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!

Second Chances

I have a shamrock plant that was my mother's. She's been gone for almost twenty years so to be custodian of a living thing that meant alot to her, means alot to me. It's a finicky plant this shamrock. Over the years, on several occasions  it has wilted up, dropped its leaves and delicate white flowers, and done a convincing job imitating a dead plant.

We moved it from its spot in front of a window to another window in the sunroom so we could decorate for Christmas. It protested by stripping down to its nethers. Honestly - it almost made the dumpster but on close examination, some tiny plump sprouts were detected poking out of the soil. Close call. But we cleaned up the pot and discarded the dead leaves, gave it a good watering and perched it back in front of the window for the best sun exposure.

And it survived. And thrived!

So lesson learned. We have to seek the gifts - the tiny sprouts of hope - in adversity. Hope lives just below the horizon of the darkest day. You may have to look hard - but it's there among the debris.

Mom taught me this as I was growing up and I chose to believe that she was sending me a little reminder to nurture the delicate; care for life and lives. With love and light and time - anything is possible.

Thanks Mom.

Gnarly November

November,

What a tangled web of emotions you weave. Democracy and hope was restored and our country sighed in collective relief. A portrait of my beautiful country was captured in a Cabinet rich in diversity and representation. Pride restored.

I celebrated the births of my first and second born; babies morphed into strong warrior women in their thirties. Wonderment and disbelief and the greatest love I've known.

And in between, we remembered lest we forget. And just as we pulled the poppies from our collars, Paris exploded. Terror reigned and horror flashed relentlessly across our televisions. The crisis in Syria fell of the radar. Racism rose to high tide as fear fueled mistrust of immigrants and refugees. 

Are we like CNN - capable of only singular focus? Can our hearts and minds not expand to meet the great humanitarian need? I hear people say that our Prime Minister's first duty is to Canadians. I disagree. We are citizens of the world; one people. When our brothers and sisters suffer; so do we all suffer. Let's not talk of closing doors on people trying to escape the horrors of war, seeking refuge. Let's keep welcoming, open hearts. Islam didn't commit these crimes; extremist criminals did. 

And in and around all of this, my dear brother-in-law buried his brother and my aunt fought the good fight to transition to a new life. She is a survivor and reminds me not to take my health and family for granted.

My kids didn't like it, but I always reminded them to say good bye as though it was the last time they would do so; not to leave anything unsaid, because one day, it would be just that -- the last time.

Oh November, you've twisted my heart into more contortions than I thought possible... great joy, jubilation, celebration, shock, awe, and heartache.

But hope remains intact. 

Seasonal Cold and Bright Spots

Kicking off the new year with a cold that erupted spontaneously and has me sneezing with such power and vigor that I'm sure they are registering on the Richter scale. Perfect opportunity to stay couchside and catch up on reading - books and blogs - and testing the strength of my high-end lotion filled-tissue.

It snowed most of the day and the temps were minus 30; if I had known I was going to end up sick I would have forfeited the shower and stayed in my pj's all day. I love those rare occasions of guilt free relaxation, when you can do whatever - or nothing - your little heart desires, and the kettles boils up copious cups of tea.

The empty crates stand stacked in the living room in the off chance I get the urge to deconstruct Christmas. No such urge transpired. However our beefy balsam fir is showing signs of dehydration so it's got to happen soon.

Through my watery eyes and cold misery I can still see bright spots to look forward to. I had a SKYPE call with Oliver, one of the directors of Good Hope the other night and from the first moment I heard her sing song voice saying my name, my heart felt lighter. The Internet connection wasn't the best however we managed to have a brief conversation and I was able to ask about the kids. This ongoing relationship with my Tanzanian friends is something I am going to enjoy this coming year.

And the journey to find a new home with acreage will continue, but we are in no rush. We'll enjoy the process of fixing up our house (replacing the 22 year old carpeting) so we are ready when our new home finds us (it'll have to be close enough to my family and work). One of my three amiga friends is turning 50 this year so a celebratory girls' trip will be in order. Hurry up and decide Adventure Girl.

