A ray of light.

I took this photo on Boxing Day.

In opposition to a world that seems to revel in an endless stream of photos, George is generally resistant to pictures being taken, especially of himself.

Yet, I still took it. I liked that moment. It was peaceful, simple, tech-free.

I can appreciate George’s perspective though. During a time when we attempt to document everything, sometimes the refreshing and rebellious thing is to simply not snap the shot, to courageously experience the moment without any need for a stamp of validation.

During the Christmas break, we watched the movie ‘Boyhood‘. Have you seen it? The entire movie is a chronicling of moments, random yet telling, of one boy’s life over the course of 12 years.

Snippets. Some of them even lovely rays of light.

Let this photo, this gift of a moment that I was thankfully present enough to notice, be preserved as part of the string of moments that will make up George’s boyhood.

Rays of light that find us. Happiness that we are willing to receive.

2016 has wrapped her arms firmly around us already, hasn’t she?

It is a tentative and uncertain relationship that we have at first with the New Year. We don’t know her yet,

but yet we tend to want to believe that we can mold her and control her.

We forget that her events, her adventures, her surprises, her lessons, her inspirations, her happy and her dark times,

are not yet for us to know.

The best we can do is relax into her arms, trusting in her love and wisdom.

‘Boyhood’ ends with a poignant line,

A girl that Mason, the main character, has just met says to him,

‘You know how everyone’s always saying seize the moment? I don’t know, I’m kinda thinking it’s the other way around. You know, like the moment seizes us.’

May you be seized by innumerable moments and rays of light in 2016. Happy New Year friends!

A reminder that the next PeaceCard workshop will be held on Thursday, Jan. 21 from 7-9pm. It promises to be another lovely evening of connection, play and stillness. Message me for the details if you are interested.

On Peace.

Such frightening things are happening all around us. Warnings of the effects of climate change, divisiveness among friends and within communities and countries, horrific acts of violence.

Especially for the sensitive and worriers among us, it’s completely terrifying and deeply unsettling.

What is this world that we have created, this world seemingly gone mad? How did we get here, and is there even a way through?

I don’t know.

Yet, there is a small and still voice from within me that whispers such deceptively simple things~

Stretch. Go for a walk. Move.

Eat wholesome and nutritious foods.

Get enough sleep and get off your phone.

See your kids. Read a book together. Talk to your husband. Go for coffee with a friend.

Look at the sky, breathe.

Laugh. Play. Continue to Dream.

Write.

Because on one hand this world is so obviously ugly and cruel, but then on the other hand it is so very perfect,

positively heart-breaking in its beauty.

A few weeks ago, George learned to knit at school. And one must at least celebrate the goodness of a school and a teacher that promotes knitting, of all things.

My boy that loves quiet and focused tasks has really taken to it, so much so that he quickly decided that for my Christmas gift this year, he was going to knit me a scarf. Fiercely committed he has been to this project, knitting in bursts of time after school, before soccer, while he watches his YouTube videos,

getting faster and more adept each day.

Mom, do you like the width, the length?

Mom, are you sure you like the colors in the yarn we chose? Will you wear it?

Will I wear it? Nothing on earth will stop me from wearing this scarf that was knit for me by my 10 year old boy.

This is a small thing, but the world is full of such precious gifts,

and as we can so easily fall into despair and succumb to fear, so we can also find the courage to create and bask in moments of pure love. Scarves, moments of connection, random acts of kindness and

the very noticing of all that is good and lovely and the finding of ways that we are all the same.

And as our bodies and hearts and minds grow stronger,

so grows our love force, and then so this love radiates, on and on.

This is what we can do. This far reaching worry about everything that is out of my scope must return to a nurturing of that which is within my reach ~

an encouraging note to my daughter’s teacher, a kind chat with the cashier at the store, a hug for a friend that is grieving,

taking care of myself.

It has been eight months now since my heart surgery. People often ask me how I am doing.

I am doing great. My stamina continues to increase, the persistent cough that I struggled with for the last several years in the fall has completely evaporated, I am able to maintain a much healthier weight, I have colour in my cheeks. To be honest, I am quite in awe of how a healthy body feels.

New projects abound in my mind and I have the energy to entertain them. My family is well and we are looking forward to this Christmas.

This world is in crisis, but we don’t have to be.

