Breaking Through the Fear

 I've been blocked. Fanciful thoughts of starting each day by writing, perched in my cluttered, overly personal office, surrounded by endless framed photos of loved ones, books and treasures collected over decades, were just that. Fanciful. Good intentions that gave way to procastination, avoidance, and fear.

I am scared. I don’t know why or what of. Fear of failure… failure to launch. Fear of commitment. I am afraid but I am pushing through. I am proudly facing my fear. 

I have a phobia about “school”. Call it a paper, and I freeze. Ask me to write a report and I embrace it. I am a college drop out. The first time I saw my father cry was when I told him I wasn’t going back; disappointment washing over his face. Shame washing over mine. 

So that was the moment this A student, academic, college drop out became irrationally terrified of all things “school” or "courses".

I have been emotionally and creatively blocked since my dad passed. I haven’t wanted to write despite having a lot I want to say and express. I started taking an online writing workshop despite my obvious anxiety. I had to do something different. In the past year since I retired, I have spent less than 10 hours on my laptop and most of that was to prepare my tax return.  

I had an epiphany tonight as I participated in the workshop. I could feel my emotions building throughout the evening. Emotions that I have not been able to release for two years. As the instructor talked about the joy of writing, the lump in my throat swelled and I held back tears. It became clear to me -- the source of my blockage. Writing was something my dad and I shared over the years as we worked on his many books and stories. Avoiding the writing helped me avoid the pain. 

This is my fresh start. I can feel him cheering me on as I do now what he did his whole life – be afraid and do it anyway.

I can feel the fear dissipating … my grief is finally defrosting and my creative juices are once again flowing. And so it is.

More on that

 

This is my start.

True to form my commitment to writing wanes when most would be pouring out emotions, purging them from their bodies. It's a consistent pattern for me. Writing gives thoughts and emotions form. And until I can process and understand them, I am careful about the energy I extend. And to top it off, my creativity and writing muscle freeze during times of great duress and change. 

Before my dad passed, in the months before with the many hospitalizations, I would squeeze him hard, get in my car and cry all the way home. Driving time was crying time. And it was the ugly kind of cry - loud and guttural sobs from the deepest parts of me. I remember thinking that I couldn't imagine going on or living in a world without him. He was one of those people - for which it seemed impossible for them to not exist. And then of course, he transitioned. More on that later.

Today I turned on my laptop for the first time in the almost three weeks I left work. I am retired. More about that later. (There's a theme here).

My big emotions have been frozen since my dad's service. I can feel them deep inside, gathering, swirling, waiting for release. So many events, and gatherings have occurred in the ten months since, with little sign of emotions emerging. I knew that once I start the grief ball in motion, there's no way to know how long it will take and just what that release will look like. 

One of my last projects in my work was organizing a conference. We chose to close it on a hopeful note with a creative presentation by Inuk artist Susan Aglukark. As soon as she flashed the first image of an Inuk child up on the screen, I could feel his spirit within me. He was gleeful, almost giddy over what was transpiring. Tears sprung to my eyes and I struggled to breathe through the constriction in my throat from my Herculean effort to hold back the brewing ugly cry. "Are you kidding me?" I silently whispered. "You're showing up NOW?" The grief was starting to defrost and I couldn't afford a melt down. 

Her voice was ethereal and provided a soundtrack for the memories Dad and I had shared in the North. It reminded me of his love of the North and the people with whom he had formed deep relationships. The North had permeated his very being and left him forever changed. Several times when he had been close to death, fighting for his life, he would hear the drumming and see the Northern Lights. Not one light -- but an entire  colourful light show. 

I am retired now and I am hoping I will find time and space to thoroughly defrost. I plan on exploring the creative juices that are starting to flow. More on that later. 

This is my start.

Good bye

 

Last night the unimaginable happened. My dad passed away. I say unimaginable because he was so incredibly strong, vibrant and resilient, bouncing back from every challenge he faced. He convinced us he was invincible. The loving family he created gathered around him, singing his favorite songs - the ultimate famjam.

He accomplished so much and was so many things to many, but mostly I am grateful for the adventurous life he gave us, teaching us to dream and live each day fully. He loved (verb) his family and friends and modelled unconditional love. I'll miss his phone calls, debating world affairs, his sage advice and baked beans - but most of all I will miss the man who made everyone he met feel like they were the best! There are not enough words... ,

New Year's Stream of Consciousness

It’s the kind of day on which great songs are written. The windows frame an inspiring scene –tall pines dusted in lace, a backdrop of for heavy white snowflakes that float leisurely without purpose. 

