Amazement

Friday afternoon at the national park campground check-in window,  we nose our old camper van behind six other rigs.  I have time to take in the new surroundings as, one by slow-minute-one, the attendant processes the reservations.  I see the park motto:  Leave no trace.  

I understand what the sign means—clean up after yourself, don’t leave a mess at the campsite or anywhere else, be wary of the bears and store your food in the vehicle and garbage in the steel bins provided.  Most of the time, I file the recommendations away to be pulled out of that compartment in my brain when I need them.   Today, though, the guilt feelings that have festered since the shopping trip the day before to stock the camper break the skin in bulbous postules.    True, if we are careful, the campsite and park may not be be scarred with pockmarks of our passage, but other sites in time and space will surely be.

Source:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/01/07/
uva-bottled-water-lawsuit_n_4551099.html 

We are camping without electricity this round, and convenience has won out.  I tucked 30 bottles of water into the camper closet  (unable, as well, to resist 30 bottles for $6.00).  At the very least, those bottles will consume energy to recycle, if indeed they make it that far.  Ditto for the plastic cups, plates, and cutlery we will be using to offset indirect access to hot water.  Five meals for four people:  at least twenty plates and corresponding utensils.   Add in the foil broil pans to cover the grill of the campsite fire spot.  Although I could technically reuse those a limited number of times, chances are, again for convenience, I will pitch them this time.  Factor in the Lysol wipes I have in stock to mitigate hot water issues, and the environmental toll mounts.

To that total, I could add the footprints from other moments in the day.  I start the morning with a shower.  As I scrub down, I wonder about the homes and hotels running multiple showers multiple times a day.  At the filling station where we stop to check the tire pressure, I have a clear view of the touchless car-wash.   One vehicle has entered, and a black half-ton waits its turn, on a non-descript Friday morning of summer, albeit after a torrential rain.  Pressurized hot water sprays every crevice of the vehicle.  I don’t want to estimate the gallons / litres consumed for vehicles that might use the service that day in our city times the number of touchless car-washes in our country, never mind on the planet. 

On the way to the park, we stop for a sandwich.  The travel stop is a busy place—line-ups at both food outlets.  To the garbage, my husband and I contribute two plastic bags,  two plastic cups, two waxed papers and a wad of napkins.  You used a tub and cloth bags for your shopping yesterday, I tell myself.  You just about never use disposable dishware.  Okay, true enough.  Still, somehow, that rationale just doesn’t seem to cut it.

I am overwhelmed by the toll our own lifestyle is taking on the planet, and how little a difference our efforts to be responsible might make in the grand scheme of things.  I am not surprised that animals whose habitat is compromised stalk landfills and campgrounds, that the oceans vomit garbage, that the carbon levels in the atmosphere confuse weather patterns, or that the earth cries out in death throes.  Frankly, I am amazed at the earth’s resilience over the four hundred brutal years since industrialization.  I am astounded—that the earth has endured for this long, that it has taken this long for its screams to be heard, and that the collective will to change our lifestyle paradigms is not yet galvanized.

Birthdays

The cushion of thoughtfulness that permeated my birthday yesterday eases me through today as well.  I’m astounded that so many people took the time to email or text kind wishes, or post them on Facebook.  Maryanne, a harp sister, reminds me in an Oprah videolink she sends that birthdays are about celebrating blessings and accomplishments during the year that has passed, rather than a count-down to one’s inevitable destiny.  I couldn’t agree more.  

Teleported back to Sunday evening, I am in a different chair, this one around a dining room table in our son’s home.  Daniel, his wife and their nine-month-old son are there as well, and my husband.   Our daughter has joined us through the magic of FaceTime.  It’s almost time for bed for our nine-month-old son grandson.   

“The family is assembled, so we’ll do the birthday presentation now,” Dan announces.  My birthday is in three days.  Being together is gift enough, but it seems they’ve done more.  I look down to spy an image of a football field projected on the ipad. 

“Do you know where this is?” he asks.  Football.  Me.  Must be Mosaic.  Game tickets?  Wouldn’t that be great?

“Not Mosaic.  Look again.”  I do. 

