Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better and so does kindness

Month: December 2013

Online Game Teaches The Wrong Message

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On December 14, 2013

In Life Stories, Social issues

(Originally published as a column under the same title in the Saturday edition of the Kamloops Daily News on December 14, 2013)

I had planned to write about last weekend’s outing near Lac Le Jeune where we took the boys skiing. It was freezing cold (minus 21) and the snow gave up clumping up and turned dusty instead. It was a good frosty adventure.

But that night after dinner a few words were dropped about child slaves – a thing that should no longer exist in today’s world and yet it does and we often discuss social inequities – and my oldest son said ‘Mom, you would not like to hear about this game many kids are addicted to.”

Curious? I was. And he told us. We looked it up and cringed.

It’s called Cookie Clicker. It is described as a ‘mindless, addictive and fascinating web game’ or, according to Wikipedia ‘The point of the game is to bake cookies as fast as possible, to have a large number of cookies, and to have a lot of milk; notably, however, there is no true end to the gameplay.”

Like I said, mindless. So you might ask if the cringing was elicited by the mindless aspect of it. Partially, but the disturbing part were some of the upgrades.

They come with explanations: you can use grandmas (‘A nice worker to manufacture more cookies’) or child labour (‘cheaper, healthier workforce’,) or sweatshop (‘slackers will be terminated’.)

Child labour is an atrocious reality of today’s world and so are sweatshops, there’s no way of joking about it and not wondering where your common sense and heart went. You just cannot take such things in jest and have your dignity intact.

Yet children click on cookies and buy child labour as we speak, in an effort (or not, since the device they play on can keep up the game playing by itself) to collect… well, more cookies. Mindless should become worrisome at this point.

A sign of times, you might say. Empathy and a social conscience plus a responsibility to watch over the values our children learn or not learn, that should stay, no matter how crazy the times get.

The world is a crazy place to be, it has always been, but we are witnessing the stretching of this concept to new dimensions. If I had to choose one major aspect of the new degree of craziness I’d settle on information and the way we use it.

The amount of information we are bombarded with on a daily basis has increased a lot since the first days of internet. Exponential growth on steroids.

If we lived in a physically enclosed internet space, someone looking from up above will be noticing some bursting at the seams here and there. With more to come.

And if daily information for the adult mind is overwhelming occasionally, and increasingly so, just imagine what it’s like for children.

Jumping off a cliff in the azure waters below because you choose to is one thing. Being pushed off is a totally different thing.

Children today are born and raised in the murky waters of too much information, and much of it is often controversial enough and it should make even us adults avert our eyes.

The question is: are we vocal and aware of the controversial content enough to make our children aware of things that are not right. Because that is the responsible thing to do.

It is simply wrong to assume that this is only going to amuse kids. It will also desensitize them. We are born empathic.

Young children cannot stand to hear another one crying, yet if they are not encouraged in that caring attitude they may lose it after a while.

As they grow, they become prisoners to peer pressure and their own social image, which they will strive to keep cool at all costs. Often the price is insensitivity, a sword with more than two sharp edges that ends up hurting them, their loved ones and increasingly affecting the world around.

It is high time we reconsider our children’s upbringing and align the values we want them to adopt for themselves with the ones we would like to see modeled around us every day.

Why Be Mindful, Starting Today

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On December 10, 2013

In Life Stories, Self-improvement

It is early morning, the house is dark and quiet and there is no better time to be aware of where I am.

I pull the curtains because it snowed overnight and whiteness makes me feel safe and cozy.

I open the door, breathe in the cold and look at the sleepiness around. Across the street, smoke raises from a smokestack, pointing straight to a sky that’s so clear it squeaks when you look at it. No more snow. I know that from my dad, about the smoke going straight up.

This is the time to be where I am and nowhere else. No planning the day, no urgent this or that, no deadlines.

This is the time to stop.

So much is happening every day, even on those days that seem slow and dull. They are not. They are life. And we barely acknowledge it, even on the good days.