So much to look forward to, lots to anticipate -- like this next sneeze. Fritz - pass the Kleenex!

The Tear Down

Ted Williams - the man the media refers to as "the homeless guy" with the golden voice. Like everyone else, I was captivated by the heartwarming story of this fragile human being who had visibly suffered much and was seeking a better life for himself. But when I saw his image oozing forth from every media orifice,  I became worried that change was coming too quickly and the avalanche of job offers, demands for public appearances and media attention would suffocate him.

True to human form we thrust him on a pedestal, touting his virtues to satisfy our hunger for a fairy tale, feel good story. Then ADDICTION, his insidious disease, his closest companion, made a public appearance of its own. Media outlets buzzed with the compelling follow up story, trying to mask the obvious delight at the story that keeps on giving - and the methodical tear down began. It's what we do; build them up so we can tear them down.

I am saddened by the obvious lack of compassion and caring for this troubled man. Sure the job offers came pouring in - and what would seem like random acts of kindness were probably more like opportunists cashing in on a great story. Who was worried about Ted's sobriety? His bewildered eyes told the story -- he was clearly overwhelmed. Anyone who knows anything about addiction  understands that it is a demon that will be fought one day at a time, for always. Addiction is a lifelong affliction and he needs more than a fancy haircut, clothing makeover and limo rides -- he needs treatment and support. I heard that Dr. Phil reached out to him and convinced him to go to rehab. Of course all of this after he taped three interviews with him. No free ride here ... cha-ching.

My heart goes out to Ted Williams and his family. Addiction is a roller coaster and it is apparent that it is a ride that they have taken many times before. I wish him the strength and resolve that he will need to sustain himself through his treatment, that he may emerge in recovery and finally start living the life he was meant to live.

More Women for Women

I just got word that my Women for Women sister Monica will be graduating from the program at the end of October. It is hard to fathom that a year has passed already since that first glimpse of her in the black and white picture sent in the WFW sponsorship kit. I can remember thinking that her stare was that of someone who harboured alot of pain and her face bore evidence of hard living.

Monica is from the Sudan - mother of seven children at age 23. I wrote her many letters as recommended and although we are cautioned that the women may not be able to reciprocate, I had hoped to hear from her -- how her life was going. No matter. It is my deepest hope that the year spent being loved by a far away sister and supported by Women for Women has given her stable legs and renewed strength to go forward with her life. I have to write her a final letter that will serve as our goodbye -- and then -- I can look forward to learning about my new sister.

Women have been supporting one another forever as long as I can remember. My mom once likened her "coffee dates" with the neighbourhood ladies to a support group. I would hear snippets of their conversations as they stirred their instant coffee as I wandered through the kitchen - invisible. Brainstorming ideas -- how to afford night school; who could babysit the kids; birth control issues; how to meet the demands of husbands and kids. They would clean one another's houses, watch each other's children and pool together to sew curtains and paint bedrooms. Women supporting other women -- and that is what I love about WFW.

I just hope Monica has someone who loves her enough to wrap their arms around her weary shoulders and tell her that they love her. I hope Monica can feel the love and power of half of the planet's population pulling for her-- yearning for her survival and sur-thrival.

Stay tuned for future introductions to my new sister ....

My other posts about Women for Women

He Dared to Dream

Photo: This image is believed to be in the public domain and is from the National Archives

An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity.
- Martin Luther King, Jr.

I was eight years old when Martin Luther King Jr was shot. At the time, I did not fully comprehend his full importance and what his legacy would be. He appeared as grainy black and white images on the TV; images of him making impassioned speeches, leading swarms of people carrying signs, marching arm in arm. He was someone who appeared in stories on the six o'clock news and someone who I heard my parents discussing. I knew his name and I knew he was a powerful, important man. He was a part of the kaleidoscope of sounds, colours and textures of my recollections of the sixties.

