Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better and so does kindness

Month: October 2013

The Magpie

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On October 17, 2013

In Life Stories

It was 2 degrees Celsius and sunny this morning. The car was frozen, its windows painted in ice. The boys ran out of the house and they could not resist touching the grass. Frosty and stiff. Sparkling.

“Mom, look!” Beautiful. Crispness is to be appreciated. Everything seems cleaner when the air is crisp like this.

We drive half way and walk the rest. The sun clings to our backs as if saying “see, it’s not so bad…” What if the sun did not rise in the morning, I ask? We’d be dead, the answer comes short and unequivocal. True. So be grateful.

“Shhh, what is that?”

Sasha points to the globe of golden leaves in a tree we’re passing by. A magpie. Making some croaking sounds I have never heard before and looking at us. We stop and look.

Camera? No. In an attempt to be present with the boys during our walks, I am now leaving the electronic butler at home. But no magpie?

Yes, lots of it. More even, with no camera preoccupation, I am right there with the boys. We are quiet, listening to the sounds of the morning, admiring the magpie and its gracious flying low to the ground before perching on a branch in the next golden globe of leaves.

I can hear it all. The boys whispers, the magpie wing flutter, the noises it makes and the leaves we ruffle with our shoes as we say goodbye to it. No camera can capture that.

On my way back, I think of it all. Like carrying a handful of precious water from the brook to the thirsty, I carry the magpie thoughts home and place them here. A keeper of memories, a reminder for those who read, an invitation…

The air is still crisp and the hills to the south have a big cloud plopped on top like a big woolly hat. The cold air accentuates the softness. This will not last… Quiet.

Good morning.

Will My Legacy Die?

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On October 15, 2013

In Life Stories

UpSasha during our walk from school today: “If we don’t have children when we grow up, the legacy of our name will die.”
He is seven and insightful. To love our conversations is a given.

Not so, I tell him. There’s more to legacies than just a name. Leaving something significant behind is what is all about.

What can that be, they both ask.

What can that be, I ask them back.

Run across the country for a cause, like Terry Fox? Yes.

A book? Yes.

But wait. What if you change someone’s life? What if someone’s path becomes lighter because of you? Whether you know it or not?

They pause, think and we walk along.

Yes, true, they agree. Hmm. They both say they haven’t changed anyone’s life so far.  They changed mine, one day they’ll know it. Introspection of that kind in children is an adorable feature.

We talk about whether a Budweiser baseball cap is a bad thing to wear at school since it can sway kids’ minds into consuming beer – a social studies conundrum from the day’s work – and we all agree that while many of us are walking advertisement billboards for various companies or products, a fast food cap can deliver a much more dangerous blow to the minds of children.

Talking, debating, asking and answering questions. That’s the most delightful part of parenting. Don’t miss it.

Things To Keep

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On October 12, 2013

In Kamloops

PeacefulIf you follow Westsyde Road all the way to the McLure ferry — the shortest ferry ride around — keep driving until you hit Highway 5. Drive toward Barriere and just before you enter town, turn right onto Agate Bay Road.

You will find yourself among beautiful, peaceful hills with trees touched by the breath of autumn. Every now and then there’s a farmhouse with a trail of smoke climbing into the overcast and you might be tempted to feel envious of their perfect surroundings.

We did. It was Saturday morning and the world seemed slow paced.

We spotted herds of deer that stopped, turned their heads and stared at us as we drove by. We stopped the car rather abruptly a few times because of some ruffled purple flowers that had to be photographed. Or clouds.

Black cows and calves peppered the fields draping the sides of the road. Everything was calm and quiet and green.

The road ended into a fork that hugged Adams Lake and said Chase on the right side. We turned left and started driving on a slick dirt road all the way to our chosen camping spot: Gordon Bay rec site.

It rained on and off, but we set up the tent and took the canoe for a paddle. We docked on islands and shores that had nothing but driftwood and rocks. We discovered a beaver’s dam and paddled around, looking at mysterious entry tunnels and imagining the busy pitter-patter of feet walking through muck and carrying branches every which way in a never-ending effort to improve the half-submerged home.

The boys have learned to paddle by themselves this fall, so they paddled along the shores and into a small bay. They had secret missions to accomplish and seafarers dialogues to carry out while we got the fire going. We ate, roasted marshmallows — “can we have one more?” is the refrain that comes with us on every camping trip — and then we went for a night paddle.

Try it. Water plants seem asleep as they sway with the gentle canoe wake. If all headlamps are turned off, you will find yourself suspended between the glossy, dark, perfect lake surface and a sky ballooned with ghost-white clouds.

We woke up late and lazy. I went to photograph dew on old summer grass, slugs eating mushrooms and rocks hugged by the gentlest lapping waves.

The sun burst out an hour later and all four of us paddled to the other side of the lake to a sunny rocky shore where we found a baby garter snake, no bigger than a pencil and cuddly if you cupped your hands over one another just so.

Rolled upA slice of sweetness, to hold the snake, I mean, a first encounter of this kind. We took turns and whispered as to not spook the black and yellow sliver that seemed to carry some emotions with it.

We drove back the next day, stopping by Roderick Hague-Brown Provincial Park to see the salmon run, a celebration of life and its immutable laws.

It had been a good two days.

We got home by seven.

It was the dead quiet that almost gave it away; our house had an eerie feeling to it. It was cold inside, as if windows had been left open the entire day.

“Why did you leave the back door open?” the boys asked as we stepped in. We had not. But the door was wide open. Shudder.

Our trip had all the good things a camping trip should have: lake to paddle on, islands to paddle to, baby snakes to wonder at and hold if you’re so inclined, rocks to collect.

