After 5 1/2 years of being without a dog I got a puppy at New Years.
We had Raggs for about 10 years and I loved her. She died - or as someone recently said to me, I had to let her go - four days after my mother died and we immediately "replaced" her with 2 cats thinking that getting another dog right away would be too difficult. Over time our family was joined by two other cats, who used to belong to my sons, and so we became a 4 cat home! I was one cat away from being the crazy cat woman of Etobicoke.
But I always missed having a dog in my life. The cats were great - are great. But they aren't dogs. Obviously. So this past Christmas I thought a lot about getting a dog and decided that a puppy would be the best way to introduce a dog to a house with 4 cats. I've always wanted a Golden Retriever and so found a breeder not too far away and we went to visit. As I walked towards the door it opened and a gorgeous puppy romped across the snow covered grass. It was love at first sight.
That was 3 months ago and at this point I can't imagine my life without him.
What I am now learning about though is dog owner etiquette. I walk him a lot and since I'm not a particularly social person my tendency, at least initially, was to share a brief 'hello, how are you' and move on. But doggie owners are a special breed (if you'll pardon the pun) and they like to talk. Bailey is an extremely social puppy - he loves to play with any dog he meets along the way - and so I end up spending time in a doggie coffee cliche (usually sans coffee!) trying to make small talk with people who appear to know an awful lot more than I about how to raise and train a puppy.
Because Bailey is my first puppy - all the other dogs I've had have been were adults from the pound - I really don't contribute much to those conversations. I mainly try to listen and learn although there are an awful lot of conflicting ideas & viewpoints. And an awful lot of holier than thou opinions.
As I write this he's sleeping quietly in front of me after having spent the morning playing in the park and the afternoon playing with my son's dog (yes, I have both his dog and his cat AND him in my house now).
The sun is shining. The dog is happy and healthy. What could be better.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Weep with those who weep
Two years ago in January I got an email from a friend saying "can you call me please." That email was in response to a message I had sent simply saying "???????????????????"
A month or so earlier she had gone for her annual mammogram and had been called back because of some anomalies in the scan. They told her 'don't worry, it's very common' and yet we had worried. And so, on the scheduled day I waited and wondered and I sent the '???' email asking for the update. Of course, what I wanted to hear - what we had both convinced ourselves we would hear - was 'everything is fine; it was a false alarm; no worries' but what I got was 'can you call me please'. I knew then, of course, that it wasn't good news. You don't give bad news over email. You share bad news in person - or at least 'in voice'. And so I called. And we talked. And talked. And talked.
That was two years ago January. This January she was given a very positive report - following the surgery and treatment that she'd endured back in 2007 - and told 'see you next year'. The best words possible.
My friend is - apart from me maybe - the most private person I know. She told 7 people that she had breast cancer. Her partner (who was overseas for most of that year), me and 3 other friends, her sister, and her boss. That was it. She went for her appointments - grudgingly agreeing to have one of her friends accompany her to the first one - had her surgery and her treatments and continued her day to day work. Amazing. She never told her staff, her co-workers, her peers - no one outside of those 7 people. For weeks she went to Princess Margaret in the morning and then arrived late at work. She's sure her staff wondered about her absences; gossiped; made up stuff; whatever. And yet she was adamant that no one know. She didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her, to cut her any slack because she was 'sick', to know her personal life. She faced her dark night of the soul almost entirely alone. Doing housework to keep her mind occupied; talking, albeit briefly, to her four closest friends; working extra hours.
I often wondered - considering now pathologically private I am as well - how I might react in a similar circumstance. I expect that I would do this same thing. I expect that I would be even more private. In fact, I know that I would.
I so admire people who have a network they can reach out to. Friends they can commiserate with. In the words of St. Paul 'rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep'
A month or so earlier she had gone for her annual mammogram and had been called back because of some anomalies in the scan. They told her 'don't worry, it's very common' and yet we had worried. And so, on the scheduled day I waited and wondered and I sent the '???' email asking for the update. Of course, what I wanted to hear - what we had both convinced ourselves we would hear - was 'everything is fine; it was a false alarm; no worries' but what I got was 'can you call me please'. I knew then, of course, that it wasn't good news. You don't give bad news over email. You share bad news in person - or at least 'in voice'. And so I called. And we talked. And talked. And talked.
That was two years ago January. This January she was given a very positive report - following the surgery and treatment that she'd endured back in 2007 - and told 'see you next year'. The best words possible.
