Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Category: Kamloops Page 24 of 45

We Are All Guardians Of Our Breathing Space

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On November 27, 2017

In Armchair Mayor Column, Climate change, Environment, Health, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Social issues

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops and Armchair Mayor News on November 13, 2017. 

If you hike to the top of Peterson Creek Park on any given day, more so on a cold one, you’ll see a blanket of yellowish, dirty air draped over the valley.

This is not new or unexpected. The surface inversion well-known to these parts increases the effects of air pollution. Whatever is released into that cold air trapped close to the surface, be it vehicle exhaust, mill emissions, or wood smoke, it all stagnates and makes our breathing air a lot worse than it should be.

There is no clear answer as to what is in the yellow plume. Winter smog is a terrible beast made worse by inversion phenomena, but knowing what we breathe in would be good. You can’t fix something if you don’t know where to start or how complex the issue.

It would be nice to know how much each polluting source adds to that yellowish layer. There is no heads-up information about mill emissions or slash pile burning. That affects some people more than others. It is unsettling to be exposed to air pollution by various industries in or around town, and not know when that will happen. Of course, when it does, people notice, but there is something to be said about habituation. Except that in case of our breathing air, it is not in our benefit at all to accept it as is.

On top of notifications about mill emissions and slash burning, there should be information sessions on how air quality is made worse by the inversion and a low venting index. If psychologically it is easy to shrug off the memory of many socked-in days when a better day comes along, and the valley air looks clean, our bodies react differently, as the perilous effects on health are compounded.

Air pollution is a real enemy to human health, and an increasing body of scientific evidence points to it. Short- and long-term effects of air pollution are real and, for the latter, deadly in many cases. The reluctance to recognize them as such have to do, I am willing to say, with the invisible nature of this threat. Should dirty water pour out of out taps, few if any would want to drink it. The air we breathe should be no different. It is true that industrial pollution accounts for much of the bad air in town. But some of the dirty yellow plume is caused by residential activity, be it driving or wood burning.

City traffic has been increasing over the years and that means an increased volume of exhaust gases. Adding to that is the unnecessary idling. There is no need to idle cars for more than 30 seconds on a cold day. Nor is idling while stopping to chat, or while running into a store for some quick shopping, or to keep warm while waiting. Just more toxic gases.

As for wood smoke, whether from residential use or slash pile burning (an environmentally unsound and health-costly solution for all the logging leftovers,) it tends to linger for a long time, which is exactly why in areas where inversion is present wood burning should be reconsidered. A recent study by a team at McGill University concluded that wood smoke increases the risk of heart attack in people over 65 by 19 percent. Residential wood heat accounts for 15 percent of PM2.5 in British Columbia, likely higher in areas like Kamloops where inversion is present.

Wood smoke is a mix of approximately 200 compounds, including particulate matter of various sizes, powerful cancer-causing and mutagenic agents. When it comes to particulate matter, the smaller it is, the deeper in the cells of respiratory tract they get. Not exactly what we want to have in our immediate environment for months at a time. As always, children and unborn babies are at highest risk due to their developing bodies. As for the elderly and those who with chronic respiratory diseases, life becomes a few times more dangerous just by breathing, and the constant irritation of the respiratory tract makes them prone to longer and more debilitating seasonal infections.

Interior Health recommends that wood burning should be done on those days when the venting index is good, which is close to 100. On a regular ‘socked-in’ day, the said index is a mere 10, which is classified as poor. Venting indexes can be found at http://www.env.gov.bc.ca/epd/epdpa/venting/venting.html. It’s an eye-opener for sure, along with air monitors present around town (www.purpleair.com.) Tomorrow is forecasted to have a good venting index, by the way.

I know I am not the only one wondering about this. And I know that when there’s a will, a solution, or many, are found. We ought to find the will to reconsider the way we think about our air, and we ought to change our habits to help keep our air clean. At the same time, we ought to be able to get the industrial polluters to realize that pushing potentially harmful gases and particulate matter into our breathing space is no longer an option. Accountability is not a volatile concept.

Summers will be smokier, we are told. If some of that will be unavoidable, long-term exposure during other seasons can and should be avoided for all the right reasons. The most important one being that nothing matters if breathing is impacted.

