Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Tag: mindfulness Page 9 of 10

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.

 

The Naked Truth Of Growing From Old Times

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On June 14, 2015

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

Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday, June 12, 2015.

IMG_8585We had promised my youngest that we will go visit Barkerville for his birthday this year. Family emergencies got in the way as his day approached and we postponed but not cancelled, so last Sunday saw us on the way to the promised location.

It’s a beautiful drive through the Cariboo, and while every season has its wild surprises, this time of year bears its own with much dignity. Green, so green invites to thoughts of reverence: We are incredibly lucky to be living in a place that can be defined as ‘still wild’ and full of wonder. Total headcount on the drive to Wells from Quesnel: four black bears and five moose, countless ground squirrels. Plus six llamas as we started our drive, all curious, all eager to come closer and make acquaintance.

There is no better way to learn about the world around when you’re a kid. Or travelling with kids, because the world seen through their eyes has a lot of question marks, and far from being a nuisance, they are but gentle nudging about all of that we are due to learn. Also, a child’s point of view adds the kind of perspective that is often overlooked for reasons of political correctness or in order to steer away from any kind of conflict.

As far as learning goes, Barkerville is a world apart in more than one way.

The main street is lined up with buildings that become windows towards a time when things were different. As it goes with then and now, we can expand on the topic of what was better then versus now, and we can appreciate the long way we’ve come in learning to do things better in various areas of social life.

IMG_8596The actors roamed the streets and though we knew they are as much a part of today as we are, we allowed ourselves to be wide-eyed at how they showed us the old times. Billy Barker played croquet with Mr. Wallace while debating the ridiculous rumours of camels being brought to Barkerville.

They removed their hats as soon as I passed by them and said ‘Good day!’ to all four of us, which caused a first surprise smile on the boys’ faces.

IMG_8588We had lunch at a local old style diner and our server couldn’t have been more proper. Dressed in a long skirt and white cotton shirt, she had smiles and great conversation skills and referred to the boys as ‘young gentleman’. They were charmed and remarked on the properness of old days.

During lunch they learned that the place did not have anything made of plastic, not even the OPEN sign, which was instead a slate board written on in chalk. They both looked at me, their faces melted in yet another big smile ‘This is your kind of place, Mom.’

The host who guided us through the house and stories of Joe and Betty Wendel, the boys remarked, had great storytelling skills and clothes that were functional and proper and also elegant. It was mesmerizing, just like the stories about determined Mrs. Wendel who roamed the woods, painted, and who was the first to monitor the wild birds of the area.

‘People were very properly dressed in those times,’ the boys remarked, as an infusion of tight-clad and very short shorts tourists reached the main streets as we were making our way to the nearby stream.

It’s a tough one to even open the conversation on. Present times are rife with debates on sexual harassment and defining acceptable boundaries; we tell kids of ‘stranger danger’ and private space, and that no one is to be getting too close to what we define as private parts. But then they see people wearing the kind of clothing that makes private parts less private and they ask: what about that?

Times have changed, yes. Freedom of expression and choice of public presence need to be redefined as it is rather striking how they defy the very laws of decency we have been relying on in hope to help people abide by certain social boundaries.

On Tuesday we drove back to Kamloops and the CBC Radio News ran a piece on two Canadians who, upon taking naked selfies on a Malaysian sacred mountain are now accused of having angered the gods and thus become the cause of an earthquake that killed 18 and displaced hundreds. Oh. The piece was followed on Wednesday by another about a Kelowna resident who attempted naked sunbathing and is now facing criminal charges. Oh again.

Then versus now suddenly became more real. Was ‘then’ better than ‘now’? The answer is far from clear cut. Women and human rights for one were not exactly top of any political or social agenda, and that is a great achievement, though one may argue that that is not the case all over the world.

If we just look at social demeanour and the way we dress, I’d say we lost a way here and there. Selfie culture, while it brings faces forth, it pushes common sense into the back seat. Social challenges and attempts at feeling ‘liberated’ should involve more than exposing cheeks, be they front or back.

