Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better and so does kindness

Month: December 2015

Things I’ve Learned. Happy New Year!

By

On December 31, 2015

In Learning, Life Stories, Self-improvement

StubbornIt is almost New Year’s Eve and winter has somewhat caught up with us bringing frozen sunny mornings to our doorstep.

It is eerily humbling to be waiting for winter the way it once was in a place that is never going to be the way it once was… People and places change in the bitter sweet dance of time, and no matter how stubborn, we are all twirling like snowflakes in a snow storm, landing where we least expected and poised (if we make it so) to make the best of it.

The year comes to an end. It’s always with a bit of regret that I look back, choosing to see mostly the things I’ll leave behind forever. This time though I want to hum the better song as I walk along. The things I’ve learned, the ones I take with, the ones that make me better, or so I feel.

Lost and foundIt’s a matter of making peace with yourself and life. Not crying over what cannot be changed. The prayer comes to mind, the one I so often saw as difficult to accomplish when changes made me bend under their implacable weight and what was left of me was no more than a twig seemingly breakable by the first gust of wind. It’s never like that though…

Now I know…

 

That the worst of days has, like the happiest, has only 24 hours that it can howl at me. That is, at best, a ladder with 24 rungs that I leave behind one after another as I climb towards a better day.

That if I need someone to tell me I can do it or hold my hand (or heart) as I do it, all I have to do is ask. That might be one of the hardest things to do, which is why it is one of the biggest gift someone can give. It’s the give-get thing. An unsinkable truth of life indeed.

That we are solely able to steer off courses that take us to where we do not want to go. All we have to do is stop, breathe, and have the courage to look around, asking loud enough ‘Is this where I want to be?’ If not, why dawdle? Of all the 24 rungs we climb, if there is at least one left, we can make it a day.

That when I smile, everything gets better. That someone will smile back. It’s never to be taken for granted. Or forgotten. The world is a smile better when we make it so. It’s a matter of will. And courage to be vulnerable enough to let yourself be seen. Smiling. Crying. It’s the same face that does it, the same heart that powers both.

That there is a gift of calmness in a crumpled leaf that I will never find anywhere else. When you step outside and pick one up, it will tell you stories of life and death, of the inexorable nature of seasons, of being just a wee song in the large orchestra that would sound different, even in an imperceptible way, if you were not there.

That I can get lost in a sea of others, but I am still my own. When you are, you are your own colour to a world that you joined as unique once upon a time. Add your own, believe that you can.

SeeThat I am able to see. With me eyes, with my heart, with my hands in the dark. As long as the mind is open to it.

That clouds are lessons, so big that only a sky could hold them all. Like you or I, they speak time, except that they seem to explain it better. Things come and go, nothing stays forever. Of course I know that. And just like that, of course I pretend to forget. Because it is both soothing and scary, a flavour that we have to learn to use as we go so that each bite becomes a gift. If each bite is to become a gift.

That when I open my arms for a hug, someone will fall in there, soft-hearted and eager, and will emerge feeling worthy. Because of that hug. Which I could give because I know the taste of it. Because someone, somewhere, had gifted me the same.

That seeing the sunrise is as precious as being born. Every day, another chance to make it better. There are 365 sunrises a year. Every year.

BeautyThat having my children call the most urgent ‘Mom, come see the sky!’ means that sunsets are reminders of shared life, love and the wonder of a world we get to see once more through the eyes of those who never hold back unless we make them think they should. Which is a sin.

 

 

to beThat precious is not a word for diamonds, or things made to be expensive. It is what defines morning walks with my sons, their arms wrapped around my neck at night, or the four of us waking up by a lake, soft whispers infusing the emerald air and having us know that as long as we can see that together we are on the side of life where we should be.

That speaking of life not just as you see it but as you feel it is a must. Vulnerability makes us stronger.

That’s how much I’ve learned this year, that’s what I’m taking with me to the next. To build on. To learn of so much more.

LightsHappy New Year!

So This Is Christmas…

By

On December 25, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Learning, Self-improvement, Social issues

Originally published as a column in NewsKamloops on December 25, 2015.

20151202_134554_001It is Christmas Eve and the four of us are tucked deep into the heart of Transylvania celebrating the winter holidays with family. Whether we travel or stay at home, this time a year is when we journey to a place that is always different no matter how much we repeat the rituals from year to year in an effort to make it just like the last one.

The thing is, try as we might, it is never the same. It could never be… With each year, I realize that it is not about the gifts but the presence we offer as we approach the day. Presence in more than one way.

It is about giving ourselves to serve others as much as we can, to be kind beyond expectations or at least to match them, to think of those who do not come close to joy because life throws them one too many curve balls, to be grateful not because we have what we want but to be grateful as we say ‘I have what I need’ because, in truth, many of us do.

