The Family Tree
Designer trees are lovely,
but belong in banks and malls.
No one ought to quibble with
my approach to decking halls.
Fancy trees may be admired,
but of meaning they're devoid -
in their quest for tastefulness
all sentiment is destroyed.
They have got no tales to tell,
no history to reveal -
those colour coded baubles
hold no symbolism real.
No amateur hands touched them,
no element is misplaced;
everything coordinates
and must be precisely spaced.
My ornaments have stories -
rich memories they carry -
they don't look picture perfect,
their styles and colours vary.
My tree is a family tree,
and I think it's wacky
that my bits of Christmas past
are seen by some as tacky.
I don't aim for showmanship,
or to with tree bedazzle -
that's too much cost and effort
spent making my nerves frazzle!
Christmas is a holiday
we enjoy as family.
We turn on Christmas carols
and together trim the tree.
Our tree is never perfect,
but its mish-mash makes us smile,
and being joyful matters
more than proving we have style.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Dec. 1st, 2007
Last weekend I heard a phrase uttered that always makes me feel sad.
"I don't let my kids touch the tree", said a young mother. "I do all of my Christmas decorating while they're at school."
I was in a neighbouring town, attending a tour of homes decorated for Christmas. I'll concede that to a lot of people attending the event, achieving perfect Christmas decor is probably an important part of the holiday season. (I was far more interested in visiting some nice old houses.)
Still, although I've heard that sentiment before, it never ceases to sadden me. I can't help but pity the poor little tykes who will never contribute to the family Christmas tree. I walked through all of those perfectly decorated homes last weekend without feeling the slightest twinge of envy. Every tree I saw looked the same - professionally decorated according to the most current design trends - and completely devoid of anything personal. No small children hung any of those perfectly placed ornaments, and no school projects hand crafted by an excited five, seven or ten year old graced those branches.
My approach to Christmas decorating is the complete opposite. My sons always helped me trim the tree - or trees. Popsicle stick reindeer and button covered, spray painted styrofoam balls held a place of honour. (Some have survived long enough that decades later they're still on the tree.) The reindeer they cut out with a jigsaw in Cub Scouts still get displayed.
Oh, I'll admit that I gave them a few rudimentary design tips along the way, things like spacing things out so that there isn't a big clump of ornamentation in one spot and bare branches in other places. They learned to try and evenly distribute balls of different colours, to put smaller ornaments closer to the top of the tree (so that it doesn't look top-heavy), and to put the sturdier ornaments near the bottom so that if children visit there's less worry about things getting broken. Otherwise, I'd just let them do their thing, and if a few items were really badly placed I'd move them - a bit - after the fact.
I've always loved the tradition of decorating the trees together as a family. We listen to Christmas carols and make a night of it. The ornaments we hang remind us of Christmases past - the foil balls we bought when the boys were toddlers, the ornaments the boys made, the bits Todd and I each inherited from our parents - they all mean something to us.
One year I made a whole bunch stars out of sparkly pipe cleaners. I'd heard a friend say he had no ornaments for his Christmas tree, so I bought the pipe cleaners at the dollar store and played with them until I came up with the idea of making little stars that could be placed directly on the tree. They appealed to my sense of whimsy, so I made some for our tree too. Then the boys got playing with those pipe-cleaners and decided this Beatle-loving family needed a few glittery gold submarines to hang on the tree. Why not? They still get hung, and remind us of the goofiness that we enjoy as a family.
Another family tradition we have is covering our windows with honest-to-goodness six-sided, hand cut snowflakes. I first did this when my sons were two and three, because it was cheap and cheerful decor. The boys loved those snowflakes and begged for them every year after. When they were six or seven they learned how to cut them out themselves, and many of the flakes on my front window were cut by Sam and Dan. (Some survive from year to year, and every year a few new ones are made.)
The "big tree" we decorate has a history of its own. It's the only artificial tree that my parents ever owned - purchased the year I left home. It's getting pretty old now, and sheds almost as much as a real tree would. Next Christmas we hope to put up a new tree - a bigger one that's more befitting of the ten foot ceilings in our new/old house. I'm sure we'll acquire a few new ornaments to go on it too, and when we do it's likely our tree will look slightly more coordinated than it presently does. But I don't aspire to a perfectly designed tree.
