One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside all people.
He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves that dwell inside each and everyone of us.
“One is Evil.
It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.
The other is Good.
It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”
The grandson thought about it for a minute, and then asked his grandfather:
“Which wolf will win ?”
The old Cherokee simply replied:
“The one you feed.”
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
July 8th
Today is July 8th, 2010.
6 years ago today my mother died.
2 years ago today my father died.
Exactly 4 years apart.
Mom was 83 when she died. Dad, 95. We had them a good long time. But not long enough. Never long enough.
You'd think that - since they died 'old' - the pain of missing them might be somewhat lessened. Of course I don't know what the pain is like when you lose a parent earlier but I can tell you that the lose of a parent at any age is heart-breaking.
I walk Bailey every evening past a house where an elderly couple sit on the porch and greet every passerby. They look nothing like my parents (although I have the suspicion that the Mrs. might be suffering from Parkinson's as did my mother) and yet each time we speak my heart aches a bit more than normal. Because they're old? Maybe. Because they're together and I sense they are always together? Perhaps. But I know and see a lot of elderly people every day who don't make my heart ache and magnify my loss. What is it about these two I wonder. Maybe it's just the passing of time.
Not long before Dad died we had a very funny interaction related to a book I'd loaned him. He was really put out about the ending. When I arrived one Sunday afternoon Dale, my sister, met me at the door and said "HE wants a word with you". She refused to tell me what was going on but she had a sly smile so I knew it was going to be a good one. Like the time he harranged me over and over about the headband I was wearing. My headband he hated, Dale's eyebrow peircing got ignored!
But I digress. That particular day he made me read the last few pages of the book out loud and then give him my interpretation (which was the polar opposite of his own). He never did agree with how I had interpreted it and he never quite forgave me for an ending he really didn't like. I didn't WRITE the book, I told him - I simply loaned it to you! Didn't matter. I was the conduit and he was pissed.
Because he was 95 you're thinking? No, because he was - had always been - wonderfully eccentric. And this exchange came to mind recently when I finished reading the next book by that same author. OMG, I thought to myself, thank god he's dead because he would have HATED me over this ending!!!
They've been together again now for 2 years - married for 63, together in eternity. Those 4 years without her were hell for him - although my sister and brother-in-law filled every one of those days with love and laughter it just wasn't the same without her.
Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad. Miss you always. Love you forever.
6 years ago today my mother died.
2 years ago today my father died.
Exactly 4 years apart.
Mom was 83 when she died. Dad, 95. We had them a good long time. But not long enough. Never long enough.
You'd think that - since they died 'old' - the pain of missing them might be somewhat lessened. Of course I don't know what the pain is like when you lose a parent earlier but I can tell you that the lose of a parent at any age is heart-breaking.
I walk Bailey every evening past a house where an elderly couple sit on the porch and greet every passerby. They look nothing like my parents (although I have the suspicion that the Mrs. might be suffering from Parkinson's as did my mother) and yet each time we speak my heart aches a bit more than normal. Because they're old? Maybe. Because they're together and I sense they are always together? Perhaps. But I know and see a lot of elderly people every day who don't make my heart ache and magnify my loss. What is it about these two I wonder. Maybe it's just the passing of time.
Not long before Dad died we had a very funny interaction related to a book I'd loaned him. He was really put out about the ending. When I arrived one Sunday afternoon Dale, my sister, met me at the door and said "HE wants a word with you". She refused to tell me what was going on but she had a sly smile so I knew it was going to be a good one. Like the time he harranged me over and over about the headband I was wearing. My headband he hated, Dale's eyebrow peircing got ignored!
But I digress. That particular day he made me read the last few pages of the book out loud and then give him my interpretation (which was the polar opposite of his own). He never did agree with how I had interpreted it and he never quite forgave me for an ending he really didn't like. I didn't WRITE the book, I told him - I simply loaned it to you! Didn't matter. I was the conduit and he was pissed.
Because he was 95 you're thinking? No, because he was - had always been - wonderfully eccentric. And this exchange came to mind recently when I finished reading the next book by that same author. OMG, I thought to myself, thank god he's dead because he would have HATED me over this ending!!!
