'Absolute unmixed attention is prayer'

These words are from Simone Weil, French philosopher, Christian mystic and social activist.

Born to an agnostic Jewish family in 1909 it wasn't until Simone experienced a religious ecstasy early in 1937 - while in Assisi at the same church in which St. Francis prayed - that she said her first prayer. The following year she had an even more powerful revelation after which her writing became increasinly spiritual.

In 1943, at the age of 34, Weil was diagnosed with tuberculosis and told to rest and eat well in order to take care of herself. However, she continued to limit her food to equal that available to the German occupied French nationals. As a result, Weil died later that year and was said to have killed herself by her own actions.

'Absolute unmixed attention is prayer.' When you think about that sentiment it makes a lot of sense. Paying attention - really, really paying attention - to another person makes them feel loved, wanted, valued, special and important. Just as we feel when, in the words of Jean Vanier, we sit in the quiet, gentle presence of God. We feel loved, wanted, valued, special and important.

Absolute unmixed attention is prayer. Remember that the next time you are with someone. Really be with them. Not superficially present; not looking over their shoulder or thinking about something other than the present. I believe that Simone was right on. Give absolute unmixed attention. The best gift ever.

Why does my puppy eat rocks?

Now that's a question I don't think I would have imagined having to ask a few months ago. But since getting a 3 1/2 month old Golden Labrador on New Years Eve, my Internet searches involve Cesar Milan, where to buy gates with small pet doors, obedience classes and, yes, why does my puppy eat rocks.



He's a beautiful boy is my Bailey. Full of fun and playfulness but easily calmed. Well, relatively easily! He's integrating well into the home which already had four cats when he arrived. Two of the four - the biggest ones - have pretty much established their place in the hierarchy. The third is slowly coming around and the littlest guy - the only one with claws - is expressing more interest than fear. Baby steps.



We've had 8 days with only one "puppy accident" - which probably means that I'm the one who's trained rather than Bailey but I'm good with that anyway.



It's been about 5 1/2 years since my last dog died. Raggs died just 6 days after my mom and the idea of getting another dog right away was too much for me. So we got cats. Two HUGE 10 year old cats. We also ended up with two more cats who originally belonged to my sons but who are now part of my menagerie.



Since Bailey arrived I realized just how much I missed having a dog in my life. I wonder why I waited so long. Oh well, the wait is over and I'm thrilled with my boy.

"It's not the fatigue. It's the emotional load."

I read this quote in the paper today. "It's not the fatique. It's the emotional load." Spoken by Dr. Mike Howatt, a surgeon with the GlobalMedic team in Haiti, as he reflected on what he had been facing since arriving. Amputations by flashlight, many without anaesthesia. We complain when we have to wait to see our doctors. We complain when we're faced with delay at our local emergency department - a place we often go even when we really don't need the services of an emergency physician. We complain when we have to wait to get our pain medication after recovering from surgery. We complain. But why? Because humans certainly have the capacity to do otherwise. The paper talked about a ten year old girl who sang hymns while the doctors cut off her infected hand - with no anaesthesia. Doesn't sound like she complained does it? Nope, she sang hymns. Amazing. My hero.

We can learn a lot from her. Give generously to help Haiti.

Healing while dieing

I heard an interview the other night on the way home from work; Matt Galloway, CBC Radio host of Here & Now was talking with Paul Quarrington.

Paul is described as a musician/award-winning author/film-maker and he just recently won the Matt Cohen Award from The Writers Trust of Canada.

For those who don't know (and I didn't) the Matt Cohen award was "Established in 2001 by The Writers' Trust of Canada and a group of anonymous donors, [and] given for a lifetime of distinguished work by a Canadian writer, working in either poetry or prose, writing in either french or english who has dedicated his or her life to writing as a primary pursuit. Valued at $20,000, it is one of the richest literary awards in the country.

According to the 'online guide to Canadian authors' Matt Cohen died of cancer in December 1999, at the age of 56. His first novel was published in 1969 and during his writing career he published 34 books, including novels, short stories, poetry and books for children. Cohen also worked for all Canadian writers through his long association with The Writers' Union of Canada. He was a founding member of the Union, and served as an executive member for many years."

Paul Quarrington is 56 years old. Paul is also suffering from stage 4, inoperable, lung cancer.

The interview was well done - a difficult subject for sure. But Paul made it easy for Galloway to discuss his health and the short time he has ahead of him.

One thing that struck me most in the interview was something that Paul said. He talked about the gnashing of teeth when he first was diagnosed and about all the stages that he moved through between then and now. But one thing he said was most profound....now I don't have it verbatim but the essence stayed with me.

