Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Category: Self-improvement Page 22 of 29

What’s A Child’s Life Worth?

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On September 18, 2015

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

 

Initially published as a column in NewsKamloops on Friday, September 18, 2015. 

SoftnessIt is hard to avoid feeling broken-hearted and also befuddled over many events unfolding lately.  From a refugee crisis growing by the day, both in the number of people suffering but also in the controversy surrounding the political and social implications of various countries accepting them, to news of children being killed in Canada, one cannot help but wonder if the world is really turning topsy-turvy this time.

Humanity is slowly (or not) being buried under its own indignities, some so gross and unforgivable we find it hard to make peace with it, now or ever.

The photo of the little Syrian boy who drowned off the coast of Turkey circled the world many times over, prompting people to step up and demand governments to act to address the awful refugee crisis.

Many wondered about that photo, asking how and why it impacted so many people while other photos of children dying or dead from Syria, Africa or Ukraine, or even here in Canada, have done little but show up on the news and cause a temporary shudder.

The thing is, the photo made people aware of a situation so dire it is baffling it took so long for us all to react the way we did after seeing the lifeless body of a child washed up on a beach.

The EU and the rest of the world are still far from having found viable solutions to lessen the severity of one of the most massive human displacements in history, yet the matter is being discussed and analyzed at length, powered at least partially by the photo.

A little boy lost his life, and that is beyond sad, yet his death and the fact that the world saw it have become the catalyst that will help prevent other children like him from dying needlessly.

Here at home, recent incidents involving very young children should become strong catalysts of change too. In Penticton, a 5-year-old boy was killed by a pickup truck while crossing a busy street (on a crosswalk) with his father and older brother. Not only was he hit by the truck, but the driver kept on driving not realizing what had happened, until he was flagged down by people, and after not hearing the boy’s father yelling at him to stop.

What are we to learn? That some of the trucks on our streets are so big you cannot see a smaller size adult from the driver’s seat, let alone a child? Do we need them so big that they become a menace for pedestrians?

Before we even know what caused the accident (will we ever?) how determined are we to make driving distractions a thing of the past, be them phone or alcohol-caused, how harsh the punishment for both and speeding too, so that we can prevent other people from dying needlessly?

The case of the little girl in Alberta who died an atrocious death at the hands of a monster who first killed her father, is as shocking as it is incomprehensible. As a parent, it is hard not to crumble inside just thinking of the fear and pain that child had to go through before she died.

Will we hold ourselves accountable as a society to do right by her and her father (if a shocking photo is not to be shown) and ensure cold-blooded killers like theirs do not ever get to hurt anyone else ever again? Or will we forget too soon because such shocking things are hard to bring up? Let’s hope not.

We should hug our children once more every night, find more compassion for each other and strengthen the bonds with the people in the community we live in so that we can do all that we can to prevent any other children or adults from being killed in our midst.

Another toddler, just a couple of months younger, was found in Victoria by the RCMP officers that responded to a 911 call. She could not be resuscitated. While the police informed the public that ‘this is an isolated incident and the public is not at risk’, the reality is that we are at risk, very much so, simply because we’re in it together. It’d be shameful if we chose to think otherwise.

We do not know the nature of the injuries that caused the toddler’s death, nor do we know the nature of her mother’s medical distress. We can assume that it was perhaps a case of post-partum depression or psychosis, which is a reality for approximately 8 to 12 per cent of new mothers and should prompt our local and provincial governments to allocate proper resources and funds to help prevent and treat such disorders, as well as other mental disorders that plague our society.

Will the media be diligent enough to inform us later so by knowing the truth we can press for necessary change?

There are then the many cases of children in foster care, some of whom die at the hands of their caregivers (see the case of the 2-year-old girl who, two years ago, was found to have fractures and bruises by the coroner, yet the cause of death was declared unknown), never to be heard of again, their death not able to stand out as a horrible enough event that prompts us to better our ways so that no other children have to die or suffer while in foster care.