They've been together again now for 2 years - married for 63, together in eternity. Those 4 years without her were hell for him - although my sister and brother-in-law filled every one of those days with love and laughter it just wasn't the same without her.
Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad. Miss you always. Love you forever.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
That's right ..... we bad.
Many (many) years ago I worked with a girl named Vera. Her ancestry was Russian and Vera in Russian it looked like (using the alphabet I was familiar with) B-E-P-A. And so her nickname was Bepa. Mine was Neecy. A spin on my real name. So there we were - Bepa and Neecy. And what an unlikely duo we were.
I was about 27, she a bit younger. She was single and care free. I'd been married since I was 20 and would, over the course of your friendship, become pregnant with twins. Said twins now the same age I was when I met Bepa. So this is a tale of long ago.
She was the free spirt I wasn't. The free spirit I probably wanted to be. I'd left my parent's home to move into my marriage home. She'd left her parents home as a very young teenager and managed on her own for years without their - or anyone's - help. She drove a beat up old VW beetle. I can still remember looking down and seeing the road rush by beneath my feet through the rust that was holding the car together. I was the law abiding worrywart always concerned about the possibility of a parking ticket when she parked that thing wherever she could squeeze it in. 'No Parking' sign? Who cares. Curb? No worries. And oddly enough I don't ever recall getting a ticket.
She introduced me to Sangria and salsa. Hot hot hot. OMG I remember the first time we went to her favorite Mexican restaurant. There on the table was a bowl of salsa and some tortilla chips. 'It's pretty hot' she said. 'Oh, I like spicy food' I replied and took some. 'Pretty hot' was her euphemism for excruciating pain I think. She laughed like hell as I gasped and tried to drown it with water - a useless attempt I came to realize.
God, she could laugh. We laughed together all the time. That's what I remember most about our friendship. The laughter. And the acceptance. Because there wasn't anyone quite so opposite as me from Vera. And yet she accepted me just as I was. True friendship.
You couldn't tie her down and so after a while she left the hospital where we both worked and spent a year in Australia. I sent her 'care packages' of things she loved and couldn't find there. Peanut butter was a key item as I recall. Vegemite just didn't cut it for her!
And then she spent some time in Hollywood. I don't remember her wanting to be 'a star' but she was in Hollywood and when she was there she met Richard Pryor.
One of our favorite movies was Stir Crazy, with Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder. We loved that movie and were forever quoting lines from it (remember, we WERE in our 20's!). Our favorite line was from the scene where Richard & Gene were going to jail. 'What are you doing?" Gene asks Richard as they're on their way to the holding pen. "I'm gettin' bad' replies Richard. And so they both 'get bad'. And their bad was hysterically funny. 'That's right' says's Gene to the group in the cell 'we bad'.
And 'that's right, we bad' became our slogan, Vera and I.
And so, when she had a chance to meet Richard Pryor Vera asked him to do a 'we bad' for her friend Neecy in Toronto. And he did. I have a 'we bad' vicariously through Vera Maiden.
We lost touch some time after that. Vera returned from her travels and I was pregnant with my boys. The gap between us seemed too large and we drifted apart. But wherever she is today I hope that she has fond memories of our time together as I do
.
Here's to a wonderful - and far too brief -friendship.
That's right. We bad.
I was about 27, she a bit younger. She was single and care free. I'd been married since I was 20 and would, over the course of your friendship, become pregnant with twins. Said twins now the same age I was when I met Bepa. So this is a tale of long ago.
She was the free spirt I wasn't. The free spirit I probably wanted to be. I'd left my parent's home to move into my marriage home. She'd left her parents home as a very young teenager and managed on her own for years without their - or anyone's - help. She drove a beat up old VW beetle. I can still remember looking down and seeing the road rush by beneath my feet through the rust that was holding the car together. I was the law abiding worrywart always concerned about the possibility of a parking ticket when she parked that thing wherever she could squeeze it in. 'No Parking' sign? Who cares. Curb? No worries. And oddly enough I don't ever recall getting a ticket.