The Magic You See When You Close Your Eyes

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On November 27, 2017

In Armchair Mayor Column, Health, Homeschooling, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Self-improvement, Social issues

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops and Armchair Mayor News on November 20, 2017. 

Late afternoon Saturday found us at our neighbours’. My husband was to lend a helping hand lifting a potato and onion box our neighbour built for his wife. There was no defined B-line between walking in, moving the said box, sharing stories of old and new, and the time when we were all seated in the living room, our boys and dog included, their dog too, listening to Todd playing his guitar. It just happened.

He played a Johnny Cash song first and then a composition of his own. His fingers picked gently at the chords and his voice waltzed with the guitar sounds at a mesmerizing rhythm. The magic of those shared moments of beauty made my thoughts burrow deep inside where I only seldom get to go; life’s hurried that way. During Todd’s song I closed my eyes, so I could better see the place he was describing, the wind-swept islands of Haida Gwaii.

That sent me straight to my favourite quote by Helen Keller ‘The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they have to be felt with the heart.’ This quote stuck to me back in high school because there was something she was alluding to that I was not sure how to describe or get myself close to do so, but I knew it was true and worthwhile. Many life stumbles later including births, deaths, farewells and new beginnings, moments alone and with people that hold my heart in theirs, I started to understand more. You get to see more by closing your eyes. It’s where the soul fairies live and dance.

Todd’s song and his words opened the door towards that state of wonder. In the softly lit living room and with all of us in a spell, I was reminded that I could see better if I closed my eyes. It brought me to tears, for many reasons amalgamated. Todd is blind, you see. And yet, since we met him, I’ve learned that he sees more than many of us do with our intact, or close to, vision.

He sees those he meets in a way that few of us do. He listens in a way few of us do. He lives a fuller life that many of us do, simply because he does not take any given day for granted. I got to learn that since I made his acquaintance.

I met him shortly after we moved in mid-November. I was returning from an afternoon walk with the dog. I said hello and introduced myself. I introduced my family too, in absentia. Might as well, since we live across the back lane. Our dog, an overt people lover, budged in with much curiosity and smelled his hand. Todd stooped down and petted her, remarking on her soft coat and snuggly nature. Then he asked me to describe her.

Ah, I realized he could not see. I described her as accurate as I could. We chatted some more, and I left bewildered. Not because I had met a person who was blind, but because when I greeted him in the back lane and introduced myself, I actually interrupted him from work. His shirt was peppered with wood dust and so were his hands.

Soon after, I met his wife, Maggie. Her smile is just as heartful as his, which is why we never just say hello and get going. There’s always an extra life bit shared. It’s better that way.

Todd is often in his workshop. He builds furniture and makes beautiful things, many of which adorn their home. His hands tell stories of many a happy hour spent in the shop. Yes, you may wonder, like we did ‘But… how can he do that?’ He’d laugh at that and say he does it the same way anyone else does; with care. With love and dedication, I’d add. Lots of it.

The same way he learned to play guitar, which he did after the accident that left him blind, in his mid-twenties. From one day to the next, his world turned black. You need a heap of grace and resilience not only to go through that, but to grow, despite of it. Todd has both, plus a whole lot of determination.

To do his full-time job, and hold the volunteering positions he’s been taking over the years, many of which made him instrumental in designing the blind-friendly features that the streets and public buildings of Kamloops now have. In a world we take for granted, he sees so much more that can be improved on. It’s humbling. And even more humbling is to hear that on more than one occasion people address his wife rather than him directly, assuming that his handicap prevents him from being who he actually is. Indeed, it takes grace to know that.

My husband and I tell Todd that he types faster than both of us combined and he laughs a hearty laugh. He shows the boys how he does it, and then he sends each of them an email. They’ll email him back in a couple of days. He makes a deal with our youngest to exchange jokes, they both seem to have a knack for it.

We say goodbye after we plan another get together. Again, I find myself bewildered. Both Todd and his wife are as warm as can be, gently embracing each other’s presence and building a space for us, their friends, to come as we are. It’s called grace. It’s called gratefulness. When I grow up, I want to be like them.

