Down at the farm.

It's funny that when the kids were little I loathed the petting zoo. Really, I loathed any community activity created for families, as I knew it would draw crowds of kids (duh!) and their parents and I am not a fan of kids or crowds. So I never took them to the little local farm. That was the Grandparent's responsibility.

Now that we are all older and more capable, we've been volunteering at the farm once a week since early spring. It is the perfect opportunity to let the kids choose to give back to their community, to volunteer, at something they enjoy, that they chose to do. I've struggled with the reality that our culture lacks many opportunities for kids to give back in a real way, not just with money, and part of this is that we've become so libelous, many places will no longer accept children as volunteers, even with parental accompaniment. So the petting zoo is one of our last bastions for kids to lend a hand and really feel like they're DOING something, really helping out.

Our jobs vary each week, but there are some basic tasks we expect to do at every visit.

We need to cajole the pony and donkeys, to get them back in their corral before the public arrives. Those guys know kids are not to be obeyed.

Finally, success!!

We need to change all the water buckets for the goats, after we help run the stampede of goats down to the petting area.

There are a lot of water buckets!

There are peacocks all over the farm, screeching their high-pitched calls and fluffing out their feathers. Yes, it IS beautiful, a spectacle of nature, but these guys do nothing but THIS all morning long, and honestly, they kind of get in our way. They're not quick to move because they want to be sure we've seen all their glory. They give you the eye, saying "Do you SEE this, how glorious we are? Are you stunned at our beauty?"  They don't get it that we're not peahens, we're hu-mans.

And frankly, the peahens don't care about the cocks feather-show either.

There's always poop to scoop. (The other side of Ivy's bucket says "Zoo Poo Patrol". She feels very responsible with this task).

Our reward at the end of our shift, when the daycare and school groups leave, is having the baby goats all to ourselves. They climb on us and chew our sleeves. We just sit there and let them fight over our laps, the little cuties.

I try to give my love to those tired mama goats. They like a good chin-scratch session.


On our way out we fawn over the baby pigs.

 It's a pretty good way to spend the day. :)

xoxo

C

If it's not one thing . . .

 . . . it's your mother.

This phrase has made me grin since I first heard it years ago. It brings together our cultures' collective pastime of analysing our behaviour and childhoods, and how our adult relationships with our parents (it's not just mothers!) can be a minefield of subtle slights, sighs and feeling like, no matter what your life is like as an adult, one minute with your parents, and you're right back to being the child again, and all the feelings that can bring. And our culture seems to focus on the negative. Was it the missed sports events, was it not having what other kids had, was it being made to eat food you hated, was it report cards that weren't up to their expectations? For many, it is far more serious issues, where the role of parent was only as important as how little you could give to it, and for those children, we all feel a great sadness. There are many adults who have come out of awful childhood situations, and those that I have met have moved on however they can, and focus on the future, having laid their pasts to rest in some way. But our culture as a whole is so often about 'our parents' and how they have affected us negatively. The jokes about therapy, the mother-in-law characters in films, the recurring seasonal movies about adult children coming home for Christmas only to descend into squabbles with their mothers and fathers amidst a symphony of other relatives and siblings. These momemts in film are so funny, because they touch us, they are familiar to us. Family is where we come from, so often, and it does shape who we are. And so we joke about it, and commiserate about it, and vow, as parents ourselves, to not be like our parents, even though we know we are, in that moment and many others, being so exactly like them it's uncanny. My mother always tells of how she'd go to bed at night vowing that tomorrow she would not yell. That tomorrow she'd enjoy the moments with us, and be patient, and have things organised, and not worry about the cleaning or the mess we were making, and soak up our childhoods as the precious, fleeting moments in time that they were. And then tomorrow, when it came, she'd be yelling before we made it out the door to school. She'd tell me this in response to my own feelings of inadequacy as a parent, of messing up my kids, yelling too much, not enjoying the moments and ignoring the trivial things. We are so much like our parents, even as we vow to somehow do things differently, to find that magic solution that so eluded their generation. Yet somehow, instead of finding connection in these similarities, in finding support from each other, we turn to focusing on our differences, in those achilles heels of our relationships with our parents that make us groan and sigh when they offer advice, or guidance. We've made childhood angst into a topic of entertainment and shared greif.