My friend is - apart from me maybe - the most private person I know. She told 7 people that she had breast cancer. Her partner (who was overseas for most of that year), me and 3 other friends, her sister, and her boss. That was it. She went for her appointments - grudgingly agreeing to have one of her friends accompany her to the first one - had her surgery and her treatments and continued her day to day work. Amazing. She never told her staff, her co-workers, her peers - no one outside of those 7 people. For weeks she went to Princess Margaret in the morning and then arrived late at work. She's sure her staff wondered about her absences; gossiped; made up stuff; whatever. And yet she was adamant that no one know. She didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her, to cut her any slack because she was 'sick', to know her personal life. She faced her dark night of the soul almost entirely alone. Doing housework to keep her mind occupied; talking, albeit briefly, to her four closest friends; working extra hours.
I often wondered - considering now pathologically private I am as well - how I might react in a similar circumstance. I expect that I would do this same thing. I expect that I would be even more private. In fact, I know that I would.
I so admire people who have a network they can reach out to. Friends they can commiserate with. In the words of St. Paul 'rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep'
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The common cup
At tonight's Ash Wednesday service I was reminded of something that happened to me many, many years ago at another parish.
One of the couple's in the church were getting married and, because the bride was Spanish speaking, had requested that Fr. Hernan Astudillo from the parish of San Lorenzo co-officiate at their wedding.
The first time I saw Fr. Hernan was at the altar rail when he came to church to meet with the couple. I was administering the chalice and when I offered it to Fr. Hernan - although at the time I had NO idea who he was - he placed both of his hands over mine and took the cup to his mouth. It was as if his hands enveloped mine and we shared the cup in a personal and somewhat intimate manner. It connected us and yet we had never met. I found myself captivated ......I never forgot.
I've always appreciated when a hand is placed over mine when I receive the host because I think it matters. It's a personal connection that establishes a bond. A tender, gentle, fleeting - yet at the same time lasting - bond.
I thought of Fr. Hernan tonight; I think I'll put into practice what so charmed me those many years ago.
One of the couple's in the church were getting married and, because the bride was Spanish speaking, had requested that Fr. Hernan Astudillo from the parish of San Lorenzo co-officiate at their wedding.
The first time I saw Fr. Hernan was at the altar rail when he came to church to meet with the couple. I was administering the chalice and when I offered it to Fr. Hernan - although at the time I had NO idea who he was - he placed both of his hands over mine and took the cup to his mouth. It was as if his hands enveloped mine and we shared the cup in a personal and somewhat intimate manner. It connected us and yet we had never met. I found myself captivated ......I never forgot.
I've always appreciated when a hand is placed over mine when I receive the host because I think it matters. It's a personal connection that establishes a bond. A tender, gentle, fleeting - yet at the same time lasting - bond.
I thought of Fr. Hernan tonight; I think I'll put into practice what so charmed me those many years ago.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Stuff, stuff, stuff ................
Stuff……stuff…..stuff……ARGHHH.
My son is moving back to Toronto after having lived in Saskatoon for two years. My son and Buddy, his 2 1/2 year old Labrador, that is.
And so, in order to get ready to have him with us until they get settled, get a job and an apartment of his own (one that will take him AND Buddy) we began to move things around. And discovered – as if we didn’t already know it – that we have WAY TOO MUCH STUFF.
It’s not as if the stuff we have is of great value. The massive newel posts that my husband always thought would make a great four poster bed (yeah, sure if you live in a castle!); dresser drawers that neither son wanted to take when they left home and so we kept – and filled the drawers with, you got it, more stuff; pieces of marble that the boys were given in lieu of payment for a construction job they did several years ago; a chess table that my husband made for me before we were married - and when I say ‘table’ I mean TABLE. It’s a coffee table sized chess board. The chess men are gone (actually only went into the recycle last year when he accepted how badly deteriorated they had become) but the table remains. Sentimental? Sure – but take a picture for heavens sake and let’s move on. But I digress. He has enough tools to put Ty Pennington and ‘This Old House’ to shame and enough DVD’s to open his own Blockbuster. But to be fair it’s not all his stuff. I have more books than many small town libraries; had to pack some of them into 4 large bins to make space in my son’s room. We still have my mother-in-laws old kitchen dishes – she died in 1987. We have at least a half dozen coolers and we hate picnics. We have enough wine glasses to cater a formal wedding and we seldom entertain. I’m sure you get my drift.
