I recently pushed my limits with social anxieties.
I was proud with how I kept it together at a public event last month. Yeah, I lasted about an hour and a half.
The event was a mid-week fund raiser for a local agency that provides temporary shelter plus mental health support for the homeless and those caught in the claws of addiction.
Based on the ticket cost, the quality of the tasty treats, wine and dignitaries in attendance, I could soon tell I was in with a different crowd.
According to the suggested starting bids for the items in the silent auction and the live auction, I felt a sense of disparity between the purpose of the event and the money flowing from attendees. I felt disappointment at the waste of food and lack of sustainable measures taken for composting and recycling.
I was certainly in with a different crowd.
The one thing that kept me staying longer than I wanted was to see if anyone else would outbid me on a quilt in the silent auction. I lingered beside the table, nursing my wine while wincing at the loud music from the speakers and the over-excited voice of the live auctioneer. I had my fill of food and wine. I had my fill of social interactions.
The quilt appealed to me because my paternal grandmother used to make them – back in the day when they used scrap material and there was symbolism, cultural meaning in the patterns.
The quilt appealed to me because of the comforting feeling it can represent, a feeling like a loving home, like a soft blanket wrapped around you, holding you tight and assuring that everything is going to be alright.
It also appealed to me because it was one of the less-expensive items on the table.
I approached the people at the registration desk and explained my need to leave. They assured me it was okay and that they would call my cell number later if I had the winning bid.
And they did.
I was soon the proud owner of a locally crafted quilt. I like how it adds to the colour and comfort of my quiet, humble home.
Miss Geneva Tabby checks out the new quilt on her futon
Canadian winters… You adapt to the season or you escape to warmer climates.
For those of us who are not beach lovers or sun worshipers, we choose to stay and make the best of it. Sometime after January 31st, we start complaining.
Public Transportation experience
We pop our Vitamin C, D and Omega-3 and absorb the glow from the DayLight lamp while we curse the inconveniences of the season. We get in gentle exercise, cautious walks outdoors, small social gatherings then retreat indoors for quiet activities.
As someone who appreciates the quiet and calm of my humble abode, I make efforts to refresh my living space and head space by performing winter housecleaning and preparation for the Lunar New Year. It’s a valid excuse to add ceremony to housework, to make it fun and hopeful.
Of course, when you share living space with cats, you adjust the placement of items to maintain harmony in your home.
Cats avoiding the cleaning staff
One way I refresh my head space is learning new things, doodling, listening to uplifting music and reading. When you’re a bus mouse, you can get in some good reading time – if you can find a good seat for the long workday commutes.
I Ching Handbook
So as we navigate through and negotiate with Winter, we can remind ourselves that it will soon lead to Spring.
There is hope.
Thanks for reading along! How do you survive Winter in your neck of the worldly woods?
While passing by an urban park in Ottawa recently, I noticed something I loved had been taken away.
One of my favourite spots for work day wanderings and pondering had been painted over.
Favourite Bench at Dundonald Park with new art
The new art work looked like bare tree limbs against a multicolored sunset. Either that or some artistic feather design.
I noticed a few other benches had been painted over too.
Dundonald park benches painted anew
It had been a while since I took a lunchtime walk up here but this change must have occurred just this autumn. I am sure I will eventually find out why someone did this but I’m still processing, reeling from the change to favourite park bench’s art. I had become fond of the previous artwork and what it represented to me as I approached a wonderful new discovery in 2015 and rekindled relationships.
Dundonald Park bench 2015
It will take me a while to accept the new design. But … as in my professional and personal life, I have learned to adapt to change, to accept the changes that are beyond my control.
At least my two favourite trees have not changed – except for losing their leaves again in preparation for winter’s sleep.
Two tree tops touching Nov 10 2017
I was consoled and delighted to see something new – a little book lending library.
With water bottle, granola bars and sun hat ready yesterday, I set out on public transit to cross the river to la belle province – specifically to Gatineau, Quebec.
The Jacques Cartier Park lineup to get in and past security was very long. I didn’t realize until after I took what looked like a clear passage on a side road that I was cutting into the line. I apologized to the people beside me, using my confusion as an excuse.
It was an impressive exhibit.
There were dozens of sculptures artistically made with plants, depicting different stages in Canada’s history. The exhibit took us back in time to the First Nations, the voyageurs and early settlers.
Due to the crowds of people in the way and my short stature, I could not find the time or patience to stop and take photos of all the displays. I adored them with my eyes and stored the images, my reaction and appreciation for them in my short-term memory bank.