In other non-Western cultures it seems to be unquestioned that you respect and appreciate your parents, no matter what they do. You know how hard they work for you, how much they sacrifice, how much they love you. It is simply an accepted fact. And so you act accordingly.

I wonder if those adults have a different experience of dealing with losing their parents. Are there things left unsaid, worries that they never enjoyed their parents while they had them around? For that is the flip-side of my culture's angst about our parents: we sigh and complain about them while they are here, and then regret not enjoying them as much as we could have, when they are gone.

My dear friend lost one of her parents last summer, his death unexpected, arriving in the night, leaving his children in shock and full of greif. And as I watch her and her sibling and their children deal with this, with the feeling of wishing they'd had more time, of things they'd have said if they'd known this was coming, I keep coming back to our perspective that our families are permanent. That that is why we can afford to analyse them, and criticise them, and be driven crazy by them. Because we believe, as we did as children, that they will be with us forever, that when we finally find the time to appreciate them, to enjoy their company, they'll still be here for us. Just as sibling rivalry is an accepted part of our perspective on families, so is our frustration at our father's stubborness or our irritation at our mother's nagging. Of course we never treat our friends how we treat our families. But perhaps we should treat our families how we treat our friends, because they are our people, our kin. They are where we come from, and shape who we are, for better or worse.

When my friends and I get into talking about how our mother's drove us nuts that week, or how our fathers just didn't get it, a friend of mine is silent. She lost both of her parents years ago. And she is full of stories of how much she appreciates them now, how she wished she'd gotten it earlier on, when they were still here. And as parents ourselves now, we would of course want our children to love us and appreciate us now, not after we're gone. My parents are so saddened by the loss of my grandparents, both of them wishing they could've talked to them more before they'd died. No one wants that sort of grief for their own children. But maybe our culture perpetuates it by laughing at our families instead of cherishing them. And maybe in some ways we need that, as a release, a bit, of the frustrations we have with those relationsahips we have with our parents and siblings, relationships we were born or adopted into, and now must maintain forever. My mother and I laughed and cried through Steel Magnolias in the 80's, because it showed how our family ties are both funny and impermanent, reminding us to live in the moment. Maybe we are afraid to acknowledge that we will lose each other, that as time marches on, we will have to say goodbye to our siblings and parents, to those people we have known longer than anyone else. So we should keep the laughter; laughter is so good. But maybe we should also have more love, more talking. Some kind words amidst the jokes and angst. Let our parents know, while we can, that we love them, and appreciate them. Set an example for our children, and hopefully help them not feel as burdened with greif when we leave them.

xoxo
C

The Ballad of Bitter Honey

That's the title of my favorite Clem Snide album. It's also the perfect title for this story.

I've been meaning to post for weeks about my honeybees. They bring me such joy. Every morning I can look out the kitchen window at my hive and see them already busy at work, darting out to find nectar. It literally brings a smile to my face every time I see them. So it brings me such sadness to discover I have to get rid of them. First, the back story.

Bee hives function just like any other species. Their goal is reproductive success. As more and more bees grow and hatch and the hive gets crowded, the bees will decide it's time to break off from the group so they grab their queen and fly off to find another new hive spot. This is called a swarm. Beekeepers don't want this because it means they lose their beloved bees. To prevent swarming you must ensure your bees have enough room, and watch them often for signs of swarming. The sign you're watching for is the building of a queen cell. When bees plan to swarm they try to grow a new queen to take with them, as every hive needs a queen. Queen cells (where they grow) look very different from regular bee cells. See it hanging off the honey frame below?

Some of my keener bees built double-queen cells.

 All in all I found 17 queen cells growing in my one hive. Many beekeepers would just kill those queens, as it's far too many and a swarm is surely imminent. But this softie couldn't do that, so the other option is to form new hives before the bees get a chance to do it themselves. These are called nucs, little starter hives. You take some frames with a queen cell or two on them, some of the bees and you build little shoebox sized hives to put them in. The bees feel like they've now swarmed as they are in a new space that is less crowded. I built 4 nucs and divided my queen cells up among them.

