Cold Honest Truth in a Parking Lot

It has been bitterly cold in my hometown. The temperature rarely reaching its fingers towards the norm. And with this sustained unusual freeze, behaviour has frayed. Common decency has declined, people are cutting corners.

The typically polite have become short-tempered, the usual joyous faces are strained. We are tired of bundling up just to cross a parking lot, and heaving ourselves and what we are carrying over the snow banks pushed towards the sidewalks. We are walking cautiously as ice lurks when we are not watching.

Appointments have been postponed. Running around errands still sit on people's lists.

But today the groceries had to be done.

As I started my usual hour-long ordeal I made my way across the parking lot to get a shopping cart. A mother and about ten-year-old son were finished their groceries and were retrieving their loonie as they pushed their cart into alignment to unlock the release. The young lad pushed with all his might and then stopped with delight as he saw the bag left behind in the lower shelf of the cart next to him.

Look Mom, he shrieked with glee. The bag that someone had forgotten in their haste held a big bag of potato chips, a couple of bottles of coke and several large chocolate bars.

We can't do that, his Mom shook her head. But they LEFT it, the young guy said. They won't come back! NO ONE will know. I LOVE those potato chips.

But those things are not ours, Mom said, as she looked seriously into her son's eyes. We might forget something one day and wouldn't it be nice if someone returned it to us. They might come back. And we will know.

I pushed my cart behind the Mom and son as they made their way back through the parking lot to return the bag of groceries to customer service.

And WHO would know?

I know. They know. And now you know too.

Simple cold honest truth in the parking lot. (Tweet This)

Life lesson on honesty from Mom to son in a parking lot. (Tweet This)


Now tell me, how will you pass on the life lesson on honesty?

Sitting on the Fence Becomes Uncomfortable

Sitting on the fence can have its rewards. It keeps us safe from ridicule and can make us everyone’s friend. We get to sway our opinion depending on whose company we’re in and it can save our careers, our marriages and dinner with the in-laws.

Sitting on the Fence Becomes Uncomfortable

We’ve all might have done it. There are many decades of our life when it might be necessary to “compromise”. Because our true needs might involve working at a job we don’t enjoy in order to pay the bills. Or smiling politely because our spouse’s boss is an idiot.

The beauty of growing older however, is that a day comes when you hardly care what other people think. When as the saying goes “I’m more concerned if I like you rather than if you like me.”  How freeing. Oh, I’m not condoning rudeness or aggression, there is a certain level of grace that goes a long way when you’re trying to make a point.

So as necessary as fence-sitting can be, how it keeps us comfortable, it is worthwhile to hop down to make a stand. Not everyone will like what you say, many will talk about you when you’re not there, others will think you’ve lost your mind.

But as many of us know, we get to change our minds. We get to learn from experience and then stand in that new understanding. We don’t need to provoke, or get angry, or convince. We just need to choose a side

We just need to choose a side. (Tweet This)

Sometimes sitting on the fence is our way to compromise. (Tweet This)

Thoughts About Words, Words About Thoughts - mini #NaNoWriMo

Intro: It's that time again when writers of all flavours pick up their tool of choice and get writing. I am not able to commit this year but thought I would try something different. NaNoWriMo will happen for me in May, or June, or July. If you continue to follow along you'll find out why.

Anyone who follows me here (thank you for your private messages that basically told me to get off my a**) knows that I have been missing. Missing the opportunity, coming up with excuses and sorely lacking in words.

But this has ended.

With the month of #NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) upon us, even those faint of heart are excited and at least cheering fans of those who will be MIA for the next 30 days.

My mini NaNoWriMo will be about writing. Thoughts about words, words about thoughts that flit through each of our minds. Sometimes when we least expect it. Sometimes pounding us down as we reach for a spare paper napkin on the adjoining table at a restaurant (because ours was spotted with smudges of garlic toast and spaghetti sauce).

When I started writing my blog, I had planned to pen just a few inspiring words that would reach you. Then somehow, I got caught up with SEOs, which kind of social media gave 

Comparison will Make You Unhappy

Comparison will Make You Unhappy

We are each running our own race! Sometimes we put on our running shoes but most often we do it in our everyday clothes. We get up each day and do the best we can. Usually.

And when we look at our neighbour or our colleague we always have to remember that comparison to our fellow traveller will make you unhappy. There will always be someone who makes more money, lives in a bigger house and is better looking. Honestly, that is just a fact. I could tell you to stop looking around but that would be ridiculous because we all love to compare.

We do it even in our yoga class, even on a treadmill, even on the highway driving home.