Crowds of humans adoring Mother Earth
The main attraction, pièce de résistance was Mother Earth. As I took shaded shelter under the trees before merging into that long queue, I overheard a security guard saying to people resting on the grass, “Move faster. Move faster!”
I can understand that they wanted to keep bodies moving and make room for the hundreds of others waiting at the entrance. It just seemed ironic that we were being rushed and not allowed the time to stop, to reflect and appreciate the magnificence of the scene.
It was ironic to see Mother Earth set with a backdrop of high-rise buildings. Perhaps it was complimentary in that we can learn to balance our desire for progress and modern expansion with a respect for nature and the ancient traditions.
Perhaps.
Mother Earth in the city
Did I achieve my objectives?
Yes.
I pushed myself to venture into a crowded public place. Alone.
I took pictures with my smart phone but I also took time just to admire the art, to observe other people and eavesdrop on their conversations, their reactions to the exhibit.
Since I went alone, I was on my own schedule and was able to set my own pace (except when getting swept into the flow past some displays and jammed still at others).
Today it’s raining. I shall stay in my humble home to putter with houseplants, to reflect and write, to cook a batch of meaty pasta sauce.
I changed the C cell batteries in my Zen Alarm clock. Once again it makes a loud and proud chime in the key of E rather than a dull thud. It had been almost three years since I coveted and acquired it.
When I look back at my observations, writing and personal growth since then, it seems that things haven’t improved in our outer world. It’s like we’re stuck in some ambitious, testosterone-fueled cycle. I know I have been working on myself. What about the rest of the world, for Pete’s sake?!
I changed, edited the quote on that poster from:
“We can never obtain peace in the outer world until we make peace with ourselves.” — Dalai Lama
To:
“We can only obtain peace in the outer world once we make peace with ourselves.”
I felt the quote could use a positive injection – for so many reasons.
That’s a bold prediction from someone so naturally fair of skin and hair.
I am okay with that possibility.
First, I can say that because I have brown offspring from a mixed marriage. In my eyes and their doting Aunties’, these children were beautiful, intelligent and well-behaved.
I was often oblivious to the colour of my children’s skin yet experienced some strange looks and comments when we were out in public. The most humorous and innocent was when a child at the local park asked if I was their babysitter.
Yes, they have met challenges with finding their identity, their place in society. They adapted. They survived. Some of them identify as Black or POC (Person of Colour). None of them have adopted urban stereotypes nor have they been in trouble with the law.
To me, they are beautiful humans, the next generation. I raised them to be positive contributors to their community and to society. They know how to speak up when they see injustices. They too will make beautiful babies if they so choose or can afford to raise a family in this precarious economy.
In the 90s, I grooved to this song from Michael Jackson. It spoke to me – except for the beginning featuring a loud, dysfunctional family then the parts where MJ is grabbing his genitals, smashing up a parked car and vandalizing empty store windows. Apparently, the main body of the “Black or White” short film reflects the song’s lyrical plea for racial and cultural unity. That message was lost on me into the eight minute mark. I think MJ also wanted to express issues with father figures, the automotive industry, consumerism and colonialism.
You will be thankful I found the shortened version.
My second posit is that my white, blond son from an earlier relationship chose to marry a lovely woman of Asian origin. I see that he inherited the “non-conformist” gene as well as the blond one.
Their children are beautiful. My grandchildren are beautiful.
My grandchildren.
It was comments I heard years ago from a stand-up comedian that stuck with me and inspired me to draft this blog entry.
Quoting Paul Rodriguez, “One hundred years from now, our children’s children… everybody’s going to be Filipino”
(Start at 1:30)
I’m okay with that.
Regardless of their skin colour or which version of the Creator they honour, I have hopes for my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren and those to follow.
I hope the shared traits of humanity such as compassion will calm the fear and hatred of those feeling threatened. Is it possible that the good ole boys are scared? Are they trying to protect their heritage, their culture?
Why did it take public outrage at his initial comments for Tweetle-Dum to finally denounce the white supremacists?
Let’s remember that this continent was occupied by other people thousands of years before those European colonizers and immigrants arrived with their ships.
The first people had a respect for the power of nature, the seasons, the animals they hunted for food. They hunted out of necessity, not for sport. We could learn from the First Nations about living in harmony with nature and planning seven generations ahead.
It’s going to be a struggle but people will learn that harmonious survival of the human race and Mother Earth is more important than skin colour, religious dogma and power. At the basic root, we need to ensure clean air, water and arable land.
Here are some changes i would like to see in our gently blended future:
Muscle cars and air-polluting auto racing will no longer exist. Neither will fossil fuels.
Reusable energy from the sun, wind and oceans will power our needs.
People will be educated, active and civil. We will see a return to public discourse and philosophical discussions.