 Snippets of prose land momentarily and then disappear just as quickly, avoiding capture. So many thoughts, ideas, positions vying for attention, a place on the page. But the chaos only paralyzes, and I choose to let the forces that be make the final cut. 

It’s January second and as per usual, I have procrastinated, not in reflecting on the year past and my current state of being, but rather, in giving them form. Can there be such a thing as too much inspiration? I suspect that my long absence from writing has created a bottleneck, better known as writer’s block. 

Deconstructing Christmas 

The dog sits impatiently at my feet in the hopes that I will tug at his toy or at least show some interest in play. The banging coming from my upstairs living room has me wondering if hubby is chopping down our tree rather than removing it. Grunts and groans and refusals of assistance are muffled by the soft strains of John Denver. We have successfully deconstructed the adornments of Christmas and the house is returned to casual attire. 

 I sit in front of a fireplace that will be crackling by mid-afternoon. I gaze out at the symphony of peace and dreamlike tranquility that only nature can deliver. I breath it in, struggling to stay present, still, after more than six years of this ethereal beauty, I can barely believe this is my reality. I wonder how many more sleeps, famjams and fires we will enjoy here. 

 String of Pearls

I have lived a life in which all my dreams have come true. I have enjoyed all of the wonderful experiences that my mind’s eye and imagination could conjure. For years we balanced a seaside condo with the blazing sunset framed perfectly by our front window, sharing this wonder with friends and family, providing tropical vacations where there may not have otherwise been. We released that dream to fulfill another – a large boat that could hold our entire family. The boat was our sanctuary, serving as our floating place of peace. Falling asleep to rhythmic lapping of waves on the stern and the creaking of rubbing lines on the dock and awaking to the song of seagulls and the gently tolling of sailboat bells was our respite from our frenetic city lives. Over the years, the boat gave way for a humble lakeside cabin. Again, my version of paradise shifted and we spent six summers perched high in the trees, gazing at the magnificent vista and swimming in fresh clean water. When it was time to try our hand at country living, we let go of our cabin to create a natural swimming pond on five acres of history. 

There was a time in which I thought each of these fulfilled dreams would be accumulated like a lifetime string of pearls but my mother was right – we can have it all, but maybe not all at the same time. I’ve had to release and let go to make space for the next. Dream it. Live it. Release. Repeat. And so it is the memories of these experiences that are my pearls that create my lifetime monument and not the material accumulates. 

 And I thought I didn’t have anything to write about.  

Blossoming

 

You burst forward without warning nor pageantry, oh favourite bloom of mine. 

Your stay is brief but magnificent all the same, filling the air with your heavy sweet perfume, and teaching us to savour what is before us, and not to come. 

Your life however fleeting fills my heart to overflowing, and makes me happy, oh favourite bloom of mine.

Invisible

Today the writing prompt was ten minutes on "how am I invisible". This should be good. Anyone who sees me takes my loquaciousness as a sign that I am an extrovert -- talkative and friendly with people. Anyone who really knows me that I am in introverted extrovert with skills. I get high anxiety walking into a room of people I don't know, especially if I am alone. Public speaking  - presenting? I quit jobs over that. I am content to sit back and observe rather than force engagement. I sit in the front row at conferences and meetings. My dad taught me that. I don't even let myself think about it, or choose. I simply walk to the very front of the room and sit alone (usually) in the front row. No escape route. Eyes focused frontwards, exuding false confidence. I have skills. But I digress. Here is my ten minute response to the prompt.

They laugh at one another’s stories and musings, building on them as they take on awkward and hilarious structures. I try to interject but they are lost in their frivolity and energy, completing one another’s thoughts and sentences and are oblivious of my attempts to join in.

There is so much life and happy chaos swirling around me and yet I feel alone in a quiet cone. Invisible really. They no longer need me as they did, certainly not as a source of entertainment or information. They are standalone, self sufficient women in their own rights, confidence cemented in their sisterhood. They have one another. They form a triangle of loyalty and love and each could not be more different. They challenge and criticize one another – and when I am fortunate enough – they do me as well. They debate in heated tones. Their convictions and passions spilling over the kitchen table onto innocent bystanders. 

