? Will they become more aware of maintaining health so they will be at risk for cancer? I doubt it but I welcome a different opinion if you think otherwise.

(Initially published as a column in the Saturday edition of the Kamloops Daily News on July 6, 2013)

The rain is almost drowning the constant clanging of cowbells. It’s been raining on and off all day, but now it’s coming down hard. On the mountain rising across there are cows seeded on the meadow; lost through dark green evergreens, they each wear a bell and together they create the mountain choir you won’t hear anywhere else. The tune of the place is a calm one, it goes well with the rolling of thick white clouds when you least expect it.

We went for a hike today in the mountains near Vaduz in the tiny country of Liechtenstein. Following the path by the old church, not before we looked inside it through small square windows, we passed by scattered cabins, many of them uninhabited at the moment but looking as lively as if they were.The mountain is alive and it shows in everything, from trees to meadows to old (and newer) wooden cabins.

God has dusted the whole valley with wildflowers, they go on high on all slopes, shying away from the old dark-green evergreens but delightfully spreading in colorful carpets everywhere else.

We stop by a turquoise pond, so cold that it makes my hand hurt when I touch its sparkling waters. Two fluffy geese careen their feathers on the other side and honk hello. Well, hello. In the middle of the pond there is floating dock with a small house and the house has a small porch. For a flower pot. Cold or not, I’d swim out to see about the little house.

The boys climb a steep hill to see some goats and the goats come close to see the boys. They bleat goodbye as we follow the path home. Goodbye then.

There are marmots here too, lots of them, but today’s rain chased them back in their burrows. There’s foxes and crows and lots of snails and slugs. And flowers, so many, so colorful, smelling of summer and sweet solitude that we all need but forgot to seek or are too rushed to truly enjoy when we stumble upon it.

But we are here, now. We will stop, we will let the mountains and the rain and the flowers and the winding paths touch our hearts. Then we will continue our journey, grateful for the colors along the way and the way they tickle our senses…

In the evening, a few long clouds crawl from the valley up the mountain, slithering through trees, leaving but a white tail lost among the deep-green evergreens. I think they’ll gather up behind the thick rocky edges, ready to roll down again tomorrow. Perhaps a ritual that’s as old as the very mountains spooning around the valley and its endless carpets of flowers.

As darkness drapes over, rain subsides and I hear the cowbells again… Order restored, this is another ritual that will not be disturbed for many years to come…

You can see Michael every now and then pushing his cart full of recyclables and some other things. Often he passes by our house and we offer him food or empty containers to take to the depot.
Sometimes I see him around town. Same cart, same smile.

On the side of his cart there’s a cardboard sign that reads “Don’t let a day pass without telling people you love that you love them…” I always promise to myself that I will do that from now on. I often forget. Then I see Michael again.

One could say that he has little to smile about and that sign… is there anyone out there for him to say I love you to? Is there anyone saying it to him? Perhaps that’s not the point after all. He is reminding people of it, maybe that’s all there is to it. Those who see him also see the sign and heed it.

Missed opportunities…How many times have you missed telling people you love that you love them? Busy with life, we bust through curtains of “I should” and tell ourselves we will do it later. Maybe. Maybe tomorrow. Crumpled by stress, anger, resentment, tired of it all, we roll up in tight cocoons and secretly hope that someone who cares will come and release the tight cocoon so we can say “I love you…”

Light as the flutter of butterfly wings, we see the world for what it is, we’re grateful for it and for having someone to say “I love you” to. No, it’s not about spouses or life partners. It is about everyone who is part of our world, everyone who touches our heart and allows us to touch theirs

As for Michael’s sign, it’s just what one needs. Reminders to never miss opportunities: to never let another day go by without smiling, or seeing the wonder of the world, without finding at least one thing to be grateful for, without hugging your children and your soul mates.

Days come and go. The one tomorrow will always be better if today you take the time to tell people you love that you love them. They might know it, but it’s good to remind them.

Michael is right. One could never have enough soul hugs. Whether a real hug, a smile, open arms or the trust we put in those we love and the way we cradle the trust they put in us, it’s all about reminding ourselves to not let a day go by without it…