On what it is to be Quiet, Quiet, and What’s Next

What it is to be Quiet

We have largely been living in an extrovert’s world, Susan Cain explains in her popular book ‘Quiet.’

I have recently begun reading ‘Quiet’, and I am intrigued. So much has already been said on the topic of introverts and extroverts, but it is still enlightening to think about where you fit on that wide spectrum.

Cain’s words resonate.

I remember my teachers saying,

‘Karen is shy and quiet. She needs to participate more,

come out of her shell. ‘

I grew up thinking that being shy was very much a negative trait. It was also self-fulfilling. Since I had been firmly labeled as ‘shy’ and sensitive from the very start, it seemed way too awkward to just suddenly, out of the blue, start actively participating.

My thoughts were far from empty though, rather, I was subject to diverse streams of thoughts constantly.

But where and how to even begin expressing all that was in my head? It was easier to stay in my shell,

safe.

In writing, at least, I could begin to pin my thoughts down and create meaning. Which, I read, is another trait of introverts,

‘Introverts focus on the meaning they make of the events swirling around them; extroverts plunge into the events themselves.‘

Us introverts often want to ponder and pull at events and ideas and symbols, mull them over, twist it all up into a story, a lesson – find the plot, the outcome, the message, the

what next.

And so, as a child, I required much unstructured time to think and read (how I have always loved to read).

This was how I replenished.

And even though I have grown out of my shyness, because life inevitably forces us out of the wings and onto the stage and being an introvert need have nothing to do with one’s ability to socialize,

for the most part, ALONE is still how I replenish.

In communion with my thoughts, my ideas, my myriad collection of pens and lovely journals, my piles of books, my countless cups of tea,

Bliss.

And after a time and like magic,

I will re-emerge with renewed perspective and a full heart.

For, I actually love people,

and savour real connections. Having heartfelt conversations and nurturing the deep relationships in my life are of the utmost importance to me.

I can also mingle, dance, lead or attend a workshop, give a talk, make jokes at a dinner party (and enjoy and be stimulated every minute of it), travel to new places and feel at home on the most crowded of streets…. I love all that stuff~

but then,

I am tired, and need my quiet time to process it all.

I am only really understanding now, in my forties, how crucial it is that I

just make space.

I hesitate, though, to admit to my readers that I am an introvert. It still feels like admitting to a weakness or claiming a trait that will somehow hold me back in life.

Most of us, though, have little parts of our personalities that we wish were different. Maybe we believe we are ‘too emotional’ or just ‘over the top’. Maybe we laugh too much or are too loud or too serious. Maybe we think we are seen as flighty and dreamy or too strict. Or maybe there are even ways that we have been lead to think about ourselves that are not really us at all.

I tell my kids all the time….’You are exactly how I would choose you to be. I would not change a thing…. Because you are you.’

There is such huge empowerment in simply accepting the beautiful essence and expansiveness of who we are. Personality is deeply complicated, and the ways that my introversion is expressed may not at all be the way another’s presents itself. There is such value in examining what feels comfortable for us, what we need to feel balanced, and owning that truly and without apologies.

That is when our real work in this world, I believe, can truly begin.

And that is the whole point.

Quiet

My favourite quiet place.

What’s Next

Friends, this is my 49th post. When I began blogging I had no idea what would come of this. I knew, though, that I needed to begin paying real attention to my dreams and the areas that have always pulled at me. Not only was this important in order for me to be sane and happy, I also needed to show myself and my kids that I was capable of taking ownership for making things happen in my own life. That is what I want to model to them.

This is not a job. Some people have figured out how to make a career out of blogging but I, as of yet, have not. However, it is still part of a path that feels very right to me. That I do know. It is not ‘what I do’ but it is certainly one of the things that I do and I have stopped believing that there is some grand and final destination where I will ultimate find ‘my work’. It is all my work. And not only does this writing gift me the precious opportunity to keep developing as a writer,

but I get to write for a real and brilliantly thoughtful, wise and compassionate audience (yes, that’s all of you), experience priceless feedback, and find my own meaning in the everyday.

I also believe with all of my heart that this is an important time in history.

Now, more than ever, we must be brave enough to speak the truths of our own hearts. We must find ways to open up, connect, create peace.

So whatever this is, and however it continues to unfold, I hope that, above all, it encourages you to live with authenticity and heart and live your real story too.

My posting schedule is presently shifting, but expect one more post before Christmas (#50!), and then my blog (perhaps a little re-imagined and renewed) will begin again in January heralding the next 50 posts…..

On 3 things about my adventure

The adventure I alluded to a few weeks ago has now come and gone. I spent 10 days in New York City and it was a significant trip for a couple of reasons.

Firstly, I had been looking forward it for quite some time. Since the diagnosis of my heart condition, we haven’t ventured very far. When I found out that I was going to finally have my surgery, I imagined this trip as something to look forward to at the end of my recovery period,

my carrot that I would be able to enjoy with renewed vigor and health.