Why so hurried? Because it’s what we do. Life hurries and we hurry with it. Hurrying is a choice; but you knew that. Or not. Is it really? (yes)

Like heading straight down a wild river that we know for a fact ends up in a waterfall, we ride a raft we barely hang onto. White knuckles scream desperation and a need to stop, a need to readjust here and there and take a look around. We’re moving too fast, we know that much.

Speed enables us to persist in thinking we’re doing it right. And speed even more.

Everywhere we look, white knuckles are interpreted not as a sign of desperation but as an acknowledgement of being on this wild river. It’s what everyone does, right? Very few of us will say otherwise and the ones who do, are on the shores, looking around and telling us to slow down. Can they be believed? How would they know? Why are they there to begin with?

The answer is as simple as it is troubling: Because they know that knuckles are connected to the heart and the mind. Not when they’re white and cold though. They only get warm when we stop. But that’s slowing down, isn’t it? That means losing something? More? Less? Enough? At all?

Where’s the truth? Who has it?

Somehow slowing down does not appeal enough to our competitive nature. Slowing down is a right we don’t want to make much use of. We take odd comfort in saying “But I am not the only one.” And oddly enough, that truly is the weakest argument of them all. It really will not matter who was with you and why when you reach the waterfall. You’ll reach it by yourself. As it’s always been.

Gravity evens things out for us all. Which is why it’s so important to mind things along the way, to stop your raft by shores you deem necessary to see, or to simply stop to see. To listen, to breathe and know of yourself. To make sense of why you’re on that wild river to begin with.

To be grateful.

White knuckles will not let any feelings sink in deep enough for you to feel that. Perhaps that’s the best reason why stopping every now and then makes sense.

Quiet after all...Also because when you stop, you learn how to. And you’ll know how to do it next time. And next. And you’ll be ready for everything that comes. Or for most of the things.

You’ll have made time along the way to know faces, not just see them in that mad dash down a river that was never intended for us ride so recklessly and white-knuckled but we do it because everyone does.

Which is never a good argument to begin with. So learn to stop. Today.

Why The Freecycling Concept Makes Sense

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On December 9, 2013

In Environment, Social issues

(Initially published as a column in the Saturday edition of the Kamloops Daily News on November 7, 2013.)

The email from Freecycle Kamloops read ‘WANTED: Pure wool sweaters.’ The explanation: someone wanted sweaters to make crafty things out of them.

Right. My old ivory-hue lambswool sweater, with almost see-through elbows, fit the description. The next day I parted with my old, well-used sweater and got acquainted with a new way of creating a sturdy warm, water resistant material out of old wool knits. You shrink them, intentionally.

Shrinking is something I did unintentionally with a few nice wool sweaters (a.k.a. the untold story of how the boys have inherited some nice solid wool sweaters from us adults.) Compact wear, you could say, perfect for Kamloops winters.

The Freecycle concept is aptly described by its name. You save items from the dump by giving them away or taking them off someone’s hands.

It appeals to the free-spirited who believe in recycling and reusing things or even bits of things (think odds and ends left over after a big move, or renovating, or after an occasional purge.)

It is also the ideal place to find things when your budget is close to nil but the needs are not.

Many of today’s short-lived items are a good, but sad, match to our fast-paced lifestyles. A quick browse through the items brought to the dump on any given day paints a rather scary perspective of today’s understanding of our relationship to our environment.

We rely on finite resources as if they were infinite, while making only short-term use of many things that could be given a second and third life.

Freecycling is an obvious, necessary activity for people who live in more isolated communities where self-sufficiency has nothing to do with following trends but with surviving.

Think of an island or a remote community where people cherish every square metre of their land and rely heavily on the old ‘someone’s garbage is another man’s treasure.’

If you visit many of the smaller Gulf Islands you’ll see signs urging you to take your garbage with you when you leave and recycle or compost everything you buy or produce during your stay.

Many of the houses and their attached amenities are patched and fixed in a creative, use-everything-you-can island style.

Some of the more remote islands have free stores, the epitome of self-sufficiency. They are exactly that. Free.

All those bags of clothes your kids have outgrown, all the books you don’t need anymore, all the clutter that makes your life so much easier if only someone could take it off your hands — there is a place for that.