“It’s Investors’ Field,” I self-correct.   Game tickets in Winnipeg?  I’m good with that.

“The game is later in the season,” he specifies.  Wow.  The Banjo Bowl in September.  That would be fantastic!

“Later than that,” he prods.  Later than that . . . . Oh!  The Grey Cup!  In Winnipeg in 2015.  At Investor’s Field.  The family has purchased Grey Cup tickets for me??!!  No!!!

By the time I have exclaimed my thanks and hugged everyone, the reality has set in.  My family, not at all a sports family, has indulged my passion for football.  My husband will make the ultimate sacrifice and attend the game with me.  At the end of November.  In Winnipeg.  I’m overwhelmed.  To be known and loved for who you are is the greatest gift ever.

Overcome with gratitude, I bask in the glow for days.   In my quiet moments, I reflect on the year that has passed, the momentous changes in my life and the comforting consistencies.

I am a grandmother.  I know the joy a smile from a baby can ignite in my heart, the soft smoothness of his cheek as he snuggles in a for a kiss, the vaporization of time as he sleeps in my arms, the child in me that resurrects when we play.

 

I have a son-in-law, the only one I will ever have.  A gem—steadfast, capable, accepting, with a wicked sense of humour to boot.

I can play the harp.  A year ago, I had no idea I would ever be a harpist.  In fact, it was in Cardiff, Wales, on my 2014 birthday, in a medieval pub, listening to a harpist and chatting with her, that the seed germinated, to explode a month later, an uncontrollable beanstalk.  Now, I lose myself in the challenge, find solace in the music and the sense of accomplishment, and value the network of harpists my new passion has uncovered.

I relive every minute of a family holiday in Palm Springs, the first family holiday since 2003, grateful for the additions—a daughter-in-law, a grandson, a son-in-law, and his parents. 

I continue to enjoy:

time, for now;

my remarkable family;

significant work;

health;

inspiring colleagues;

opportunities for discovery and fulfillment;

connections.

Around another table now, stilled in reverie, I imbide the warmth of my neighbors, next door and across the street.  Over pizza, beer, and wine in the park my husband has created out of our backyard, we mark another milestone, this one in my own life, catch up on our children and our visitors, our travel plans, the highs and lows of our current projects, the news from the city.  We’ve watched our children grow, mourned our parents and spouses, celebrated anniversaries, weddings, graduations, and births.  We gather for no reason at all, and we watch over each other’s homes when we’re away.   The bond is indestructible.

I can’t explain why I am so lucky.    I can smile, though, freeze-frame the day, post it in my brain’s Instagram to recall when I feel down, and to remind me that birthdays are about gratitude, and to continue to rejoice for the right reasons in however many might be left.

Stupidity

Some people might consider me a stupid person.  I speak and write French and English at a professional level.  I have two university degrees.  I play the piano and the harp.  I consider myself well-read.  I have been a university faculty member and a ministry of education consultant.  I facilitate professional learning, and I conduct choirs.  Yet, to some people, I appear stupid.

I know this because people have told me.   Case in point.   I receive an email about my parking.  It’s messing up the entire order of things.  I am leaving too much room between cars.  Can’t I park within the lines? This during winter when layers of snow and ice mask those same life-saving yellow lines in that parking lot.  The email leaves no room for rationale.  In fact, I want to allow my car-neighbours enough room to exit and enter their vehicles without worrying about door crashing or figuring how they will stash their stuff. 

In response to that email,  I initiate a conversation with its author.  My parking is problematic? I ask.  The individual describes my habits in vivid detail, and ends with an offer to show me how to park.  “Thank you, but I don’t need parking lessons,” I comment.  “My intention here is to indicate that I would have appreciated your coming to see me about the issue rather than sending an email.”  I want to say, hide behind an email, but relent in the interests of diplomacy and the high road.  Since then, I am paranoid about parking.  The odd time, I even park badly, on purpose, out of spite, and because I can, something I never used to do.