The next step is to check them often to see if a queen has hatched. Once she does she'll sting the remaining unhatched queen cells so they never hatch. It is survival of the fittest in there for sure! It is hard to see the queen in this shot but I have faith in you. She is dead centre at the bottom of the frame, to the right of those big empty holes in the beeswax. All the nearby bees are facing her, surrounding her. She is slightly bigger and longer than the other bees, and her back has no stripes on it, but is instead a warm chestnut brown colour. Do you see her?

Those sealed golden places above her house growing baby bees. When they are ready to hatch they'll chew their way out of their little spot. For 20 days they'll live inside the hive as nurse bees, tending the other baby bees that have yet to hatch, and then they'll spend 20 more days as forager bees, flying up to 3KM to find delicious nectar in the flowering trees and bushes in my neighbourhood. Then they die. Our yard is littered regularly with deceased little bees. Such hardworking gals indeed. And yes, they are ALL females. Much to my dismay Hollywood's ability to spread false information is still very successful, so not only do folks believe the hardest working bees are of course men, they also believe bees have only 4 legs. Sigh. Hollywood just keeps messing kids up, huh?

Anyway, my hive was doing great, my nucs were doing great, I was so excited to expand my little honeybee family. I'd have 5 hives by the end of summer, all buzzing happily in the garden.

Then I was stung a few weeks ago. I have been stung before, and while it is definitely painful, I didn't think it was a big deal. I was stung last year and my cheek swelled like I'd been to the dentist. No big deal, right? Then I was stung in April of this year and my leg swelled up so much I couldn't fit into my jeans. Wow, that's kinda crazy huh? It itched and hurt, but all stings do right? So I ignored it as best as I could. When I was stung on my hand a few weeks ago it swelled. A lot. And it spread up my arm to my elbow. It itched like MAD constantly, and only stopped hurting if I held my arm up over my head. This lasted for 5 days! Is this normal?

Nope, turns out it's not. Normal is what happens to Kit when he got stung last month. Nothing happened. It hurt, he itched it once, and life went on. My friend, who is a nurse, confirmed that my reaction is definitely not normal, and since it's getting worse each time, it's dangerous. My neck or scalp cannot afford to swell that much! Keeping my bees any longer just increases my chances of getting stung again.

So I've put my lovely bees up for sale, and a beekeeper from the Gulf Islands is coming next week to take them all away. I'll miss seeing them in the sunlight every morning, and the yard will be so quiet without the quiet hum of their busy work. I really loved the gift of having bees in my life, but I have  to accept my new reality. Bummer huh?

xoxo
C

I have 15 hours a day to work with . . .

 . . . why can't I get anything done?! Here is my answer. I have watched this 5 times.

The last stitch.

This is one youtube I love to watch. It's about knitting, but also about life and our endless quest for more, of never being able to just stop and be in this moment. Love it.

xoxo

C

This morning I got up early, before the rest of the house, as usual. Fed Mr. Bruce, made my tea, started the laundry, made salad and baked cookies. We will be out most of today so I need to have enough snax and lunch ready to take with us. I fed the birds, took my vitamins. As each child woke up I hugged them and confirmed their morning toast order. I checked my email on my way through the livingroom. Then as I stood buttering their toast I tried to process the news I had just read.

A childhood friend's mother has just died, my email told me. And I recalled lunches in their kitchen, sleepovers at their neat house in the woods, her mother's voice as she lamented my friend for not doing her chores or laughing at my friend's jokes. I can see her husband, such a great dad, and how they were always together, partners, in life, in businesss and in caring for each other and their daughters. They were one of my 'dream' families, you know, the ones you wish you belonged to when your own was driving you nuts. And now she is gone. My heart aches for my friend, whom I haven't chatted with in 15 years. For her sister, her sweet daughters, and for her father, who has lost his partner, his best friend. It's just hard, all around.