We have WAY too much stuff. My view is to get rid of much of it. The coolers, the wine glasses, the chess table – things we haven’t seen or thought of for 10 years. The space saved from getting rid of that stuff will mean that the things we’re keeping won’t seem so overwhelming. At least they’ll have a place to be kept. It’s really hard for my husband to give up things – to get rid of anything. After all, he may just make that four poster bed some day. It’s a challenge and more stuff comes in every day. He has trouble resisting a bargain – came home last week with a gravy separator, a scale and new kitchen silverware (which came in a large wooden box) and so the stuff continues to grow. And then you get stuff in the mail. Today I got an ‘appreciation’ gift from a company that I found myself thinking ‘hmmm, this may come in handy some day’…..arghhh ….. throw it away!
Stuff……stuff……stuff…….
Gonna starting culling.
Will keep you posted.
My son is moving back to Toronto after having lived in Saskatoon for two years. My son and Buddy, his 2 1/2 year old Labrador, that is.
And so, in order to get ready to have him with us until they get settled, get a job and an apartment of his own (one that will take him AND Buddy) we began to move things around. And discovered – as if we didn’t already know it – that we have WAY TOO MUCH STUFF.
It’s not as if the stuff we have is of great value. The massive newel posts that my husband always thought would make a great four poster bed (yeah, sure if you live in a castle!); dresser drawers that neither son wanted to take when they left home and so we kept – and filled the drawers with, you got it, more stuff; pieces of marble that the boys were given in lieu of payment for a construction job they did several years ago; a chess table that my husband made for me before we were married - and when I say ‘table’ I mean TABLE. It’s a coffee table sized chess board. The chess men are gone (actually only went into the recycle last year when he accepted how badly deteriorated they had become) but the table remains. Sentimental? Sure – but take a picture for heavens sake and let’s move on. But I digress. He has enough tools to put Ty Pennington and ‘This Old House’ to shame and enough DVD’s to open his own Blockbuster. But to be fair it’s not all his stuff. I have more books than many small town libraries; had to pack some of them into 4 large bins to make space in my son’s room. We still have my mother-in-laws old kitchen dishes – she died in 1987. We have at least a half dozen coolers and we hate picnics. We have enough wine glasses to cater a formal wedding and we seldom entertain. I’m sure you get my drift.
We have WAY too much stuff. My view is to get rid of much of it. The coolers, the wine glasses, the chess table – things we haven’t seen or thought of for 10 years. The space saved from getting rid of that stuff will mean that the things we’re keeping won’t seem so overwhelming. At least they’ll have a place to be kept. It’s really hard for my husband to give up things – to get rid of anything. After all, he may just make that four poster bed some day. It’s a challenge and more stuff comes in every day. He has trouble resisting a bargain – came home last week with a gravy separator, a scale and new kitchen silverware (which came in a large wooden box) and so the stuff continues to grow. And then you get stuff in the mail. Today I got an ‘appreciation’ gift from a company that I found myself thinking ‘hmmm, this may come in handy some day’…..arghhh ….. throw it away!
Stuff……stuff……stuff…….
Gonna starting culling.
Will keep you posted.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Ministry of Presence
In The Anglican a few months back I read an article by Fr. Matthew Johnson from St. James Anglican Church in Vancouver. He spoke of the 'ministry of presence' with respect to the large homeless community in the neighbourhood of St. James.
Rev Matthew wrote that some of the church members wondered why he bothered with these people because this is the life that they chose. However, Matthew wrote, few people ended up on the streets by any real choice of their own. Almost all of them, he said, have experienced extreme adversity in their lives which led to their current situation. Often that trauma had been experienced in their childhood and included abandonment, violence, sexual abuse, extreme poverty. Some had spent their childhood in an endless succession of group or foster homes - sometimes facing abuse there as well. Many never recover and find themselves on the street. Some find that drugs help to dull the pain for a bit. Thankfully some do recover and Fr. Matthew rejoices in their success.
It was the phrase 'ministry of presence' that particularly captivated me. For many years I was very involved in the food bank at my local church. As much as it broke my heart that there was such an overwhelming need for the food bank I loved working it. I enjoyed meeting and connecting with the people who came. We never preached to them. Apart from the fact that the food bank was inside an Anglican Church there was no proselytizing - we simply practiced the ministry of presence. We were present to the guests who found themselves in need of our help. We greeted them, befriended them, welcomed them and were just there for them. I made some amazing connections from among the people who came - developed relationships and memories that I will cherish always.