Should we fear that if we do not have a visual reminder strong enough to shake us to the core we will just cringe and move on? Using photos of children under such dire circumstances may just look callous and inconsiderate, yet considering the above cases, all of them, and seeing how a photo was enough to make the world wake up and demand action, what should we do about the children who are dying only to be seen and remembered by their loved ones, their sad passing unable to create strong enough ripples to influence obligatory change?

No child is more or less important than another and in failing to prevent the (preventable) death of any, we are not only failing humanity, we are failing ourselves and the values we hold dear at a personal level.

We can argue about the correctness of publishing photos of dead children until we’re blue in the face,  truth is there is a high risk of more children dying of various preventable deaths unless we’re shaken good by a photo so hard to look at that it will never leave us.

Unless, of course, we are reminded of the preciousness of life simply by looking in a child’s eyes and realizing that all it takes is kindness and a made up mind to make good things happen. For them and for us all.

Our School At Home And Beyond. A Glimpse

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On September 16, 2015

In Environment, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement

‘Education is the kindling of a flame, not the filling of a vessel.’  Socrates

GrasslandsIt is not every day that I get to see a red-tail hawk swoop down for a midday meal in the grasslands. I had to stop for that one. And for the clouds that towered over the golden hills. It’s one of the most soothing landscapes I’ve even seen.

That is little boy’s classroom on the one day a week when he goes to Forest School. We sat in a circle in the middle of undulating dry grasses this morning, talked about snakes and owls and bugs, reviewed the things to do such as ‘wander far enough but not too far, know the number of whistles for this and that’, before the small feet peppered the dusty trail, following behind the teacher.

There is joy infusing our hug as I get ready to go on my way and little boy on his with the group.

20150915_105512Giggles, whispers, the trepidation of another day that brings learning through open eyes tasting the blue sky and the golden tall grasses that speak of dried-up lakes and hidden animal burrows. The land has stories to tell, it’s only fitting that we’d take ourselves and our children out here to listen.

It’s not in the books, not in the sitting upright and reminding your eyes to stay put on the word of the day. Not unless the word connects with the world you see with your eyes, the world you walk on and see transform from one day to the next, the smells that tell you learn to tell apart as you spend more time in places that you crawl through if need be to look at a bug, places you let crawl through you as reminders of life in its primal, must-see-or-else form.

worldsCome noon, I find my way back to the hills to pick up little boy. I stop a few times, it’s that beautiful. I breathe the place in: colours, smells, sun splashed lazily over velvety hills in the distance making them look like they are underwater. As if I am staring at algae-covered rocks in a stream. Two worlds in two. A world of many faces; ours.

This is what I want the boys to learn of in our school at home and in classrooms of hills and clouds.

That the world has mysteries we cannot see unless we bring ourselves close enough to it.

That everything has a key somewhere and as we get closer to understanding, we get closer to reverence, never away from it.

That we do not own the world, but are part of it. Conquering never works, gently prying the door open to knowledge, not vying for high marks and loud approval but the feeling of having understood a tinge more, that is what I dream for the boys.

Shelter to growThat they will learn reverence.

That they will be humbled by the richness of a handful of dirt and the secrets a leaf reveals as you hold it up against the sun.

That math and science are never the hated subjects, but keys to answering the whys we find as we go along.

That it is all a big picture with boundaries that keep on growing as our understanding of it grows.

Soft wallsThat the balance is fragile and our running to engage in rat races has nothing to do with balance but often leads to frantic days and connections lost, with ourselves first of all.

That school is never to be a place where we get farther away from ourselves so that we fit in, but a place where we get closer to knowing who we are, to affirming our thoughts and dreams, knowing as we go that the world has a place for each and every one of us, as we are. A place to be safe but bold, to wonder and let curiosity seep through. To help more thoughts grow.

Another hawk dances with the grasses. Another glimpse of life, death too, implied and not seen, and if seen, accepted as part of it all. Gracious, both side of it. The boys will learn this. They will learn that a glimpse is all. That we must take fully and give ourselves to it fully, that the glimpse is a gift repeating itself every day thousands of times.

skyThe side of the road is decorated in chicory flowers, as if the sky kissed the ground every now and then leaving marks of blue. Same fascinating colour, the reflection of the blue endless sky in small countless ones growing towards it, each holding the story of storms to come like delicate mysterious oracles. It is true.