The Gift Of Time Never Fades

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On November 27, 2017

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

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops on November 27, 2017. 

It was on Tuesday evening last week that I deleted (again) all the promotional emails from my inbox; there were a few hundred of them. It is now Saturday afternoon and another load of 234 promotional emails are going to meet the same fate. Many of them have to do with the Black Friday sale, which I choose to stay out of for obvious reasons.

The fact that around 50 or so find their way into my inbox every day is beyond disturbing. I’ve unsubscribed to anything I ever signed up for, unless it’s worth having, and I do not open any invites to shop on a black Friday or any other colour day; I shop when I need to and, as they say, what better way to make the best of a sale then to save 100 percent by not buying anything.

The thing is though, ‘tis the season to be giving and there are things our loved ones need that can be happily gifted come Christmas day. That aside, here’s a thought that is not new or revolutionary in any way, but a humble reminder: set aside time to spend together rather than money to buy gifts.

Last year we had my in-laws over during the Christmas holiday and we made precious memories out of it. I got puzzles from the thrift stores in town prior to, and that meant many hours of afternoon chitchat and laughter while trying to solve them; our oldest son and mom-in-law’s favourite activity.  We played cards and other games too, plus we went out for hikes in the woods in deep, wonderful snow.

My mother-in-law built a gingerbread castle with our little guy; some of the otherwise solid foundation became veritable trenches in the end, and the fact that we all remember it fondly is a sign that it was all done right. We will do the same this year, after we trade our puzzles in for ‘new’ used ones, and we get a couple of board and wooden games that everyone no matter the age can be part of.

We will open (minimal and useful) gifts too, and we will delight in the funny, witty rhymes my father-in-law puts together every year for every one of us. Those riddles remind me of my dad, who was always fond of riddles. There is a fascinating little portrait of the person in each gift-attached missive. Part of the delight is deciphering the ‘code’ in each.

Playing games together leads to silly banter and laughing together, and it leads to togetherness not just because we share the space but because we’re present right then and there. No TV, no phones, just time together as it happens.

We get the games out not just at Christmas time though. We play for no reason on any week day when no evening activities steal any of us from our home, and we play when we have family over or when we visit them. Many years from now when the boys will look back and think of what ‘now’ was made of, I want them to remember the playfulness we built our memories on. The silliness of that chat that games often elicit, the times when you are there not to make ‘quality time’ but simply push everything aside to make room for each other and for that togetherness that is more elusive than anything else because time really is a wild creature that minds its own and cannot ever be tamed. Or stopped.

The cynics among us can argue that time flows just the same whether you play with your kids, watch TV or get lost seeking meaning in the countless scribbles of invisible crowds on social media. I’d argue that if we employ pure physics to prove it, the answer is yes, it does. The reflection of it on our minds and, dare I say, soul, is a different story though.

There is no equation to prove that it is healthier for everyone, no matter the age, to spend enough time with their loved ones. There is only that feeling of fullness of the heart when you do. And when you try to measure the size and money value of gifts against the immeasurable goodness of being fully present where your loved ones are fully present, well, there is a discrepancy that points to the evident.

I spent every Christmas at home with my parents until my late twenties. The only gift I remember is a doll I got when I was eight or so. I do remember that my sister and I baked with my mom every year, and I remember the times my dad pulled my sister and I all bundled up in a sled under a million stars shining bright and happy. I remember the snow crunching under his feet, the tone of his voice as he was telling us stories; I would not trade the magic of those nights and the delicious smells of cooking and baking with my mom for all the gifts in the world.

There is no email warning us that one day it all ends; there is no promotional material telling us ‘just spend time with your loved ones while there is time still.’ Giving out of love is good and it makes us smile. But it will never come close to the one thing that can do what nothing else can: spending time together.

Make it so this holiday season. Fill your heart and others’ with joy and laughter rather than your shopping cart with things. It’s the only gift that matters in the end; if you make it so.

Trick or Treat: The (Even) Darker Side Of Halloween

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On November 1, 2017

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

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops and Armchair Mayor News on October 30, 2017. 