So often people who find themselves struggling, down & out, and become invisible to the larger community out there. People avoid looking the homeless in the eye; cross the street so that they don't get asked for a handout; make judgements based on clothes or demeanour. Generally do not make themselves present.
And one of the main goals of The Community of Caring Foodbank was, along with providing food, to be present to each and every person who entered the doors.
The ministry of presence. Fr. Matthew is bang on.
Rev Matthew wrote that some of the church members wondered why he bothered with these people because this is the life that they chose. However, Matthew wrote, few people ended up on the streets by any real choice of their own. Almost all of them, he said, have experienced extreme adversity in their lives which led to their current situation. Often that trauma had been experienced in their childhood and included abandonment, violence, sexual abuse, extreme poverty. Some had spent their childhood in an endless succession of group or foster homes - sometimes facing abuse there as well. Many never recover and find themselves on the street. Some find that drugs help to dull the pain for a bit. Thankfully some do recover and Fr. Matthew rejoices in their success.
It was the phrase 'ministry of presence' that particularly captivated me. For many years I was very involved in the food bank at my local church. As much as it broke my heart that there was such an overwhelming need for the food bank I loved working it. I enjoyed meeting and connecting with the people who came. We never preached to them. Apart from the fact that the food bank was inside an Anglican Church there was no proselytizing - we simply practiced the ministry of presence. We were present to the guests who found themselves in need of our help. We greeted them, befriended them, welcomed them and were just there for them. I made some amazing connections from among the people who came - developed relationships and memories that I will cherish always.
So often people who find themselves struggling, down & out, and become invisible to the larger community out there. People avoid looking the homeless in the eye; cross the street so that they don't get asked for a handout; make judgements based on clothes or demeanour. Generally do not make themselves present.
And one of the main goals of The Community of Caring Foodbank was, along with providing food, to be present to each and every person who entered the doors.
The ministry of presence. Fr. Matthew is bang on.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Honoured to have been selected
On December 29th I performed a wedding. The couple had selected me from my profile on the website and then, when they confirmed and I was given the details, I discovered that the wedding was to be held in their home - and their home was just 6 houses away from my own!
A week before the wedding the couple discovered that, due to the complexity of paperwork, it wasn't likely that they would have the marriage license in time for the ceremony. What to do? They had family travelling in for the wedding - it was Christmas time after all. So, we decided to do 'wedding theatre'. I "married" them in front of their family and friends with the understanding that I would return to make it legal once they received the paperwork.
We finalized the marriage today. I walked up the street at noon and was home before the half hour was up. The bride's two adult children were the witnesses and the groom held a bag of ice chips to his head because he'd smashed his head into the chandelier over the dining room table. 'I've felt worse' was all he said as he applied the ice his step-son got for him. And that's an understatement. He's being treated for a recurrence of leukemia and they were pleased to be able to make the marriage official before he had to return to hospital. He'd had a very difficult week but thankfully was feeling better today and their wedding was beautiful. Short and sweet but beautiful. The ceremony on the 29th was heartfelt and emotional; I could feel the love in the room that was filled with friends and family. Today, with only 6 of us gathered around the dining room table (the reason for the chandelier incident!), that feeling of love was there as well.
I was honoured to have been selected to be the official at this wedding. Honoured to have participated in a monumental moment in this couples lives.
A week before the wedding the couple discovered that, due to the complexity of paperwork, it wasn't likely that they would have the marriage license in time for the ceremony. What to do? They had family travelling in for the wedding - it was Christmas time after all. So, we decided to do 'wedding theatre'. I "married" them in front of their family and friends with the understanding that I would return to make it legal once they received the paperwork.
We finalized the marriage today. I walked up the street at noon and was home before the half hour was up. The bride's two adult children were the witnesses and the groom held a bag of ice chips to his head because he'd smashed his head into the chandelier over the dining room table. 'I've felt worse' was all he said as he applied the ice his step-son got for him. And that's an understatement. He's being treated for a recurrence of leukemia and they were pleased to be able to make the marriage official before he had to return to hospital. He'd had a very difficult week but thankfully was feeling better today and their wedding was beautiful. Short and sweet but beautiful. The ceremony on the 29th was heartfelt and emotional; I could feel the love in the room that was filled with friends and family. Today, with only 6 of us gathered around the dining room table (the reason for the chandelier incident!), that feeling of love was there as well.
I was honoured to have been selected to be the official at this wedding. Honoured to have participated in a monumental moment in this couples lives.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
'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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