With all that we know of ourselves and our long journey through time over ages, we should be able to come up with less embarrassing ways of putting ourselves out there, both at a personal level and when representing our country, and we should conduct ourselves in ways that will allow our children to remark not just on the decency and charm of the old times, but present times as well.

Because, if we are to be honest with ourselves, their learning today becomes the way they live later. If children remark that the emperor’s new clothes are missing, we should not shrug and look aside but really try and see if the emperor is indeed naked.

That way, we show them that we grow from ages past by learning, rather than go against them in a vain attempts to be rebels without a cause, because the (naked) truth is, there is no lasting glory in that. And long lasting is what drew us to a place like Barkerville in the first place…

Hunt For Viral Bits Prevents Us From Seeing The Big Picture

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On June 3, 2015

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

Initially published as a column in the AM News on Friday May 29, 2015.

I was driving up Columbia Street when I saw what almost resembled a crowd of journalists gathered for a press conference. Phones were all pointed towards the other side of the street. A car was burning in the parking lot and a group of firefighters were pointing a thick stream of water in an effort to extinguish it.

As I drove further, I saw a few people running down towards the site with their phones out and ready to get in on the action. Of ogling, I mean, in which case action is in fact inaction as you simply stare.

What was the motivation behind all of this hubbub? Was it the hope of their video going ‘viral’ or simply the need to take a shot of something outside of the norm? A short-lived ability to make someone go ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ over something that bears the mark of sensational? I can only assume.

I kept on driving thinking of another incident heard over the news a few days ago. A man traveling in Thailand had his phone snatched by an elephant who, in the process of owning the device for a bit, took a ‘selfie’. Yes, the photo went viral and the story too and there was even a poll on the CBC website asking people to guess about the location. Go figure.

Now it is all forgotten, just like the fire in the parking lot will be or is gone already from collective memory (despite the CFJC video that had 66k likes on Facebook), just like the many ‘top viral videos of the week’, just like the viral photo or video of tomorrow. One could say this is what’s right about all of this though.

Short-lived stuff, no matter how many ripples it creates, is just that: a one match fire that lasts only as much as the match does.

And that is what makes it frustrating, especially in today’s social and political context when there are so many matters of utmost importance citizens can and should get involved in, post and write about it, and make ripples which will only add to the impact we all need to have on issues pertaining more than a burning car in a parking lot or other jaw-dropping quick facts of today’s world.

Like the infamous bill C-51, which our senators will get to vote on in a few days. Talk about ogling, cameras and things going awry. If the bill comes to be, people like you and me will be the object of ogling and there will be nothing sensational about it, other than the bewilderment over how this state of affairs came to be.

On the other hand, and in less darker tones, the story of ogling could still take better turns.  A few days ago while my family and I visited friends in Barnhartvale I saw a pink-flower bush that bore plump blossom clumps and on each clump there was a swallowtail butterfly and a couple of bumblebees.

I could get close enough to look at them and then we all stood for a while, hosts included, watching the most gracious dance of yellow and black wings over big pink blossoms. I will never forget that. And yes, I did take a few photos and as I did, I knew I will write about it at least once.

Viral or not, there was something so outstandingly beautiful about it all. The warm afternoon air pinched at times by the buzzing of bumblebees, the silent dance of the butterflies, grownups and children standing in fascination in the middle of grassy slopes nestled among treed hills… a world worth staring at, because the more we do, the more we want to keep it like that.

Hunting for the cheap sensational of today that will never be remembered tomorrow dulls our senses to the point of responding only to that, as the real world is not exciting enough to garner that kind of attention.

Like a bad drug, you could say, the need to see the dirt on the world rather than its worthwhile beauty. By that I do not mean just pretty butterflies, but all that pertains to life, raw and real and giving us the full measure of what we’re here for.

With so many people in the world and so much happening, with greed and an increased lack of social conscience at times, we cannot afford to have our attention drawn to things that do little more than elicit the said oh and ah, or a chuckle.