Just a few days ago, a big explosion and fire at a firework factory in Tangerang, Indonesia, killed at least 47 people. The death toll will likely continue to rise as many of the survivors have suffered severe burns. Among the dead, a 14-year-old girl.

My mind raced to the banners draped around town announcing great sales on fireworks. I am sure I am not the only one thinking that some of the fireworks being manufactured there are likely shipped to Canada for Halloween. It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? The factory, which seemed to have employed underage workers and had some serious safety violations, was only two months old, much like the Halloween stores we see popping up around town prior to October 31. We have to wonder where all that (cheap) stuff is coming from and who makes it.

I have already stated on more than one occasion that I am not a big fan of the one-use plastic and other questionable stuff sold for Halloween. If all would be reused to eternity, perhaps I can lend a more lenient thought towards it, but that’s beyond wishful thinking. We would not have so much excess to begin with.

Truth is, as soon as school’s back, summer items are cleared off the shelf and the Halloween merchandise returns, outdoing itself every year, and without a doubt redefining the concept of excessive. There isn’t much consideration for what it takes to bring all that merchandise to stores, or what happens to it afterwards, whether in the customers’ hands or as store surplus. Hopefully the unsold items will be saved for next year’s Halloween.

Many of the costumes though, and some of the decorations too, will likely break because that’s what cheap, fast-manufactured items do. Then, it’s the landfill, which really sees a surge after every big celebration and not only then. The scary thing is, there used to be a couple of big celebrations in the past. Now thanks to marketing wizards, there’s barely any time to breathe between them. As a society, we have shortened and fake-sweetened the distance from non-renewable resources to trash via disposable items with the most tragic long-term consequences.

This is not the case of the Halloween Grinch (how scary would that be?) but rather an argument for a return to simple fun, creativity and much less waste. After all, if it is about the kids, let’s really make it about the kids. The last thing they need in a plastic- and garbage-choked world, is a laissez-faire attitude on our part when it comes to footing the bill for celebrations like Halloween (and all the other ones too.)

Just imagine if all decorations and costumes would be homemade. The creativity involved in such endeavours would be the first great thing that comes to mind; then would be the time kids and parents would spend making them, having lots of fun with ideas, some of which may prove too hard to materialize, as some ideas do, while others will become memorable creations.

Then there will be all that time spent hands-on, minds active and far away from devices that numb them on a regular basis. There will be some frustration too, as all handmade projects carry a dose of that necessary and inevitable feeling, due to various limitations. But then, there’s the joy of finishing projects, and all that good self-confidence that comes from it. That is one amazing gift to give to our children.

As I write this, my youngest – the only one left to do the trick-or-treat in the family, and this is his last year too, – is painting a design on a homemade Roman shield. He worked very hard to bring it to this point, getting deep enough in frustration at times, just to emerge a while later with a better solution in mind. With a bit of help maneuvering woodworking tools, he also made himself a wooden sword and came up with the rest of the items for his Roman soldier costume. No, it will not look identical to a movie set costume, but perfection was never, not should ever be, part of the design.

Much like they say free money has no value, and no matter how much you get, it’ll get squandered in no time, excess merchandise such as decorations and ready-made realistic costumes will never make Halloween better or more memorable. Frankly speaking, they’ll partly make it a source of garbage, most of it unseen, because that is the story of garbage, and most of it will be disposable, single-use stuff, such as the glue-on rainbow eyelashes and blood-oozing-on-demand plastic face masks I saw in a store a few days ago, along with way too numerous to list items. We already know too well that less is more.

As with other aspects of our everyday life, remembering that in the grand scheme of things we’re but a blink, mere guests, in the history of the Earth, the best celebratory attitude should come with the least amount of trash left behind for our ‘host’ to deal with. At the end of the day, it’s not the Earth that is left with the ever-growing bill for all celebratory disposable paraphernalia, but our children and their children. Which is why we should give a better consideration to the question: Will it be tricks or treats that we hand over to them, year after year?

The Many Sides Of A Perpetuating Story

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On October 26, 2017

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

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops and Armchair Mayor News on October 23, 2017. 