If you read my words elsewhere, you will know that I have just completed my 20th half-marathon. I figure that's not too bad for someone who pulled on a pair of running shoes at passed the 55-year mark. Certainly, I've lived my life quite convinced that I am not an athlete.

And for some of you who find that number impressive, there are many others who do this kind of thing on a regular basis. It's no big deal.

Compliments

I have been complimented myself a great many times, and they always embarrass me -- I always feel that they have not said enough.

Mark Twain

Most of us are not like this at all, are we? We're more comfortable shying away from compliments and usually add a “yes, but”.

I love that outfit you're wearing. Thanks but, it was a gift, it was on sale, it was just a fluke.

Congratulations on your uplifting presentation. Thanks but, the stars aligned for me today that's all.

You get the picture. Why is that? Why are we so hesitant to shine? To just say thanks, and then just stop. Why do we need to qualify who we are?

What we all need to do is Gracefully Receive a Compliment although it might not come easily to us. As this article says, a compliment is a gift. Let's not refuse it in the spirit it was given.

https://foundandbliss.blogspot.com

The other day I was walking through a shopping mall when a complete stranger remarked on my curls. Now let me tell you, my curls have been a sore spot for most of my years. Growing up in the era of straight long hair (à la Mod Squad), I struggled rolling it on coffee cans to stave off the Montreal humidity. Curls were no fun at all!

Now here was a woman, who admired my disarray. Who overlooked the gray, wiry threads that poked this way and that. I was shocked by her comment but I stopped myself from replying in my usual way.

"Thanks" I said and smiled as I kept walking. You don't often get an unexpected gift, it would be rude to refuse it I think! Perhaps with that gray hair, I am learning something.

How do you respond when you are complimented? (Tweet This)

The gift I couldn't refuse, complimented by a stranger. (Tweet This)

First Story Written

Writers read a lot of books, that's what we are often encouraged to do in order to recognize and find our own voice. I have just finished reading Write from the Heart: Unleashing the Power of Your Creativity. In this valuable book, Hal Zina Bennett provides several exercises to help you reach back to your earlier writing memories.

Here are a few lines I've written about my first memory of being an "author".

Courtesy Pixabay - thanks to Minthu

The first story I remember writing was one giant version of plagiarism! I believe I was probably about 7 or 8 years old. I don’t remember ever reading the REAL Winnie the Pooh but somehow I obviously felt that I could improve it.

I was that brave back then. My main character was a girl of course, just like me. Her name was Jennifer Parker.

There were enough elements of the story that anyone who had read the REAL Winnie the Pooh, would have had sufficient chuckles to know the attempted storylines of this 7 or 8-year-old. There was sweetness and turmoil, friendship that included hugging and something about paint in my story. Perhaps I had also been reading something about Picasso?

That little story, written in cursive (which all slanted to the right as dictated in those days) sits in a scribbler with blue lines somewhere in a box of my childhood memories. A small box, because I was not encouraged to be a memory keeper, a holder of emotions.

And yet the feelings that start in my eyes, then reach my heart make their way quickly to my head and then reverse route out of my fingertips continues to live on.


Writer feelings - from eyes to fingertips. (Tweet This)


What is the first memory you have of writing? (Tweet This)

Happy Victim or Accepted Wisdom

We all know them. The person who appears to relish what they perceive as their troubles.

In fact, they wear their unhappiness with pride. If you dare to say that you have a migraine, well, they will tell you that they once had a migraine that lasted a week! They can always out-do you. You know someone like this, don't you?

Cold day. Wasa Lake Triathlon  Happy Victim or Accepted Wisdom

Some find the construction to work each day unbearable. Some just don't like the weather, because even if it's sunny right now...it's going to rain later this week.
Some cannot let go of grievances from decades ago. Or they might carry the burden of a childhood battle on the playground. They wear these "injustices" like a badge of honour. And you keep hearing about those inflictions over and over and over.

They do not acknowledge when you are tired or injured or worried. Their problems or anticipation of difficulties is much more concerning than yours. Why don't they ask how you are doing? Could it be that they just don't want to know? Yes, they might be sad but they are also selfish. They believe that the world does indeed revolve around them.

They whine and complain, they do not resolve. They discuss and re-hash and then share again. They do not want your help. All they want is airspace.

They can be boring. Their conversations and gossip are relentless, the stories are frivolous and shallow.

Limited Vision

Limited Vision Vancouver BC

What do we see? Can we trust our Limited Vision? What's behind the corner?

I've had the good fortune of attending two creative adventures in the last few weeks. One was a writing conference, When Words Collide, which brought writers of all flavours to read, learn, teach and share their tips of our common love of words.