Also, New York is the place of our Olivia’s dreams. I couldn’t wait to see it through the eyes of my girl who has always yearned to see the stages of Broadway and feel the captivating energy of this city that oozes such wild and glorious creativity.

Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater where the kids did a West African dance class

For the first 5 days in New York I had the honor of chaperoning the grade 8 dancers from Olivia’s school. We had the luxury of a big bus and a witty and fantastic guide. Our days with the tour were long and packed full with sightseeing and dance classes.

On the last day of the school tour, Dan and George flew out and met Olivia and I for five more days.

It’s always a bit difficult to talk about trips. Condensing a myriad of adventures into some sort of interesting summary feels challenging and I always wonder how much people actually want to hear. So for my purposes here, I have chosen 3 favorite moments, with some Peace at Home Project style meaning attached. (;

Broadway Dance Workshop:

When Olivia was little, I used to find her in her room making up dramatic musicals about her feelings.

She has never really walked, rather she bops and twirls and grooves. She entertains as much as she talks. Don’t ask me where all of this drama and constant movement comes from because Dan and I can’t figure it out, but a love for the stage seems to be embedded in her cellular makeup.

Waiting to enter the theater for our first Broadway show in NY, ‘Wicked’, it is no exaggeration to say that she was fairly vibrating.

My favorite fine arts moment, though, was when Olivia got to experience a Broadway Dance workshop at the Broadway Dance Center. Her instructor had performed with the cast of the hit musical “Matilda‘ and taught the kids a dance from that show (we were fortunate enough to be able to see Matilda after Dan and George arrived).

At the end of the class, in a very real and candid way, this kind young man spoke to the kids about what it really takes to make it to Broadway. He described his journey, his background, his training, his triumphs and his difficulties. He generously dispensed advice and Olivia held on to every word,

riveted.

It’s one thing to have your own dreams, and have them materialize or not, or hold deep passions that are mostly suppressed but perhaps occasionally nurtured in opportune moments that find us,

but to see the heart of your child being directly met and spoken to

surpasses anything a parent might ever want for themselves in this life.

This was such a moment.

Anniversary of 9/11

It so happened that the first full day that we were in New York was also the 9/11 anniversary.

Our guide was gifted at bringing home to us the impact that this event has had on the psyche of the city,

and came back to the topic frequently, as it is so intertwined now in the collective identity of New Yorkers.

The teachers felt it would be meaningful for us to enter one of the fire halls and have a moment of silence together, as the fire halls open their doors every Sept. 11 and welcome in people to talk, continue to process, and leave flowers and condolences . Though the kids may not have been able to truly grasp the depth of how the world changed on that day, it felt important to us that we model to the students a showing of respect, as visitors. Some of us chaperones reminisced about being pregnant at the time of the attacks with our now 13 year-olds. We clearly remembered feeling terrified by the prospect of bringing babies into a world where such a horrific thing could happen.

And so we all entered into one of the fire halls, stood in a circle and held hands as we offered our own minute of silence.

Several of us wept while the firefighters watched in deepest gratitude for our gesture of love. This particular fire hall had lost every one of its firefighters. I cannot pretend to begin to understand the complicated feelings of loss and fear, and abiding sorrow that still surround this event,

but I did feel as if for a precious moment we were gifted the profound and beautiful privilege of sharing and holding just a sliver of the grief.

Dancing on the High Line

There is a beautiful park in New York that you must go see if you are ever there. In a city that is masterful at creating green spaces in such a densely populated and urban environment, the High Line is a 1.45-mile-long New York City linear park built on an elevated section of a disused New York Central Railroad.

It is beautiful, full of wildflowers, plants, artwork along the way, plenty of seating, and a section where you can buy food and gelato,

What an innovative and extraordinary way to look at parks and greenspace design. We saw The High Line in its infancy the first time I was in New York, and our tour guide Mitch gave us a quick taste of it on the tour group’s last day, but it is the kind of place that calls you back again and again.

Towards the end of our very best family day in New York (because traveling is not always easy, carefree, and without its cranky times) we found ourselves enjoying walking along the High Line after enjoying tacos from Chelsea Market.

At one point, we stopped and looked down as a wonderful band was playing on the street outside a restaurant below. People had gathered round the musicians and were smiling, singing, moving to the beat.

The music was lively and happy, the city night lights were aglow,

and we stayed on for a good twenty minutes, watching and dancing.

Everything felt twinkly and magical and good.

This moment cost nothing and we weren’t at the top of the Empire State Building or eating a gourmet meal or shopping in a designer store or staring at very old and famous art. All of these things are very nice and have their value,

but I think it’s safe to say that this moment was our very favorite at all.

I wish I had a photo of it, but we were too busy just being happy to take one.

Life’s funny that way.

On an adventure…..

On an adventure….

My blog will be short this week.

I know lots of you are busy anyways with all the sorts of new things that September brings ~ back to school and activities, resuming routines, getting organized again.. I am actually headed off on a very big adventure next week and am quite excited about it but also a little (a lot) overwhelmed at the moment with all that needs to get done before I leave.