Artists will be respected and supported regardless of their eccentricities ;-^
The fashion industry will reuse materials and will not be so frivolous and wasteful. We will do away with stilettos, latex and skinny jeans.
There will challenges with how we define culture.
Some people may still want to pierce their body parts, tattoo their skin and dye their hair to stand out, to show their individualism or create a sense of belonging in some form of neo-tribalism. Some may try to appear so unique as to bleach their hair blonde. I hope the chemicals don’t harm their brain cells or our ecosystem as a result.
If we deplete and pollute this planet to the point of no recovery and have to spread out into the galaxy, to meet and rely on other species, I just hope we can still celebrate and respect diversity.
What was the point of the series? Celebrating diversity. Here’s Star Trek creator, Gene Roddenberry, explaining: pic.twitter.com/toaFoGQNXx
Last weekend I attended the Capital Ukrainian Festival.
I was looking forward to music, cultural crafts and … perogies.
I was also challenging my aversion to crowds, spending hours in the hot sun and lining up for food.
Capital Ukrainian Festival – dancers
The musicians and dancers certainly entertained the visitors in the hot afternoon sun. There were all kinds of vendor tents and scheduled tours of the church.
Capital Ukrainian Festival
I abandoned my quest for perogies and other tasty treats due to the long lineups in the hot sun. The shaded merchant tent was more appealing for my delicate complexion and conducive to locating inexpensive, practical items. I found some colourful, blank greeting cards for sending to family and friends. Yes, I’m one of the people who still do that.
I was attracted to the watches displayed by one of the merchants. I was also curious about the symbols on the watch face.
It was the Tryzub Cross. I was curious to learn more. The Tryzub Cross is simply a cross-bar on the middle tine of a tryzub.
But what is a ‘tryzub’? And why should it have a cross-bar? ‘Tryzub’ (тризуб) is Ukrainian for “trident” and is one of Christianity’s earliest symbols. A trident with a Cross is associated with St. Vladimir the Great (980–1015).
The merchant explained the history and practices of the watch manufacturer plus let me try on a couple of the ladies’ models. I didn’t commit to purchasing one right away yet accepted the brochure for something to look at while I digested the price! If you have the means and time to learn more about these beautiful watches, you can visit the vendor’s web site at http://kleynodwatches.com/
Eventually during my wanderings, I came across plenty of Ukrainian Easter eggs.
Did you know…?The word pysanka comes from the verb pysaty, “to write”, as the designs are not painted on, but written with beeswax.
Spring travel whisked me away from the rainy Ottawa Valley to Vancouver Island.
It rained there too.
My objectives were made months in advance:
Travel somewhere within Canada
Push my air travel anxiety limits – further than before
Visit with family
Do touristy things
Do not think about work
My destination was Vancouver Island, just off the coast of British Columbia. The long stretches of flying, sitting, waiting, flying, sitting, etc. tired me out. At various destinations I welcomed opportunities for walking tours and restaurant outings. Soon that tired me out too!
I practiced mindfulness as much as I could, savouring moments and reminding myself to breathe.
One family member took me for a drive up the east coast of Vancouver Island, humoured my request to stop where I could dip my toes into the Pacific Ocean.
Pacific Ocean (well… some inlet) I am in you!
Soon I was on a bus then another bus to the beautiful city of Victoria. I was happy and comforted that relatives were waiting for me, extra umbrellas in hand to provide an escort to my hotel.
While in Victoria, I was treated to sufficient walking excursions, visited a castle and tried food from different restaurants. We had one sunny, windy day.
I spent one rainy afternoon by myself, enjoying bright flower gardens and inhaling the scent of trees in full blossom.
A rainy tourist outing in downtown Victoria
A wet bench and colourful flowers
Soon one of my adult children joined me after his own cross-country tour by train, ferry and bus. He got to meet one set of cousins for the first time. He accompanied me for a walk by the docks, an appropriate lunch and a walking tour up to Emily Carr House.
Lunch at Red Fish Blue Fish – Victoria
As with my tour of the castle a couple of days earlier, we exited through the gift shop and I picked up a few souvenirs.
A chance to sit down during a tour of Emily Carr house
Did I achieve my objectives? Yes! I practiced mindfulness moments wherever I was, taking in the experiences, breathing in and breathing out.
After a long day of travel east, I returned to Ottawa in the rain. I observed the local news about severe spring flooding in our region.
I was glad to be home, to have the chance to do laundry and rest in my creature comforts.