…in a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart. -Louise Bogan

My next PeaceCard event will be held January 21, 2016 from 7-9 pm. Our focus for this event will be creating intentions for a peaceful and abundant new year. Inspiration for this event has partly come from one of my December participants who reminded me of the beautiful book that I have loved for so many years, ‘Simple Abundance’ by Sarah Ban Breathnach. We will be exploring a few of the simple writing and art exercises she introduces in her book (no need to be familiar with the book to attend), as well as participating in a short meditation. Expect lovely teas and a fun door prize. I am also hoping to have in stock some wonderful new cards that I discovered on a recent trip to New York that I will share. Cost is $40. Early bird price is $35 if you register before Jan. 1.

Wishing you ALL a beautiful Christmas filled with the love of family and friends, peace in your hearts and homes, laughter, delicious food, and sparkles of magic.

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 what it is to be brave, how I almost burned the house down, and an invitation

On what it is to be brave,

There have been times in my life when people have told me that I was brave, that I was strong….when I divorced, when my mom died, when I had my heart surgery.

I didn’t feel particularly strong or brave in any of these instances.

In fact, people’s encouraging words in part frustrated me because it felt like I had no other alternatives. I was simply putting one foot in front of the other and moving through my days, my life, doing my best to work with the hand I had been dealt.

What courage, I thought, is there in that,

not realizing that this ordinary brand of courage, this gentle strength, is momentous in its own quiet but important way.

And ironically, I now hear myself saying and thinking these same words to friends who are struggling with or facing their own life-altering events,

‘You are strong, you are brave.’

And I mean these words. And yet these friends deflect my sentiments in the same way that I once did.

I now realize, though, that it in fact takes tremendous courage to simply move through a life. And when it is done with honesty and open-heartedness, I am in awe.

In such lovely and ordinary ways, we are brave.

For example,

My friend who is terrified of flying still gets on that plane because she cannot deny her yearning to explore and travel the world,

and she who is grieving her spouse or parent does so with authenticity, expressing her tears, her anger, her laughter, despite the fact that our culture does not like to talk about grief.

This woman says what needs to be said in that meeting, what no one else will say, even though her heart feels like it will pound right out of her chest when she begins to speak

or another friend doesn’t speak up, because sometimes it is better to be kind than right.

Another woman says no to joining the committee, despite her overwhelming feelings of guilt and obligation, because she knows it is just too much

and she who is overwhelmed asks for help.

My friend leaves her marriage because it is the best thing, the only thing, for herself and for her kids

while another stays in her marriage for the same reasons.

And this one follows a path that few understand or support, yet with deep determination he keeps doing his art and persists in his vision, his passion,

whilst another takes a job because it will pay the bills and that is the bigger priority.

A mother I know watches her child walk right into a difficult situation even though it breaks her heart but she knows her child needs to navigate this particular storm on his own,

and this friend uproots and moves away because she knows deep inside that it is the right next step for her, even though it means leaving so much.

Another has the courage and confidence to shine when the moment asks for it, but also knows when it is time to stand in the background in a supporting role.

This woman shows real and uninhibited exuberance and delight in her daily encounters despite this world that presently seems to favour cynicism and guardedness,

and he who has worked for so long in pursuit of his goal finally reaches the finish line and accepts his rewards with grace, while another friend understands when the time has come to walk away.

My friend who has cancer shares with us all her reasons to smile and describes the cherished places where she finds gratitude and hope, just as she expresses her feelings of helplessness and gripping fear,

and another brave soul silently processes the news of her illness because that is her way.

We are brave.

How I almost burned the house down

My dear life-long friend and I were recently able to get away on a quick and much long-anticipated weekend getaway. I was finally able to see the vacation home that Charlotte and her husband have built along with 3 other couples, a lovely getaway in the mountains.

After arriving Friday evening we awoke Saturday morning eagerly anticipating our day of cafe breaks, walks, and early Christmas shopping. While Charlotte was showering, I went downstairs to put the kettle on for my tea. Mindlessly, as this is one of the most routine behaviours of my daily existence, I filled up the kettle with water and put it on the gas stove. I then grabbed my phone and dialed Dan and the kids to have a quick chat, and see how their night had been.

As I was chatting with Olivia, I began to smell a combination of smoke and burning plastic. I looked over at the stove-top, and noticed that the entire bottom of the ELECTRIC KETTLE, exposed wire and all, was on fire.

Yes, readers , I put an electric kettle on a gas range and almost burned the house down, and not even my house, but my friend’s house that she shares with 3 other families.