It is never about material gifts.

The increased need for kindness in our immediate surroundings and beyond is evident. Times are rushed and pressing us into individual corners where we feel isolated and unhappy for it. Fighting back by reaching out seems counterintuitive yet it is not.

This is the time when we should evaluate our presence. In our family with those still present (as much as we believe in happy ever after, eternity is simply not a built-in feature of humans or anything alive for that matter), in our community in how we give time and help financially and otherwise, in what we leave behind as we move into tomorrow.

Since the boys have been born, we have spent many a Christmas time with my family whether in Europe or Canada. My Mom and Dad were there for some but not anymore. One could say that we are poorer with each Christmas as we leave behind slices of life that will never return as such and people who smile back from photos only. The gift that matters is that we once spent time together.

But then again, it is not about what we do not have any more but about what stays with; it is about how we grow from there. Christmas is, in truth, albeit not exclusively, a time of evaluating. In doing so we should go beyond the personal sphere and go far enough to see the bigger picture of our common ground.

This year, more than ever before, it became clear that we need to do so. As a country, we are fortunate to be on the side of those who can help (we can choose to while withholding judgment), just like we are also fortunate to have the kind of leadership that allows us to rewrite the story of our global presence. Gifts of social conscience to be precise.

As individuals we can make choices: to care more, to care enough to make a difference in someone’s life, to show our human side more often even if that means simply smiling to those we meet on our daily path.

During a recent beach stroll in Vancouver, I came across a bench carrying words that reminded me of my parents, my husband, my sons, and the rest of my family, including my close friends. It was about presence, about time, about realizing that we are shaped by what touches our heart.

‘Sometimes love is for a moment, sometimes love is for a lifetime. Sometimes a moment is a lifetime. May this place reminds us how precious life is.’ I would add; ‘may this day and all that follow remind us of the same. May that we not forget between now and the time we need to show it or remember it ourselves.’

Meaningful gifts are those that last long after the wrappings are crumpled up and the thrill of yet another object is lost from memory. It is perhaps the absence of material gifts that make us most aware of what’s really important.

It is when we make room for presence without any material strings attached that we can understand the ephemeral nature of today, Christmas day included. It is when we make room to remember that presence is where we show up many sunrises and sunsets past Christmas, no fancy duds, just as we are, hearts full as they are on the day defined by giving. In truth, every day should be shaped that way.

May your Christmas be an opportunity for gifts that will keep on growing and giving, and for presence that you can find and offer kind and warm each day from now until the next Christmas comes along. By then we will be wiser and even more mindful of life’s fragility and our immense responsibility to make our gifts, given and received, last. Merry Christmas!

The Things I Remember

By

On December 22, 2015

In Life Stories

The small volcanoes my Dad would make in the front yard near the black currant bushes. He smoked these cigarettes that were pure tobacco. Short and no filter, so there was always a little bit of leaf bits falling off the ends as you pulled it out of its paper wrapping.

Somehow I loved that. As much as I hated how they affected his health in the end. But I was a kid then and volcanoes meant nothing but my Dad’s magic, his smell, his hands preparing yet another small mound of dirt to put a minuscule cigarette butt in, and my wonder at the sight of that small trail of smoke raising just like he predicted. I remember that.

My Dad smoked outside only, no exceptions. When I was old enough to want to match the breath of late summer nights with my own I would follow him outside as he smoked that last one of the day and we would listen to crickets and the sounds that spoke of beauty and presence in words that sounded like songs. My Dad loved telling stories. I remember that.

I remember my Mom’s hands tidying up the kitchen table, handing me a cup of tea in late evening, the steam rising like a whisper and dancing the night away as we talked. I remember her smile in the morning, her voice, the caring ways she’d wrap us in so we would always know which way is home. We did, my sister and I, until the day home stopped being there.

I remember mornings of brightness and small baskets to fill with strawberries, fresh eggs and curious chickens, their greediness to eat the handfuls of lush green I was throwing over the fence. Beady eyes, eager beaks and sounds of mornings that could not be translated into anything but an echo. Such is the fate of heart imprints, they stay within.

It is because they do that that I believed time can stand still. I sipped at times and other times I spilled some, I cherished and I wasted, some of what I should’ve learned I learned early enough and some I learned too late.

Coffee time, I remember that. Sometimes it came with straight faces, other times with silliness and laughter. My parents chatting, tidbits of life. Never a doubt in my mind that it will last. Before life stomped its ugly feet loudly and roared, before I knew of fear and words left unspoken. Forgiveness for innocence… does it exist?