She introduced me to Sangria and salsa. Hot hot hot. OMG I remember the first time we went to her favorite Mexican restaurant. There on the table was a bowl of salsa and some tortilla chips. 'It's pretty hot' she said. 'Oh, I like spicy food' I replied and took some. 'Pretty hot' was her euphemism for excruciating pain I think. She laughed like hell as I gasped and tried to drown it with water - a useless attempt I came to realize.
God, she could laugh. We laughed together all the time. That's what I remember most about our friendship. The laughter. And the acceptance. Because there wasn't anyone quite so opposite as me from Vera. And yet she accepted me just as I was. True friendship.
You couldn't tie her down and so after a while she left the hospital where we both worked and spent a year in Australia. I sent her 'care packages' of things she loved and couldn't find there. Peanut butter was a key item as I recall. Vegemite just didn't cut it for her!
And then she spent some time in Hollywood. I don't remember her wanting to be 'a star' but she was in Hollywood and when she was there she met Richard Pryor.
One of our favorite movies was Stir Crazy, with Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder. We loved that movie and were forever quoting lines from it (remember, we WERE in our 20's!). Our favorite line was from the scene where Richard & Gene were going to jail. 'What are you doing?" Gene asks Richard as they're on their way to the holding pen. "I'm gettin' bad' replies Richard. And so they both 'get bad'. And their bad was hysterically funny. 'That's right' says's Gene to the group in the cell 'we bad'.
And 'that's right, we bad' became our slogan, Vera and I.
And so, when she had a chance to meet Richard Pryor Vera asked him to do a 'we bad' for her friend Neecy in Toronto. And he did. I have a 'we bad' vicariously through Vera Maiden.
We lost touch some time after that. Vera returned from her travels and I was pregnant with my boys. The gap between us seemed too large and we drifted apart. But wherever she is today I hope that she has fond memories of our time together as I do
.
Here's to a wonderful - and far too brief -friendship.
That's right. We bad.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Have you read the one about .....
I just finished reading a great book. It was filled with humour and history and I thought that a friend of mine would enjoy it as well.
I often hesitate to recommend books to this person; I remember once suggesting that A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry was an incredible book. They got it, took it with them on vacation and blamed me later for recommending such a "depressingly god-awful book". I loved that book. And so, as you can imagine, I've been cautious about my suggestions. But this newest one just seemed to fit. The topic was in their particular area of interest, it wasn't fiction and it was well written. So I took the book - my copy with my notes because I often write in margins - and said "I thought you might find this really interesting."
The reply? After perusing the inside jacket for about 5 seconds the disdainful response was, "You want me to read a book by an author who's previous subject matter included a book about Moosejaw???"
It's quite funny you know. Those of you love to read as much as I do may understand what I mean when I say that the recommendation of a book is quite personal. The books that you really love say something about you. For me, the out of hand dismissal of a recommended book is akin to dismissing the person who recommended it. Then again, maybe I'm the only one who feels that way. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened for sure.
One thing though to be sure, I'll never recommend another book to that 'friend'.
I often hesitate to recommend books to this person; I remember once suggesting that A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry was an incredible book. They got it, took it with them on vacation and blamed me later for recommending such a "depressingly god-awful book". I loved that book. And so, as you can imagine, I've been cautious about my suggestions. But this newest one just seemed to fit. The topic was in their particular area of interest, it wasn't fiction and it was well written. So I took the book - my copy with my notes because I often write in margins - and said "I thought you might find this really interesting."
The reply? After perusing the inside jacket for about 5 seconds the disdainful response was, "You want me to read a book by an author who's previous subject matter included a book about Moosejaw???"
It's quite funny you know. Those of you love to read as much as I do may understand what I mean when I say that the recommendation of a book is quite personal. The books that you really love say something about you. For me, the out of hand dismissal of a recommended book is akin to dismissing the person who recommended it. Then again, maybe I'm the only one who feels that way. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened for sure.
One thing though to be sure, I'll never recommend another book to that 'friend'.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
....so I make the rules.....ya think???