The boys and I learned about it yesterday, and the amazement matched the mystery. Drawing blue petals on stalks on green, listening, asking questions, tilting their heads and blooming in almost incredulous smiles…

‘How do they do that, Mom? How do they know?’

DanceThat is what we will learn, and beyond. We will find ourselves privy to the conversation the earth has with the sky, we will have to be quiet enough to hear, keen-eyed to see, but mostly humbled enough to know that we are but another piece in the big puzzle called life, that we do not make sense without the other pieces.

That we are being given the opportunity to see it all, wonder and learn about it together is a gift as precious as life itself.

That is our dream school. We will only go as far as our gratefulness will take us.

Tread Gently. Add Courage

By

On September 10, 2015

In Life Stories, Self-improvement

RiverIt’s in that little breath of wind that sweeps across your face as you walk on the river shores alongside the one you’ve chosen. Or was chosen for you. Do we know? Will we ever? It is not important, as long as you understand that magic is part of it.

The wind, ever so softly reaching for the leaf that fell asleep on the sand and laying it gently on the water. Swirl, swim, reach another shore, rest, and then go again. Thoughts do too, those inner birds that make nests of who we were yesterday to shelter who we will become tomorrow. Today is the in between, today is where you take a deep breath, feel the sand crunch under your feet, and count it as a blessing. Among many others.

Little boy runs ahead, making swirls of glittery sand with bare feet. His feet are still pudgy from the childhood that clings onto him like a magic thistle. Boys and the swirls of glitter add to the wonder of our day celebrating the commitment made a year ago.

Follow, follow my steps, the dusk light calls… Take wind and water and sand sparkles, make a castle. Could that last? What lasts? Nothing that we can touch with our bare hands can. The commitment we make in our heart does, the feeling that come what may, you will have the courage to keep searching for the sliver of sunshine that finds cradle in the eyes of the one you’ve chosen.

What have we learned this whole past year? Have we learned to sail better? To see the storms, to take shelter but also brave them when too much is at risk if you choose to hide?…

We walk, our tracks enveloped by tiny sand storms we create as we tread along. Walk ever so gently, storms will come your way, life happens. Keep on walking, the wind says, keep on… it’s there, the warmth you seek, summer’s breath buried in the sand, the hand that your hand has learned the warmth of.

It will take yours, if you let it, again, to have and hold, for better or worse. There are hands that will keep your heart cradled forever.

Boy running, sparkles of words upon discovering a treasure someone left behind. ‘It’s a crater, Mama, look!’

A crater?

Little boy runs ahead, walks through a portal of two branches stuck in the sand like a gate to the inner space that loops like a crater.

‘Who made this, Mama?’ I shrug. ‘Teenagers, I think…’ Little boy smiles. He knows.

To dig‘Wanna go inside?’ We did. We sat. Little boy sat too. ‘Just for a bit.’ So it is, just a bit. We have to remember that a blink is all. Life. Make it count. Forgiveness so you can see the day.

Hugs, skies darted with long thin clouds, water whispers, colours that paint our hearts happy.

The lady came out of nowhere and said ‘This look like the beginning of a beautiful home. I’ll take a photo of you two.’ So she did. We will remember this. We kept on sitting there for a while, the two of us. The branches and the barely warm sand, the gentle river songs, boys who play and make the day complete.

The promise of what’s to come, the learning we carry with us through portals of branches that remind us of the day we promised:

To keep on going, never let the uphill be anything else but worthy journey. To hope.

To press on, to believe in the magic that made us take the first steps. To follow the winding road.

To choose to see, to forgive, to understand what is and isn’t, to build, to rebuild, to play.

To taste the day that is, to know that there is only one of each. To let it touch our souls.

To remember the simple things and the silence of hearts seeping sunsets. To hug.

To speak up, to write, to say the words, to say them loud enough, as loud as can be, knowing that holding hands is holding on and that counts as words spoken.

to seekTo seek until you find. Up close. To listen.

To not brush over, to never close eyes and heart, to be kind, to live fully. To feel.