So for now, I am going to attend to my to-do list and preparations, and promise you a full report in my next post which will be in 3 weeks, Friday Sept 25.

Wishing you all wonderful adventures, big or small,

as well as trust and ease as we transition into a new season and a busier time.

Another first day on another September, seven years ago.

On fire, fire, and cousins

On fire,

Much of our local news lately has been around fire. We also just returned from Montana where the days and nights were extremely smoky.

Dan read online this morning that there are presently over 100 active wildfires burning in that state, so the fire and smoke was and is a discernible presence.

A couple of weeks ago we made our way to Columbia Falls, Montana, via the spectacular Going-to-the-Sun road and saw the ravages of the recent fire that had moved through sections of West Glacier Park.

Our 10 year old George, in particular, was concerned. Natural disasters worry him to no end, and his ears perk up at any slight mention of new developments. He requires constant updates and conversations about what is going on,

his logical mind requires the facts.

We try to remind him constantly, though, that fire is essential to healthy forests.

It is part of the natural environmental cycle. Fire renews, regenerates and cleanses. We fear fire, and understandably rush to suppress it as it threatens and draws near, but we must still recognize and value its importance,

its place.

Before our trip into the States, a couple of friends and relatives who were concerned for George warned us that we would be driving through the fire site. We could have gone a different way, but I intuitively felt that George would be ok and that it might even be helpful for him to witness the fire site firsthand.

Our late afternoon drive over the pass could only be described as deeply quiet and peaceful. We drove by the firefighters’ camp and then into a parcel of tall burnt trees,

a still blackness.

It was easy to see that something powerful had happened there, and we were all in awe of it.

Yet, already, there were little tufts of bear grass poking up, new life.

How quickly nature moves back in ~ animals returning and a little green forest floor already pushing up and through,

life restored without hesitation.

As we drove on I remembered how nine years ago, the month after my mom died, we did this same trip into Montana.

There was no talk of fires that year that I recall, and the drive was positively stunning. The flowers were in full bloom, the bear grass was tall and especially magnificent, the park teemed with energy and the fullness of colour and summer.

I felt blessed by the flowers, the mountains, and the trees – especially the trees.

On that afternoon’s drive as strange as it may sound, I intensely felt as if all of nature was comforting me through the deepest sadness I had ever known,

letting me know that life is so much bigger and greater than I could ever possibly understand.

And then, nine years later, driving through the same forest and mountains with my family again,

Witnessing again a kind of destruction and rebirth, such achingly beautiful resilience,

graceful resilience.

Nature is resilient.

We are resilient.

George still worries, of course, but he sees a bigger picture too.

Fire

Ironically, the very morning that we were set to leave Montana and head back to Waterton, I opened up my emails and found a notice from Parks Canada alerting Waterton residents to a possible evacuation due to another wildfire that had started the previous day due to a lightning strike.

‘Oh my God, you won’t believe this,’ I said to Dan.

We read that if it became necessary to evacuate, an alarm would sound in the townsite and we would have no more than one hour to leave.

We both had the same first thought, ‘how do we tell George?,

and

‘how traumatic would that be to get back there and then go through an evacuation?’

We slowly processed the information and felt a bit panicked.

‘I need to grab that photo I love‘ I thought, ‘mom’s quilts‘…,

and ‘our dear little cabin, threatened.’

A couple of hours later, however, the evacuation alert was rescinded, we had explained the situation to the kids, and we were packed up and on the road back to Waterton, driving home through that same mountain pass,

through ever-stunning views,

this time held partly in mystery by more haze and smoke and low clouds.

An otherworldly drive.

As I write this, there are still five crews and two helicopters working through the days, but the Waterton Lake wildfire is largely contained.

All fires eventually die.

Two nights ago, we took this picture from the Prince of Wales hotel. In the very distance is where the Waterton (Goat Haunt ) fire still lingers.

What beauty, though, it is being held within.

Cousins

There has been lots of play this summer, with good friends, and also great quality time with cousins.

During our big family reunion on the Westwood side, we spent over a week with grandparents, aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, cousins.

I love that.

Though Dan has an endless repertoire of stories about his cousins and all of their adventures and mishaps, in my small family cousins and big family gatherings were sparse. Though I had lots of love from my grandparents and aunts and uncles throughout my childhood, I never knew that feeling of having that unique cousin relationship~

almost sibling, more than friend.

I am, however, deeply grateful that my kids get to experience that special bond.

On the Moon, the Kids’ Table, and a quietly but surely hovering September

The Moon

These past few weeks we have been blessed with many visitors; both chance encounters and planned visits with friends and family ~Long and casual visits over cups of coffee and glasses of wine, and fun communal hikes to quiet mountain lakes where our hoards of kids jump into icy waters and screech with glee.

This is the kind of fun that only summer can bring and it is so lovely.