They are warriors as am I. They have reserves to care for not only their own but their communities. They are equipped to face the unexpected, the dreaded and the pain that awaits. And they possess a vibrancy for art, learning, family and life.

I am quietly proud as the observer of their relationship. It is after all a triangle, not a square. 

Heavy sigh from daughter on the other end. 

I'm Not Thinking Of...

We lost an hour this weekend for Daylight Savings Time and the first day living it is always a bit rough. I sat at my computer wondering if Daughter would make it. I need not have worried. My cell rang just as I settled myself  and arranged my coffee cup in front of the computer. We kept the pleasantries to the minimum, and got right to the prompt. Ten minutes to write about "I'm not thinking about".

 I’m not thinking of the windows that need to be painted that stare back, guilting me about the fact they are half finished. Like an old man with white wispy hair, the tops are a shiny crowning glory and the bottoms are rustic wood. “I’ll get to you” I promise, but right now, I am not thinking about that.

I am not thinking about the day ahead. My head is already too full. It is early and I am still untangling my many dreams, remembering, analysing and trying desperately to piece the fragments together. I am unsettled until I do so. They were important - that I know. Technicolour dreams filled with people I do not know in homes and locations that are new to me. What does it all mean?

I focus on the coffee slowly dripping out, as I try to stay focused. My thoughts start to drift too far ahead of the moment and I tell myself, there is lots of time for that. But for now – I am not thinking of that. Only of the coffee cup in front of me, the aroma wafting through the kitchen, and the dog barking incessantly at the patio door. 

I am not thinking too much at all.  

A Year to File Under "Made It"

 

It's been a year. One like no other. A year of epic proportions navigating a global pandemic. 

We sent our staff home and I collected my essentials, preparing for what I expected to be a few weeks working from home. Who knew it would morph into a year parked in front of my laptop watching the seasons come and go from my kitchen window. 

It was life changing on all fronts. And while many boasted their creative endeavors on social media, I wrote nothing. In a time that will be one for the history books; one that was brimming with firsts and new experiences and testing my mental and physical stamina; I had nothing. I couldn't write a word about it, nor did I have any desire to do so.

And a quick scan of my hefty collection of journals confirms it. When life is tough, I don't write about it. My journals are flush with three year gaps. Divorces. Sickness. Deaths. Stress. I lived all of it but I didn't record it. Maybe it is because my mother taught us that thoughts materialize; that the power of positive thinking works just as strongly the other way. Think it and so it shall be. Expect the worst and you will surely get it. She helped wire me to expect the best possible outcome. It's a reflex. I have a medical test and I expect things to be just fine. If they aren't, I am truly surprised. 

For many, writing about their woes is therapeutic and cathartic. No so for me. Writing gives "it" form. It gives those times a permanent home that I really don't feel the need to revisit. That doesn't mean I deny them or rewrite history. I proudly own each and every choice in my life - positive and otherwise. They have brought me to this very moment.  Teaching. Shaping. Empowering. Me. The journey of my evolution.

During the pandemic I turned 60, became a grandma for the second time, resurrected some relationships after a 20 year hiatus, missed celebrating milestone birthdays, mourning losses and cancelled famjams. My hunger and appreciation for my family and loved ones has deepened. I miss them.

It's been a year and over time, I won't remember the details and every complaint, and worry. I will however always remember the love and longing I felt. Just like the books on my shelf that I can't remember the name of a single character or plot, but I remember how I felt about the read. 

This past year gave us space to learn how creative and resilient we are; how kind, supportive and caring we can be; and what community looks like. 

It was a year like no other. And we made it, a luxury denied millions.

I Am Thinking Of

Today's 10 minute writing prompt: I am thinking of...

I am thinking of so many things at this exact moment in time. The arrival of spring is upon up us – or so she would have us think. For the first time this morning I heard the squirrels having a turf war with the crows. Dogs barked incessantly in the background and a flock of geese flew noisily overhead. The ground was spongy, and snow covered most of the ground. I stepped in dog poop that was disguised as earth. That’ll be a pick-up job for another day. 

I marveled and how quickly the seasons change. They lure us in with promise of warmer weather and springtime just long enough to hammer us with a final dose of winter. Our taxes are due in a week. Springtime surprise, I thought as I see the recycle bin roll by. 