When we focus our attention on loftier goals, as individuals and as a society, rather than monitoring the small cheap stuff, we allow ourselves a fair chance to see the big picture which in turns allows us to do more than ogle, which is observe and act upon matters than keep the world worth looking at.

Sliced Mango… And Yes, That

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On May 29, 2015

In Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood

brightThat morning the boys asked for mango for breakfast. ‘Cut in squares Mom, you know how you do that, with the peel still on.’ I do. Squares. Orange yellow, a colour so deep that it draws you in. It smelled fresh and it reminded me of summer mornings, of this year, of last year, of so many summers we leave behind never to look at again because life takes us too fast, too far, too rushed.

They ate the mango, square by square. Yellow mustaches, peels left on the side of the plate.

Then it was time for school. We walked to the bus stop, little boy and I, today’s book ready. Peter Pan. A world of boyish everything, following swiftly after Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. ‘Read, Mom, please.’ Yes.

We snuggle, the sun budges in like it should on this mango-bright morning, and we read. I read for both of us.

We get off the bus and the book is not done. We walk and I read… ‘When a baby laughs for the first time, a fairy is born.’

‘You know, I caught your first laugh. Your brother’s too’… Little boy looks at me, smiles. ‘Really, you did? How?’ I knew it will come, so I waited… and they did. Shy and small like a seedling finding its way towards the world. those first laughs make the world I open my eyes to every morning. So much grew out of them since…

Big little boy and I do school later on. We’re outside on the sun-drenched porch, then in the garden, picking things up, measuring, observing, learning. ‘Mom, I love this. How we talk like this.’ I do too. We’re fortunate. Seedlings to grow… We go for a hike, we breathe in sunshine and make it ours. To have and to hold.

LeftThat night little boy looked straight into my eyes for a brief few seconds before another hug laced his sweet smelling hair all over my face. ‘I don’t want to grow up Mom, because when I do you will grow old and die one day, and I do not want that. I cannot live without you.’

I smelled his hair. His words, like summer birds touched by a sudden winter chill, sat silent in between us, cradled between two deep breaths. Where to from here?

‘It’s a long way away my love…’

It sounded almost ridiculous. I am never ready for this. Big little boy once said the same, a few years ago and a few times since. It chilled me the same and I mumbled the (now you know) ridiculous ‘oh, i will be so old by then…’

Hugs fix something like this. Soul patches of some sort, pain over joy and joy over pain, like a game where you keep building wondering if the tower will topple soon. But what if you don’t? What if you know that it does topple at some point, but you’ll build another. And then another.

boyA game is all, children most of all know that. Thoughts come and go, like river waves lapping over shores. But a river is not just the waves. It’s the many shades of blue and green, it’s the murkiness, it’s the breeze and the skies of blue that ask for a bit of peace so that a mirror can be for a bit, it’s the sound of birds that live alongside and keep alive because of it and more.

The game is real.

You can’t complain that time does not deal a fair hand. You take what you get and make the best of it. Now is what we have. Now is ours. Mine, yours. Time is not to worry about, because you should know, time is what we tell it to be.

Time gameWe deal time our own hand you know, and a measure of worthiness. It’s a game, but it’s real.

Pink Helicopters To Go and Humbling Truth Bits

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On May 5, 2015

In Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement

Pink wings‘I find them sometimes, Mama, aren’t they so nice?’

Little boy holds a pink helicopter in his hand as we walk hand in hand to school. ‘You can have it.’ So I will, my little one. It is morning, crisp and sunny, and his hand is warm and nestled in mine. I love the simple moment of just being here with him, I love it to no end, and the pink helicopter that comes with it.

‘It’s all natural colour, you know?’ I know, little one, and I celebrate that you can see the colours in the tapestry of rushed mornings. I do too. Let’s keep it that way.

Hug. I kiss the his forehead, he wraps his arms around me and I melt. He runs one way, I run another. Life unfolds.

I sit in the sun and write this down. Like putting extra wings on the pink helicopter, I build wings out of words. This day, like so many others, will be the kite I’ll fly under skies of blue and grey… Life with boys is miraculous. Tearing me apart at times with moods and sharp wills, strong as they can be as they grow, they won my heart a long time ago when I invited them to be part of my life. That makes the everyday dance worthwhile.