One of my favorite moments so far, though, was an after dinner walk to watch the moon rise. On a stroll the night before, Dan and I had admired a spectacular moonrise over the mountains and so we suggested to our friends who were visiting from North Carolina that we go back to that same perfect spot to catch the magnificence again.

This is the spot.

If you are ever in Waterton Lakes National Park, do sit in these red chairs and admire a view that never ever gets old and will surely restore your faith that all is well.

We gathered in that spot, and waited.

And waited, and waited, and waited.

And waited.

We hadn’t checked the moonrise times, nor did we realize that there can be such a great variance from night to night.

But we had promised our friends that it would be a spectacular full moon and we wanted to impress (as if the moon could possibly be our show to arrange) and so we waited some more.

We visited, and the kids threw stones in the lake as kids always do, and we shivered as the mountain air grew colder, and we jumped up and down to stay warm, and we walked up and down the shore of the lake, and we laughed and teased about how long it was taking, and we told jokes, and we got impatient, and then we waited on some more.

And then finally, eventually, this happened, as it has happened since the beginning of time and will forevermore.

photo by Andrew Stillwell

And why don’t we think to look more often?

Because, oh gorgeous and radiant sun, you have everyone’s complete adoration,

including mine,

but dare I say that You – magical, mystical, and wondrous moon,

you are the one that actually holds my heart,

You pull at me and retrieve me, you restore me, you comfort me, you return me to me.

again and again.

And so we all heartily agreed that she was more than worth the wait, and we clapped for her performance. Happily we stood there together and even sang every song we could think of that featured her, including my favourite moon song of all time.

Moon River,
Wider than a mile:
I’m crossin’ you in style
Some day.
Old dream maker,
You heart breaker,
Wherever your goin’,
I’m goin’ your way…..
Two drifters,
Off to see the world,
There’s such a lot of world
To see.
We’re after the same
Rainbow’s end
Waitin’ round the bend,
My huckleberry friend,
Moon River
and me.

And then, becoming more chilly and tired, we walked home.

Thank you, dear moon, you beautiful and enchanted thing.

Once again you have worked your magic.

the Kids’ Table

Another one of our summer delights has been the Netflix show ‘Chef’s Table’, a new series that provides an intimate look at the life and work of the world’s best chefs. This is a fascinating show that juxtaposes very different styles and personalities, but truly showcases inspired creativity and passion for food and excellence in general.

I could endlessly watch shows about food and creative pursuits of any kind, but even our kids have been quite riveted. So much so, that they felt excited about creating their own food extravaganza for their movie party last week.

Their culinary choices would not be considered healthy by anyone’s standards but their presentation certainly deserves high marks.

I highly recommend Chef’s Table. Dan, of course, loved the Italian chef –

‘Every time I open a cheese like this, I get emotional. In my blood, there’s balsamic vinegar. My muscles are made by Parmigiano’ Massimo Bottura,

and I was deeply heartened by the second chef, Dan Barber, who promotes farm to table eating and shows us that even though there are massive obstacles, it is entirely possible to re-think and make our relationship with food on this continent.

a quietly but surely hovering September

We all know it’s near. We can feel and sense the nearness of September and summer’s end. We are still basking in the sunshine, swimming and playing outside, going on trips, but our minds are beginning to re-organize and plan and strategize about how this fall is going to go.

It’s inevitable.

The promise that I have made to myself, though, is this…

I will deeply enjoy these days and weeks, what is left of summer, but

I will resist stressing about the transitioning.

We will find ways to celebrate and welcome the shortening of the days, the slow but certain turning of the leaves, the preparations, the still leisurely time with family and friends.

And when I plan what this year will look like, I will pause and consider…

what fills my soul, our souls, where does my work want to focus, what keeps my family connected and at peace, what needs to be let go, what builds community,

and from these intents and understandings, I will find our priorities and the coming structure to our days.

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.”
― Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

On What is Hope?, Letters & Love Old-School, and Lego

On What is Hope?

I just finished reading ‘So Far from Home: lost and found in our brave new world’ by Margaret Wheatley, as per a friend’s recommendation. It’s a bit of a heart-breaking book, but much of it resonated.

Wheatley talks about how she has come to a point in her life where she has become resolved to the idea that the world cannot be saved. Environmental devastation, political and big-business corruption, and distraction & disconnect with reality due to too much technology have all contributed to a very dire situation, and we are so very far gone.

It’s hard to argue with this, even if you are the kind of person that sees little pockets of love and goodness everywhere.

I am still not convinced that we won’t get it together eventually.

Still.

Wheatley calls on all of us to let go of clinging to outcomes and take on ‘warriorship’

simply for the sake of the human spirit,

which I can easily liken to my own ‘Peace at Home Project’ and why I do it.

What other choice do I have? What choice do any of us really have?

At some point, we must accept that we can only do what we can do. Perhaps it makes more sense to stop despairing and railing against the ills of this world,

and simply focus on doing our own good and meaningful works in our own ways and in our own little corners.

Sometimes we must accept that we are in the dark of night, and then bravely light our own candle. That, maybe, is true courage, true kindness, true resilience – the fortitude to not give up even amidst the black of night.