My impressions of the sixties are etched in imagery of protests, violence, rage, war, concerts, peace funerals, and tears. I remember watching snippets of the now famous "I have a dream" speech and even though I was a child, I could feel the power of inspiration. I could sense leadership. It made an indelible impression. I knew I was witnessing greatness.

So today in a world where we are parched and thirsty for hope, in desperate need of inspiration on a landscape with leadership in short supply, I salute the larger than life Dr. Martin Luther King Jr who dared to dream and share a vision for a world that would require humankind - us - to become the best versions of ourselves ...

Hearts of Hope

The world as they knew it
Evaporated,  ceased to be.
They are emerging from rubble
Arms outstretched.
The need - so very great.

Will we heed their calls?
We have so much, in fact
More than we need.
It just takes many (each of us)
To give a little.

They are emerging from the rubble
Triumpant and determined.
Life is already resuming
With spirits rising, unifying.
Will we rise with them?

Hearts of hope to the people of Haiti ...
we're listening.

Clamp Down on Breast Cancer

Don't give up hope. I love this message -- found in a Dove chocolate wrapper.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and I am using this post to remind my lady friends of the importance of early detection. I had my own scare two years ago ...

 "I don't think THAT is supposed to be there."  Hubby had found a lump. I had trouble feeling it for  myself ... but after much prodding and squeezing, I found the offensive, hard, ball of terror. My knees instantly weakened, my breathing stopped - and I felt like my heart did too. For certain - time stood still. I processed the finding. After the shock faded, so did the fear. Years ago I had a similar experience when I found a lump the size of a small plum on my neck. It turned out to be a cyst. I didn't worry then - and I didn't worry with this new discovery. I was fairly convinced that it would turn out to be a cyst ... but I took immediate action all the same.

I went to my family doctor, a woman about my own age. After conducting a physical breast exam, she was unable to find or feel any lumps. I asked her for a mammogram. At 47, I had never had one, and there had been some breast cancer in our family history. She was nonchalant, and replied, "well, if you think you will feel better by having one, I'll schedule you a mammogram. I guess it couldn't hurt".

So off I truddled to my first mammogram appointment (the details of which could be its own humourous post), confident with the knowledge that I was being proactive and preventive. It's an odd sensation having your breasts sanwiched - flattened - between the metal clamps. The elderly, kindly technician smiled as she tightened the clamps and said, "let me know when you can't tolerate it anymore". She had explained that the flatter the breast, the better the result - so I bravely went beyond my tolerance and then whispered --"OK - that's as far as I can take it". Then she kciked it up one last notch. That little lady was a sneaky one, but I was on to her game.

I never imagined how good relief could feel until she freed me and invited me to take a seat while she reviewed the film. Admittedly, my knees were weak and the big black spots I was seeing was telling me that I was on the verge of passing out. Release came just in time. After waiting for about 15 minutes in my trendy gown, she emerged from the developing room to announce that we were going to do it again. Well, we ended up doing it three times over, and by the time I left with her cheerful, "now don't worry if we call you to come back in -- it's your first one and that is very common" - I was starting to get a little nervous.

A week later, I was called back in. We repeated the process and she explained that she wanted the radiologist to be present to get a good reading. I agreed wholeheartedly. Believe it or not, I was called back for a third time and this time I received an ultrasound. Fear was starting to creep in. I could see a mass on the screen. The technician is not allowed to reveal what they see, but there it was, as plain as day, and it looked like there was more than one.

A follow up visit to my doctor resulted in her telling me I was loaded with what they thought were cysts -- more than 20. Ironically she still was unable to detect any of them in the physical exam she gave me that same visit -- even after I tried to show her.

Needless to say, I fired her and went to my dad's family doctor. I needed to know something definitive here. After all that I had learned about breast cancer, I wasn't going to fall short of knowing what I was dealing with. I was mobilized by anger and frustration.