And I stood their buttering, thinking of how stressed out I can get trying to show my loved ones that I care, to honour my friends, to try to do what I can for those in my big, gregarious family of people. And how much I stress about living my life 'right'. That I want to arrive at my final days feeling that I spent my life well, I did what I hoped and did not waste a minute. When will I have that career I dreamed of, when will I travel like I planned to in high school, when will I get all those books read? Yet each day I am taken over by the minutae, the details of what, when, how now. And that focus is lost. You get lost in your life, no matter how much you try to remember the big picture. But maybe that is not such a bad thing. To live constantly trying to shift your focus, trying to be sure you remember what really matters, is hard. It can really stress a gal out. And maybe being lost in your life is the same thing. Instead of focusing on the bigger picture, the big to do list, the forever-looking-ahead-to-be-sure-you've-got-it-all-lined-up-so-when-you-look-back-it's-a-life-well-spent thing can make you miss it, your life. Can make you forget what is going on now, how much you love it, or not, but that this is it, the life you've got. It could all be over tomorrow, or in 30 years. Maybe living in these days, getting lost in the tiny details and distracted by the toast crumbs is okay. It's being present, now, when that life you keep worrying about is happening right in front of you.


It's something worth remembering.






xoxo

C

On the water . .

When you are on the ferry, life is good. The islands float by, maybe the sun is shining down on you out on the deck, or maybe the day is cloudy and grey and you watch it go by from inside the boat. Either way, it is a reminder of the awesomeness of where we live. I imagine people living in the various geographies of Canada have their own similar connections to the landscape that is the backdrop to their lives. I have ridden the ferry for as long as I can remember. As a child, on holiday with my parents, then after their divorce, traveling to Al's cabin more weekends than I could ever count. As an adult I attended many a midwifery meeting in Victoria, and Kit and I camped and road tripped around the Coast. We lived in Roberts Creek on the Sunshine Coast, and years later made a final move to Victoria. The ferry has been such a constant in my life, and I am always restored when I can make that connection to my unique landscape.

Today, I soaked up some sun.

Yes, life is good.

xoxo

C

So far . . .

It has been months since my last post and a lot has happened. Some big birthdays happened around here which must be mentioned first.
A very lovely little person turned FIVE this winter! And now she'd like to be let in on all the action thank-you very much.

And then not much later an amazing fellow strutted through his ELEVENTH birthday! Holy cow! Do you all remember when he was only ONE??

In case you're wondering, both these great days were celebrated in Hawaii, in the lovely warm, humid sunny weather we love. It was great, each day debating pool or beach, and we generally opted for both.

We checked out the familar sights (the zoo, the reefs) and added in the Foster's Historical Garden in Waikiki. We saw crazy plants and gorgeous flowers. But we were not prepared for this:

What a crazy-looking tree! Pods growing off the sides!

We have since learned that lots of tropical, pod-bearing trees grow just like this. Cocoa trees are a prime example.


We were blessed to have friends and family make the island trek to come and visit us over the winter. It is so much fun to have the house filled with good buddies. The kids are forever busy and us adults just sit back and let the mayhem reign

And on all those rainy West Coast winter days, we kept ourselves busy. If you have these supplies (duct tape, empty beer cans, empty milk cartons and some odd-shaped containers, we used tofu and BIO-K) you can make the coolest thing.

A Star Wars AT-AT walker planter. How awesome is that?!!

The plants look a little rough in that pic, but it's been sitting on the counter in a bright window for months now, being spritzed daily by its attentive creator (Hannah) and now it is a flourishing forest that currently houses a fierce battle between Darth Vader and a tough little Ewok.


Speaking of battles, another sort of battle is waged regularily in our basement, and it looks something like this:

Those Nerf guns are definitly the best family gift ever!

Leif and Hannah have created many treasure hunts and quests for Ivy this winter. They are full of intrigue and challenges, like this one. She is so lucky to have such great siblings I tell ya'.

"WHOEVER DRAWS THE SWORD CAN DEFEAT THE MONSTER" it reads.