We are not going to light up the night, but we can light the spot we stand on. We all can.

Hope then becomes detached from an expectation of outcomes, transcending how we think things should be or should turn out.

Hope just is.

Hope is not a feeling that comes and goes with with external circumstances. Hope is who we are independent of outcomes. Hope is as basic to humans as compassion and intelligence. It is always present, it never leaves us. It is not dependent on success and not afflicted by failure. Thus, it is free from fear. And without fear, we can see clearly. We see what our work is, we have the strength to persevere, we do what we feel is right work and, as poet T. S. Eliot wrote, ‘the rest is not our business.’ Margaret Wheatley

Yes.

Letters Old School

While I was convalescing from my heart surgery, I received a care package in the mail from a dear childhood friend. It’s hard for me to properly describe the utter delight I felt when I opened up this box filled with books, chocolate, tea, puzzles, and other treats. What a lovely, heart-warming, inspired, genuine gift of love.

I so want to reciprocate. I so want everyone to send each other unexpected boxes of treasures.

How fun would that be?

This thoughtful gift of love reminded me of the power of tangible gifts and written words of love and support. This is just not the same as texts and messages, though those can certainly be uplifting too.

There is such creative delight in putting words to real paper, wrapping, fussing, addressing and placing a stamp on an envelope, giving. There is such joy and love to be found in the effort.

This week, I finally wrote a letter thanking this particular friend for her gesture. I was at the swimming pool sitting on the deck while my kids swam and I had the time to find the right words. I will maybe tuck in a few beautiful goodies in the envelope for her, too, and send back some love across the miles, old school.

gorgeous lettering from a thank you note we recently received from a friend

Lego

Last post it was cardboard boxes. This time it’s been lego – oh lego, you beautiful and inspired forever toy-

and speaking of old school, George has had his nose in this lately rather than his ipod which has also felt like a parenting win.

I also got to tell the kids about how Rubic’s Cubes came out when I was in elementary school and how everyone had one. Go 80s!

I am not naive.

I know that these times of carefree play for my kids are numbered. They are not little anymore.

So, I more intently savour the sweetness of these unstructured hours and days of summer before jobs and peer influences pull at them harder…

But today, we play.

On Road Trips, Detours, and Cardboard Boxes

Road Trips

One of my best childhood memories was packing up our vehicle and trailer and heading out on a two week summer vacation. My family camped a lot back then, and I loved the excitement and sense of adventure around leaving on a holiday and then finding and setting up in a new campsite.

Now that I am an adult, of course, planning and preparing for trips feels a lot more complicated then it did back then. Our vacations often feel as if they are squished into busy times when it feels hard to get away and air travel is often stressful.

The idea of an old-fashioned summer road trip felt like the perfect antidote to a difficult year.

So, the day after school let out we got up early and headed out –

because it doesn’t feel like a proper road trip unless you leave at the dawning of the day, still a little sleepy and blurry, go-cup firmly in hand and vehicle packed tight.

Dan and I both fondly remembered stopping for breakfast mid-morning, too, as part of the perfect family road trip formula. It needed to be a place that would serve hearty breakfast fare such as pancakes, sausages, eggs, and strong black tea preferably on a deck in the sunshine.

We found such a place, and so our road trip delightfully and properly was on its way.

best ever apple pancakes

It was a week of swimming, playing, and exploring a new place.

Pure restoration and rejuvenation without any agenda or expectations.

Perfectly imperfect. There were a few days where we got too much sun, our accommodations were not quite as we expected, we all surely had our cranky spells, and not every experience we had was great.

but.

it was lovely.

There was the most soothing cool breeze every night through our bedroom, we were beautifully located, and the water was spectacular. I swam in a lake for the first time in years and it was utterly exhilarating. How good it feels to start to move and stretch my body again after surgery. We also had a few extraordinary meals ~chocolate peanut butter pie that was to die for, handmade tacos and enchiladas, and appetizers one hot and still night on a sweet little patio surrounded by trees, a guitar player gently strumming away in the background.

These are the moments I never forget.

Detours

We needed to come home a different way than we had come, as we were going to be spending a night with our family in Montana at their condo.

Using google maps, Dan found us the shortest route possible. We set off a little later than expected and headed the way that Dan had chosen. The GPS system that we are just learning to use on our new vehicle would not accept Dan’s route as legitimate and several times tried to re-route us. Each time, Dan determinedly got us back on his google trail with a few choice words for Ford and her uncooperative mapping system.

So we carried on, me feeling the doubt creeping in but deciding to be supportive.

The roads seemed to become a little less traveled as we carried on and soon we found ourselves off the main highways. Dan insisted that this way was so much better, so much more picturesque, so much faster. The architect in Dan is always looking for the more scenic path, whether we are on our way to the corner store or traveling across a country. I will add, though, with my husband’s permission, that the architect in Dan is also particular and finds dust and dirt offensive.