To tread gently. To be brave and scared, to say it, to hear it, to learn humbleness. To live with it. To wake up in wonder.

 

 

GratefulTo be grateful.

 

 

 

 

Two Boys and Their Smiles. Seasons and School

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On September 3, 2015

In Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement

FaceThe summer came to an end a few days ago. Or so it seems. It is cold in early morning, and cold at night. It feels like late October mornings when dollops of hot breath snake out of your mouth and you feel the tip of your nose becoming a separate, cold entity.

Calendula orange suns are the only flowers that still ornate our lost little garden, the one that became so small and dry it required daily water support. Except that we were not here every day and thus the story of what could have been ended a while go with some sorry half-ripened tomatoes and leggy minuscule cucumbers that tried to embrace some oh-so-dry beans with their last drop of climbing energy.

Summer endBut I will not dwell too much on that. The summer had its fruit in days of hot and silly times, it had swimming and traveling and waking up so late the sun was almost scolding us. It had starry nights and lying in the dry grass in the back yard waiting for a meteor shower that we barely saw but relished the experience so much that we thought it was a successful adventure. Are they not all like that though?

Yes they are. Boys grow and as they do, they make it so. We dance as they sing and no one knows which song comes next. Life happens. It did so all summer and now fall comes back like a stray dog we left behind last year. Hello September, here already? Of course you are.

But this year… Stop. We talk about school but our words have wings. The boys and their smiles are complete. We have stacks of books awaiting, we have stories to tell and write and we have a world to discover. And then another. Time will not stand still. Be it so, we make it sing with us.

Boys smile and snuggle in early morning, hikes to follow just before we start the day of school which this year we will call homeschool.

as far as...With gentle ties to online schools that will assist our flight, plus a forest adventure every week for little boy. Thus shall be our dance and time will have its say complementing our words rather than have us chase for better ones. Time is never enough, not with growing kids and life tumbles. Slow slow, so you can hear leaves whooshing in the wind and blades of grass grow…

 

them twoTime with boys, growing boys that still have plenty of smiles and their growing trust. That we can have our school here, that we learn together and travel to places unknown. Day after day, this month and the next and all that will follow until the nest becomes too small for their wings, the boys will snuggle, ask for more, ask for less, laugh, scream loud enough for half the world to hear, hug and say ‘I’m sorry, never again’, and then it will happen again, because we never learn all there is to learn, but keep on trying… and I will see it all, I will see their footsteps tracing paths I never knew existed. It is so. Magic.

To flySchool, ours, with two boys and their smiles. To fly, infinitive. To make wings out of love and have them spread all the way over the horizon. ‘Tis so.

Lessons Sprouting Out Of Small Gardens. Eight.

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On August 16, 2015

In Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement

FlavoursIt is by no one’s fault in particular that the garden this year is of Lilliputian dimensions and rather drab looking. A far cry from last year’s. But such is life. The road reveals itself as you go and gardens have a way of teaching humbleness. Lesson one.

Like parenting. I said it before. The parallel is striking. The temptation to dismiss the less glamorous results and expect excellence cannot lead to growth of any kind. We’d be stalled in deciphering the meaning of it all. Hiccups give a measure of worthiness. Struggles. Lesson two.

Despite its size and abysmal appearance (tours by request, not that anyone would, and no, there is no fee other than accepting the immutable truth that dandelions are not weeds) a garden is a book to read and learn from. Small print like this year’s in particular.

PagesHaving never read a garden makes no difference. Learning happens as you step outside in early morning and clumps of dry grass become artesian fountains; instead of water, grasshoppers. They waltz in the morning air, so at home in their long graceful jumps you start wondering in whose garden you all are after all… Be grateful, they seem to say, even a small garden can be shared. Lesson three.

 

TeenyLife is always to celebrate. Dead quiet is scary and sad. Gardens are supposed to buzz, I learn as I crunch my way through towards the tiny pickling cucumbers and miniature beans bushes. Feet want it soft, but the roughness reminds of hot summer air and water too precious to waste on too hungry a lawn to make a difference after all. It’s never about my slight discomfort, visual, physical or otherwise. We’re here to sharpen our sight se we can see the big picture… Sharp sight goes well with softened hearts. Lesson three.