To make a long story not so long, I ended up having a needle biopsy and a few of the larger cysts aspirated to make me more comfortable. I had been referred to a breast expert and under his diligent care, I found out that I have dense breasts and am just loaded with cysts - but I do not have cancer.

I am one of the lucky ones but what I learned from this experience is something that I knew all along -- we have to take charge of our own health and insist on knowing what our symptons point to. I will continue to request mammograms every two years and conduct regular self-exams on my breasts. Early detection is key.

To all of the women who are living and fighting with breast cancer, I send you strength and hugs. Don't give up hope.

The Canadian Cancer Society  has this neat little gizmo called the Thingamaboob. It looks like a keychain made of different sized clear, pink beads and it shows  the different lump sizes that can be detected through a variety of breast-screening methods. Go the to the Thingamaboob website to learn more about the importance of mammograms or get your own Thingamaboob.

View the TIME: Breast Cancer Photo Essay -- prepare to be moved.

You may be interested in my post Waiting Room.

Relay for Life

Hope is alive and well and faith restored. And no, I am not talking about Obama. Last night I grabbed Fritz and wandered up to the high school for the Relay for Life opening ceremonies. Kidlet and her pals had a team of superheroes (their costumes) and were participating with more than 600 other students, to help raise awareness of, and money for cancer. The inner field of the running track was converted to a tent city, local bands entertained the crowd with their mostly own material, the air was electric and the excitement was palpable.

I sent Kidlet back to her friends as the ceremonies began and I tried to get Fritz to walk off some of his hyper-ness. As we wandered up and down the makeshift "streets", I couldn't help but smile at the personalities of the individual "camps" ... a Harry Potter pillow, a Sailor Moon pillowcase, someone's special blanket, various beloved stuffed animals, posters of loved ones lost to cancer ...

I could hear the speeches of the four students who told their stories -- of loss and of survival. As each student took the stage, the crowd was hushed, many faces contorted in sadness and tears and some had expressionless, faces frozen in stunned shock. There was a moment when one of the girls speaking stopped mid sentence, voice clenched with grief .... dead silence. The crowd waited just a moment before slowly breaking out into supportive applause.

It moved me beyond words. The sight of the future custodians of our world, experiencing - demonstrating - the goodness that can be achieved in solidarity, in the joining of hearts and minds.

Fritz and I bid Kidlet a fond goodnight - she even kissed me in front of her friends without apparent embarrassment. As we made our way home Fritz and I agreed that nothing makes us more hopeful than the beauty of youthful action ... Relay for Life is really a Display of Life.

History Made - At Last ...

What a day! What a historic day!

Butterflies in my tummy when I awoke this morning. And in the wee hours as I got ready for work I was ticked that I hadn't had the foresight to book a vacation day today so that I could stay home glued to my set. Instead I was glued to CNN's and CBC's live coverage. Don't get me wrong - I squeezed in a bit of work too!

Today is one more, step on the steep stairway leading to change.

As you can imagine talk of the inauguration dominated our office, and my fellow Obama fans and I couldn’t help but answer the call of the swearing in ceremony. The streaming video didn't work out so well so my frustrated colleague who lives close by tore out of the office to watch the rest of the ceremony on a reliable TV. She called out an invitation to all as she departed ...

,

What we started at our desks - we finished in a boardroom - all five of us (our boss-lady included) sat fixated at the images and words that rolled out before us. Misty eyes and a solemn sense that we were sharing a moment bigger than all of us ...

What a day! What a historic day! I have no more tears to shed. My heart is filled with gratitude that in my lifetime I bear witness to this momentous day ... the day that the impossible became possible; and the day that the world rejoiced in the knowledge that as one - we can prevail.