Although I am an educated person, I often get things wrong.  I once made a double batch of custard using salt instead of sugar.  I washed dress pants that were to be dry-cleaned only; didn’t look at the tag.  I’ve missed key turns on the road, or misinterpreted signs.  Only in retrospect have I realized that I’ve also ignored interpersonal cues that seem self-evident.  These missteps do not occur out of stupidity.  They arise from fatigue or brain-byte overload or stress or preoccupation or lack of awareness. 

I am not the only one who faces these stressors.  Everyone’s actions spring from some motivation, conscious or subconscious.  We may not always know what those motivations are nor understand them, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t exist.  “There are things in heaven and earth,” Shakespeare said through Horatio in Hamlet, “that are not dreamt of in your philosophy.”  We need to accept that behavior we find problematic occurs for a reason, even if we can’t understand it or accept it.

All three image are
copied from Facebook.

Let’s not be smug, either.  If the actions of others appear stupid to us, we can be sure that others attribute stupidity to things we do as well, and are busy posting Stupidity posters on social media with us in mind.  My mother had it right when she censored the word stupid at home.  We were severely reprimanded if it  ever escaped our lips.  I am so grateful.  Her actions stemmed from one of her favorite aphorisms: Quand tu craches en l’air, ça te retombe sur le nez, translated literally as:  Anything you spit up in the air will land on your own nose.  Karma, in other words.  What you offer out to the universe will come back to you.

Instead of chronicling each other’s missteps, let’s cut each other some slack.  Refuse either to post or endorse any references to stupidity.  Accept that sometimes people park badly,  make untoward comments, misinterpret signs or statements, litter, ruin garments, send emails without sufficient reflection, add some challenge to the day.  Not out of stupidity.  Just because we are human.

Resonance

I sign my name on the dotted line beside the 1:30 p.m. slot.  Why not?  The only thing I can lose is fifteen minutes of my time, and what I might learn in that time is certainly worth the risk.  I am about to find out about the effects of the healing sounds of the harp, and a crack in the window of knowledge of music therapy might open.

Besides, I’m at a harp retreat at St. Michael’s Retreat House perched on the hillside of the magnificent Qu’Appelle Valley.  Maryanne, Marguerite and Cécile have already created a calm, welcoming atmosphere for the harpists attending today.  One of the monks has greeted me at the main entrance with a huge smile, and Irish accent, and a tale about being the cousin of a legendary Irish harpist.  Blarney from beginning to end, but it takes me a while, as it usually does, to confirm my suspicions.  Still, he tells me to leave my harp and my bags at the door, not to worry.  Maryanne massages my hands to prepare them for the day’s workout, and invites me to select a necklace from the collection on the table.  I’ve only been here five minutes, and I feel pampered already.  I’ve parachuted into another world for the day.

Why not, then, experience the healing sounds of the harp?    As the poster on the registration table advises, I arrive five minutes before the appointed time.  I light a candle, and settle into the easy chair that faces the table.  Eyes closed, muscles fusing with the chair, I focus on my breathing, and relax my face, one element at a time:  forehead, eyes, cheeks, mouth,  and jaw.  A few breaths later, a door opens, and it’s my turn.

Lights are dim; vines of melody create filigrees in the background.  I notice a yellow mat, a harp, and a chair.  In bare feet, I stretch out on the mat, knees up, a gift to my low back, my head near the base of the harp.

Cécile tells me she will play some individual notes on the harp, and I should tell her when one of the notes resonates with me.  Okay.  My intellect kicks in at this moment.  What happens if nothing happens?  What if none of the notes resonate?  I tell myself to relax, that this experience is for information.  Cécile plays a series of bass notes, slowly.  Really, I have to pick one?  As she plays, I have an idea, but I need confirmation.  Just as I am about to ask for a repeat, Cécile begins again.  Yes, it’s the first note, the low C.  She finishes, and resumes a third time.  I raise my hand right away.  The note vibrates through my core, like it wants to start a conversation.  While I relax on the mat, Cécile improvises from that note, wandering away but always returning to it as an anchor.  I wonder why that particular note, why it’s the bass note that glues me to the floor.