Every day adds more questions as we go. Do I know enough to help them understand the world? Do I know enough to guide them towards solid rather than illusory? Do I do it with fear or joy? I fly by the seat of my pants so often, wondering if that’ll wear them too thin and render them see-trough… and if yes, what will you see, should you look through? Inadequacies. Life is like that.

Inadequacies, imperfections, truth. They go together. Children know, and they braid it all, ever so elegantly, thoughtless in their innocence and trustful that we know the way better than they do. Truth is, we do not.

How then, do we find our way?

We feel it, as you feel your next step in the dark. Safe, solid ground, go. Shaky, unsafe, try again. Do we heed our own instincts enough to know when to stop? Hardly. How then, do we teach our children?… We jump in with both feet, splash, apologize too much, feeling too guilty for splashes we have no control over, remember to smile as we lose frowns and dry our tears, remember to breathe… Tying all of that with ribbons of fresh beginnings, learning that if you don’t show up, you’ll live with the regret of not daring to be present…

GiftsMy morning is gifted a sliver of laughter as I sit by the river with a friend. We talk about motherhood, the rushness that makes it all go fast, too fast… Do our children know enough before they show up for real life, by themselves? Do we? Do we give them enough to trust that they do? I am the lucky one, she says, my boys are still little, sheltered, and I am still saying good night with hugs and see their sleepy faces in the morning. There’s still time…

We sit by the river, watching its fast pace and listening to the morning. A duck is carried by the current, though it tries to swim against it. Don’t… Swim with it. Ha! As if I know how to. I know why we should swim with the current. Trust. Trust that it will all work out right. Don’t miss the sunshine, the breeze, the birds that glean beads of water as they brush over the surface with grace. Trust. Life is about trust and gratefulness.

Motherhood is what helps me see it as such. There’s beauty and wonder in every day of growing together. Little boy and big boy, struggling at times to be seen and heard and understood, refusing at the same time to see, hear and understand anyone else but themselves and me thinking how selfish… but truth is, if they don’t make enough room to hear their own voices and understand the heart echoes that sprout from them, how will they ever distinguish other people’s voices…

RedI am heading home. I know nothing more than I did this morning, but I know enough to make it through another day. A big little boy awaits so we can delve into another day of learning together. We do. Togetherness. Learning. School and more. And the pink helicopter will stay in the journal that has a red leather cover and a long leather tie that wraps around it to keep it all in, all together.

By now the struggling duck would’ve reached the shore, or would’ve understood the joy that comes from letting the river do its thing… It’s all about trust. And gratefulness. For the day, for the moment we are given and for knowing that it is never about right or wrong but about giving it all you’ve got; inadequacies, imperfections, and most of all, truth…

 

Mindfulness – Why I Walk This Path

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On April 28, 2015

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

We walk to the bus in early morning, little boy and I, and I expect shivers. It has been chilly lately. Instead, the air feels warm, though with a touch of crispness.

Little boy plays with the purple marble he found yesterday just outside the school on the way to the library. ‘I like how perfectly round it is, Mama, and that it has something inside. It cannot be just glass…’ I smile and lock the very scene in my memory. Marbles, little boy with long hair shading his eyes from morning sun, squinting and smiling, noises around and the awareness of living that moment as deep as one could. I can hear the morning.

We walk on the bus and I pull ‘The last of the Mohicans’, we have three more chapters to go. My voice reading the story is often sinking under the loud noise of the bus engine but little boy is paying close attention, his head close to mine. I see lilac bushes in people’s yards and I can almost smell them.

We read, approaching the last chapter… The end comes all too soon and unexpected. I read the last words, close the book and look out the window. There is a path that leads to a place I have to go see yet… A wild place in the middle of the city. I peek at little boy and his serious face. We are both silent.

‘That’s a sad ending, Mama.’

