Writing Our Truth

Kidlet entered  a selection of poems and song lyrics in some contests and to her credit several were published. Kidlet is a good writer .. her words and ideals are passionate and she has a unique style. She was reluctant to let me read one of the posts ... it dealt with a fight that we had. She was afraid it would hurt me. And it did ... just a little, and only for a moment.

When I was in high school my dad read a poem I wrote for my writing class entitled "Grandfather". It had some stanzas that  expressed frustration with cranky old people. My dad thought I wrote it about his father and it upset him. In reality the poem was partiall inspired by feelings I was having about my grandmother who was living with us. I entitled the poem as I did so she wouldn't think it was about her. The poem was based on partly truth... and mostly fiction.  Hey -- I was an arteest!

Those of us who write carry a burden -- the potential that what we express may hurt or invade the  privacy of someone we care about. Our truths may not be shared by others ...

When I was a girl keeping a diary my mom advised me that words could hurt so I may not want to write down everything I think and feel ... especially if it involved others. She felt that no one should be offended if they should happen to read what was written.

I spent years heeding that advice. But the result are three year gaps in my journals -- when things were tough and when my words would have been hurtful. My mom was a really nice person and her advice came from a place of thoughtfulness and kindness. But she wasn't a writer. And I have learned to express my authentic self without being destructive I hope. But it is always in the back of mind ...

My dad struggled with this too. When he started writing his personal reflections and memoirs, he was guarded. His writing was factual - arms length - devoid of heart. We spent alot of time talking about the dilemma of how much to reveal ... We decided to focus on our own personal experiences ... afterall, we own them and have a right to share them. In the past two years I have watched his writing become so much more textured, honest and personal. He is liberated and it shows in his words.

So the words I didn't say to Kidlet were, "I understand. I know this is how it looked through your eyes, and how you felt at that exact moment in time. You are entitled."

We have a need to express and just have to do our darnest not to trample any hearts in the process. But there are no guarantees ...

Signs of the Times

I predict alot of Christmas themed posts in the upcoming weeks, so be forewarned. Not sure Gravol will cure nausea resulting from reading sticky sweet, sentimental, bleeding heart posts related to all things Christmas. I have no will power - I simply cannot resist. And why would I - with this magical season lasting a mere three or four weeks, I want to wring out every ounce of wonderful.

One of the upsides of being a blogger is that I have become more observant to everything and everyone around me. It has deepened my appreciation and gratitude, and inspired me to take notice of signs...

Yesterday as I ventured out for my inaugural shopping expedition, I was reminded that I was having a Canadian Christmas (whatever that means -- touques and beer??).  A station wagon drove by with a scotch pine strapped to the roof and I couldn't help thinking that it was a perfect sign of the times ... it was indeed that time of year.

Today was a great day to do grocery shopping. There were volunteers outside handing out pamphlets from Food For Life asking people to consider donating a turkey so an underprivileged family could enjoy a nice Christmas dinner as well. Coincidentally the grocery store was running a special that awarded a free turkey ($25 value) to anyone spending $250 or more. I filled my cart. We only shop twice a month so I didn't think it would be  a problem to spend that much. I stocked up on stuff, and bought extra stocking stuffers - even tea towels (for wrapping). When the cashier rang up the bill, I had spent $250.67! Talk about cutting it close! I was able to leave the store and hand over my prebasted frozen turkey to the charity waiting outside with a big refrigerated truck. Technically, the store donated a turkey on my behalf. It still felt good.

Tonight we had the first holiday gathering of season at hubby's uncle's place. We crossed the threshold into a wonderland - with decorating that  rivaled Homes and Gardens and planted us staunchly in Christmas. No excuse not to be in the mood now ... I love all of the visiting!

I have no right to ask for anything more, but I admit that I am praying for, affirming and singing for a white Canadian Christmas. Let it snow!

A few more signs of the times ...

Good News -- There Has to Be Some

I watched the news tonight -- a barrage of stories on murder, missing women and children, an arrested teacher, bus explosion, celebrity infidelities, gloom about the war and the anniversary of Bhopol disaster in which more than 8,000 workers perished. The entire 30 minute report didn't contain a single positive story.

What - nothing fantastical happened in the world today? I don't believe that for a moment. Not sure when news had to mean bad news. I think we need a daily dose of the spectacular; we need to hear the stories of the heroes and angels who walk the earth transforming the ugly into beautiful, fixing the broken and healing the sick. We are starving to be inspired and uplifted.

Thankfully social media - just like the blog I am writing - has liberated communications. I can simply turn to my "follow" list and read the insights of my blogger friends, my special community who can share and express their ideas and stories freely. And that, they do. Every day I read something that makes me laugh; that causes me to reflect; and inspires me.

And that is not just good news -- it's great news. Every day.

Women for Women ... a Sisterhood

It was overdue and today, I finally did it. I got me another sister!  After following Women for Women International for months now on Facebook, and reading the field blog, today I finally took action and signed up to sponsor a woman. Women for Women International helps women in war-torn regions  rebuild their lives by providing  financial and emotional aid, job-skills training, rights education and small business assistance.

When you go to the website and learn about the residual damage  and suffering that war causes and the hardships of the women who survive, you may find your throat tightening, and your eyes welling up. I dare you to watch a 5 minute video showing the horrific atrocities and burdens our sisters around the world shoulder - and not weep.  It is both overwhelming and inspiring. It reminded me of the bounty and abundance I have in my own life and I wanted to reach out and not only ease the pain of these resilient, strong women, but also connect with them. I have something to share, and even more to learn.

