Learning and understanding

 It’s the last week of the year, when the newspapers and news programs recap, in an endless loop, the happenings of the past 12 months.  So I thought that I would do the same.  I started off the year halfway through a course of chemotherapy. I finished a dose a few days before Christmas, close enough that I couldn’t eat on the day. I was able to attend cooking classes before Christmas - they were great, but I would have enjoyed them more if I could have tasted the food, though. My first treatment of January was the second week, and I almost decided that it would be my last, because I felt so dreadfully unwell.  My test results showed that my system was having a hard time recuperating from the treatment (which required that I be in the hospital to receive the drugs for 8 hours a day for 5 days consecutively, then a break of 2 weeks during which I received at-home nursing care).  I talked to my doctor about ending treatment, realizing that I could be choosing to die.  In consultation wit

 I love Christmas carols. The ones that Marge Simpson described as “weird and religious-y” that sing about God and angels and baby Jesus in the manger.  The ones that tell of the Christmas story and the miracle of that night. The ones that, sadly, don’t often make it into the rotation on the radio.  Because of them I really love the liturgy for the 12 days of Christmas (which begin  December 26 - the day after  Christmas, and end on January 6, the feast of the Epiphany or the Day of the Kings).  Christmas Eve Mass begins with a carol concert, which includes all sorts of songs. Like, Gabriel’s message  with its haunting melody; Handel’s Messiah often features, with For Unto us a Child is Born , singing the beautiful words from Isaiah, which form part of the readings of the Christmas Eve mass (the vigil or midnight mass).  Often, the opening hymn is Adeste Fideles or O Come All Ye Faithful  which is, in its own words, “joyful and triumphant.”  That describes so many of my favourite carol

 Everyone join in... “This year is SO different!  2020 is just THE WORST.” It’s true that this year has been challenging. Since March, when it became clear that the “virus from Wuhan” was a bigger issue than it seemed at first.  We, all of us, at first thought, “It’s another flu, it’s no big deal.”  But as time passed, it became clear that this was not just the flu, and the effects would be more serious than we expected.  When news of the lockdown broke, people began (do you remember?) to hoard toilet paper!  by the case!  Then they started selling the excess at usurious prices.  They went out and emptied shelves of cleaning products, rice, flour, paper towels, bleach, hand sanitizer and, perhaps surprisingly, beer and chips. We adjusted to limited interactions with others.  We changed, profoundly, our daily activities.  I remember looking at empty streets during the first shutdown. Where rush hour meant gridlock, there was no traffic. There were very few people outside- granted, it wa

 Here we are, a month away from Christmas, which means that the ads are in full flow!  As usual, I’m encouraged to buy, BUY, BUY! new cars, computers, electronic equipment, jewellery, toys, and to get “the PERFECT gift!”  That’s not even including the flood of emails with sale promotions promising discounts of up to 75% and reminders of shipping deadlines to get delivery by Christmas. These have been running since at least August, but are becoming more frequent as December approaches.  I understand that retailers need to make money, and the gift exchange season is when we are most likely to spend on fripperies and folderol- things like extra jewelry, electronic items, multiple ties, socks, coffee mugs, and so on.  I’m fine with them advertising all that, but is it really necessary to start  the promotions in July?  Bam smack in the middle of the hot part of the year for those of us in the northern hemisphere and six months away from the actual event.  Then the Christmas music starts in

 I was having a conversation about books the other day. We were discussing books that we enjoyed and it was a conversation we’ve had several times.  Now I know people who don’t read, and who have no books. That, to me, is horrifying.  How do you get through life like that?  Books and stories are so central to me, and I have bookcases that are stuffed to overflowing with material that I’ve read and reread many times... and yet, I know people who use books only as ornaments or, worse, who have no books at all!  I’m stunned speechless... My books are a comfort and a support to me.  There are those that I reread frequently, because they are light, entertaining and do not require a lot of my attention to complete.  There are others that I enjoy and reread from time to time, and the frequency of my rereads varies over time.  For instance, there were several books that I read extensively when I was younger, and they have remained with me (I can quote passages verbatim from some of them!) but

 I apologize in advance. This post is likely to be inflammatory, but I think that I need to write it. It is not intended to hurt anyone, but it is based on reality and the people involved will recognize themselves. I won’t identify anyone, I’m not pointing fingers, and this ultimately comes from love and concern. I’m happy to discuss the issues that I raise, but not the individuals.   St. Joseph Youth Group c. 1983  This is a photo of my church youth group.  We met originally during preparation for the sacrament of Confirmation in 1982/83. Classes were for 2 years on Saturday mornings, and our cohort became quite close. Our collective parents found themselves as hosts to a horde of teenagers regularly- almost never one or two! After we were confirmed, we went on to form a youth group, which remained quite active until we began to drift into adulthood and life continued.  The bonds are still there, although obviously not exactly the same. But this picture led to the situation that I nee

Continuing on the subject of “Forgive us as we forgive” This line has been cause for much debate, at least in my religious experience.  It’s tossed around as indicating that God’s forgiveness is limited; or that God’s behaviour is controllable.  It’s used as an admonition against real human reactions.  And it’s difficult to really grasp.  In my view, it’s not a way of limiting God, it’s a way to stretch ourselves.  Like the injunction to love our neighbours as ourselves, our ability to forgive tells a lot about us.  How many times I’ve heard people say, “I’ll never forgive you for that!”  But doing that gives our tormentors to live on our peace of mind, while they go around unaware. It’s all covered beautifully in William Blake’s 1794 poem The Poison Tree.  Serendipity is real. I encountered that poem earlier this week, and later, my lay minister dropped by, as he tends to do.  The reading that day was from the Gospel of Luke, the Sermon on the Plain, where we have the exhortation to