My to do list is infinite, even in this pandemic. How is that possible? I have to see my dad soon. It’s been too long. And my grandkids are probably not going to know me. I am feeling busy and tired but in a strange way satisfied. Daily writing has been a blessing. A reminder that there is something in every day of living worth writing about. It is easy to forget that. My pile of half read books beckon – don’t forget about us. And my puppy whines at my feet, also asking me to not forget about him. Just to make sure I don't, he snatches my rubber book and makes off across the kitchen. 

Fridays seem to be that day when we finally allow ourselves to let down, and let it all hit us. My mind overflows with memories, reminders, faces, ideas – genius ones at that – wishes and dreams. I am thinking that maybe I need to take a break from thinking for a bit. I wander down the hallowed pathways of my memories, excavating, those that I have left undisturbed for so many years. I do this when I am thinking about my mother. It always comes back to her. I miss her. But if I let myself, I can conjure up the warmth of her neck, her kind voice and her loving embrace.

And how is your Friday?

Numbers

The dog was whining but the coffee was made and daughter was on the phone to deliver the day's writing prompt. Our puppy senses that this time spent with daughter writing is precious, more precious than playing fetch or wrangling his chew toy in a game of tug of war. He demands to be heard and it lands him in his crate, if only for ten minutes. And then, poised, ready and waiting over my keyboard, she tells me the prompt -- numbers. My fingers hit the keys, bringing form to threads, notions and incomplete thoughts, resurrecting memories filed in the farthest corners of my archive. Here we go.

Numbers. Measuring, quantifying, assigning value. They can be simple as an age or as complicated as a variable mortgage. 

Numbers were my friend, and then they weren’t. In grade school I shone brightly with sums and multiplications but we started to part ways with the introduction of long division.

And then there was algebra – a mix of x’s and y’s and unknowns. Mrs. Gurney passed me with 51% to ensure I would not be a repeat customer.

And years later, I became a sales manager with commission and reward tied to goals – numbers! Calculating, estimating and ultimately putting a dollar sign in front of those numbers and suddenly they all made sense. 

I don’t have a favourite number. But apparently the devil does. I lived at 666 Moffat Street and I enjoyed the attention that it got whenever I cited my address. The devil’s house! 

I remember the anticipation of turning ten – double digits – as if somehow it heralded to the world that I was no longer a skinny little kid. The extra candles didn’t change that. 

And now I no longer race towards the next age, the next marker of time lived. Those numbers are not my friend but we have come to an understanding. The age I am at this very moment is my favourite – my favourite number. Because it is the only thing of which I am certain. I am. Now. 

And there is no number to quantity my gratitude, for it is infinite.

I Forgot

I was on point this morning - ready at the computer for my next writing prompt with my daughter. She answered sheepishly, "I'm running late Mom. Give me a few minutes."

I thought I would putter while I waited: 

Late
This, that, the other. Don’t forget. Where is that… What did you say? Don’t forget.
Rush, frenzy, discombobulation.
Remember.
Don’t forget.

Then she called to tell me today's writing prompt is "I forgot". I laughed. There are no coincidences. We're connected. Then I "shushed" the dog one more time and hit the keyboard.

I forgot

What? I just forgot. I can’t remember what I forgot, but I know that I forgot.

My dreams are filled with me forgetting… 

forgetting to get my grad gown for high school commencement

forgetting to invite my family to my wedding

forgetting to wear pants to my first day on the job

But those were just dreams.

We were dying to get out of our apartment, take in a movie.

We said “why not? My gut told me there was a reason.

We threw on coats. We locked door and headed down the hall laughing, happy, light.

The elevator opened and we got in. My apprehension followed close behind.

The doors closed.

Then I remembered what I forgot.

We have a baby!

Water

 

"Do you want to do some writing with me, Mom?" she asked. "Only ten minutes a day... with a writing prompt".

It's been a long time since I've properly exercised this writing muscle of mine so I was eager to accept, and just a little intimidated. Daughter is a gifted writer but the rules say that at the end of the ten minutes we read our writing to one another - and listen without judgement and comment. Of course I couldn't contain myself and burst out a compliment when she finished... 

She called me just before seven and stayed on the line as we wrote for ten minutes. Writing in harmony. I think I'm going to like this new ritual.