Yes it is. I tell him how movies nowadays have a happy ending but that is not an accurate description of life. Life has pockets of happiness, it has pockets of sadness, it has so much that happy ending is almost forgotten in the process of assessing the richness of it all, of every moment that passes by.

purpleflowingWe part ways and I walk home, passing by lilac bushes that smell heavenly, and listening to birds. On my left, a flower bed brims with with yellow and white petals suspended in sunny air. Birds and flowers, the whoosh of the city behind, thoughts of today. Mindfulness. Am I there? To think that I am forever prisoner to the moment would be belittling the experience. Instead, I think of my mindfulness as the pact I made with life a long time ago. To make it all worth it, every moment of it. If I do so, my thoughts of tomorrow, my actions, my words to my sons and my husband, to my friends, they all come from a place I can call my own. The only one I know. My life, the moments that build the path I am on.

I pass by lilacs and thoughts of gratefulness surface. I bring forth thoughts of childhood and so many things I can remember about lilacs. They guarded the steps from the house to the street, draping heavy with rain and sun, seeding today’s thoughts. I was there then, I am here now. A child then, now I have my own. I think of them as I walk uphill. My sons. What will make them grateful along the way? I have to teach them the way. It’s the path I build as I go, learning as I go. From lilac smells that remind me of who I am. Mindfulness.

sunI stoop over a perfect little sun: a dandelion. I like to eat fresh dandelion leaves in spring, I love the yellow umbrellas and will never understand why people call them weeds. At natural food stores you can buy dandelion tea, leaf or root. They are good liver cleansers. helping with detox, the word that buzzes around me nowadays. There is no magic solution. It starts with rethinking dandelions… Mindfulness, reason to never be idle in thought and reasoning.

I continue my speedy walk up the hill on the portion I loathe. It’s dusty and noisy from vehicles too big and engines that roar too loudly. If you drive, you drown the noise in music or news. If you walk like I do nowadays, the sounds are deafening. There is a lilac bush in bloom and I feel sorry for it. The air it draws its life from is dusty and dirty. Its air is mine too. If I walk, I see it. There are wrappers under bushes and the word ‘energy’ from one glares at me. No one wins.

I will soon walk up the last portion of my morning walk. It is quiet here and the city is behind me. I like belonging to a world that challenges me. There is so much to know about belonging in a world that does not comes with rules but with responsibilities. I am not alone. It is quiet and the air is hot, though it is not even 10 am.  Too hot. I think of what ails me, a world that we toast on both sides with incessant wants. We’ve learned to forget, to overlook, to conform. I want to remember, to mind, to speak up, if such is needed. It is, as we raise our children.

How do I think of mindfulness? I think of it as an ability to see details, to be where I am, to know the consequences of my actions on the world around, be it people, my garden, my writing.

If I am mindful, I stand for the truth and I face myself in hope to grow, to understand my world, to live in it, to never just brush and wonder whose life I am living after all.

The day unfolds hot and windy. The radish plants are tiny but bold and today I planted peas too. The boys play, squabble, I munch of thoughts of what is life about anyway and I think to myself that if I keep being in the moment the answer will come. Persistence pays.

sun is...The sunset is a fiery one. Dollops of flames blue and orange and purple engulf the sky and we all stand on the deck and sigh. This is very beautiful.

I am here, seeing the sunset. Truck drive loud and speedy on the road nearby and I resent the noise. Because I want to hear the sunset. For a second, I quit the moment I am in to immerse myself in one where I’d stand to see the sunset that can he heard too.

Then I am back. I am here now. Mindfulness. Today I got to know more.

Why I Write What I Write

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On April 21, 2015

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

Initially published as a column in the AM News.