I remember the day my Dad typed Rudyard Kipling’s poem ‘If’ and brought it home. The paper was thin, almost see-through (the irony…), each typed word a chubby critter linked to others to create a story. The meaning eluded me for many years. Today it all make sense.

I have lost so much since and gained so much too…

Tomorrow is Dad’s birthday. His first without him in the only world I know.

Mom’s was two weeks ago. Her ninth since it is only the echo of her voice that comes on that day. What is left then?

Summers with mornings too bright, evenings so wrapped up in flavours and sounds, stories left behind, laughter and tears, feet running on hot pavement to escape sun, cheating time with hugs and lengthy coffee time, everything exists as long as we remember it should.

If… the paper is even thinner now and words faded. I read it again and again. The poem becomes a story becomes a river of memories and stories told and untold, of wishes and dances where the music simply does not matter… it is but the willingness to dance, to live as if you hear the music, to know that it is there, to trust that one day you will hear it and it will all make sense.

I light candles, I say prayers, I cry. I love the lilac bush that towers over the grave and I hate that it can spend infinite time there, so near… Where to from here… I will read the poem, again, I will slow down to surround each word with reason, each seed of wisdom with gratefulness, I will do it so I will remember.

Not only for myself but for my sons, for whom I will one day type a poem. This or another. Just because. Because I want them to remember. Because I know they will. Because I know it is a path towards understanding the shadows, the light and darkness that time dresses in as we move along…

The Ripple Effect

By

On December 18, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Self-improvement, Social issues

Originally published as a column in NewsKamloops on December 4, 2015. 

BeautyIt was cold on Sunday. Midday came with gifts of sunshine as over one hundred people gathered for the Climate Rally at Riverside Park. Not a big crowd by many people’s standards, but enough to make a dent of some sort.

Among lots of green paper hearts with inspiring messages directed to the City Council, and people smiling as they had green hearts painted on their cheeks (or noses), hope reigned supreme.

Indeed, there is something about that recognition of a need to act together towards the greater good if the greater good is to be achieved at all. There is no question that the road is a bumpy one; global well-being is a tall order. Yet what choice do we have?

It has come to the point in time when we can no longer push the dirt under the rug and pretend the day can be filled with happy thoughts only (hope is happy, come to think of it, isn’t it?) but we have to take the proverbial bull by the horns and act.

In face of a challenging world climate, environmental, social and political, the one logical thing to do is to approach the said bull not individually but together. Strength is in numbers, and to that I’d add that inspiration and courage are as well. from times past until today, the concept of togetherness is one that helps build bridges where bridges have never been built and helps us climb mountains that any of us individually would find impossible to climb.

It felt good to see that on Sunday. Frozen feet and noses notwithstanding, a great heart was formed on the shores of the quiet, old-as-the-world Thompson River, and the rally ended with smiles. Now for the actual work.

Yes, as good and fuzzy the feeling, there’s lots of work ahead. Rally or not, the world is still warming up and that’s bad, but also good because we can use the heat in more constructive ways. Species are still disappearing (some faster than others) and yet there’s a heap of good people out there striving to share the word on saving them, starting petitions and raising awareness, adding clarity to our view of the world like never before.

There are many acute issues in the world. From climate-related to multiple war-plagued areas and the resulting humanitarian crises, clarity is perhaps what we need to acknowledge that unless we tackle them together, neither will be properly fixed.

The Paris-derived ‘Keep it in the ground’ campaign is the very case in point. India’s PM has launched an international solar alliance of over 120 countries, many of them developing countries where some of the people will go from no power to solar power and all the benefits that electricity brings along.

Environmental issues and poverty can be solved as the complex interwoven problem they have become. Killing two birds with one shot, except that in this case we would be fixing the said birds with one cure. That could save future unrest and maybe even wars.

It would not be boasting if we were to say that we’re witnessing history being made these days. Big in how we invest ourselves in saving the world and its people too. Big in how we make compassion and responsibility stand out, big in how big our hearts grow as we hold onto each other in order to breathe new life into the togetherness concept.

In times of unrest, whatever the nature of it is, usually more than one as everything is connected after all, finding solutions is an act of courage and a reminder that uniting over big warm-hearted purposes gives meaning to life itself, saving it at the same time.

Then again, big goals can appear intimidating at first. Which is why pursuing change in small steps and fixing the world, mindset-wise, starts in our own backyard.

BC has again, and infamously so, placed first on the child poverty list in Canada. This year again, 1 in 5 children in British Columbia are living below the poverty level. That is unacceptable. There is no sugar coating for this one.

In the days of thrift stores bulging with used items, landfills inundated with usable things and still lots of food finding its way in the garbage, the only word that can describe the situation, much to our shame, is “unacceptable”. Unacceptable indeed.