It is, for sure, a reminder of a strong foundation, a solid base, that gives strength.  I need that today.   A recital for family and friends wraps up the day after supper, and I don’t feel ready.  Preparation is a sine qua non for me in all I do, especially music, where I feel most vulnerable.  Maybe the foundational qualities of the bass C anchor me, root me, provide the security that allows me to explore and take risks.  I am reminded of Matthew Fox—to be a prophet, that is, to uproot others, you have to be well-rooted yourself. 

Certainly, the resonance of the low C aligns with a presentation earlier in the day about the importance of posture, of keeping shoulders, chin, head, pelvis and pubis in the same plane.   This time, the anchor is physical, a key component of playing the harp, or any instrument.  I wonder, too, if the bass C relates to finality, to my age, now that I have lived at least two-thirds of my life.  Perhaps it connects to a feeling of completion, a process of tying up the threads I have woven throughout my life so far. 

As I leave, I ask Cécile about the notes that people select.  It varies for each person, she says.  I neglect to ask her if it might vary for me depending on the day.  If I had the same experience two weeks from now, for example, in a different place and in a different context with different baggage, would the same note sing for me?

Only another “healing sounds of the harp” session would confirm my theory.  For now, the experience itself centres me, keeps me calm, poised, and philosophical about the concert.  I focus on the energy the other harpists project, on the camaraderie that characterizes the day, and on what I have learned.  Mostly, I feel gratitude to Cécile, Marguerite and Maryanne for their time, their work and their energy on this project, and for the vision to conceptualize it in the first place.  I take the time to congratulate myself, too; after all, I responded to my intuition, and bought a harp.

Weddings

For the second time in two weeks, I am in a church as a bridal party enters for rehearsal.  The chatter crescendoes from the foyer of the complex to the church itself.  Family members and friends greet each other with palpable excitement.  Vases of white roses with blue baby’s breath sprout beside selected pews along the aisle, and programs appear in a basket at the church door.  

This time I am the pianist.  My job is to provide a processionnal, a recessional, reflective music during the signing of the register, and accompaniment for a soloist who will sing the psalm.  I tell myself I must remain focused on this wedding, on this bride and these families who have prepared a beautiful ceremony.  My brain, though, has teleported me to another wedding, two weeks before.

The cadences of group organization fade.  I am in the foyer of a different church with my husband.   Between us is our daughter, ready to enter the church on her wedding day.   She is calm, poised, regal, in an elegant fitted and waisted sleeveless satin dress with a boat neck and open back, flowing into a short train.  The wedding party is lined up before us.  The bridesmaids in short navy blue chiffon dresses paired with groomsmen in gray suits wait.  Bouquets of eggplant calla lilies and orange roses bring spring indoors, exude joy and life. 

Our soon-to-be son-in-law, handsome and dignified in his gray suit with vest, precedes us with his parents.  The buzz in the church has quieted as three o’clock rings silently.  Father Kevin joins the group at the back of the church, greets  everyone, and asks the couple two key questions.   Have they come willingly to be married? Do they intend to make a lifelong commitment to each other?

“That being the case,” he says after he hears two yeses, ”let’s celebrate!”  The music begins, “Come, Journey With Me” by David Haas.  Father Kevin leads the way, and the maid of honour and the best man follow.  We wait our turn.  Our elder son and his wife enter, followed by his brother--our younger son--and our daughter’s close friend.   I am calm.  At peace.  The groom and his parents begin their walk down the aisle.   “Breathe,” I whisper to our daughter as we move to our spot at the back of the church.  A good reminder for me, as well.  When the groom has taken his place at the front, we look at each other, smile, and take the first step.  In natural, effortless slowness, we float to the front. 

The bride gives her bouquet to her matron of honour.  She hugs me and her father.  Her future husband does the same.     All I say to them is, “Congratulations!” Anything else seems superfluous.  Their preparation for this wedding, and, more important, for the marriage, has been meticulous.  My silence seeks to honour that.

Most important, I know they will take care of each other.  They love each other as they are this day.    As a result, their shared orbit will allow them to evolve both as individuals and together.  At some point in their journey, they will realize that they are truly married.