I should receive my packet from WFW any day and then I will know the face of the "sister" I am sponsoring. I can't wait to start. I have sisters and daughters and the opportunity to support women in need speaks to me.

This was the perfect way to bring light to this dreary, rainy, damp day. I am excited but more importantly, it has me thinking about what else I could do - what other changes I could make to have a positive impact on humankind and the planet.

Stay tuned and I'll introduce you to her when I meet her myself.

Blogger Dad

He did it! He took the plunge ... my 70-something father is now officially a blogger. And I couldn't be prouder. He has been writing feverishly for almost a year now ... recollections, reflections, stories about people he has known, loved and who made a difference in his life. He scoured his memory bank and meticulously recorded the details of important events and experiences that impacted him. As I have mentioned in earlier posts, the size of his commitment and the resulting stack of papers are nothing short of remarkable.

Since he handed over his work for me to peruse he mentioned that he was missing his daily ritual of writing. I encouraged him to keep writing and not let me hold him up. And so he kept on.

I got thinking about he loves to be learning new things, and has always shown a keen interest in reading my blog. So - I set him up with his very own. His story is worth telling -- sharing. Why hoard all those stories of eating whale blubber and raw caribou all to himself?

Anyway - look out blogosphere cause here comes my dad ...

We Walked As We Talked In the Spring Air

We met for breakfast, my dear friend and I, happily chatting between mouthfuls of copious amounts of food - the 1990 Harvest Special at Cora's. After many cups of coffee and admitting defeat to the last piece of cinnamon swirl French toast we took a walk. It had been a long time since we'd spend time together outside of the monthly dinners we have, to just be. We talked as we walked along the picture perfect main street of our town, slipping in and out of the quaint little shops, admiring each fresh blossom sprouting out of lawns and potted plants as we made our way to the waterfront.

The water was dead calm, gently lapping onto the rocky shore and we perched on a few large boulders to breath in the beauty and peace. It was a day of noticing the beauty in all that we saw -- the tiny blue flowers blanketing the pathways; the cardinal in the tree singing for his mate; the pair of Canada geese just out for a leisurely swim; the simplicity in the little century-old cottages with brightly painted doors; the freshness of the springtime breezes; and the warmth that comes with sharing a day with someone who has been a close friend for over 20 years.

And as we walked to our cars and hugged our goodbyes I couldn't help but think to myself,

l i f e
i s
g o o d.

Tagged Virgin -- It's My First Time!

Update: My blogging inexperience innocence is showing. I now know the meaning of tag-free and meme-free sites. Apologies to any who I tried to include in this. It seemed interesting and harmless enough ... but like I warned you, I'm a tagged virgin.

Thanks to Ribsy the Whippet for tagging me. (I think -- I'll let you know)

If you feel like learning more about your blogger mates (or want to risk alienating others), just link to your tagger and add these instructions on your blog:

• Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog - some random, some weird.
• Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blog.
• Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

7 things you should know about me - or not

1. I can touch my nose with my tongue and use my toes to pick things up.

2. I once painted my youngest sister with red lead paint (hey I was a kid ... but she still looks a little pinkish).

3. I love politics, and when I was a teenager, I had a poster of our Prime Minister (Trudeau) hanging over my bed. Maybe I was a little weird ...

4. I used to write a column for our high school newspaper called Gertie's Gossip - and no one (especially NOT the cool kids) knew it was me who was Gertie. [Correction: my best friend Jill knew.]

5. I wake up happy. I go to bed grateful.

6. I eat things that have expired past their due date. I also eat bruised fruit, the white part of the watermelon, grape seeds, plum pits and apple cores. My version of a high fibre diet.

7. I talk very, very fast -- and alot! Or so I have been told. I remember recording a 30 second radio commercial in class in 11 seconds. The prof said we had to work on that!

Tagging (six only): EVENTRYHUS, My little place on earth, Chronicles of a Country Girl, Ramblins ..., [Carrotspeak]

Giving As a Way of Living

During this season of giving, I am uncomfortable. I am restless. It seems everything I am giving, is easy for me to give. I need to give something deeper - more - something that I would be parting with, a sacrifice of sorts. That volunteering notion is nagging me again, creeping from my subconscious to activate my generosity switch.

As we drove past a maximum security corrections facility for youth I thought aloud that maybe I would like to volunteer there ... maybe run a writing group or something. My accomplished teenager asked me (rhetorically) what I knew about running a writing group. A cauldron of emotions boiled over inside me and it confirmed what I already knew (apart from the fact that my daughter seems to know nothing about me personally); I have to be a living example of the change I want to see. I have to do it for her, for my community and most importantly for me.

As a teenager I volunteered at an organization for mentally and physically challenged people. I have never know such joy and fulfillment. I spread my time between the workshops, stores and my most favourite - the group home. I came home every night bubbling with stories of the affection and attachments I was forming with the special people I was supposedly helping. In actuality, we helped one another. They taught me about unconditional acceptance and love and most importantly, I learned about myself. I learned that I had alot of love to share as well as alot of care. I learned that when you volunteer, you always get back tenfold what you give. That's not the reason to give, but it is a reason to live - more abundantly, spiritually and authentically.

The right stream will present itself to me, and when it does, I am ready.