If you are even somewhat present in social media, you have likely come across the hashtag campaign #MeToo, spurred by the recent accusations of sexual harassment and assault against famous movie producer Harvey Weinstein. A lot of women came forward to tell their own stories of encountering the media mogul and, headline after headline, the ugliness kept flowing. It has also spilled in Canada, with the recent sexual allegations against the Just for Laughs founder, Gilbert Rozon.

These are not cases of entertainment industry sensationalism; sexual harassment happens around us and victims are most often left to address it alone, ashamed, and fearful of speaking up. The campaign drew many of us into the conversation about sexual harassment, and the trauma it inflicts. Trouble is, life is one fast flowing river and the momentum becomes yesterday’s news, though the impact was real and palpable at the time. Blame it on information overload, but let’s not leave it at that.

Exiting this one story too soon carries serious consequences. The story of sexual harassment is one that surfaces occasionally and when it does it triggers painful memories for those who suffered through it. It is fair to remark that sexual harassment does not only happen to women, though three times as many women are affected compared to the number of men.

Male-dominated professions are often the environment where these stories surface, but that is not the only place where they happen. While the argument about whether a woman can do a man’s job is what many bring forth as an explanation for the unwanted attention women get in certain workplaces, assessing one’s abilities should be based on whether they can perform the said task or not, rather than become grounds for sexual harassment.

If we care not to look sideways when a story of sexual harassment happens, we have the chance to rewrite and redesign societal norms that have been endorsing victim-blaming while often allowing the aggressor to find escape routes from prosecution, allowing the dust of forgetfulness to settle for mostly everyone except for those who suffered through it. To be fair, we have come a long way already, but we have a good length to go still until everyone, female or male, can be safe from sexual harassment no matter their job or life circumstances.

Another side of this ugly reality of everyday life is the presence of bystanders. Often conditioned by fear of losing a job, or angering a powerful person, bystanders add one more layer of wrongness to the process, their lack of proper and rightful action ultimately taking away the victim’s right to justice and further access to resources that can prevent long-term trauma.

The heartbreaking story of Amanda Todd, the 15-year-old girl from Port Coquitlam who committed suicide five years ago on October 10, after being severely and relentlessly sexually harassed online is still haunting me and many others. Immediately prior to her death, and many times before that, she tried to speak up and make her pain visible to others. Unfortunately, that did not happen soon enough, though many were aware of her story.

This is a pervasive and shameful societal sin, if you will, the isolation of the victim through the silence of by-standers or, even worse, the blaming of the victim by joining the chorus that mercilessly sings the most wrong tune of all: ‘She must’ve done something to provoke it…’

Most of us can admit that we know enough to do better as a society. Where do we start getting rid of all this dark and painful ugliness? As with many other things, one way to go is to start our children right, by education them about what the whole bullying process (sexual harassment is after all a sick manifestation of power over someone) and everyone involved: the bully, the bullied and those who see but choose to remain silent, or worse, side with the aggressor. Healthy boundaries are everyone’s right to have and everyone’s duty to respect.

Teaching our children to respect the opposite sex takes more than just words though. We ought to model what we preach, standing up when needed, carrying a continuous dialogue that helps keep the issue in the open rather than making it a dark secret hidden in some corner. Let’s not forget that our children hear more than we care to admit these days, disturbing stories of sexual harassment included. It makes sense that parents explain these terms and further explain what respectful behaviour is about.

Educating children can take us to a better future, but what about now? There are a few things to address, and sooner than later: the widespread presence of pornography (secretly accepted by many, yet rarely talked about honestly and with the intention of preventing sexual abuse which the industry often portrays as entertaining,) the need to provide women and men with a safe place to relate of any sexual misconduct that makes them feel threatened in any way at their workplace or any other walk of life, and the great power to do good we all have by refusing to be bystanders.

It’s a big subject and, granted, an uncomfortable one for many, but it is one worth tackling, because now we know enough to not allow it to happen anymore. Because the trauma it leaves behind is often lifelong and even claiming people’s lives, unfortunately. It’s a matter of better choices and honour. We’re capable of both. A hashtag such as #MeToo should not only be an indication of a widespread issue of sexual harassment and abuse, but should be made into a collective promise of doing better as a society.

You Are Human Before Anything Else; It’s What’s Left Behind

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On October 16, 2017

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

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops and Armchair Mayor News on October 16, 2017 . 