Image from screen shot of CNN coverage

"This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed -
why men and women and children of every
race and every faith can join in celebration
across this magnificent mall, and why a man
whose father less than 60 years
ago might not have been served
at a local restaurant can now stand before
you to take a most sacred oath."
- President Barack Obama

There were times when I thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long, been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come,
oh yes it will.
- Sam Cooke

Tears for Cheers - Obama

My personal Obama-rama continues. Yesterday I watched the We Are One concert shown on HBO. I taped it for Kidlet and ended up watching it again with her last night. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that for the entire show my emotions randomly ranged between lump-in-my-throat to teary-eyed to ugly-uncontrolled crying. I was profoundly moved. This whole Obama thing has mysteriously connected with me on a very deep level. I couldn't help but notice that each and every performer wore huge wide smiles and unrestrained and utter joy.

Tear-inspiring moments

• The shining faces of the mosaic youth choir grooving and moving to the music;


• Bruce Springsteen opening the show with The Rising - backed by a choir of cathedral proportions;


• Hearing Bettye Lavette's mournful A Change Is Gonna Come (it's been a long time coming) duet with Jon Bon Jovi (powerful lyrics being sung by a woman who lived them);


• Heather Headley singing My Country on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on the same spot a black woman sang it in 1933 for the Roosevelts AFTER being denied entry to an event because she was black. Heather Headley's misty eyes and expression showed she got the momentous nature of it all;


• The sheer magnitude of the crowds, the occasion, and the visible hopes invisibly tattooed on the faces of each person in the crowd;



• Pete Seeger the living legend singing This Land Is Your Land and seeing a dream of his come to fruition.
  

My heart is full to overflowing. We need this - humankind needs this collective uplifting. What we do with this injection of hope and call to action is up to each one of us. The images, words and music that has clogged the airways and the networks has me recalling black and white images from the sixties that weren't so positive. Images from the news of assassinations, violence, riots and funerals, have stayed with me even though I witnessed them as a small child. It has me thinking about the pain, anguish and humiliation endured by people through the ages and of the times I have felt ashamed to be white.

In my lifetime I can only recall a few rare moments in history in which the world has shared a collective emotion, or cause - i.e. assassinations of great people such as Gandhi, Kennedy, Martin Luther King and even the death of Lady Diana. The Boxing Day tsunami and the tearing down of the Berlin Wall are two other notables for me. I am certain that I will remember the election and inauguration of Barack Obama as one of those rare flickers in time that optimism and hope was stirred in the hearts of the world -- at least in mine.

Once what were shed as tears for fears are now tears of cheers and renewed faith - in Obama -and in humankind.

P.S. To be continued ...

Beacon of Hope

Well - following the election drought, we are finally getting our Obama fix once again. I can't remember such anticipation and feeling of hope and optimism surrounding a political (or any) event. The excitement is quickly building to fever pitch ... and we are holding our collective breath to see how it will culminate and where it will lead. Are we setting our expectations so high that neither the inauguration nor the presidency could possibly meet them?

I think not! Humankind is thirsty for optimism and hope; for a reason to go on; a reason to dream. We are ready to believe that the impossible is possible; that the monumental challenges and problems facing our humanity and planet can be solved by our collective knowledge, creativity, energy and desires. That the broken can be repaired or reinvented. The common denominator here is the concept of the “collective”. Barack Obama’s speeches and addresses are riddled with references to “we”, “us”, “everyone” and “all”. He is inclusive. He is a beacon of hope for the disenfranchised, the outsiders and the sideliners. He is a symbol of the best of humanity – diverse, dignified, exemplary, intelligent, imperfect, grounded … I could go on forever.

A leader is someone people want to follow. Let’s face it – there is a presidential machine that can conduct the business of the president. But I have always felt the importance of a leader – a president or prime minister – is their ability to have and communicate a vision that unifies; who inspires others and moves society to create a better version of itself. A leader must light the fire in hearts and mobilize nations.