The only thing that did not belong to the trip was finding our home broken into and our computers gone — with them, work and memories.

The people who broke in looked at our photos on the walls; they wrecked the collage with my sons’ baby footprints and their smiling faces, probably thinking it was the gate toward some secret treasure-laden safe.

We had a hard time settling in; eating; going to bed. Our home was hurt and we were hurt with it.

The boys kept asking if the people are still inside or coming back and we kept reassuring them. Memories of the camping trip almost melted away in sadness. How could anyone do this?

It took a whole lot of will power to do the cleanup the next day, as if someone had severed us from our own home. But we did it so we could all have our warm place back.

Then we looked at the trip photos knowing that there are things no one can ever take away.

Originally published as a column in the Kamloops Daily News on October 12, 2013

 

Two Hours To Learn Life

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On October 5, 2013

Tonight we went to hear Commander Chris Hadfield talk about space. Canada’s remarkable astronaut in our midst. It could not be missed.

There were lots of people with the same goal in mind who gathered in a formation that resembled a gigantic snake slithering along the hallways of one of the TRU buildings towards the lecture hall. Due to a somewhat anticipated crowded night, the talk was to be heard directly in the main hall and indirectly via simulcast in two overflow rooms. Fitting for a one-of-a-kind astronaut right?

Lucky us, as we entered one of the overflow rooms, we got to see Cmdr. Hadfield for a few minutes. He was apologizing for not being able to be in three rooms at once but happy to offer the overflowers the consolation of a wisely planned simulcast.

We were in the last row, hoping we can hear and see at least some of it. We did, all of it.

I was spellbound during the talk. I admit to never being charmed enough by the prospect of getting myself into a spaceship about to take off. But as it so happens with remarkable talks given by people who do remarkable things, previous thoughts on the matter get scattered in the wind and there I was almost ready to utter the “Where do I sign up for the next flight?”

Chris Hadfield talked about the world he got to see from up there in a way that validated my beliefs about wanting to clinging onto the idea that this charming backyard we call Earth needs all the help we can provide in order to stay alive and spectacular.

He talked about his childhood dreams of becoming an astronaut, of cutting his own path towards getting to that countdown on launch day at some point in his life. He did. The talk was inspiring and his way of looking at life refreshing. He talked about measuring life’s worth not by how many things you can checks off your bucket list, but by the daily, seemingly insignificant things that we have the choice to find joy in. A good perspective, you’ll have to admit, coming from a man who has seen it all from space.

He talked about what it takes to be an astronaut. Determination, working hard, a bit of luck, but to really make it up there like he did and a few others too, you need to be a good person. Giving, selfless and able to use self-resources to keep yourself entertained when the going gets tougher. Strong but kind, and with a continuous sense of wonder because every day will offer a new perspective on a place you thought you knew but still appears new every time you go round.

He told the audience how when one sees the places we so confidently walk on from space, they become dear but also remind of how fragile life is.

He talked about remarkable discoveries that come about in small crowded labs up in space and how many discoveries up there translate into better things for us here on Earth.

He talked about us being all from the same place in the end, Earth, the only one we all have and share, and how easy it is to forget that when we smugly assert ourselves to one place or another. Impressive and humbling at once.

The talk, the many stories he shared and the answers at the end made both boys say “I like Chris Hadfield!” Rightfully so. I do too.

The kind of hero I like; with human abilities but doing remarkable things. The only superpower I can think of is flying out into space and back many times while still staying fully grounded.

 

So You Can Breathe. Be Grateful

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On October 2, 2013

In Life Stories

Reminder...As I write this a fire truck makes its hasty way in the distance. I know it is hasty because the sirens are wailing, cutting long and sharp shards of worry in the night. I know, because they came to our doorstep a couple of days ago and painted the pavement a temporary flickering red.

There’s no beast wilder than fear for your child’s life. It tears you to pieces in a matter of seconds and you have almost nothing to fight back with but your bare soul, already shredded by thoughts you don’t want to decipher, pretending you don’t understand them. Like walking on a tight rope with nothingness underneath, you have to look at the rope to keep going, not at the seemingly empty space below.

Don’t lose hope, they say and you try hard not to. But just like driving in thick fast-plopping rain with tired, broken wipers, you can barely see ahead and you keep driving because you can’t stop. But how keep going, since you cannot see much. Hoping you will not lose control, hoping you can make it is all you have; that’s how.

It’s like that. Having a sick child that struggles for his every breath, taking but shallow labored ones as if there is a shortage of air around him, it’s a ride so draining that nothing comes close to it.

Sasha’s recent asthma attack marked me in many ways. I am grateful to have him back, I am grateful to see him laugh, raspy voice and all, but most of all, I am aware that seeing him breathe keeps my breathing steady.

Spending the night in the hospital, monitoring screens with lines and numbers and feeling my heart sink every time numbers dropped too low because Sasha’s tired body could not breathe the oxygen in, it all drove home the simple truth we proclaim often but forget almost every time: Live every day, live it fully as if it’s your last.

We are fragile and strong at the same time, we ask for help and pray that living nightmares end and ask others to pray for us too, we break down in tears when it is all over because now we are taught to fear more than before and the taste of fear takes longer to dissipate. Yet a gift is a gift, and so was Sasha’s ability to hold his breathing steady after hours of struggle. It’s when you can forget the pain to make room for gratefulness.

You have at least one reason to be grateful at this very moment. I hope that you do. You can breathe, no struggle, no gasping, no panic. Be grateful. The world becomes a better place when we remember the often forgotten yet vital things. Gifts. Like breathing… If you can, say a prayer for those who can’t. It will reach them. I know it will because a couple of days ago we had many coming our way…

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