We checked out a new burger place that opened in town, Big Wheel Burger. I know, you'd never expect us to say that, we are not burger people. The kids asked us if this was what McDonald's was like. Oh no little grasshoppers, this is nothing like that. Big Wheel is a joint collaboration between a bunch of local chefs who wanted to create the old-fashioned burger place of yesteryear, using local, organic ingredients. So they have fries and burgers hand made from local, organic beef and spuds, buns from an island bakery and gluten-free buns from the awesome Origins bakery just up the street from us. Milk shakes from Island Farms milk and ice cream and local beer from Phillips rounded out the great all-local menu. It was very tasty, we ordered far too much, and will keep it in mind if we're at the beach this summer and have that childhood burgers-at-the-beach feeling.

And now it is spring, and we have proof that the weather is warming up. The bees are out! Wahoo!

xoxo

Caelen

The First Day

The weather reports in the fall of 2011 said we'd have one of the biggest snowfalls ever this winter. Man, were we excited. With all the talk of El Ninja, and record-breaking snow, we busied ourselves for weeks gathering boots and gloves and coats and snowpants. We bought magic carpets and goggles. Everything we'd need for a winter of sledding and snowball fights. We were psyched.

After the weeks of rain that blanketed the island for Christmas and New Years, it was so great to get outside on the first day of 2012 and get a touch of sun. We scampered around the rocks and found the perfect driftwood walking sticks. We peered into tide pools and gazed across the ocean at the snow-capped mountains of the Olympic Peninsula.

Even though we did not get a single flake of snow, this winter is reminding us of the beauty of where we live. Yes, it's raining again today, and has been since that first day of the year. And it may well rain right through until February. But we live on an island in the ocean. How cool is that? It is a breath-taking place to spend each day, inhaling the clean air, having beautiful views and beaches on all sides. So it doesn't get very cold, certainly not cold enough to snow. Many would think that is a blessing.

Rain is just as good a reason to light a fire every day.

Happy New Year,

xoxo
C

Visiting Santa

When we were unpacking the holiday decorations last week, we happened upon an old photo of my brother and I visiting Santa at Park Royal Mall. I'm 5 and he's 7. He's in his cords and zip-up jacket, I'm in my red polka-dot Christmas dress. The kids grinned at this picture, as we've had many chats over what the job of mall-Santa must be like.

So then they decided to do their own visit to Santa.

These are pictures to treasure right? Look at Hannah's (uh I mean Santa's) big belly.

Our kids know Santa is not real but that he is a gloriously fun idea, and they have lots of fun stuffing each other's stockings on Christmas Eve and waving at the pretend Santas they see in the street. They know he's part of our European heritage, just like the tree, the elves and all our Saturnalian Traditions.  They have just as much fun as all those kids who think he is real. And many times they choose to pretend he is real, and we do our best to go along with it when that happens (though we stumble on a few details).

xoxo

C

Holiday Crack

Do you know what has been sitting on my counter for a week?


THIS!



I have been off sugar and chocolate and caffeine for over a month. Every day was a struggle, I wanted my fix so bad (hence why I decided to go off the toxic stuff!). But after awhile, I didn't crave it, but I missed the habit of it, wanting to sneak off in the afternoon with my book. But my book without sugar was not the mid-day escape I sought. Sigh. New rituals had to be learned. DRink lots of water and wait, the craving will pass . . .

And then my darlings made this, their usual holiday ritual. And every time I walk through the kitchen (so about 45 times a day) I can smell the rosebuds. The gummies. The sundrops. These are my favorite kinds of organic, dye-free crack, and they're sitting right there in my kitchen!

Have you noticed how much Christmas seems to equal chocolate? When I first ditched chocolate and sugar back in October, I resisted the bags of Hallowe'en candy and then things were alright again, nothing major in the stores. But when the end of November came, suddenly chocolate erupted in the grocery store. It was all right there, in your FACE as you stand at the teller or come to the end of an aisle. Turtles! After Eights! Hershey's Kisses! Celebrate the season by eating junk. What the hell?!!

