Why Volunteer?

People ask me why I volunteer when I already have a full life. How do you fit it in?, they ask. My answer, How could I not?

Here’s a story about what I receive from volunteering.

Why Volunteer?

Anyone who knows me, knows how much I like words. The flow of a sentence that deems a sticky note on the side of the page. The quote that must be saved for future use. The image created by the words that are seared into your mind.

We all know that instant when you meet someone who has stayed in the same hostel you did in Machu Picchu, or someone who puts potato chips into their sandwich as you do. It is that kind of bond with a fellow word lover.

I met a lovely lady two decades my senior, dressed in a fashionable red jacket with ornate buttons, who loves words too. In our conversation about the type of books we prefer (non-fiction) we also discovered that we were both introverts, and liked garage sales. We talked about meditation, and simple living and connections however tenuous they might be with some family members. We both read because we both want to learn.

Banking on Memories

For over a decade, I have had a financial relationship with (let’s call her) Natalie. As you are probably aware, having any kind of long term relationship with someone in a bank is a rarity these days. Workers are prone to and often encouraged to switch branch locations, and even cities to jump start their careers. You start to feel some trust and quickly they are gone.

Natalie and I met so far back, I don’t quite remember the circumstance. However, I know that I immediately felt that this was someone who would return my phone calls/emails, and provide me with solid guidance. I knew that I could turn to her when my marriage ended and I needed to move forward in my planning.

Over the years, we learned a little more about each other, about our growing children and our new residences. We had however, never spoken about where we had each grown up. And each time we met I thought, Natalie is someone who knows her stuff, everyone should have a Natalie!

In my most recent appointment to meet Natalie, she mentioned that she had noticed a particular government id number that is specific to a province in Canada. It seems that Natalie had grown up there too. Did you go to John Rennie High School? Then the questions flowed and we were able to discover that Natalie and I lived within blocks of each other as children/teenagers, hung out at the same community swimming pool and knew some people in common. All this in a small sub-division, in a large city some 3500+ kilometers away (depending on whether you take the “scenic” route north above the Lakes or dip south through the US) on the other side of the country. A city that I left 36 years ago.

Friday Morning with Scott Cook - Pass it Along

Another gentle reminder that we are on borrowed time in a borrowed place, we are all connected.

"The words they said still reach us, just like you're teaching me here today

  And you may not speak it loud, but it's clear in what you do

  And I hope to make you proud, because I borrowed it from you."

The Little Story

The Ripple of our Life - Grassi Lakes, Canmore

Our stories have no beginning and no end. It’s mysterious, and downright spooky sometimes how people come into and then leave your life. Sometimes they travel great distances with you, and sometimes you are connected and don’t even know it. The joy of connection cannot be forced, it is magical, it is unexpected, it is to be celebrated.

That is how the curly haired girl, Merrick, Grace, Ollie and She that we all know came to be. But even make believe characters take a break. 

We all need to redefine, and reemerge into something new. At times we are forced into it, whether it be the end of a work term, a health crisis or a pending divorce. But we are always given the gift to choose our reaction, and the ability (however difficult) to step back and consciously set our next path.

Choosing our Reaction - Grassi Lakes, Canmore

If you haven’t had a chance to see this story unfold, I hope you will enjoy it. And like me, also anticipate the next connection!

Act
No Longer an Act
Grace
Blown in Glass
Transparent Houses
Ollie
Her
Reflected in Coffee
Clouded Poetry
Turning Back the Pages of Time
Crumpled dreams
Some kind of progress

Anticipate the next connection. (Click to Tweet)

                                                   

Some kind of progress – 12

She and Ollie met several times over the next few weeks. She realized that their friendship and the ease they felt with each other had not diminished over the decades. He had walked her home once, to her building with the striped awnings and eyebrows of cream coloured sandstone. A building she had loved instantly, because it had reminded her of the old, brick buildings that were common in their hometown. It even had radiators.

Once she had arrived for their coffee and met one of Ollie’s neighbours, a woman who lived one floor below him. Grace had smelled of vanilla and had the cheery, open face of someone that practised smiling often. She sometimes gazed to her left as though she was pondering carefully, giving her answer serious thought. They talked about art and Ollie, it was as though they were connected somehow.

Early on, she had forgiven him for being the messenger.

She told him about how when her position changed to day-time she had become more aware. It was so much easier to hide her sadness in the comfort of the dark.

He asked her if she recalled their days together in college, of streakers, and pre-happy-hour drinks in the corn field adjacent to their college. Oh, those days of camaraderie had always stayed with her as the highlight between cramming for exams and hitchhiking to save on your finances.

As time went by, she opened up more, her smile no longer seemed a betrayal of all that she had lost and laughing didn’t hurt. Ollie even gave up his toupée. She didn’t mention it outright, she just said that “he looked especially fine” that day, he understood.

Some things don’t need more words. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.

 

Waiting for Better

This is for you. 

Letting time pass to set a history is a good thing. Invariably the good people will stay good, and those that are not will also be revealed. But waiting and waiting can be just an avoidance that creates deeper pain. We say we want to be happy but remain in situations that we know prevent us from being so? It is honorable to give someone the benefit of the doubt, no one wants to be judged by one single act. However, we are sometimes so stuck, so paralyzed by our fear of the unknown that we cannot move out of a situation that does not honour ourselves.

We put up, and we shut up. 