One of the presenters I had was confused over the breakdown of her technology, another laughed through the same occurence. One had an attitude "that needed a bigger stage" and turned me off completely. Yet, I am aware that he also had many fans there.

As we traversed between buildings, found short-cuts for finding the hidden elevators, we learned to store details of what we all need in our life. Security, comfort, commonality. A strange bunch we surely were, from the Mom-down-the-street to the downright eccentric. From the participant who looked like he walked right out of a detective novel, to the undercover cop who was awaiting his first book on the shelves. We were different from each other in our experiences and knowledge but we found our way to get along. We had to look beyond.

False Creek, Vancouver BC

My second, ongoing creative burst has come from an online course with Sarah Selecky. Sarah's Six Weeks, Six Senses program has pushed me to investigate my word juices 
to put together one story 
each week based on the assigned Sense.

It started with Sight, surprisingly that story came to me quickly. The photos provided each week are a starting point not an end in itself, a similar experience to what we encounter each week in our lives. But as we've moved through each lesson, it has become progressively more difficult (for me). 

How would you put a tennis ball, a tenement building and a (sad) girl wearing an ornate necklace in one story? When you read the other participant's submissions, you can't help but see what different eyes we look with, as all the stories were personal and unique. One focuses on the necklace, another on the tenement building. We each brought our own experiences into our story.

Which brings me back to Limited Vision.

Both my creative adventures were further confirmation for me that we see the world through our own story. Through Limited Vision. We see the hitch-hiker at the side of the highway as a lost soul, a thief, a youth on his own adventure. We see a sports gathering as a pain in the backside, an opportunity to network, a chance to give away our troubles for a few hours.

Every moment, of every day, we are exposed to a variety of choices of what we "see". And then we decide - do we expand or do we hide? 

We are different from each other, and we have to look beyond. (Tweet This)

When we see something, do we expand or hide? (Tweet This)

Keep Reaching for the Arrow

Courtesy Pixabay - WolfgangGerth

This post is a book review of The Last Arrow, sharing my thoughts as they might be of benefit to you on this day.

This book reached me as books sometimes do, when we need a little nudge, or perhaps a push to "keep going". You too might be struggling with dedicating your time and efforts to your goals as they might seem almost impossible. It's difficult sometimes for us to see the end result when we don't seem to be moving ahead, not even one little step each day.

Erwin Raphael McManus speaks of those days. He reminds us that each action we take does lead us to new learning, which makes us a bit of a different person at the end of that day. In that moment, we might not be able to see the value of learning a small specific task. (Have you ever felt the joy with editing a photo, or creating a new recipe?) But somewhere down the road, that little piece of knowledge pushes us to our next new thing.

McManus' words are heavily reliant on a reader's familiarity of the Bible. But I do not suggest that you shy away from it if you are religiously biased in any manner. His encouraging and motivating words are concrete, you will not doubt his sincerity.

The words continuously convey the necessity of finding your people, your tribe. The people who will support you and you them, and the impact of our lives on each other. "..we are all connected and our choices are never only our own. They affect everyone around us and also have an effect on those yet to come."

Learning the Summer Time Sway

As I sit at this vantage point of experience I wonder where else my path will take me. When you reach a certain age we can not stare down the fact that time is marching on. And so is our Summer.

We can do our best to out-pace our peers in the swimming pool, or on the running path. We can continue to stand on our heads and bend in ways that even we ourselves could not have fathomed not long ago.

Summer Time Sway - Ethel circa 1915

But nevertheless, we look down on our scars, see white hairs appearing, lines defining the choices we've made written on our faces. In my mind I am young and oh-so wise but at the end of the day, sometimes I am tired.

I yearn for those days when I had insurmountable energy and could fill my calendar from early to late, grab a tea and a sandwich in the late afternoon and would never consider a nap. My body needs a snooze some days now, but somehow I never cultivated the skill to close my eyes and drop into the motion of doing nothing. Swaying unconcerned as if in a hammock on a warm summer's day.

Is this why we get a vacation? To consider, to stop, to just be. I've reached the half-way point of my summer break. I feel the tide pulling me back to the rest of my life. Torturing me with tasks undone, incomplete projects, scraps of paper with plans scattered on my desk.

I yell loudly in my inside voice. Leave me alone.

Let me listen to the birds chirping frantically while they find a lonely puddle, hear the distant hum of a lawn mower propelled by an adolescent chore list, and the familiar (although gratingly annoying) sound of an ice-cream truck coming up the hill to my home. Let me savour it all.