One of my sons is a fan of novelty T-shirts and so I'm always on the lookout for unique and quirky examples. A few years ago I came across one that had what appeared to be one of those 'Hello my name is' tags you get when you go to a cheesy conference. The 'name' on the 'name tag' was 'Inigo Montoya' with another 'name tag' underneath that said 'you killed my father' and a final one saying 'prepare to die'. I guess two things matter for you to appreciate it - first is that you need to be a fan of the movie Princess Bride. Second is you really need to see it to get it. However, I digress.
Tonight I came across a man wearing a T-short that caught my attention. Not because it was quirky nor unique but because it was worn by a purported adult (maybe 35 or so) and was particularly offensive. I expect some people - the wearer at a minimum - found it quite funny but it didn't make me laugh. All I could think of was, you may have that but I'd bet anything that you don't have a date for tonight (or for any night). And you probably wonder to your sad lonely self why you don't have a date, why you can't get a 'good' woman and why you're stuck in a dead end job with little opportunity for career advancement. Can't possibly have anything to do with the decisions you make with respect to your wardrobe can it???
The saying? "I've got the dick so I make the rules."
gimme a break.
Tonight I came across a man wearing a T-short that caught my attention. Not because it was quirky nor unique but because it was worn by a purported adult (maybe 35 or so) and was particularly offensive. I expect some people - the wearer at a minimum - found it quite funny but it didn't make me laugh. All I could think of was, you may have that but I'd bet anything that you don't have a date for tonight (or for any night). And you probably wonder to your sad lonely self why you don't have a date, why you can't get a 'good' woman and why you're stuck in a dead end job with little opportunity for career advancement. Can't possibly have anything to do with the decisions you make with respect to your wardrobe can it???
The saying? "I've got the dick so I make the rules."
gimme a break.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Obedience School
Tonight was the last of six sessions of obedience classes for Bailey. He's a smart puppy and so things have been pretty good - even though I don't work with him half as much as I should - but tonight was "the" night. Tonight was the exam.
As we went through out paces - and honestly is obedience class for the dog or the human??? - it was such an odd feeling knowing that someone was judging 'our' behaviour. Did he break during the sit/stay? Did he get distracted when the trainer walked by with the squeaky toy (his absolute favorite by the way)??? Will he 'measure up'? Will I measure up?
It's a very bizarre process. I know that this judging and evaluating is pretty much bogus. After all, the goal of the classes - ultimately - is to sell us on more classes (next step advanced obedience). Of course we need to learn and improve, otherwise the word of mouth advertising - the best after all - would fail miserably. And so there have been improvements. Some amazing improvements too.
Take Rocky. The chihuahua who arrived at the first class snarling, growling and barking at everything on two and four legs. At 'graduation' Rocky was able to sit (albeit off to one side) for the photo shoot along with all the other dogs. {ps... don't you just LOVE that the littlest dog in the group was named 'Rocky'... I LOVE it}.
So comes the graduation. Each of us comes forward, receives our diploma along with a scorecard indicating where we need to pay some specific attention to training, etc. And you can feel the .... tension .... in the room.
Winston. Dusty. Max. Henry. Then Bailey.
I take Bailey up to get his diploma and they tell me that he's done an amazing job (odd considering that he absolutely HATES to heel in class - does pretty good on our walks but when it comes to class ... nah, not so much .... so I spend a fair bit of time dragging him around). I shake hands with the trainers - SO formal - and they hand me his 'diploma' and scorecard and we return to our seat. 18 is the best you can do (6 questions with a max of 3 per question) and it's with an odd sense of judgement that I turn the page over to see his score.
I know he's improved from 6 weeks ago even though we absolutely haven't practiced as much as we should. Plus there are all kinds of conflicting messages since I'm the only one taking the training but not the only one spending time with him at home. But he does sit patiently in front of his food until I give him the OK to eat. He's a great dog and I've learned alot of tips/tricks in these classes that I need only to apply. So why the need for approval from those I pay to teach me? It's quite odd. And I know it doesn't matter.
oh yeah ..... he got 17 out of 18.
that's my boy !