Life has a way of teaching us the lessons we need. We will each get them to teach us in the way that matters most, the inconsiderate "friend", a (lack of a better term) crazy partner, an idiot boss. What will we let that person get away with? Why do we let them do what they do? The nonsense this person hands out will keep escalating until even you can't ignore the volume. The cosmic 2 by 4 will finally stop you in your tracks.

Then one day, you will know with no doubt in your mind that you are “done”. It could be caused by something catastrophic or something small, but it will happen when you are ready and have the courage to move on.

Have faith, you will survive. You will no longer be able to deny the proof.

And on that day, you will love yourself a little more and not let it happen again. Don't lose yourself in the battle and until then be safe, be well.

Sharing your light

Growing up while shopping with my Dad, I knew where he was by the sound of his whistling. I couldn’t always identify the tune but I knew that he was nearby. It’s a sound that continues to give me comfort and a sense of connection.

Being mindful of energy consumption, many spaces have lights that dim when it senses that there is no movement within. This of course is difficult for some of us who don’t fidget excessively. It means that when I am concentrating (too long!) I sometimes have to leave my desk to turn the lights back on.

Our washroom space is that way too. Entering that dark space the other day, I waved my arms and bopped to some imaginary music to get the lights to turn on. I wonder what else you could do to “light up the place”? Perhaps you could cha-cha on your way inside, or tango, cartwheel or do the 'gangsta' walk.

How do you bring light to your world each day? Are you the first one in who starts up the coffee? Are you the Concierge who greets everyone with the biggest smile each morning? Do you give your fellow travellers a smile while you sing out loud while driving? Or do you cartwheel?

Thank you to the Security person who was in my parkade today. I so enjoyed listening to you whistle Amazing Grace.

Reflected in Coffee - 8

She had to stop looking over at them. They would think that she was stalking! But that smile kept drawing her back. Where had she seen it?

Ollie and Merrick adjusted themselves in their seats and started a new conversation. Their hands busy with shelling the peanuts which were forming an abundant mountain between them. Merrick got up and ordered a second coffee for each of them and made his way back between the tables, gripping the cups in each of his large hands.

She doodled in the large notebook that she always carried with her and did her best to be discreet. Her page had a lot of ??? on it.

Then she heard the laugh and her head sprang up. She knew someone who had had that laugh, but that was 35 years ago, on the other side of the country. She hadn’t heard that sound since then. She looked up and mentally erased the lines of time, and added hair (what’s with the toupé, she giggled to herself).

Yes, it must be Oliver.

She looked up and mentally erased the lines of time. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here. 

Fog

I was admittedly distracted this morning as I made my at an unusual time to an infrequent (thank goodness!) location.

Good health has been a blessing in my life and attending even the pre-appointment for a "procedure" requires some meditation and deep breathing.

And that is how I found myself at a stop light quite oblivious as to how I had gotten there. "Being in the moment" surely does not include putting your car on autopilot. (Although how is it that our cars do sometimes drive themselves to the location we want? Come on, I know you've done it too!)

When I shook my way out of my reverie I saw a white Yaris changing lanes more often than was necessary (slow down buddy), an orange Durango with its hood up at the side of the road (note to self - get gas on the way home) and a cream coloured BMW 325i with an almost-rusted-through passenger side that was probably quite pretty at some point.

The woman beside me was talking over her right shoulder. Her car held at least three children who were badly in need of orthodontic work. "Good luck" I say silently, "there go some of your vacation plans".

And so we all travelled in the same direction for those moments in time, even though our destinations were all quite different. I wonder what each of those drivers thought when they saw me?

Snippets

She was already what I would call “tall”, but with her pom-pom hat she must have been 6 ½ feet. (She walked fast!)

Young Russian couple; she leaned into him when the train lurched with the ease of someone who knows she will be taken care of.

University friends, reacquainted. She’s doing a practicum, talking about the easy day she had yesterday. My back is to them, but I could easily follow their conversation. Great to see you, let’s get together. She gets off. As we ride along, I was rotated, now I could see the scruffy face that went with his voice. From the top of his too-large parka, I catch a glimpse of the “S” of a worn out Superman t-shirt. His pants are frayed. Chances are the drink over the Holidays will never happen.

Beautiful in black from head to toe, how wonderful to add orange tights. To be so young.

She’s heading towards me, talking on her cell. She stops to speak. “What can I do about someone who almost ran me over?” she says. I hope she was talking to the Police.

Red light. “So I said to him, ask her what her dress looks like”. “What?” He says to me, “I don’t want to know”. “I know YOU don’t want to know”, she says, “but I want to know. I need to know HOW dressed up people are going to be. Do you think that’s weird?” “ Definitely not”, says her friend. And another Christmas party dress dilemma will be ironed out.

He's carrying a pink Holt Renfrew lunch bag in one hand and a garbage bag full of crumpled pastel coloured shirts in the other. The tassels on his stylish loafers lie frozen in an odd position.

The snow is starting to accumulate, and I am grateful that I have reached my destination.

A handsome, young man wearing a polka dot tie (which seems like an act of defiance to the gathering snowflakes) smiles and opens the door for me. Ah, now my work day can begin.

Good Morning in the Parkade

They walked with the familiarity of non-strangers
leaning in to each other with the rhythm
of their words.

Their laughter comes in waves as we approach
my "hello" a minor interruption in the fluid movement
of their daily dance.

Footsteps behind me interspersed with
the give and take of their parting.

Echoes as their sound disappear.

They leave me in a silent smile.