Life is still teaching me to sway.

Allow me to immerse in the second half of my vacation, as we should in the second half of our lives. Growing and learning, of course. But also basking, nodding, swaying in appreciation for what we have experienced and accumulated in our hearts with those who have graced our lives.

With special thanks to family and dear friends (over coffee, on a patio, by phone and via Skype) who have shared their precious summer time with me. You have enriched my life.

And now on to the second half.

Have you given yourself the gift of the Summer Time Sway? (Tweet This)

Learning the Summer Time Sway with what fills our hearts. (Tweet This)

Sit in this Moment of Disappearing Time

Sit in this Moment of Disappearing Time

We can sit on the mountain top, we can hide in the forest. We can splash in the waters, we can dance with the breeze.

We can be on a stage, we can sit in a corner, we can be unknown to others or friendly only with ourselves.

We can write volumes of best sellers, paint pictures in the dark.

We can be buried in sadness, or shine on magazine covers.              

We can do many different things, while we are strangers to each other, drop pennies in a box, or fly on the wings of a dove.

Each morning rises to meet our demands, but what we do with it, no one else commands. (Tweet This)

We each get to do what each of us does. And that's why we get to leave behind pieces of us.

It is up to us.

And then we just Follow The Sun for one more time.

How do we sit in this moment of disappearing time? (Tweet This)

As Xavier Rudd asks in these beautiful lyrics, how do you "cherish this moment, cherish this breath"?

We're All Missing Something

We're All Missing Something

When I picked up these numbers at a garage sale many years ago, little did I know how much conversation it would trigger.

Folks coming into my office have had such interesting responses:

• where did you get them? At a garage sale, I think they were house numbers when house numbers were cut in wood.
• hey! the 3's missing. Yes, that's exactly the point
• I love the colour! It was very popular in the 50s and 60s. I had a bath tub in this colour in the first house I bought.
• a little one who was proud that she could add up all the numbers. Bravo, now that's thinking!
• why do you have it there? Because it's a daily reminder to me.

What do these numbers mean to you?

I see their awkward balancing act and each time it reminds me of a missing piece, the gap in all of us. The way we do our best to stand up straight.

In the stories we tell ourselves based on our memory of things past, in how we halt our own growth, in how we put limits on our courage, in our patterns of fear, in why our dreams seem just outside our reach.

Sometimes that missing 3 feels as large as an ocean, a huge leap, that we learn to ignore. Until one day when we just don't see it anymore.

Why bother? we think to ourselves. This is just the way I am. (Tweet This)

We can learn to ignore most gaps, until the pain gets too much. Until the day arrives when we are brave enough to question, what are we missing? And then that 3 can be the most magnificent thing of your life. The day that you realize that YOU can fill in the gap.

I had a colleague who remarked on these numbers each time he entered my space. He laughed about the missing 3, he moved the numbers around when he was feeling playful. He sat silently and nodded as he stared at the 1-2-4-5. And on his last day with us, he told me this...

I understand, he said. Thanks for the reminder that we're all missing something. 

We are all missing something. What are you prepared to do about it? (Tweet This)

Search in the Mirror

...Sometimes the world seems against you

The journey may leave a scar

But scars can heal and reveal just

Where you are.
(from I am Moana) 

Search in the Mirror

We search in the mirror each day. We look for physical changes as time goes on. How often do we pause and reflect on the changes within?

The end of a school year. A farewell of sorts to those moving on, sometimes with sadness, at times with reverence for what they've taught us. Or at least what they were supposed to teach us.

Teams ending, teams starting up. New jobs. Retirement. Travels. Unemployment. Loneliness. Unknowing.

How does each person effect the other? Testing our integrity, our compassion, our growth. What are we willing to give up for recognition, moving up the ladder, security, politeness? Oh, how we resent these lessons. 

We would more easily pack a bag and run away than sit in the pain of learning. (Tweet This)

How quickly do we recognize what these valuable (although possibly dominating/aggravating/hurtful/negative) people bring to our lives? We are annoyed that we constantly have to accommodate, we don't always have the strength to step out with grace...quietly.

Yes, if we are fortunate we meet people who see the world as we do, who stand in the same beliefs. And that is always a relief, kindred souls tested on the same battlefield. We can turn to each other to talk it out over a coffee and a walk.

But they are rare, as time goes on. We cover up, we mask. We do it well. How many people do you know that you would bare your tender heart to?

Do we recognize our lessons in the moment? Do we only learn in retrospect? (Tweet This)

Some day do we say, ahh! I fell for it again! I let that kind of personality get under my skin...again.