“Yvette, we’re ready for the processionnal,” the bride says.  This bride means music, not a walk down the aisle, though, and my reverie fades.  With my daughter and her husband in my soul, I look down this aisle to this bride, this groom, and this union.  Called back to the reality of fitting the processional to the procession, I begin the long opening chords of Pachelbel’s Canon in D. 

Wishes

Each day, my good fortune mystifies me.  I can’t believe I was lucky enough to be born in Canada, and to live my life in Saskatchewan.  I have known safety, plenty, strength, liberty, peace, and opportunity.   Many today have listed the innumerable benefits that Canadians enjoy.  My contribution to our national reflection will be my wishes for Canada on her 148th birthday.

1.          Look forward.  Our ancestors built a strong foundation for us.  A lush but unforgiving environment forged a strong people who co-operated to survive, and who solved problems through negotiation.  Our role is to move those values forward, to imagine them for the 21^st century, just as they did themselves for their era, as original peoples of this land or immigrants.  The legacy of our ancestors is a springboard, not a cage.

2.          Lead by example.  I have always envisioned Canada as a grand experiment in peaceful co-existence.  We show the world that peoples from every culture can retain the essence of that culture in Canada and observe at the same time the democratic values of equality and freedom that our ancestors sacrificed so much to enshrine.  Our Canadian identity is caught up in ethnicity and respect for difference.

3.          Take care of each other.  Canadians are generous.  We take care of each other.  I see my taxes as a partial fulfillment of my responsibiity to provide for people in need, no questions asked.  It’s what we do.  Let’s treasure that legacy, too, and resist any tempation to veer toward an independentist stance.  When we focus on helping each other, we work from a point of view of abundance.  We know that we have enough, and we are happy to share with others.  Individualism aligns with scarcity.

4.          Honour our aboriginal roots.  Our bent toward negotiation, consensus, and co-operation evolves from our common aboriginal heritage (see John Ralston Saul, My Fair Country).  The First Nations of Canada and our identity as a nation are inextricably linked.

5.          Practice stewardship.  As a nation, we need to safeguard the environment and practice sustainable resource development.  As individuals in that nation, we need to control our consumption, not only to protect the environment, but to ensure that future generations both here and elsewhere can enjoy a comparable lifestyle.  Just because we can doesn’t mean we must.

Happy birthday, Canada, from a proud and grateful citizen.

Valedictory

Now, where were we?  At the beginning, of June, before dotting the i's and crossing the t's on a contract, before a flurry of musical commitments (liturgies, funerals, retirement dinners) and social functions, before our daughter's wedding, I left a loose thread.  So why not knot it, today, before moving on.

You might remember that, in my sort of treasures from my childhood and youth, I found the valedictory I wrote and delivered on the occasion of my high school graduation in September, 1971.  I summon the courage to share it as an artifact of the era.  After all, a local businessman thought it was good enough at the time to have copies printed and available at the graduation exercises.  The speech drips idealism, slips into cynicism, sadly, and settles on a resolve to do good.  I have to look past the masculine language, the greeting card quotation, and, in the French section, several anglicisms and more than one awkward structure.   Although my role was to speak on behalf of my classmates, I suspect that I oriented the content less around a common vision than my own view of the world.
For what it's worth, here it is:

September, 1971

The improvement of his environment and his society is a task which as always preoccupied man. In prehistoric times, primitive man was compelled by the survival instinct to improve his lot as well as that of his neighbors, or perish.  But, as population increased, civilizations progressed and countries developed, indifference became common as the direct link between personal involvement and survival became less obvious.  Thus, although personal concern for the welfare of society has evolved into a responsibility, a duty, it is one too often not recognized, too often ignored.  In today’s world, we see the results of the labours of many generations.  Now, parents and friends, it is our duty as graduates to contribute our talents towards the improvement of society.