Google in all her wisdom soon directed us onto a gravel road. We discussed turning back but we were already going to arrive much later than we had promised and we had already backtracked a few times. On the map, it didn’t seem as if the road would go for that long (little did we know that we would only be driving 20 km/hr for well over an hour). So on we kept going and I was soon joking that the road was really more of a winding hiking path. We drove through two little streams, passed only one other vehicle- a family in their ATV who encouraged us on, acquired mud and dirt in every single crevice and cranny of our shiny new vehicle and felt as if we were in the very deepest of Montana’s backwoods. They will never find us here, I though to myself several times.

But. As we drove on, I laughed and laughed at our self-imposed predicament, until the tears rolled down my cheeks. We all did.

And

we also came upon the most gorgeous mountain lake, the kind that makes you take a deep breath and give sacred thanks for just about everything,

the kind of thanks that offers the knowledge that there never really are any mistakes in this life, only adventures and detours,

it’s really just one big road trip.

Cardboard Boxes

During the last week of school we had two dining room chairs delivered. They arrived packaged up in GIANT cardboard boxes.

The minute Olivia saw these boxes, she was almost vibrating ~ and excitedly asked us if she could keep them.

Do kids ever get too old for big boxes?

Dan and I weren’t thrilled about keeping all of this cardboard in our living room but who are we to stifle creative play?

Within minutes of getting home from school on the last day, both kids went to town on these boxes, completely absorbed for hours.

I couldn’t believe it.

Olivia had just completed her first set of finals for which she had studied a ridiculous amount of time. Her homework load has been enormous this year. She was absolutely exhausted. I had fully expected her to zonk out on the couch for an extended sitcom-watching marathon the minute she was done, but instead here she was on this hyper-focused mission cutting apart and redecorating a box, and so was her brother who on most days would rather have been playing MineCraft.

Who says kids don’t know how to play any more

or that they can’t think outside the box?

The answer, maybe, is to just give them a box.

Notice the cardboard chair behind George’s box, made by Dan. Like father like son.

Olivia’s focus was more on the interior.

Happy Summer friends! May you all find your own cardboard box.

My Heart Surgery & Recovery & 10 beautiful things that got me through ~

It has now been a while since my open heart surgery, and it feels as if the time has come to talk about it. Olivia said to me the other day, ‘Mom, do you get tired of answering people when they ask you how you are doing?’ My answer was ‘no’~

It was a significant thing to go through and it touches me that so many people were and are still so genuinely concerned.

Heart surgery is not uncommon. Most of us can name people we know who have gone through some sort of procedure to address a heart condition.

I am now connected to these people.

No one, however, can really prepare you for the invasiveness of heart surgery, nor for the accompanying feelings of overwhelming vulnerability that accompany allowing your heart to be stopped, worked on,
and no one really likes to talks about that crippling underlying fear

that things could go wrong.

For the first several weeks after surgery it was all I could do just to find ways to process all of my feelings and accept the complex experience I had been through and begin to heal.

How grateful am I now though?

My heart is fixed thanks to the truly spectacular wonders that modern medicine and technology have gifted us. I feel energy and vitality building in me that I have not felt for years, perhaps even never felt.

Nor is it possible for me to feel and see the world in the same way after having had major surgery. Everything looks just a little different,

a little brighter, a little simpler, even lovelier than before.

There were, of course, magical moments that will never leave me – shining moments that really got me through and helped me feel and know for sure that everything would be ok –

Here are my top 10…

1) All the big love that came to me before surgery. Flowers, messages, prayers, cards, hugs….Friends and acquaintances offering up love and support and letting me know that they were thinking of me. Right up until I went to sleep the night before surgery, I was still receiving new messages and feeling virtually held up by everyone.

2) Great parking spots the day before surgery and the morning of, as trivial as that may sound. Others had complained to us about the mess of trying to find parking at the Foothills, but for us it was literally a snap. It seemed as though just as we would pull up right in front of the hospital, someone else would pull out with smiles and waves. It was absolutely seamless and helped me trust that in even in the most mundane of ways we were being looked after.

3) Having my kids with me – It felt really important that all three of my kids were nearby. I needed to feel them close, I needed them to be a part of all of it and understand what was happening rather than imagine the worst. I wanted them to see the preciousness of life that is more deeply understood when we come into close contact with trauma, sickness, recovery, and healing. My mother taught me to not shy away from these facts of life and I felt a responsibility to extend that important teaching to my own children. And so the kids were there at the hospital before, during, and after surgery…in the waiting room for hours and hours with their cousins while I was in surgery, on the hospital grounds running and playing under their Auntie’s supervision, on hunts for ice cream or treats with Glenna, and holding my hands during the days after as I started taking my little laps around the halls. Alex carefully watched over my vitals and supervised visits and messages from friends. George played numerous games of Battleship with Glenna between hesitant visits to my room when he would offer me quick kisses, and Olivia stayed close until everyone else except Dan had gone back home to Lethbridge. She helped me dress, checked my incisions, waited on me, meticulously mothered me.