I know, I know, this is nothing new,  and I've ranted about this each year. Why are all our seasonal, ancient holidays reduced to sugar? That stuff WILL kill you (just watch this). As I bought stuff for the kids stockings, I hemmed and hawed at the usual chocolates. It was my favorite part of Christmas, the taste of delicious Turtles. And yet, do I want that to be my kid's tradition, what they most look forward to?

(I didn't buy the chocolates this year. They'll live, I promise.)

I do parent in many ways that are against our cultural grain (just wait until my next post!), and I know some think our kids are deprived of the fun things in life. But seriously? I'm trying to help them grow strong bodies and healthy habits. All the adults who think the kids need sugary treats are the same ones who struggle themselves to stop eating the junk. I'm just trying to skip a step, start healthy and stay that way.

So anyway, back to the crack.

After much begging, (daily begging) we gave in and said they could eat some of the candy on their gingerbread house. That included me. I dug in with a knife (I'm serious about my sugar) and gobbled up a bunch of rosebuds. After many weeks without any of it.

It took about 5 minutes to get a headache, 10 minutes to get a sore throat and start sneezing. Ugh. I am done with that jazz my friend.

But the kids? They loved it.


xoxo

C

Goodbye old friend.

I am sad to share that we bid farewell to a lovely family pet this week. Toby has been with us since before Leif was born, a gift from me to my mother when I was pregnant with Leif. My mom and Al's first dog, also a Toby, had passed away the year before, and I had debated offering to fill that hole in their hearts with a new furry friend. My mom was on the road with me during part of my former job, visiting clients up island. I called ahead to the Campbell River SPCA, asking if they had any medium-sized dogs. They said they had one, named Toby. That had to mean something, right? We went in and saw a sweet, frightened little guy, so hopeful to get out of there, but not even willing to bark to get our attention. He had been turned in to the SPCA because he kept chasing the ducks in his owner's pond.

He's a retreiver people. Think about it.

And he was a wonderful friend to everyone. He chased bubbles, and deftly stole the butter off the counter, without touching the plate. If you sat with one leg crossed over your knee, he'd stand with his stomach on top of your dangling foot so you could 'rub' it by moving your foot back and forth. He loved barking at birds. And squirrels, and rabbits. When Leif came along Toby was thrilled to have someone his size to pal around with.

He was a happy soul in all his days with Mom and Al, riding in Mom's car with his head out the window, watching the ducks and squirrels from the safe restraint of his leash, tromping through the forest with Al at the cabin. He had found his perfect match in those two, and brought them as much joy as he could.

He will be missed by all of us. He was a good dog.

xoxo

C

Snapshot.

Here is a slice of our day today.

Leif and Hannah are racing around the house, while Ivy is hiding behind a barricade made of sofa cushions, all of them wearing their pj's, skateboarding helmets and ski goggles, shooting each other with their new Nerf guns. Bing Crosby and Sufjan Stevens are singing quiet christmas tunes on the stereo. I have a bad case of laryngitis, after trying to teach the kids to ski on the weekend, yelling encouragements across a vast mountainside. Suddenly text messaging is something I can see the merits of. For now.

I just read a favorite Waldo Emerson quote that is on my fridge:

finish each day and be done with it.
you have done what you could.
some blunders and absurdities have crept in;
forget them as soon as you can.
tomorrow is a new day.
you shall begin it serenely and
with too high a spirit to be encumbered
with your old nonsense.

Those are my words to live by baby.

xoxo

C

These little ones

Watching my kids grow up is just the coolest thing. When I look at them, now so big, I still see, in a blink of the eye, what they were like as little babes. And while I miss those times, when you could pick them up in a bundle of blanket and sleepers, when they could fall asleep on your lap or slung over your shoulder, it is incredibly awesome to hang out with them as people. So here's what these people are up to these days.

Leif has started playing ice hockey in a local league. It's just one night a week, so he gets a taste of the sport he loves, and we only have to commit to one extra night of sports. (He already plays soccer 3 times a week). He is really enjoying it, and wants to join the minor hockey league next year, but that is still on the table for much discussion. No promises yet.

Ivy is loving Twister. She practices her Left's and Right's as the spinner, then gives her all on the floor trying to reach as far as the rest of us can. All four of us  LOVE watching her grow up.