And now I am renewing my commitment to writing, just a little, if not daily, then as often as I can. 

Today's prompt was "water".

Water

Slipping down my cheek.
Bubbling, welling, until there is no other option but to release and roll.

Pelting waves down my back.
Soothing, scalding ribbons of bliss to awaken me to a new day.

Rhythmic tapping on the roof.
Staccato pellets of comfort reminding me how warm and safe I am.

Washing over with every plunge.
Immersing and then surrendering back to the surface with every stroke.

It draws me in and pulls me closer.
The ebbs and flows inviting, teasing, reminding me that the sea is a part of me.

My place of peace.
The river hears me without judgement. It harbours my secrets and welcomes me home.

Staring Down Sixty

Me wearing sixty - freshly washed hair and a scrubbed, au natural face. 

Today is my birthday. I turned sixty.

Months ago the rumblings started about what I wanted to do to celebrate my sixtieth birthday. Sixty is a milestone birthday after all, and deserves to be celebrated. The advice I would give to others. And funny enough, I wasn't really feeling it. Not like I did when I was turning fifty. Then I wanted adventure; to push myself outside of my comfort zone; to travel to distant lands; and then to celebrate the day by cooking a feast for all of my beloved friends and family. I had clear desires and intentions around that special birthday and I realized them all.

I had landed on a family dinner with just the kids, sibs and our parents. And then the pandemic was declared and our world as we knew it was no more. We were sent home to roost in our respective nests to isolate and I was left to ponder and reflect.

I have come to realize that as the years pass, it takes less to satisfy me, to make me happy. I am contented. I have traveled and explored wild and wonderful places and loved and lived deeply. I have raised a brood of kidlets and enjoyed the riches and responsibilities of a large loving family. I have been blessed with rewarding work and curiosity that of a life long learner.

And now at sixty my heart yearns for connection, time spent, more moments shared with those I care about. And so for all of what I have experienced and the textures and colours that make up my life, I am truly grateful. And for all that we will learn from the pandemic and the famjams that will follow this quarantine, I am brimming with anticipation.

I am staring down sixty and the view is spectacular.

Reconnection

Reconnection. That is the word for the "now". International Women's Day has me reflecting on the many women who provided the texture and substance for my life. My mother and grandmothers from whose hardship, breast and bone I was borne.  Their resilience, strength and resolve that I can only pray is packed into my DNA.

My father used to tell me that I didn't need alot of friends; I needed a few good friends. And he was right. And over my lifetime I had had the privilege of having deep friendships - from school, college, and my workplaces. Some have come and gone, fulfilling their reason and season but I have a small group of friends that have been a constant, doing life with me.

A few weeks ago I had the urge to look up someone who had been very special to me and who I hadn't spoken to in over twenty years. The reasons are a little complicated but in a nutshell, our lives took us in very different directions. I had tried  to find her ten years ago to no avail. But my recent efforts paid off. She popped up on Facebook and I direct messaged her. I was nervous, wondering if she would want to reach out. Within days I received a pleasant reply. She was interested in catching up and promised to call me when she gets back into the country. It filled my heart and I was happy that I had listened to, and acted on my intuition.

Tonight I caught up with my forever friend Jilly and we covered the gamut of topics - Trump, Dems, Co-Vid 19, parents, kids, community, LGBTQ2, Pride, plans --- you get the picture. It was the kind of conversation one has if you lived next door, and she anywhere but. We share a universal connection not based on frequency or intensity. It just is - as sure as life itself. And after I speak with her I feel content and grateful. She is a changemaker and she is my hero.

I wrapped up my weekend with texts with my soul sisters to make plans to spend time together. We're trying to make our visits more frequent this year and it is a struggle but our commitment extends over 25 years now... longer than any of my marriages!

Reconnection is food for my soul, and tonight, this soul is full to overflowing.

Family. Celebration. Gratitude.

My week in three words: family, celebration, gratitude.

I've been a grandmother for more than a year now and, with the exception of the week I spent with the new moms when my granddaughter was born, this week I finally felt I earned the esteemed title. I was called into action to provide moral support, comfort and a roasted chicken to the moms. My pregnant daughter in law was ill and suffering with pulled back muscles and my daughter was suffering from a broken heart watching her wife struggle to breath and sleep. My little g-kidlet was somewhat oblivious, rearranging the contents of her mother's purse; emptying the closet of its boots; and donning the closest toque and gloves she could find. I understood the helplessness they felt. There aren't many medicinal options when you are pregnant and ill.