 Everyone who knows me knows how much I enjoy my food.  It is, as I often joke, the key to maintaining my girlish figure  (remarking that a circle is a figure). It’s no surprise, therefore, to learn that I list cooking as a hobby (and have, since my teen years) nor that my cooking classes are a pleasure even after a session of chemotherapy.  (It’s true... I did three classes during my last round of treatment, and told the medical team that their job was to ensure that I could make it and keep the food down.  They did, because they’re awesome and amazing 😉). So yes, cooking is a definite pleasure for me, and I’m quite happy to try new recipes and share them. However, I have to admit that I am not a fan of meal kits. You know what I mean; the kits that promise to make you a gourmet cook with recipe cards, portioned ingredients that are delivered to your home. I understand the appeal of home delivery, especially during this pandemic.  I also understand the fun of new recipes, but I do no

The conversations that we have with others are a constant source of ideas and inspiration. They can challenge our thinking, reinforce ideas and open us to new possibilities. I’ve found that sometimes it’s really easy to fall into a rut, where we only talk to a few individuals, repeating the same information, and not getting any variety. It’s comforting, but ultimately deadly, because we stagnate and we all know that stagnation is death.   I noticed, over the years, that sometimes the same idea can appear in different places around the same time. “Serendipity,” you say,  In the last couple of weeks, people have been raising the idea of the things that we should be doing.  “I should  be doing yoga”; “I should be avoiding carbs”; “I should be blogging more frequently,” and so on. I’m guilty of it, and I’ve found myself feeling guilty because I haven’t done any of the things that I think that I should have done. That’s the problem though; we feel a lot of guilt, then we begin the negative

Today is my official retirement date. It’s 21 years to the day since I began working in the Canadian federal public service.  In that time, I attended the retirement parties for several colleagues and participated in the standard jokes about not working, and thought about what my retirement would be like. I had planned to retire at 60, with 30 years of service and an almost full pension, and then move into my post-retirement role, which would include perhaps some volunteer work, or some contracting or something that would occupy my mind and provide some good to my community. Instead, I’ve learnt the reality of statements like, “Man proposes, God disposes,” and “life is what happens when you’re busy making plans,” among others!  I look back at my career, my plans and dreams about it, and where I am now and I have to accept that things do not always go as expected.  I’m the first to admit that I didn’t always make the best choices, that I’ve not always learned from the experiences approp

It’s been 10 weeks of lockdown, where our movements have been curtailed to try to slow the spread of the novel coronavirus covid19.  I’ve gone through several stages, from frustration through depression to indifference.  Frankly, I cycle through them so that there are days (or hours) when I feel optimistic, to be followed by a crash and a sinking depression that sucks all of my joy. I’ve had recommendations to document this period, so that I and others can look back on it and remember what it was like living through this pivotal period.  Every time I started, though, the waves of sadness would just wash out my ability to write, or think or share.  I can say that the things that stand out most from the last 3 months are the following.  Bear in mind that I’ve edited them, just because I need this to be able to cope with life, so the worst of it is omitted. Days bleed into one another.  If not for my iPad, I wouldn’t know Monday from Friday.  Weekends are meaningless— but they were be

So here we are in the middle of the COVID19 pandemic shutdown.  I’ve been at home now for 3 weeks, only leaving the apartment to do laundry in the basement and to get mail, and I leave the building to stand outside with the little dog.  So my interactions are by phone, email and WhatsApp.  I’m about ready to leave the house and run into the woods... or more accurately, to move into a mall and wander the stores that are empty of people but full of merchandise! Funny, isn’t it, how contrarian we are as people?  Under normal circumstances, staying at home isn’t a problem.  But being told that we MUST stay in just causes this urge to go out and do something different.  In the past few years, I’ve been protective of my health and avoided crowded places, kept away from anyone who was ill, and avoided strangers as disease-ridden germ spreadersv joa so the requirement for physical distance is not a hardship.  But this shutdown of all the places that I usually go to maintain a level of normal

There were 2 biblical verses that have been filling my thoughts lately: Love your neighbour as yourself . Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive  those who trespass against us. They are a reminder to me that we really only know God when we interact with other people.  There is no way to say, “I love God” when we also hate people.  Even those who are most different from us, or with whom we disagree.  Frankly, it’s not easy to love people.  They don’t act the way we would want, they do things that are hurtful, or they are inconsiderate.  Even in our families, it’s hard to love everyone.  In larger families, like my own, we are closer to some people than others, and the one we’re closest to changes over time.  I’ve also listened to friends talking about their family interactions, where there will be one person who is ostracized from the rest, and people go years without speaking to their parents or siblings.  (I don’t understand that, but we’ll leave that for another time.) But

“The thing that I hate,” said this person, apropos of nothing, “is feeling pitied.  I think you’re so strong, and so brave.  I really hate it, though, when people start looking at me with pity.” OOOOK.  As mentioned, that came out of nowhere, and I decided that it would kill that conversation.  I’ve been thinking about it since, and it became important to understand both the statement and its intent.   Pity  means to feel sadness for someone else’s difficult situation.  The other meanings include disappointment ( it’s a pity that... ) and to do something for someone because you feel sorry for them. We all know people who go out seeking pity.  We call them victims , we sometimes think of them as weak, especially when they seem to keep falling into the same rut.  But pity is not a weak emotion, and it can lead to some strong actions.  Not, I must emphasize, in the form described by the  Austrian dramatist, Nestroy. A very rich man sees a starving beggar on top of the stairs leading t