Snuggles was glad to see me too and perform his morning routine of waking me up to serve breakfast and read the online news together. Creatures of habit…
Did you like to run and play ball in your big backyard or in the park with other kids? Did you like to colour, to play in the dirt or puddles? Did you try to run away into the nearby forest but return home in time for dinner?
I think that the age range between 8 and 11 years old is one of innocence, adventure and discovery.
This deep thought has been brought to you by page 106 in a book of daily inspirations. I think it is a good reminder for ambitious, jaded adults.
Good advice: observe babies
…except for the part about pooping in your pants.
When I was ten, I enjoyed playing in big puddles, engineering canals and small towns. I enjoyed playing with Barbie dolls, playing school with my siblings and friends. I enjoyed drawing pictures. As I matured, I had dreams of creating greeting cards or children’s books.
I didn’t care about fashion or boys. I didn’t know our family was poor. I was oblivious to the inhumanity happening in our country, in our world.
I didn’t even know I was fat until it was pointed out by a friend’s older brother.
I think there may be benefits to waking in the middle of the night with hot flashes and a damp nightgown.
A vigilant type can tour the humble abode, check the perimeters and be satisfied that all is secure. A creative type can take a few minutes to write down in her dream journal, jot journal or make a crude illustration.
According to an article I recently read, there are benefits to segmented sleep and due to our modern habits and lighting, we may be losing out on times for reflection.
“But though we may feel perfectly happy with our modern consolidated sleep, we’ve now lost that midnight hour between sleeps, a time when we can be awake and alone with our thoughts.
“I think we’re missing out on a time of intimacy and privacy, a time of self-reflection,” says Ekirch. “We’ve lost a traditional avenue to our dreams, our subconscious.””
I wonder if I can train my body to practise segmented sleep. Will I remember to drink more water before retiring so my body will force me to get up once or twice during the night? In a few years, my bladder will likely perform that task for me anyway!
I also wonder if segmented sleep can help me train my body and mind to embrace Hypnogogia, to capture, remember the dreams and visions, to record them for later inspection and creative expansion.
“In the borderlands between wakefulness and rest is a strange and fascinating state of consciousness characterized by dream-like visions and strange sensory occurrences. Psychologists call this stage “hypnagogia,” but centuries before they created a term for it, artists were using the hypnagogic state to tap into some of their best ideas. “
I am intrigued by the bridging of sleep and awakening, of the subconscious and consciousness. I also have an appreciation for afternoon naps.
Thanks for dropping by and staying alert while reading this entry. You can also see what my pen name Flo is offering at her blog. She has so many ideas about more Seguin Sound childhood stories but needs more free time during our waking and working hours to transcribe them.
There has been a bridge theme occupying my mind for many months.
A few weeks ago, we Canadians were surprised to hear of structural damage to a bridge in Northern Ontario that joined the east to the west. People were concerned that our vast, beautiful country seemed split in half if only for a couple of days.
This weekend, one of the artistic young adults and I visited Monet, A Bridge to Modernity an exhibit at the National Gallery. It was beautiful and inspirational. I was glad to have splurged the extra $6 for the audio tour. I also spent a little more money to bring some of the exhibit back to le petit apartment.
A little Monet display in our home
The prints and poster were an appropriate addition to the bare walls in the new dining corner setup. They dissolve the winter blues, fitting the recommended Feng Shui arrangement and colour pallet to welcome the Lunar New Year, the Year of the Monkey.
The Monet experience makes me want to try my hand at water colour painting again and in the impressionist style “en plain air“. Maybe when the weather is more agreeable, yes? Perhaps during the summer, along a river bank.
Ah, river banks.
I grew up near a river that fed into the refreshing Georgian Bay. There were many different bridges that crossed the Seguin River. One was the Canadian Pacific Rail (CPR) bridge that rose above our neighbourhood, spanning the river to the richer side of town. It also marked the division of our side bordering on the Townies from that of the Harbour Bums.
CP rail bridge over the Seguin River, Parry Sound 2015
During a journey to the home town last summer, I got to revisit the bridge’s domain and witness much rebuilding activity along the rails.
Reparation activities along the CPR trestle
These experiences reinforced the theme of building, capturing the beauty of and repairing bridges in the corporeal world.
We can also explore bridges between the past and the present. It can be exciting and emotionally draining when you have reached back to the murky past, bravely transit the present and reach into the fogginess of the future.
Some bridges are worth the risk and energy to cross.
Some bridges (relationships, experiences, etc.) are not worth the toll on one’s health, psyche and sense of self-worth.
When you encounter those that seem cracked and unsupportive, you can choose a different route or tread lightly and keep a safety net handy.
Thanks for dropping by. May all of your bridges be sturdy, lead you to auspicious experiences and destinations. May they join and not divide.