As I was throwing bowls of water on top of the stove, I was half-panicking, half-imagining how I would tell everyone what I had done. And as the smoke alarm was going off, I was weakly calling Charlotte’s name, not really wanting her to come down before I had attempted to peel off the hard pieces of melted kettle off the burners.

The most embarrassing part of this whole story, though, is that neither Charlotte nor Dan were entirely surprised by what I did,

but they both still love me.

So, if you see me randomly bursting into laughter in the grocery store aisle or while waiting to pick up my kids,

I am probably just remembering what I did.

Despite the kettle mishap, we did each manage to find beautiful new boots to buy.

An invitation

I have a few projects on the go right now, and often wonder at when and how they should intersect. They inevitably do intertwine, though, and so it feels right to extend an invitation to my readers to my PeaceCard evening slated for an evening in late November.

For at least the last ten years, I have imagined such mini-retreats~ times set aside for honest connection, meaning, and simple and artful play. I know so many of us crave this, and I also know it lacks in many of our lives.

Women have always gathered. My mother and her friends used to gather so often, whether to quilt and craft, or talk and plan. This is women’s play and it is essential to so many of us, to our well-being. To find out what I have dreamed up for this first evening of its kind, please message me for the details.

On this is all I will say about politics, connection, and last week’s hero

This is all I will say about politics (for now)

I am going to tell you a little secret about me. I am not much of a joiner.

It’s actually hard for me to admit this because it feels somewhat like claiming a lack of commitment which isn’t at all true. I can be fiercely committed and loyal.

I have always felt, though, that there can sometimes be something slightly dangerous about identifying too much with a particular perspective or stance. If we become too patriotic, too zealous, too enmeshed with a group,

we sometimes end up leaving out other people, other views, other valid ways of being in this world. It can all get a little too ‘us’ and ‘them’, though often

that is the place where we feel the safest.

It happens to all of us, and certainly me too. I speak to this but I have been guilty of sitting up on my high horse a thousand or more times.

Since the beginning of time, though, that is exactly the point where it falls to pieces. We make it all black and white, see things at face value and forget to look harder in the depths for the clarity and understanding beneath. Feelings are hurt, resentments breed, wars start.

We forget that we ALL have our burdens to bear and for the most part, we all want the same things.

Love. Connection. Peace.

I speak to this perhaps because talk of the upcoming election is everywhere. I will not speak up for a specific party here, or speak down to another one. I do, think, however, that the challenge is to really make this about seeking to understand the issues,

identifying the leaders that truly speak to our hearts and minds at this time, and sifting through the rhetoric and the drama and the posturing until we find the place where we are simply most aligned. Then vote.

Undoubtedly and thankfully, we will forevermore need to gather and form groups and associations and parties and work for positive change and, to be honest,

there is little that moves me more than people working together to create beautiful initiatives in this world, inspired events, important societal or environmental change.

My hope, however, is that when we form our partnerships and alliances we can always remember that

It’s not about ‘us’ and ‘them’.

It’s always about ALL of us.

Connection

Recently, I saw a video documenting people who offered up a minute of eye contact to passers by on busy streets. I have seen other versions of this project executed in different ways, but it always ends up being deeply moving to watch people just seeing each other.

It strikes me that if I was, for an entire minute, to stare into the eyes of someone who I felt I didn’t understand or that I was at odds with,

something in both of us would inevitably shift.

Even just imagining it feels a little transformative.

Last week’s hero

Last week, the hero of our story was George.

He had decided that he would agree to have his head shaved for the Terry Fox Run event hosted by his school and he stayed resolute in that decision.

It was a beautiful and ambitious event for a school that is known for celebrating Terry Fox’s legacy. Thousands of kids, teachers and parents came from all over our city to walk together, cheer on the memory of Terry (even his dad was in attendance) and raise money for cancer research.

When it was time,

George marched up onto the stage with the other brave volunteers and quietly let the stylist shave his hair all the while wearing a sticker announcing that ‘he was running today for Grandma Carol‘.

My beautiful boy who has always had a gorgeous head full of blond hair that I have loved to smell, kiss, ruffle~

afterwards walked back to where we were sitting (a little shakily),

completely bald.

All at once my heart both broke and grew.

I have long since given up on the idea of finding a one and only hero who always acts in a way that is brave and true and good. Few, if any of us, are capable of that.

But we do get little opportunities, scattered throughout our every days, to have heroic moments.

Yay George, for accepting and rising up to yours.

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.

	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

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