Saturday was a cold, wet, and slightly dreary day, though rain was such precious commodity during the summer that I cannot get myself to dislike it, no matter how much I miss the sun. On our way to the farmer’s market, my oldest son and I bumped into Vaughn Warren, who was as enthusiastic as ever about the time capsule that was about to be attached to the new Freemont Block sign he was recently commissioned to restore. Come by the Makerspace between 3 and 5 today, he said, so you can sign a postcard for the time capsule.

Most of the day had already been scheduled for a few activities but we made it there a few minutes before 5. The sign looked beautifully vibrant and the table next to it was full of cards, photos, and other mementos to be sealed in the time capsule. We signed the guest book and then proceeded to write something on the card before writing down our names.

I had to stop a while and think. This was something that someone, a hundred years from now, will read and think about for a few moments. Much like I was taking my time trying to stretch my thoughts to the other side of the hundred years, that person, or people, will be trying to imagine what it was all like here, now.

An exercise in humbleness if you will. A hundred years from now on I will be long gone, and so will my sons, most likely. Sobering indeed. It’s a thought that makes you hear all the noises in the room suddenly, and makes you see everything around in a different light. It makes you shudder, too. there is a finality attached to you and your life, and there’s no two ways about it. It’s part of the deal. A rainy, cold day is the day you’re in, a gift like no other, and not a dreary time slot you can’t wait to be done with.

The day was already inviting to a lot of reflection regarding the thin line between life and death we’re all due to cross at some point. It was my late friend Richard Wagamese’s birthday (he would’ve turned 62,) and it was the day chosen for Christopher Seguin’s funeral service. Their passing, as well as the passing of some many people I’ve known over the years, my parents and other close relatives included, left me with a cloud of questions: What matters after all, what is worth striving for while you’re alive and what will the others remember of you once you’re gone?

From all that I’ve seen so far, it’s not the material things but the heart matters that live on. They do not only linger, but continue to grow and fill that empty space one leaves behind once they’re gone. The things we do because we choose to show and wear our humanity with pride and gratefulness is what matters; it’s what will inspire those who miss us to keep on going, choose to act with courage and joy, and leave a mark on the world by allowing their humanity to shine through as they live their days.

It is the whole range of acts that count, not just the ones that are news-worthy. It’s the mark we leave behind us when no one’s watching. The gestures, big or small, that can restore someone’s smile, restore someone’s trust in humanity and change the way people around us choose their next steps, so that their hearts show through.

When we choose to live heartfully and with compassion, there’s glowing that transcends your immediate presence. It’s the kind of hopeful shiny stuff that guides those left behind you towards decisions better suited for the greater good, less judgment and more compassion towards those who need it.

A few days ago, I read about an incident in Williams Lake. An elderly man was lying on the ground in a parking lot after having suffered a heart attack, and though many people passed by, no one stopped. Eventually, a woman stopped and called an ambulance, informed the man’s family south of the border about his condition, and took care of his vehicle and boat (the man was on his way to an annual fishing trip with friends.)

Whatever accomplishments the woman who saved his life has achieved so far or will from now on, that she showed her humanity at a time when someone needed it the most is something she will be remembered forever by the man she saved and by his family. Perhaps she will inspire many to be compassionate rather than judge.

Visuals can be awfully deceptive at times. Wearing one’s heart to be seen as we walk through life never is. That’s what I hope a hundred years from now people will still value and strive for. Because before w are anything else, we are human. That is the gift that is handed to us when we’re born, the one we’re supposed to make the most of while we’re alive, and the one we’re leaving behind when we go. That’s what I’ve learned so far from those who lived letting their hearts walk alongside. It’s the kind of legacy humans ought to bestow onto humans.

Giving Thanks With More Than Words

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On October 16, 2017

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Health, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories

Originally published as a column on CFJC Today Kamloops and Armchair Mayor News on Monday, October 9, 2017. 

One of the simplest and profound joys of every day is stepping outside in early morning to hike with my dog. I will call it overwhelming gratefulness because that is the best way to describe how perfect a dusty trail that separates meadows of dry, yellow grasses, climbs into a sky so blue it defies the very definition of the colour blue itself. It makes gratefulness for the smallest things even more of a daily concept I should heed before I do anything else.