Tiny curled cucumbers befriend leaves that keep them safe from the hot son. What if this garden and its humble harvest was all I had to feed my family? What if? What if no one wasted a bite ever again? What would the ripple effect look like? Humbleness, again. So much to say thank you on any given morning. Lesson four.

Keep on reading gardens. Too small you think? Too dry? They never are… You’ll read in a handful of dirt you pick up, in a leaf that sits in the sun but never burns to a crisp as I would, in the bugs that crawl on the dark green kale… Mysteries. Can you see? Hear? Save time for being where you are, for the one blink that teaches you about how fast everything goes. Lesson five.

still thereBloomAs if the garden is not small enough, the bugs make it smaller by eating the kale leaves. Former green lush tongues spike the air as empty stems, sorry looking and slightly confused. Who’s the thief? The nighttime bug show is on every night. I sleep, they crunch and munch their way through the only leaves that made it to full size. We’re only as alive as the world, visible and invisible. Light and dark, up and down, gifts and plundering… Accept it all, choose to not be bothered but enlightened by learning that you’re given challenges as you go. Lesson six.

Boys burst out in the sun, sleepy faces, bug kisses on arms and legs, hugs… reminders. They are one day older, one day closer to learning that it is all in the choices we make. To feel the sun pinching your cheeks, to smell the summer air, to learn that grasshoppers hear with their tummies and to never take anything for granted… not even a small enough garden. Lesson seven.

Orange sunsnever give upI pick calendula orange suns. They’ll become golden oil for winter days. I pick lemon balm and mint for tea, basil and tarragon. Small and fragrant. Life abounds. If only I remember to see it. Through the lenses of my Lilliputian garden where sunflowers match the theme. Small. Despite all, it grew. Barely reaching knee height, my only sunflower never considered quitting reaching for the sun. Lesson eight. 

Consideration Is The Only Way To Go

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On July 22, 2015

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

Initially published as a column in the AM News on Friday, July 17, 2015. 

then and thereYesterday we landed on Denman Island and luck had it that we got a campsite by the ocean in what could easily be called ‘slice of paradise’. Night came and with it clouds and a bit of rain. Might as well, it is not only needed in our bone dry province but it really suits the ocean well.

We had dinner and listened to the waves. Lights flickered on the islands nearby and on the sky that was occasionally cleared of clouds.

A light came on at the site opposing ours. Then musical instruments, and an impromptu band complemented our night by the ocean. A group of musicians, most of them calling themselves ‘old enough to know that song’ who meet every year on the island for a couple of weeks, managed to add a touch of magic to the night.

For two hours or so, they provided us all with music and laughs. It happens when there you can count the sites on the fingers of your hands. We got to chatting and found out about other campsites on nearby islands where partying takes a different path.

Many young people bring enough alcohol and recreational drugs to party hard, which makes it noisy and unpleasant for the rest of the campers there. No softly sung tunes that invite in, we’re told, but raucous and uncomfortable.

It made me think father then just camping. It’s everywhere and it has to do with everything we do, from everyday life activities we have to do, to the recreational ones. Some people live with consideration towards others, while others live for themselves and do not bother think whether their actions impend other people in any way. Everything we do impacts others and it takes a good deal of brain power trying to figure out why some simply do not care.

It shouldn’t be this way with anything.

Raising our children in a way that helps them learn that everything they do might prevent a lot of heartache down the road.

As we drove through a handful of small communities along the northern part of Vancouver Island, we got to talk to a few people and learned a lot. Many communities have been heavily and negatively impacted by the industries that provided work for most of the people for enough years to make people dependent on it, but recent changes in laws (think the last decade or so) created work vacuums that saw the same communities dismantled and people scattered in search of means to survive.

The story repeats itself at every level. Local people are employed by certain industries (mainly logging here) but often times they see things that oppose their communities’ beliefs, yet speaking up might mean job loss and inability to provide for their families.

Just the same, residents can wake up with chemicals being sprayed way too close to their only source of water and no accountability for what could mean health issues down the road for people who form too small a community to have a loud enough voice to be heard.