But many good deeds happen as there are many people putting money, time and consideration towards addressing the problem. It goes without saying that the provincial government has to step up to the plate and do the hard work on that end too.

Things are changing and for the better. Having knowledge is where we start. So let’s consider us walking the path already.

We can do it. Change how we treat the environment, put food on children’s plates and offer low-income families (single parents too) the gift of dignity. Address mental issues, understand the needs of those affected in our community and country-wide and press on to help war and disaster-affected people, the millions of them: those effected by the crisis in Syria and Iraq, those without homes and little food in Nepal, the tens of thousands in Sudan who are on the brink of famine.

Kindness begets kindness and we are all better when that happens. A single drop that falls in a lake will create ripples that will travel farther then we see with our eyes. The same with kindness. Our world deserves it. We, as its people, deserve it too.

In keeping mindful we are not living in fear but in hope. In unity over goals that honour life as we know it in all its entirety, we become better. Humbly so.

If We Are To Love Our Country

By

On December 18, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Social issues

Originally published as a column in NewsKamloops on December 11, 2015.

Then... nowI remember the first time I visited Kamloops. It was mid-summer: dusty, hot and the air was heavy. There was no ocean breeze to wrestle the heat down, but the river, slow moving and steady, was long with its row of trees a welcome refuge and an open invitation we’ve been honoring since.

Two months later our family landed here, and since that day, the river has been a faithful companion to our many adventures.

We canoed up and down the two rivers that meet forming a beautiful line separating the dark blue South Thompson from the silty northern arm, we got to see baby geese following their parents in a line that was as cute as was orderly; we saw foxes and ducks and sunsets galore, we fed gracious swans in mid-winter when the river decorates the sandy shores in icy lace ad wondered at their beauty.

We go swimming every summer night, and we walk alongside the shores in fall and winter. I met my best friend by the river and each stroll we take stopping every now and then to pick rocks and listen to the lapping sounds, reinforces not only our friendship but also my bond with the mysterious ribbon of water that carries too many stories to tell, too obvious to not see…

One of the stories was revealed this summer during our trip through the Kootenays when we happened by a small but well-appointed museum in Invermere where the boys and us adults learned more of David Thompson, the man who the First Nations knew as ‘the Star-gazer’ due to his passion for navigation, the man after which our North Thompson River was named.

We saw his writing and our eyes followed the contours of his words as he was describing the very places we go by when we visit the river. We stepped back in time and were filled with reverence for the gift of learning more of him.

David Thompson is the man who single-handedly mapped almost 50,000 miles of unchartered territory in Western Canada, a tremendous effort that was acknowledged long after his death, which unfortunately saw him poor and blind. Muriel Poulton Dunford, author of ‘North River – The Story of BC’s North Thompson Valley and Yellowhead Highway 5’ tells it all and more.

A man of high moral values and solid principles, David Thompson more than deserves to have his name gracing the rivers that have been the lifeblood of many communities since long ago. One of our homeschooling goals is to learn the history of Canada, British Columbia in particular, and focus long enough on our Thompson-Nicola region. We live here, therefore we should.

I am hoping and wanting that the boys’ love for their country and its history, young as it is if we are to refer for now to the explorers and traders (but that would be tremendously unfair), will only be enhanced as we learn of all those whose steps preceded ours.

A recent perusal through the news of the day revealed a Vogue photo shoot that features our PM and his wife. Though charming and sweet as a couple, I believe the PM’s place may not be a suitable one in a fashion magazine.

I have much admiration for people who go through ups and downs during their marriage and openly show their love for each other nonetheless, yet I could not help but feel that having such glamour imparted to our PM Justin Trudeau and his wife rather steals people’s attention from where it should go, making them focus on something that has little relevance to our present day history.

As they say, noblesse oblige. In the days of coming together as a nation to face humanitarian crises and honour promises that will help the environment worldwide, we need the sense of reverence towards our leaders and people of influence, rather than the short-lived admiration of beautiful people featured in fashion magazines.

Some may argue that love is beautiful and that is true and more, but I’d say that what we need nowadays as we are engaging on a journey led by a new PM, is respect and unflinching trust that we are to be led in the direction of mature leadership.

We need to learn of our history, we need to teach our children of it too, all of it and accurately so, dark times included, so that we can become the democratic, critical but at the same time respectful soundboard for the activities that our leaders conduct on a daily basis. A feedback loop that all democracies need in order to exist as such. Such a job requires knowledge of the past, a vision of the future and a steady arm to take us through the occasional tough present.

Our history is imbued with examples of inspirational people. Whether we learn of rivers or battles won and lost, of daring explorers who left behind so much that nowadays we take for granted, we need to never forget. We need to be able to trust that our leaders will continue to inspire us as we walk the many paths Canada opens before our eyes.

 

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