As I picked up the toys and well-loved books scattered about the nursery, my daughter rocked our baby girl and her voice quietly sang the same lullaby I put her to sleep with as a child. What a sweet reward for this grandma.

So much to celebrate. My MIH and father-in-law celebrated their 51st wedding anniversary this weekend. Teen aged lovers who stayed the course, and after a lifetime of parenting and grandparenting, are still joined at the hip as a solid pair. And the celebrations didn't stop there. Families came together for the first birthday celebration of my grand nephew. Looks like everything will be "grand" from here on in. So many smiles, hugs, "ooo's" and "ahs". And the chili wasn't half bad either.

And this leads me to gratitude. My meditation these past few days have consisted of quick silent affirmations, some deep breaths as I drove and most importantly, quiet prayers of thanks.When I find myself complaining about my ailments and fatigue, I remind myself that it is a privilege to be here, whole, and cocooned in the love of my family. And for that I am supremely grateful.

No Straight Lines Make Up My Life

I have been taking more time for reflection and meditation, thoroughly enjoying what comes to me when I still my mind. The montage of life from the past two years plays out before me in vivid colour like a trailer of greatest highlights...and the emotion of every scene washes over me.

Life is like that. We expect it to be linear, one event, one crisis at a time to face and overcome, contained in its own space and time. In reality, life comes at us all at once, from all directions. We can be celebrating a birth at the exact same time as comforting a sick family member or mourning a death of a loved one. Weddings, funerals, graduations, retirements, birthdays, babies, divorces, challenges and achievements. One cannot be shelved in favour of another. Each demands its own face time and our attention; to be acknowledged. Each demands that we be in it, feeling what needs to experienced, doing what needs to be done, and sharing and loving with our whole hearts as we go. Life is like that; rich; deeply textured; and simply fantastical.

I am learning that the source of my joy and life's purpose is living mindfully, connected, immersed in love, with gratitude for the opportunities to experience my full range of emotions and evolve with each one.

And for that, I am truly grateful.

Love is life. And if you miss love, you miss life. ~ Leo Buscaglia

On My Way Back to Myself

I've missed you. To be honest, it feels a little strange to be back in this space that was once my place of comfort; exploration and creativity. I strayed; I experienced alot of life; and I reflected. And  just as life famously does, it has deposited me back at the doorstep of this blog. It is calling me and I am ready. It's not unlike dusting off an old trunk of precious treasures and memorabilia.

Last weekend I was at a two-day retreat, Journey to Rise. I went to support my friend Laura and in the process I was awakened to what I have learned over the years of reading, manifesting and knew to be true. I had a sign...I heard people repeatedly calling my mother's name, Roma. It's not a common name especially if you are of Irish/French Canadian descent. And then I realized the gentle healing dog that greeted each of us was named Roma. I warmed at every mention.

I meditate, well, at least since last weekend. I am not good at it. I struggle to keep my mind from cycling and to be still in the quiet. But I have to believe that I'll get better at it.  I have been starting small with short 10-12 minute long guided meditations - last thing I do before I fall asleep and the first thing in the morning. I have been sleeping deeper  and have felt joy radiating from my deepest being all week.

When my eyes are closed and no matter what the meditation calls for, the word LOVE pops up, in fuchsia, blue and purple. What do you want? LOVE. What is your reason for gratitude? LOVE. What do you picture your future self doing? LOVING. I am LOVE.

And my purpose is right there, lurking in the distance, gradually coming into focus.

I am writing. I am creating. I am listening to music. I am reconnecting and strengthening my connections (more about that in my next post) and I feel a deep peace and feeling of gratitude.

I am on my way back to myself.

Love Prevails

He's moving quickly and the impacts of his frenetic signing of executive orders are being felt just as swiftly. It's a mess. Rights are in the cross hairs - women's health; newcomers; Muslims; Mexicans; non-governmental organizations serving vulnerable populations;affordable healthcare... But big business is the favoured child staring at deep tax cuts and deregulation. The stock market is happy but that only represents a tiny fraction of the population, and certainly not the disenfranchised, disadvantaged and people living at the struggling end of the American Dream spectrum.