These are beautiful places, just like the rest of our province and country, where nothing deleterious to people or nature should ever occur. Not if people would live with consideration for others.

People’s efforts to save beauty and the pristine while also allowing the necessary work-providing industries is the same in every community, be it large or small, except that in the small ones everything is more visible.

With enough consideration and less greed, everyone would have a fair chance to live a life they’d earn with decent work and enjoy the places they choose to live in. Consideration cannot be achieved by secrecy or governments that do not consider the impact of their laws on the very people they govern, but by openness that allows for opinions to be shared and consequences to be understood and if negative, prevented.

such isConsideration allows for joy as well. Whether it concerns working, vacationing, driving (rather shocking to realize how many tailgaters live in our very province), building a new home or an industrial project, activities that people undertake, individually or as a group, should be taken through the necessary filter of consideration and respect.

Lack of it benefits a handful, while its presence benefits all. Choosing the latter and educating ourselves and our children in that way of living makes all the sense.

Taking Care Of Our Vulnerable Ones Is A Matter Of Importance

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On June 30, 2015

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

(Initially published as a column in the AM News)

giftsBetween 1998 and 2002 when my oldest son was born, I spent every Saturday morning practising social skills with a boy who had autism. He had a very sweet face and big brown eyes, and, just like any other six-year-old, he was happy to have people visit. Because of his condition, he had a couple of visits every week and his parents were relieved to have the help and also that extra bit of time off.

I was a volunteer, part of a buddy program that the Autism Society of BC had to put an end to in 2000, regretfully (sad to imagine that a program that used free community resources of the best kind – willing people, could not be saved). I opted to keep working with the boy, despite the program being terminated until my son was born and my days underwent a new baby reform and time to spare became a dream.

The boy’s family had many concerns about the future because they knew that one day their little boy with autism will become an adult with autism and the somewhat limited resources will be even more limited. They were right. He is now 21 and part of the group of adults with developmental disabilities who have access to limited care and resources, if any, outside their home.

A ‘then what?’ situation that I have come to hear of more than one time, and not just autism-related.

The son of some of my close friends has Duchenne muscular dystrophy and their journey, challenging by default one could say, has been, at times, even more challenging due to closed doors and a rather undignifying message of ‘No, we cannot help you with that.’

The community they live in stepped up and organized fundraisers to help out. It meant the world to my friends, but the fact remains that their expectations to have an ‘official’ hand get them out of the murky waters of increasing financial burdens and a quagmire of worries regarding the future are being put to test too often.

It is hard to imagine that kind of anguish. It is shameful that there is not enough funding to support those most vulnerable in our society. An ever-growing group, by all accounts and unfortunately so, that includes many people, young and old, with different issues; from developmental disabilities, to genetic conditions to cancer and mental issues, we hear of waiting lists and dwindling resources, and at the same time we hear of willing staff trying to help but becoming equally frustrated at the limited amount of funds that provincial and federal governments allocate to those in need.

In our own part of the woods here in Kamloops, we have but one oncologist at RIH, which means new patients who need one are directed to Kelowna. Cancer treatments and traveling do not mix well but what to do if you have no choice? The local discussion forums have been rife with arguments over the allocation of (lots of) money for the new Performing Arts Center when matters such as lack of specialized clinics are more needed in our midst. Steamy pros and cons matches aside, those who have been under threat, or their loved ones, know that available care is vital.

In caring for the most vulnerable, a country shows its true colours one could say. Budgets are never easy to figure out and issues keep piling up. Yet at the same time, those of us who are most at risk and their caregivers cannot be pushed to the side and told to wait until resources, be it money or people, are available. Some simply cannot wait; they do not have the luxury to do so.

It is heartwarming to see that at an individual or community level many people care and are willing to help out, but that is not enough to get those who need help through the thick of it. With elections approaching, we need to ask those who want to take the lead to care for our vulnerable ones. Together with a much needed solid education agenda, a plan to revive services and set aside funds for those in need should be a must-do for our soon to be elected government. We will all be better for it.

As I already said, it is hard to imagine the anguish of those who desperately need help, yet we have to do it. Our humanity obliges us to.

 

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