Or, I admire her resilience. His courage in tackling new things is inspiring.

Which way do we tend to lean?

As Life sends us on our next journey...let us ask the question most important for our tomorrow - What is this experience teaching me about myself? 

The answers are within.

The call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me. Moana 

Walking the Habit

You see the same people week after week. And you hear their stories or you make them up. (Tweet This)

You see the handsome man with an older dog. You see them each winter’s morning. He acknowledging you with a tip of his head, you recognizing them at a distance. Whose ritual was it, you wonder. Man or dog. It was a long way around the lake. And then one day you see him alone and the next time too. And you want to say, sorry about your dog, you must miss him. But you wonder if that is too forward. Because what story has he made up about you when he passes? That you walk too fast and are always alone? Must have no friends?

You see people in funny combinations, are they out on a first date? You’ve done the same thing to see if this man can keep up with you and hold your attention for 6 kilometres. You see one of them turn to the other, but the other’s eyes never stray from the walking path or looking for an escape. Did their online profiles identify who they really are or was it all fabrication? Will you ever see them together again?

Walking the Habit

She is usually wearing pink, her hair is  substantial, blonde messy. You wonder if she has  just stepped out of bed and wound that big floral   scarf around her neck as an afterthought. You never really notice the man with her. He is secondary. All year long she wears pink. What does her closet look like?

There’s a big man, he walks like someone who has lost a great deal of weight recently. Like his knees hurt with every step but still you see him with one new walking companion after another each week and he doesn’t give up. When Spring finally arrived he had removed his long inappropriate coat and my, he had lost so much weight. He was almost slim, although he still walked with uncomfortable knees. Does it hurt badly? you think as you cross each other.

You see the children grow, they start off unstable on their new bikes, they fall behind their older siblings. And then one day, they make it up the entire hill without stopping or whining. They begin to recognize you too, and they wave their little hands when you go by. And you think to yourself, please put your hands back on your handlebars I don’t want to see you fall.

You think about the elderly man you used to see walking slowly and saying his prayers. He used to put his hands together and bow and quietly say Namaste, but you haven’t seen him in so long.

The fast runners go by, you cannot catch their conversations. What a shame. Some call “hello” and “good evening” when it is only 8am, just to make you laugh. Some are constantly recovering from another injury. They have been known to laugh and whine too.

The cycling teams fly by. They look pretty fit and have great thighs when you see them at a certain angle. And you think, ah 40 years ago I would have fallen for those legs. I know they are practising for some event, but they definitely miss out on overhearing the passing conversations or notice the gal dressed in pink.

All this happens before 10am on a Sunday morning. It is a good way to start the day. Then you continue your habit and go have a cheap cup of coffee at McDonalds.

The stories you hear when you walk. (Tweet This)

Do only writers notice the stories that walk by? (Tweet This) 

Habit = Glenmore Reservoir, South West Calgary

Box of Favourite Toys

It was a box, just a box. It held nothing that meant anything to me but were the treasures held for decades by someone who used to be close to me. How did I get possession of this box, you ask?

Box of Favourite Toys

A life time ago, I was young and in love. Those feelings I eventually gave away too. But the owner of this box kept adding to it with the loss of each female relative. And then decades passed, these “jewels” were eventually left to me, and ended up with assorted other bits of history that had no story. Glassy, audacious, sparkly, set in garish ornate, old-fashioned brooches and hat-pins. They sat in the equally absurd bronze stained wooden box at the back of my closet, ignored.

The more I’ve read however of cleaning out our loved one’s closets made me consider my own mortality. How could I leave all this stuff for my own children to sift through? How could I leave them with all my junk, incomplete projects, scribbles in notebooks, scraps of fabric and this box of jewelry. How would they know what was important to me and not just filling up my spaces, preventing me from discovering myself. (Tweet This)

You might think, ohmygoodness, but she’s old, surely she should know who she is by now? But guess what, you are ALWAYS learning and growing. I am not the person I was last year, or last week. I have learned and lost and shared and grown some more. And in that passage of time, I’ve discovered that “things” have lesser meaning, because I will leave this world alone without any of my favourite toys. And those who know me best will get to choose which leftover piece of my heart has any value to them. (Tweet This)

And that is why, I have worn the (less!) ugly brooches on my jean jacket, or taken some apart to hang on a chain, have used another to decorate a gift, and given many away. The monetary value might be a little or a lot, I do not know. 

But I like to think that each trinket will arrive on the doorstop of someone who will appreciate its uniqueness. And the story they tell of how it reached them is really none of my business.

Because we all leave this world alone without any of our favourite toys. (Tweet This)