 

There is a whole lot of treasure map drawing and pirate costume wearing going on around here. With the purple pirate ship in the backyard, and Leif's multi-part treasure hunts, they fulfill all Ivy's dreams of sailing the high seas with a hook for a hand. (See her hook-like finger?)

Yes, I still managed to find the perfect holiday pj's this year (but they cost a million bucks). Red with skulls is the best combo ever!

We wish you a Merry Solstice and Happy Christmas, and send big hugs to all of you who are too far away to grab in person.

xoxo
C

This tree.

Growing up, our Christmas tree had white lights. We went to the Nutcracker Ballet at Christmas, and had a fancy Christmas dinner at The Hotel Vancouver. I am a sucker for tradition, for rituals that harken to a familiar rhythm that we cycle through each year. When our kids were old enough to care about Christmas, I started laying out plans for creating new traditions. The farm where we'd buy our tree each year, the one type of tree I adore that we'd get each year, the advent calendar I'd fill each year with a decorative craft for the kids to make together, the christmas pj's we'd all wear each year, the tasty baking we'd do each year, the old-skool lights I'd hang in our tall tree outside each year, the handmade stockings I'd make for each child that they would cherish (along with all these traditions) each year.

You know how that looks 10 years later? Hint: it's synonymous with the fresh wrinkles on my face and panic I feel every September.

Created traditions are a drain on fun. There, I've said it. Why? Because somebody made them happen for the others, and after many years of continuing to need to make this happen, somebody starts to loathe the whole process and has no one to blame but herself. The kids found the ballet boring when I took them years ago (frankly, so did I. My childhood memories are far better than the reality) The stress and panic of finding holiday pj's that are just right and not gender-based and fit everyone and don't cost a million bucks can really drive a mama crazy. Agreeing on a Christmas dinner menu that accomodates everyone's various diets, feels traditional, can be done a bit potluck-style . . . dammit! This is supposed to be fun.

But the most glorious thing occurs when you give in to life. It takes on it's own natural shape and rhythm, and you don't have to orchestrate anything, it happens.

* I was too overwhelmed to remember to get our advent calendar out of storage in time for Dec 1st. So we didn't have forced, pre-planned activities every day, we just did what we felt like doing. And I could stop fretting about filling all those little boxes with something creative and new. Cheers to that!

* When I went to put up our outdoor lights, I couldn't find the ladder (a lot of tools dissappear into the work truck and never resurface). So I struggled like an idiot, trying to hang the lights with a hockey stick while balancing on a patio chair. Then the kids asked if they could decorate some short bushes, and we ended up with 5 lovely little trees, each one a burst of light in the darkness, extending our many strings of lights all across the property. They exclaimed at the end "Can we do this every year? I LOVE having my own tree to put lights on!". What do you know, a tradition was born all by itself.

* The farm where we always bought our tree had run out of my favorite tree (a noble fir) as it has been plagued by some pest that stunts it's growth and now all the nobles are pre-cut imports and cost $100. So we walked up the street to our local garden centre and bought a sweet, little local Douglas Fir for $15. On the way we ran in to a bunch of neighbourhood families, all making this same local pilgrimage to buy the best little trees you can get. We stuck it on a little table, and it was as tall as the ceiling. And the whole process was exactly what I've always wanted. It was easy.

* When we got our decorations out for the tree, all the strings of white lights didn't work. So we used these cute bubble-gum-ball multicoloured lights, and it reminded me of the tree we'd decorate at my Dad's house after my parents got divorced, how it was covered in rainbow lights and bubble lights, and how initially, it looked so foreign and odd to me, 'cause I felt trees had to have white lights, had to look like my mom's tree, which was the best tree. But how I grew to love that rainbow tree, how I learned that bubble lights are actually an old thing from his childhood, not some new-fangled modern invention, how maybe he was creating what his tree looked like as a kid. I loved that. Our tree now has the bright red silk balls my mother had on her childhood tree, and the multicoloured lights of my father's tree. And the decorations from my childhood, Kit's childhood and ones our children have made over the years.