Paul talked about how he had been healed. In the face of his imminent death he said that he was healed. You hear about people who pray to be 'healed' when what they really mean is that they want to be 'cured. And so they miss the peace and joy that true healing could have brought to them.

Paul didn't miss it. He's living life to the fullest. He said that if 80 years is wonderful then so is one, or two. Good man. Healed man. Thanks Be to God.

A Dare to Remember Update

Well, my month without television is coming to an end. I surpassed by goal of $1,000 for the Stephen Lewis Foundation and increased it to $1250 which I hope to meet by end of day next Sunday, October 25th.

I watched (not on TV but on my computer!!!) Stephen Lewis on George Stroumboulopoulos and was impressed anew with his passion and strength. When George asked him about losing his faith in the fight Stephen replied that he certainly had his ups and downs but that one cannot let futility take hold. What an amazing man. In the face of 8-10 million people needing treatment and only about 3million receiving it one could expect that you might get discouraged. And I suppose he does. Get discouraged, that is. But he never gives up.

He said he's concerned that, at his age of 72, he doesn't have enough years left to do what he needs to do. That's why the Foundation is so important. People need to pick up the torch and follow in his footsteps.

A Dare to Remember. An amazing man. Thanks Stephen Lewis for being such an inspiration.

A Dare to Remember

Well, today marks the beginning of my month long dare.

I was listening to CBC radio and heard an interview with Stephen Lewis about the Dare to Remember campaign that was developed to raise funds for his foundation.

I'm a big fan of Stephen Lewis and as soon as I got home I checked out the website (www.adaretoremember.org) and created my own dare.

I dared myself to give up television for one month and, during that period, read at least 10 books. My dare begins today, September 25th, and ends on the last day of the Dare to Remember campaign, October 25th.

My friends, family and colleagues have shown incredible support - I'm well on my way to reaching my $1,000 goal.

The money raised goes directly to those who need it. The Stephen Lewis Foundation, which started just six years ago, "worked to create a new way of funding that is sensitive, responsive and flexible - one that avoids bureaucratic red-tape and ensures that the money goes where it's most needed." My kind of fundraising.

So, to everyone who has supported my dare so far - THANK YOU.

To those who haven't yet visited my page please check it out at http://stephenlewisfoundation.akaraisin.com/p/DeniseShoesmith.aspx

and to those who elect to support different fundraising organizations, keep up the good work.

In the words of the Dare to Remember campaign "Together, ordinary people CAN do extraordinary things."

Linden Tree

My front lawn has the biggest tree in the neighbourhood.

It's a Linden tree and if I had to guess at it's height I'd probably say it was a gazzillion miles high. I love it.

Literally, I love the tree. I feel a Celtic connection to its branches and its flowers and the hard as nails berry-type beads that fall off and cover what little remains of my front lawn.

I was a child when this tree was planted. Its predecessor was a Mountain Ash. My mother hated that tree; well 'hated' is probably too strong a word but she sure as hell didn't like it. The Mountain Ash had berries too but not the dried, hard shell kind of the Linden. Those berries were red and squishy and made a mess all over the front sidewalk. THAT'S what Mom didn't like ... the mess.

Anyway, one year a bunch of teenagers (well, we figured it was teenagers because who else would do it) ripped all the branches off the Ash and left it in shreds on the front lawn. Even though Mom - and by extension none of us - liked the damn thing it was an affront to see it in pieces all over the lawn.

The Linden replaced the Ash and for years I just took it for granted. Until I became the owner of the house and the tree.

You see I discovered that if you don't trim back the branches they grow and grow and make a lovely kind of shelter. It's like being wrapped in the arms of someone you love. Of course by letting the branches grow it blocks out the sun and the grass dies. But I've solved that problem. This year I put in a rock garden. No worries. I get to have my wonderful tree just as big and magnificent as I know it wants to be and my husband doesn't have to moan about the dead grass. He doesn't love the tree. And he doesn't quite understand my attraction to it.

We used to have an elderly lady come and pick the flowers to make Linden tea and last year a neighbourhood youngster would come by on his way to school and hide under the branches. His mother apologized when I happened to be home one day and saw him doing it. No worries, I said, I love it too. I think she got it. I'm sure she did - only someone who got it would have added extra minutes to their walk to school knowing their child wanted to be embraced by the tree.

We had an incredible storm here last week. The wind was phenomenal - it was the storm that launched the tornado in Vaughan - and the trees all around us were bending in its onslaught. I found myself praying for my tree. Certainly I didn't want the tree to fall on my house or on any of my neighbours' but I also, perhaps even more, couldn't bear the thought of the tree being harmed. Thankfully she stood her ground and remains part of my life.

Honestly, I love that tree.