The planet seems to experiencing a collective dim period right now. Chaos at the airports. Fear of government. Blatant expressions of racism and hatred and intolerance toward those are "different" and atypical.

And last night six people were shot in the back and five others injured - as they prayed in their house of worship. The unfathomable happened in Canada; an act of terror. And in solidarity, countries around the world told us they were with us -- the Eiffel Tower went dark; flags flew at half mast and the Pope and other world leaders condemned the massacre.

As I have been wired, I seek the gift in this slurry of adversity. And my heart fills up.

People are not having it. We've come too far and we don't want to go back. People are taking their shock and awe and anger to the streets. They are speaking out and protesting with messages of inclusion, indignation and social justice. We are not having it.

We are one world; one love. Love conquers all, and love will prevail.

Missing Barack

I remember the hope and optimism I felt watching Barack Obama being sworn in as president. A new first for the U.S. - a black president who seemed to speak for all who'd never had a voice. A man of grace and integrity with a vision that was inclusive and with values that, as a Canadian, were easy to embrace.

Kidlet and I watched the inauguration of Donald Trump from the cosy Italian restaurant. She wouldn't let me take her picture with the tv in the background...she said she didn't want a record of it; she didn't want to remember the day. We both teared up watching the Obama helicopter disappear into the gray horizon - and taking our optimism with it.

Politics aside, I can't ignore the growing feeling of despair I feel. It's as though I am witnessing the rollback of goodness and progress. I am sick and tired of the "anti" politics -- anti immigrants; anti undocumented workers; anti women's rights; anti human rights; anti climate change; anti media; fake news; alternate facts; smokescreens, trivial tweets and negativity.

I am thirsty for decency and civility from leadership. In a world in which we are tackling bullying and violence with our youth (and beyond), we see name calling and incivility from the top; base, petty bickering, all unbecoming of the leader of one of the most powerful countries in the world.

Fear is rising as the clamps are tightened in the United States. More than ever I am grateful to be Canadian where, so far, we are welcoming to the most vulnerable people in the world and feel a moral and social responsibility to protect and share with those who are in need. With arms outreached we encircle the weak, defeated and traumatized and offer sanctuary and social justice.

The world needs more than a little love. And it starts with each of us. I want my optimism back!

Worth Celebrating

Last year he didn't want to celebrate his birthday - being so close after Christmas (or so he said). "I'm turning eighty next year -- we'll have a party then". I pointed out that his January 5th birthday is always right after Christmas, and that would never change. But it seemed like a plan.

"No presents" he insisted. "There's nothing I need; I don't need one single more shirt or sweater. I just want to spend it with the family".

And so my sibs and I rallied our spawn and impressed upon them the importance of them clearing their calendars and making sure they attended. No coaxing required - they were all in.

And so we all planned. We set the date (the Saturday after his actual date), he booked his community clubhouse and then we cut him off from any further details.

We contacted his close friends and colleagues, some former students and family and invited them to contribute to a book we were putting together. Have you ever sat a funeral listening to heart wrenching, moving eulogies in which they express how much the departed meant to them or impacted their life? Eulogies and superlatives are wasted on the dead and funerals. Anything worth saying should be expressed to the ones who truly matter to us. And so we asked people to share...and share they did. We knew the greatest gift we could give him would be the knowledge that he impacted lives; that he made a difference and that he was heard.

The hall filled up with wide smiles; balloons hovered above; Jeff took his seat and the grand piano and the party unfolded. We laid our our potluck smorgasbord of lasagna, baked beans, pulled pork, chicken, roasted potatoes and veggie chili - comfort food prepared with love from loved ones. Harmony and hubby performed "I Understand" and we sang some favourite family songs.

And then the elder addressed our tribe. He told them of his humble beginnings and happy childhood. He reminded them that they came from good, strong, resilient stock that valued family and relationships above things. His kids and grandkids sat wide-eyed while he quietly spoke, hanging on every word. He still has that authoritative air about him...

Every member of our family was there to show him what he means to all of us. We celebrated him and reveled in the warmth and love that was palpable in the room. We all need more reasons to celebrate, and every birthday is worth celebrating.

And so we came together to celebrate our patriarch and in doing so, gave ourselves the gift one another; the collective strength, security and unconditional love that comes with belonging to a tribe like ours.

And for that, I am truly grateful.