4) An unexpected angel of reassurance -It’s difficult to describe the fear that I felt as my body was being prepared for surgery at 6am on the morning of April 8. Even the two Ativan that they gave me weren’t quite enough to completely calm me. However, after I was wheeled into the surgical suite on the stretcher, something happened that I will never forget….A doctor came up to me, whom I had never met, and told me he would be assisting in my operation.

He then told me that it was going to be great, and that if he was having open-heart surgery, this is precisely the team he would choose. We chatted for a bit longer, and then he left to carry on with his preparations. It is difficult to describe the power of that interaction, but the comfort that he gave to me extends even into this day.

5) Nurses – My grandmother had a distinguished and respected career as head nurse of surgery. Her and I were very close, and it was her that I thought of most often as I prepared for surgery. I imagined her watching over all of the medical details, and sending energies of competency, perfectionism, and love. Little did I think, though, about this deep professional care extending into the days afterwards, but it did,

as it manifested in the nurses who looked after me.

These women and men talked to me about what I was experiencing, watched my recovery with genuine concern, answered my questions, helped me move, sit, walk, bathe, covered me in warm blanket after warm blanket,

and showed me how to receive and be completely taken care of when I had no other choice.

Margaret Filchak

6) Other patients – Cardiac patients are encouraged to get moving as soon as possible. It is very important to start working the heart again. So the halls circling around the cardiac rooms are continuously peppered by people in their hospital gowns shuffling slowly along, often with family members walking along beside them. There are chairs dispersed for rests and visits, and it can feel a little like a turtle marathon with much encouragement and smiles coming from other patients and their families.

‘Oh you are moving well, good for you!’

‘And what did you have done – bypass or valve work?’

‘How many days are you at now?’ (everyone remembers their surgery date like it’s their birthday)

It is a such beautiful and inspiring thing to witness,

how quickly and naturally communities form wherever we are. It seems to me that, generally, we are all out to support one another even when we are struggling and in pain ourselves. It is by far one of the most beautiful thing about human nature, this urge to form connections whatever our circumstances.

7) My beautiful chair– A few days before surgery Alex and Ry decided that my favorite chair should be moved from the living room to our back window. This is the great big, pillowy, floral print chair that Dan bought me for our first Christmas together. As soon as I saw my beloved chair tucked into the corner of our sunroom. I actually felt a little excited about my recovery as I imagined myself tucked deep inside of its cozy warmth, cup of tea and a pile of books by my side. Dan put a little antique wood table that had belonged to my grandmother at the chair’s side, and Olivia decorated the table with a little cup of flowers.

This was where I sat for a month,

receiving visitors, coordinating, watching Netflix, reading, drinking copious cups of tea, and watching Spring unfold.

7) Food – Before surgery, when people would ask me if there was anything they could do I would say, ‘Well, yes, you could bring us food.’ I knew for sure this was the one area where we would struggle. As you all know, it takes a tremendous amount of time and energy to shop for and feed a family and I am all about nourishing and healthy food, especially during times of stress and healing. Let me just say that we were very well fed, and I am convinced that food is always one of the very best ways to help. Thank you, thank you, and thank you to everyone who helped in this way.

9) Walks in the sunshine– As soon as I got home from Calgary my little walks around the cardiac unit transformed into walks up and down our street, on the arms of my husband. We walked and walked and walked, many times a day, willing my heart to gradually strengthen and heal. The weather during those first few days and weeks was absolutely perfect, warm, and regenerative. Often, we were stopped by neighbours offering up hugs and words of encouragement and I felt as deeply loved and cheered on by our friends as I did by my surroundings; by our street, by the houses, the trees, the sunshine, by all of it.

10) A shift from fear and waiting towards trusting and being. Even though I had great faith in my brilliant and well-respected surgeon, and deep hope for my future, open-heart surgery was an event I had been fearing for a long time.

We all have major, transformative events in our lives that shake us up; deaths of loved ones, health issues that catch us by surprise, ends of relationships, and so on. These sorts of events always have the power to drive us deeper into fear and or resentment, hold us hostage, make us distrustful of life, paralyze us –

They can make us more determined to find the light, the adventure, the play, the stillness, the ways to love, the reasons to celebrate, and the courage to take those brave leaps towards our dreams.

Grandma Carol’s Garden 2015; Garden theme ‘Full Hearts’

Once again I am restored and choose happiness.

Thank you, dear heart.

an update…..

Dear friends,

Just a quick note to let you all know that I will be on hiatus from blogging for the next while. As my open heart surgery will be happening very shortly, my mind is much pre-occupied with logistics as I need to clear almost everything off my schedule for at least the next month and a half. Please know that I am feeling calm, ready, and positive and that I look so forward to renewed vigour, strength, and energy. Once I have recovered, I will be back brimming with new ideas and most certainly will have much to share. Until then, stay well.