During the times the park and all city parks for that matter were closed due to the increased fire danger, I missed heading out on the trails more than I expected I will. More than not being able to take the dog out to the closest-to-us off-leash area, was the loss of blue skies and clean air and the reality of having to wake up to another day of inhaling deleterious particles small enough to wreak havoc in the body, short- and long-term.

I remember the first day of smoky air when all I could think of was ‘this is a lot of campfire smoke’. It felt silly that my brain would attempt to reduce the gravity of the situation by bringing up an association to what is, for the most part, a fun and sweetly sentimental detail of life.

After a few days though, and then many weeks of milky-white air, my brain made the appropriate switch to match the reality of what was actually happening. Bad air meant a lot of health trouble and that was something that made me even more grateful for every day in between that came with clear skies. Like they say, you don’t know how good you have it until it’s gone. It was like that, and not just for me. I met and chatted with many people who had a whole lot of appreciation for clean air and were missing it a lot.

Then, though the fires were still not fully extinguished, smoke went away and summer came back with warmth and lovely sky, and everyone felt alive and happy again. The wildfire smoke of 2017 was quickly becoming a bad memory at best. The air turned chilly and crisp a couple of weeks later, and though summer had been shortened, I found myself looking forward to fall and its beautiful colours, and to winter with all its magic.

On a particularly lovely though crisp night while wrapped in a warm wool blanket and sipping a cup of tea on the porch with my husband, there came a smell that made me cringe. Smoke! Someone in the neighbourhood had lit a fire in their fireplace, and the fresh air became tainted with the smell and the particles wood smoke brings about. I was surprised to realize how much I disliked it after the summer we had.  The same smell returned the nights after. A fixture of the cold season, though unnecessary and unhealthy.

During our Thursday morning hike, I noticed a column of thick grey smoke rising fast from somewhere in the downtown area. An eastward-draping cloud was slowly forming while firetruck sirens blared loudly, piercing the sunny morning. A few minutes later, they were replaced by the usual buzz and the column of smoke disappeared; so did the smell. The only thing persisting long after the commotion ended, was the cloud of smoke that had formed earlier. It was there still when I headed back home, reinforcing, quietly, yet in a most powerful way, that smoky air is not quickly moved out of the way where we live. My thoughts went back to the nights of fireplace smoke, which though not visible, is equally bad, and the thick summer smoke, which gave a new meaning to air pollution. My only conclusion was that it is too easy to forget how painful the lack of clean air was during those long smoky weeks.

I was reminded that we cannot afford to take clean air for granted. We have come to acquire enough knowledge of what pollution brings about, health-wise, and most of us agree that nothing comes close to the simple yet amazing gift of taking a breath of fresh air on any given day. Much of the particulate matter that wood smoke contains is small enough to penetrate cells and create a whole range of health problems, from greatly increasing cancer and stroke risk, to aggravating asthma and other chronic respiratory conditions, to affecting unborn babies and the developing brains of growing children.

There is so much at risk when the air we breathe is polluted. Granted, sometimes there is not much we can do to protect ourselves other than stay inside and run air purifiers during the times when wildfires are raging. But once the air gets clean, we must find better ways when we have a choice such as lighting a woodfire when cleaner ways to find cozy comfort are available. That applies to the other cold weather pesky thing, which is making its way back with the season: idling our cars for a long time before driving away, or to keep warm in the parking lot.

We have much to show our thankfulness for, more so when throwing even a furtive gaze over the many sad news stories from around the world. From the simplest things to the big ones, from the most obvious ones to the ones not immediately visible or easily forgettable, to have a say in the quality of the air we breathe, or the water we drink and or the food we eat, that is a big reason to be grateful for when we have it.

For now we do, and for that I am grateful. As I am for today’s blue sky and its dollopy clouds, for the rain last night and the fresh air it brought about, and for all the things I realize I have as soon as I open my eyes, starting with the wonderful world we live in, my family, the many wonderful people I have met along the journey, the freedom to express my thoughts and you, the readers.

Happy Thanksgiving!

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