This morning I sit anchored to my TV watching Obama board the train to his future. If you asked me why tears flowed down my cheek, I couldn’t answer. All I know is that my heart is full, my emotions are running high to overflowing, and that my faith in humankind is renewed. I am hopeful. I believe. And this shiny new leader is a beacon of hope to me and many.

Let the fun begin

The best part of the Christmas season is about to begin ... the seemingly endless get-togethers with family and my special friends. As I write this I hear the hum of snow blowers in the background and see the "smoke" streaming outside from our furnace. I haven't ventured outside yet.

I thought I was so well prepared and ahead of the game but now as I sit amid the laundry that needs to be put away, the floor that needs serious cleaning and the odds and sods from kidlet, wrapping remnants and other stuff that has accumulated on our coffee table, I can feel the rumblings of panic setting in. Yikes. I still have to buy drinks and wrap a few things to bring to our first big family party this afternoon. And then there is that baking I haven't started. Oh - and I better remember to shower!

What to do first ... Calm down. Don't get overwhelmed. One thing at a time. Exhale.
Geesh, that felt good.

I just have to remember the point of all the preparations -- family-time! I can't lose sight of the forest for the trees. Priorities! That being said, it's time for me to get off the computer and get ready to go. Start living the fun - instead of just writing about it!


UPDATE: A wonderful time was had by all ... and just as we were leaving, it gently began to snow and one couldn't help but feel the peace and see the hope glistening.

History in the Making

Tonight is the culmination of almost 2 years of U.S. presidential election campaigning and coverage. Being Canadian, there are those close to me who are more than a little baffled by my keen interest (borderline obsession) in the political gymnastics south of our border.

I admit that I am completely engaged in this presidential election - and in Barack Obama. From the first time I heard him speak at the 2004 Democratic convention, Obama captured my attention and my imagination. With every speech delivered, he has resurrected hope for a more peaceful, inclusive America. He has stirred hope and inspired optimism in ourselves and in our fellow man. He reminds us about the best parts of humankind and the power and strength in unity. What is a leader if not one who inspires and moves another to action?

Tonight I sit in front of our large TV screen, hanging off every morsel of coverage and results. And I confess that, like a good book that I don't want to finish, I want to savour every second of this momentous occasion.

Tonight is history making. I want to remember it well so that in future years to come I can tell my grandchildren how I felt and what I was doing the day the Americans elected a black president; the day that proved anything is possible and dreams do come true.

Now, back to Barack.

The Winds of Change

The times - they are a'changing. Or at least I hope so. Like so many millions of others I was glued to TV coverage of the Democratic Convention - and I am not even American. I sat riveted in my seat as speaker after speaker took the podium to deliver a different flavour of inspiration. Caroline Kennedy 's introduction of her Uncle Teddy. Then Teddy's sweeping larger-than-life address that immediately conjured up memories of his elder brother's "Ask not" speech. A living legend from an American dynasty steeped in public service. Michelle Obama's moving tribute to her husband and clearly - her partner. So many more followed ... Beau Biden, Joe Biden, Al Gore, Hilary Clinton, Bill Clinton, John Kerry ... and finally -- the rock star!

What is a leader if not someone who inspires and fires motivation into the hearts and souls of his followers; whose words of conviction fuel the very best of us to action. It was more than hope that Barack Obama delivered ... it was the reminder that we are all capable of great acts and greatness -- and that it will take us all to make the changes we must make.

Kidlet came home from the Free the Children Leadership Academy with her hope renewed and the belief that she - with others - can change the world. She contacted her power and reflected on her values. She grew up in ways that I wasn't sure possible just yet. She told me how the group of 100+ kids loved the safety - the acceptance, respect and love that each one found amongst strangers ... and who are strangers no more. She explained that if this microcosm of such different individuals could find common ground and peace - that the world could also find its way.

She has truly adopted the Me to We philosophy and for that I am supremely grateful -- and hopeful.

Like I said -- the winds of change are blowing and hope is all around us. Brace yourself. Better yet -- embrace - and make the change.