Also, think low budget, but still trying to have the minimum amount of household stuff, clothing and toys — there’s a place for that, too.

It’s a brilliant concept that goes against Black Friday, Cyber Monday and all the don’t-you-dare-miss sales we are sucked into. It may be just the thing to save us from being overrun by garbage in the future.

With a bit of necessary extrapolation for a bigger community, the concept of consignment stores and also thrift stores that act as fundraisers for worthy causes are a nice complement to a freecycling program every community should have.

Imagine buying only the things you really need when you need them; choosing products that can be reused for many years because the landfill is not an option; avoiding non-recyclable and unnecessary packaging because what would you do with it all once you dig out the goods?

Imagine finding that little, simple-design engine you’ve always wanted for your sturdy homemade lawnmower?

Or, why not a good, old wool sweater you can shrink to your heart’s content and make into gaiters or a warm vest?

Switching your collection of well-read books for a new batch just in time for long winter nights?

Just imagine.

Now, wouldn’t that be great?

Why Every Community Needs A Diner

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On December 1, 2013

In Kamloops

(Originally published as a column in the Saturday edition of the Kamloops Daily News on November 30, 2013)

The one thing I remember about the diner that night is that it smelled like a home rather than a restaurant. Also, the invitation to sit wherever we wanted and being addressed with “dear.”

When you’re new in a place, “dear” sounds right.

An elderly couple smiled from across the room and nodded welcome — a remnant from the days when looking at someone you didn’t know was not rude but rather a greeting that meant just that, ‘welcome.’

We spent a tired first night in the attached inn and late morning found us in the diner again, for breakfast. In less than 24 hours, the diner had become a familiar place with familiar faces and “dear” was tucked motherly into every other sentence. Breakfast was good and warm.

Life rolled on and we moved into our house a few blocks away from the diner. Nightly walks had us by its red-lit OPEN sign often, and every time I looked inside I was reminded of our first night in Kamloops.

A sign outside the door says ‘Coffee and pie, all day, $2.95’ and you see it every time you walk by.

The first time we tried it we had just dropped off the boys at school. Coffee and pie sounded like an invitation and we said why not.

We sat by the window and got engrossed in talking.

The second time, we took the boys there after school and we each got different pies and a big blob of whipped cream on the side.

Someone sitting at another table waved at us, then walked over to say hi. It was one of the paramedics who helped during my youngest son’s asthma attack. He remembered us, my son’s name and the fact that we all have the same kind of boots.

When he left, saying “see you around,” we said the same because we knew it was true. It happens all the time.

The boys pointed at the black-and-white historic photos on the walls, of cars parked outside the same diner, of the inn, of people smiling. I wondered how many of them were still stopping by for meals and conversations. I wondered if the diner will still be when the boys have grown up.

Somehow I know it will. Many diners have been around for a long time and they have the best social-media platform there is: face to face conversations, people from the next table asking how your day has been and actually waiting for an answer.

But not all diners are like this. I remember one in Fort Langley where the old charm is all there but the young waiters who take your order and give you the correct change never ask about your day or whether you live close by.

Another diner near Kootenay Lake had a cold feel to it, literally and otherwise. People there did not connect the dots between visitors and food and you felt isolated.

So we ate and went on our way. It was a freezing sunny day in March, but the outside felt warmer.

Neighbourhood diners where people smile and say “hope to see you again” are a sign of a healthy community and a reminder of the good old feeling of never being far from a friendly face. Locals come and lean back on chairs as if at home, which is somewhat accurate, and travelers feel welcome.

The ladies who bring you coffee and pie and meals call you “dear” and “honey” and you’re tickled pink every time just because. They address children the way an aunt would, they carry smiles from table to table and they laugh with old customers over this or that with a familiarity that you want to be part of because it feels warm and good.

So I want diners like this to stay. Not because I cannot find coffee and pie or a good meal elsewhere, but because of that warm space that connects people to food, to other people and to the community they all live in, for a night, a few years or a lifetime.

After all, a place is a place. It’s the people that make it special.

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