On Mother Goose, Bridges, and ‘Thrive’

Mother Goose

Last week I was in Calgary for a couple of cardiac tests that my surgeon had ordered to be completed before our next meeting with him in a few weeks –

These tests were within a few days of each other,

and when I received short notice of the second test, we decided to go up a couple of nights early and enjoy some time as a family. Dan and I have been busy and preoccupied lately and have decided to make a concerted effort to play more.

So on Saturday afternoon we headed up to Calgary with the kids.

For the next day and a half we toured the mall, swam, read, had a few delicious meals, and spent an afternoon walking outside on that first glorious day that truly feels like Spring. It was a little retreat that felt healing and devoid of expectations,

a spontaneous escape.

On the morning of my test, though, we were packing up our hotel room, suddenly overwhelmed again by weekday realities.

We needed to figure out the easiest way to get to the hospital and where to park, Olivia was worried about the homework she needed to finish, and Dan was making calls for work. I was feeling tense and nervous and was barking at the kids about picking up their stuff, hurrying,

and on it went…

Suddenly, though, George started laughing, pointing, and calling us over to the window.

Olivia looked first, then Dan, and all three were laughing like crazy.

I could not imagine what could be outside of an 11th story window that could be so funny but Dan said, ‘Karen you have to see this’.

This is what they were all looking at,

This gal.

She was just sitting on the ledge honking madly at us,

and she would not leave.

The kids were absolutely beside themselves. We all were. This goose was positively insistent that we notice her.

Here’s the thing.

There are moments in life,

wherein it feels pretty clear that we are being looked out for…. there is that sudden sense that we are definitely not alone, and that maybe the veil between worlds is a little thinner than we realize and there are infinite creative possibilities for communication and expressions of love.

I have had many such moments, and this was one of those times.

This message felt pretty clear

Lighten up,

Laugh,

Everything is going to be ok.

This silly and deeply comforting bird, or our Mother Goose as George affectionately called her, didn’t fly off until we all had walked away first, back to our business….

We calmly carried on with our day and all, of course, was well.

Bridges

During our lovely aforementioned Spring walk, we came upon the much discussed new Peace Bridge.

The Peace Bridge (great name!) is a pedestrian bridge, designed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, that accommodates both pedestrians and cyclists crossing the Bow River in Calgary.

Of course, whenever we are with Dan we can’t miss the opportunity to check out new pieces of architecture,

but while he’s analyzing the form and details of the structure, the English major in me is often busy creating metaphors in my head.

Like my recurring geese,

bridges have been a frequent symbol in our lives as of late.

Olivia is in the midst of a big project whereby she has to carefully construct a bridge out of toothpicks for science, and she was also just telling us that in class the other day her teacher had created a whole playlist of songs that included the word bridge.

Of course Dan and I both raced to say,

Like ‘Bridge over Troubled Water?’,

This period of my life does feel like a period of bridging and as I think about those around me I see many friends and family members in similar positions,

transitioning,

walking and working towards new situations, uncomfortably wedged in the in-between part.

Perhaps, though, much of life simply is a bridge,

as change is ever-constant and life is always surely moving us to what’s next.

Maybe the point is to just stop every so often rather than fixate on what’s at the other side, because beauty is not just there, it’s here too,

over and beyond the rail and down in the waves of the Little Bow,

in the inspired and joyful architecture,

in the vibrant and playful red,

in the curves and the rounding structure, and the gorgeous blue sky framed through the arches,

and in the people moving by us on their Sunday strolls.

It’s all beautiful,

and we are supported.

Thrive

I have just begun reading Thrive: The Third Metric to Redefining Success and Creating a Life of Well-Being, Wisdom, and Wonder by Arianna Huffington.

So far, I am quite enjoying it. Much of it does not feel like new information, but the contexts and examples that Huffington offers are current, interesting, and important. The book is persuasive and highly readable,

and shows us how the business world in particular must move towards integrating wellness for all.

Also, just when I think I have read every great quote, Huffington found some new ones to thrill me,

And every day, the world will drag you by the hand, yelling, “This is important! And this is important! And this is important! You need to worry about this! And this! And this!” And each day, it’s up to you to yank your hand back, put it on your heart and say, “No. This is what’s important.” Iain Thomas

yes.

	candidkay on Spring Comes
	Karen Westwood on Spring Comes
	Karen Westwood on Spring Comes
	candidkay on Spring Comes
	Anonymous on Spring Comes

	candidkay on Spring Comes
	Karen Westwood on Spring Comes
	Karen Westwood on Spring Comes
	candidkay on Spring Comes
	Anonymous on Spring Comes

Peace at Home Project

Karen Westwood Village: Peace-Building Topics

Uncategorized

On what it is to be Quiet, Quiet, and What’s Next

On 3 things about my adventure

On an adventure…..

On fire, fire, and cousins

On the Moon, the Kids’ Table, and a quietly but surely hovering September

On What is Hope?, Letters & Love Old-School, and Lego

On Road Trips, Detours, and Cardboard Boxes

My Heart Surgery & Recovery & 10 beautiful things that got me through ~

an update…..

On Mother Goose, Bridges, and ‘Thrive’

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