As we went through out paces - and honestly is obedience class for the dog or the human??? - it was such an odd feeling knowing that someone was judging 'our' behaviour. Did he break during the sit/stay? Did he get distracted when the trainer walked by with the squeaky toy (his absolute favorite by the way)??? Will he 'measure up'? Will I measure up?
It's a very bizarre process. I know that this judging and evaluating is pretty much bogus. After all, the goal of the classes - ultimately - is to sell us on more classes (next step advanced obedience). Of course we need to learn and improve, otherwise the word of mouth advertising - the best after all - would fail miserably. And so there have been improvements. Some amazing improvements too.
Take Rocky. The chihuahua who arrived at the first class snarling, growling and barking at everything on two and four legs. At 'graduation' Rocky was able to sit (albeit off to one side) for the photo shoot along with all the other dogs. {ps... don't you just LOVE that the littlest dog in the group was named 'Rocky'... I LOVE it}.
So comes the graduation. Each of us comes forward, receives our diploma along with a scorecard indicating where we need to pay some specific attention to training, etc. And you can feel the .... tension .... in the room.
Winston. Dusty. Max. Henry. Then Bailey.
I take Bailey up to get his diploma and they tell me that he's done an amazing job (odd considering that he absolutely HATES to heel in class - does pretty good on our walks but when it comes to class ... nah, not so much .... so I spend a fair bit of time dragging him around). I shake hands with the trainers - SO formal - and they hand me his 'diploma' and scorecard and we return to our seat. 18 is the best you can do (6 questions with a max of 3 per question) and it's with an odd sense of judgement that I turn the page over to see his score.
I know he's improved from 6 weeks ago even though we absolutely haven't practiced as much as we should. Plus there are all kinds of conflicting messages since I'm the only one taking the training but not the only one spending time with him at home. But he does sit patiently in front of his food until I give him the OK to eat. He's a great dog and I've learned alot of tips/tricks in these classes that I need only to apply. So why the need for approval from those I pay to teach me? It's quite odd. And I know it doesn't matter.
oh yeah ..... he got 17 out of 18.
that's my boy !
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Fire pits and anonymous notes
In Celtic spirituality there is a concept of a 'thin place' - a place where the veil between the sacred and the secular is so thin that one can have a glimpse of the glory of God.
In my life I've had a few thin places. As a child it was the beach in front of my family cottage. As an adult it was in front of the Icon at St. Agnes or in front of the fire in my backyard. Several years ago - during a particularly dark time - I spent hours and hours, night after night, in front of the fire. It saved me. Being able to sit quietly in the backyard late at night in front of the fire has been a God-send. It is my thin place.
Sadly, today when I got home from work I found an envelope that had been mailed by, obviously, a neighbour. It was addressed to our residence and inside was a printout of the Toronto Fire Department website indicating that the open air fire pit I have in my backyard (chiminea) are illegal in the city. Sad because I can no longer sit in front of my fire and glimpse the glory of God. And sad because a neighbour felt that they couldn't simply come and tell me their issues with the fire but felt the need to send an anonymous message.
Sad.
But I truly believe that as one door closes, another opens - surely God will lead me to a new thin place. Let's pray it's soon.
In my life I've had a few thin places. As a child it was the beach in front of my family cottage. As an adult it was in front of the Icon at St. Agnes or in front of the fire in my backyard. Several years ago - during a particularly dark time - I spent hours and hours, night after night, in front of the fire. It saved me. Being able to sit quietly in the backyard late at night in front of the fire has been a God-send. It is my thin place.
Sadly, today when I got home from work I found an envelope that had been mailed by, obviously, a neighbour. It was addressed to our residence and inside was a printout of the Toronto Fire Department website indicating that the open air fire pit I have in my backyard (chiminea) are illegal in the city. Sad because I can no longer sit in front of my fire and glimpse the glory of God. And sad because a neighbour felt that they couldn't simply come and tell me their issues with the fire but felt the need to send an anonymous message.
Sad.
But I truly believe that as one door closes, another opens - surely God will lead me to a new thin place. Let's pray it's soon.
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