Last year in May the boys and I hiked to Gibraltar rock near Paul Lake. It was sunny, we hoped to see chipmunks and we also love the view from up there, all perfect reasons to venture up the trail. What we did not know was that on the way up we would spot some fairy slipper orchids.

butterI am far from being a wildflower expert but I succumb in fascination to any wildflower I encounter. Every one of them is a reminder of the magic that unfolds constantly around us and we are rushed enough to ignore. Kamloops has a richness of gentle beauty, I came to learn as we hiked on many hills in spring and early summer. From yellow spring bells to buttercups, to the bright yellow symphony of arrow-leaf balsamroot flowers covering an entire area, and the gracious mariposa lily, it’s a carousel of wonder that will never stop, unless…

I guided the boys to kneeling gently close enough so they can see their absolute grace but careful enough to not harm them in any way. They did so, but giggled also, pleasured to see my penchant for wildflowers, again, knowing they will likely see them framed as photos in our home.

yellowAnother time while hiking in Valleyview, we came across yellow cactus flowers. It was a first that left us breathless. It was a most serene yellow and a most delicate collection of petals, surrounded by the sharp prickles of the cactus plant.

I went back a few days later to see them again. And then again, until they withered and became dust. I took photos of the flowers and the green bees collecting the pollen. Yes, green and shiny, as if the bees I’d known forever just decided to get new armour. Quite the scene.

The landscape from there was beautiful. The Thompson was winding its way through the wind-carved hills on both sides and distant mountains in shades of blue and green stole my gaze. The cloud-stitched sky was the kind of intense blue you feel happy for no reason just by looking at it. No reason to hurry, not even one… And nothing taken for granted, not even one thing.

Little sunsI often get reminded of my first impressions of Kamloops and the areas that surround it. It was hot and dusty that day and I missed the green lush Coast even before getting out of the car. But I was also of the opinion that every place has its secret beauty, if only we are patient enough to see it, curious to follow new paths and keep our eyes open to both large and tiny worlds that we come across.

Since moving to Kamloops we have been discovering places and their treasures, and countless times I have been reminded of how no place is ever devoid of nature magic.

I was recently humbled while hiking on the rather stark looking hills guarding the lake near Savona. Nothing was stirring and it seemed that every living thing had fled long before we got there. A few gnarly looking trees and the clumps of tired cacti made me think of old cowboy movies where bones littered the ground, which was, of course, cracked and dry. Yet a sweetly sounding bird song shattered that deadly silence and filled the space with life.

Then, out of nowhere, four mountain goats appeared on the cliff above us. They stopped, studied us with as much interest as we studied them, and continued their trek over cliffs, gazing back at times. Magic was there, I was all too blinded by expectations to see it. Tiny purple flowers lined the path every now and then and, as we made our way back, the sky was alight with orange glowing clouds. A symphony of some sort, just in a different tone.

And yet, all is not ideal not when we set out on our adventures. On some portions of the River Trail we notice bags of dog poo left behind, and they are more than just eyesores. they spell the kind of ‘I do not care right now’ that has no place in the world that shelters beautiful blue skies, gracious flowers, and countless wonders that are so selflessly shared with us humans.

As we walk along the river or on the shores of Kamloops Lake, we see various garbage bits, from cans and bottles to plastic bags and other plastic debris, new and old, equally sad and depressing. We collect as much as we can and repeat as necessary. An endless pit of despair really, yet coupled with an ever growing love for the world that so patiently allows us to be.

More so, since my sons have been born, I have been discovering the world through their eyes, skipping a few steps ahead trying to imagine what the world will be like when they grow up, striving to keep it as beautiful as we have it now, as worry-free as I once believed it to be when I was first opening my eyes to it, and for all of that, no effort is too small or insignificant.

starOn any given day, whether I peek at the dance of the magpies in the front yard, or kneeling to observe the almost surreal beauty of a flower ever so gentle yet sturdy enough to withstand the wildest weather elements, or paddling on lakes and windy canals that feed them, I am constantly reminded of the reasons for writing about topics many consider uncomfortable or less pleasant, and for making certain life choices that allow me to look in my sons’ eyes and say ‘I did what I could, to the best of my knowledge’, and also to immerse myself in the most beautiful and wildest of places knowing that I see their worthiness but I am also responsible to preserve it.

TenderThe world… It is never ours to trample over, but live in gently and pass it on, because truth is, we are alive and well only as long as our world is. And that is reason enough to do what I do, and reason enough to try to convince others to do the same.

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