And of course we topped the tree with a Storm Trooper angel that I fashioned out of fabric and a vintage toy we got last year. We've never had a set thing we topped the tree with, so each year it's a new idea struck at the last minute, when the tree is almost finished.

The kids declared our tree topper as the best and want to use it ever year from now on. It's tradition.

xoxo
C

Books and Life.

I have been reading a boatload of great books this year, which I hope to find time to tell you about. One in particular is on my mind today. fathermothergod by Lucia Greenhouse is a memoir about being the daughter of Christian Scientists. I like reading about other people's experiences and perspectives, I feel like it gives me a better understanding of different realities. I didn't know anything about Christian Science or what it was, so I felt like I could learn about this aspect of Christianity and learn what it was like to live it.

In this haunting, beautifully written book, Lucia pulls back the curtain on the Christian Science faith and chronicles its complicated legacy for her family. At once an essentially American coming-of-age story and a glimpse into the practices of a religion few really understand, fathermothergod is an unflinching exploration of personal loss and the boundaries of family and faith. 

* * * Spoiler Alert here * * * there's no way I can share my thoughts without telling you some of what happened in the book. It's still a great read, do not let knowing parts deter you.

Here's my understanding: Christian Science is a recent variation of Christianity as interpreted by Mary Baker Eddy. She taught that we are all children of God, made in his image, and he is our true parent (hence fathermothergod). That we are perfect, like him, and therefor our bodies cannot fall ill or become imperfect unless we are doubting him and our faith is weak. And so it follows that illness can be fought through prayer, not medicine. There are no germs, or cancer, or headaches, there is only fathermothergod and your faith in him. If you do not feel well, pray. If someone questions your not getting medical help, avoid them for they are poisoning your thoughts and could hinder your healing process. In the book the author struggles with this, when she feels sick and wishes to be cared for and mothered, instead of told she needs to pray. When her mother falls ill, she questions her parents choice to stay home and pray, not seek help. Finally she checks in to a Christian Science Healing Centre, where she is surrounded by believers and her daughter is cut off, told not to call, that she is poisoning her mother's healing. There is so much that goes on, other family members of her mothers', who are not Scientists. But in the end, both her parents die of treatable illnesses.

I read this book in September, and it comes to mind often. While I want to be respectful of all beliefs, I cannot imagine watching loved ones get sick and die because of their beliefs, when all you want is to be with them, to have them recover and rejoin your life. Maybe it's selfishness, maybe not. We all die, so should you accept this and not fight about when that happens?

I don't think so. I'm a fighter.

But if my fighting caused that loved one to be upset and disconnect from me, is that really loving and kind of me, to fight them and what they believe?

So we're out for a walk today, heading to the nearby elementary school to vote in the civic election. It is a route I haven't walked in years, though before Ivy was born I walked that same route every day for 2 years. I'd pass a bunch of huge Oak Bay homes, and wonder what it was like inside. I'd pass a couple of houses that have been converted into some type of care or group home. They have that institutional look to them. I had completely forgotten that one has a sign out front stating that it is a Christian Science Healing Centre. Back then I had no idea what that meant, and left it at that. Today, when we passed that house, I had to stop and stare. I couldn't help it. I was amazed that right there in my 'hood was a building in which a group of people completely disagree with the basic facts I believe about life. Human science, medicine, microbiology, everything I've studied in my life, my interests, what I've taught my kids. They do not believe in it.

I just couldn't get over that. Even now I sit here thinking about that house a few blocks over, wondering if there's anyone inside who is sick, who has come from far away to find solace in the arms of fellow believers. I want to respect their beliefs. And I want to run in and take them away, to a hospital, to a naturopath, to someone who could help them.

I don't know what else to say. It's a good read, and a hard view on life for me to accept. Sorry, I have to be honest.

And yet, I know I hold beliefs that may not be acceptable to all. That my lifestyle could be questioned, criticised. So does that make it all okay? I want to say all our views deserve respect. But when they cause harm to self and others, is it still okay?

It's too much for my simple self. The kids want to play Twister. That I can handle.

xoxo
C