But we face a frustrating predicament.  We have passed the talk-no-action stage of earlier years, a period during which we criticized the decisions of government leaders, exposed the injustices of society and solved, with a somewhat dubious plausibility, most of the critical world problems in history and composition essays.  Yet, since we are in the process of building a future and our opinions are not yet wholly respected by our peers, we lack the influence which seems essential in instigating change.  Youth is cornered.  It is told to be patient, to strive for prominent positions before attempting change.  But in heeding such advice, it risks losing its enthusiasm, determination and concern, and becoming part of the silent majority—placate, content, indifferent, absorbed in the pleasing of self.  Can’t we do something now, despite the obstacles?  Only by abandoning any grandiose dreams of glory and following Helen Steiner Rice’s encouraging, though disquieting counsel :

It’s not the big celebrity

In a world of fame and praise,

But it’s doing unpretentiously

In undistinguished ways

The work that God assigned to us,

Unimportant as it seems,

That makes our task outstanding

and brings reality to dreams.

“In undistinguished ways”—living our ideas in order to instill them in others.  Perhaps then we can restore basic values which are being forgotten.

Man, preoccupied with goals of advancement, success, wealth, and prestige clamours for his rights in society—the right to freedom of speech, the right to free élections and free assembly.  But in his struggle to further his own interests, he deprives others of their fundamental right as human beings—the right, not the privilege, to dignity and respect.  He will exploit them, use them, insult them, treat them as inferior because he cannot acknowledge that simply because they are human beings endowed with reason, intelligence and feelings, their dignity must be maintained.  Isn’t this one injustice which we the youth can correct by fostering in others, through our relations with people, an awareness of the worth of the individual?

Oui, l’homme, gonflé de son importance et préoccupé de ses soucis, donne à la jeunesse quelques problèmes à résoudre en privant son prochain de sa dignité et en montrant une apathie qui menace le bien-être de la société.

L’apathie, l’indifférence du peuple aux problèmes de son milieu, est un danger réel qui existe pour diverses raisons.  Quelques-uns ne se concernent pas avec les activités de la communauté peut-être par ignorance ou par manque d’intérêt.  Dans ce cas-là, il faudrait s’informer pour s’intéresser.  Mais beaucoup de gens ne présentent pas leurs opinions ou ne participent pas dans les activités par peur de critique de leurs voisins ou l’insuccès de leur projet.  S’ils ne réussissent pas, les autres riront peut-être d’eux; si leurs idées sont trop originales pour le temps, ils se demandent, « Qu’est-ce que le monde va dire? »  et ils se contentent d’améliorer leur sort, de se retirer en eux-mêmes.  Mais ils ne réalisent pas qu’en refusant d’accepter leurs responsabilités, ils enseignent la même attitude à leurs enfants, leurs frères. leurs sœurs, leurs amis, tous ceux qui se tiennent sous leur influence.

C’est à nous, maintenant, d’éviter ces erreurs en participant activement dans la vie de la communauté, en prêtant librement notre temps et nos talents, et en demeurant toujours indépendant du critique destructif.

Ces buts de préserver la dignité humaine et de vaincre l’apathie trop commune semblent peut-être incidentels, et pas adroitement liés aux problèmes majeurs de l’époque.  Mais comme tout de concret jaillit de l’abstrait, les principes et l’attitude générale d’un peuple influencent l’état de sa société.  Pensons-y.  Sans le respect universel pour l’être humain, les espérances d’un monde où tous sont vraiment égaux, où tous peuvent vivre ensemble paisiblement sont vaines.  Si l’apathie détruit l’ingéniosité et l’enthousiasme de l’homme, est-ce que les problèmes de pollution, de pauvreté, de guerre seront résolus?  C’est un travail essentiel que la jeunesse peut entreprendre.  Pourquoi?  Parce que des doctorats en philosophie ou en science ne sont pas requis pour donner de soi-même.  Il s’agit seulement de jouir pleinement de la vie et de s’oublier un peu.

If we are here tonight contemplating our role in society, it is largely due to the devotion of our parents, teachers, and religious leaders who encouraged, prodded, advised and scolded until all of us made it.  But here words fail.  For how does one thank for the gift of part of a life?  Perhaps by using the knowledge which has been imparted to us to preserve our heritage, to help build a better world, and to safeguard the basic human rights of man.  Confronted by obstacles, we too will find encouragement in the excellent philosophy of life expressed by the late Senator Robert Kennedy, who said,

“Some men see things as they are and ask, ‘Why?  I dream things that never were and say, ‘Why not?’”