No - I like my family tree in all of its glorious imperfection. I like the memories it holds and the conversations it starts. I like knowing that my parents and grandparents touched some of what adorns it, and that my sons have left their mark. I like anticipating the day a grandchild or two will give me some precious effort and proudly say, "I made this for you, Grandma!" Surely when that day comes I'll hang the offering proudly on my tree.
My tree will never look perfect - I'm absolutely convinced of that. But somehow every year it feels perfect - and that matters a lot more to me than displaying a work of art.
Monday 27 November 2017
Friday 10 November 2017
Battlecry! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Battlecry!
I am in a war enlisted,
fighting battles in the world;
on my quest for peace and freedom
banner has now been unfurled.
I will not be the oppressor
of the innocent or meek,
but crusader in each battle
to protect those who are weak.
I wear only issued armour -
thus, with gratitude, I state
that my wounds are superficial
in this war on fear and hate.
So what spurs me on in battle
also fills me with great shame -
there are far too many victims
who will never say the same.
Every weapon that I carry
has been openly revealed -
only through love, freely offered,
may our world someday be healed.
Armed with tolerance and kindness
in the trenches I'll fight on,
urging all to join this battle
until enmity is gone.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 9, 2017
The world we live in has grown increasingly polarized. We divide ourselves into tribes based on political beliefs, opinions and ideologies. We are "Us", and all others are "Them". We don't stop to dwell on the similarities that exist between us - like the fact that we're all human beings. We forget that "They" have hearts too, and love their families just as we do. We don't want to stop to consider how "They" have been molded by the events in their lives, and how their experiences led them to hold opposing points of view. We don't really want to understand why they see the world as they do - we'd rather block "them" out, shut "them" down, or help "them" see the error of "their" ways.
We are arrogant - our desire to be right too often eclipses our desire to live in harmony with each other. And when we have the convenience of a "tribe" surrounding us who share our convictions, the notion that we might need to communicate with those who feel differently is apt to fly right out the window.
I'm not going to say that all arrogance is born of superiority. There are plenty of "humbly arrogant" souls out there too. These are the people who grow arrogant through fear, ignorance and laziness. Some of these people don't want to see the humanity in those outside their chosen tribe - because if they could, they might find bonds of commonality. And when we can relate to the "other" it becomes too difficult to ignore them. And if we pay attention to their lives, thoughts, or words, we might lose some of our certainty - and that's a frightening concept. Others are just too ignorant or lazy to learn anything about "the other side". My sister once had a sign that she hung on our bedroom wall. It said:
My mind is made up. Don't confuse me with facts.
I thought it was funny at the time, but now I find it is nothing but a sad commentary on the way most people feel.
Truthfully, the only facts most of us want to find are those that reinforce our own stance, and we live in a world where Google can speedily serve them up to us. This confirmation bias helps us dig in our heels - I'm right, you're wrong - end of discussion - usually before it has even started.
I grew up in a religion, and was devout for fifty years. My church was my "tribe". When I left, a few friends suddenly stopped communicating with me. I had strained relationships with some family members. It hurt - a lot. Those who were quick to write me off didn't bother to ask me why I felt the way I did. Some were afraid I'd try to sway their own beliefs. (For the record, I wouldn't. We do NOT need to agree on religious ideologies to care about each other.) What bothers me most about this distancing is the niggling feeling I have that they're more comfortable making assumptions about my change of heart than actually knowing my reasons, or hearing my story. If we talked, they might realize that I haven't changed - they'd still find the same old things about me to like and dislike. They'd still see that we share common interests; that we're still more alike than they're comfortable acknowledging.
But there are those who don't feel they can be close to anyone who swears allegiance to another tribe - or simply leaves the one they were enured in. Anyone who doesn't go to their church, or vote for the same party, or support the same causes, or... has to be suspect. Family members, people we once called friends, neighbours - all become classified as "them" - the outsider who feels differently, thinks differently, lives differently. You get the picture. I get it too, because I've been there - suspicious of people who embrace beliefs that I just cannot fathom. I'll even admit that sometimes I'm still there - blinded to another person's goodness simply because I can't seem to see the world the same way. Sometimes trying to empathize seems so daunting.
Fortunately, we all meet people who rebel against this tribal mentality. People who mean it when they say that whatever you do, think or feel, I will still love you. Friends who make it plain that they don't care whether your political views align. Family members who affirm that family will always come first with them - they will never shun you - ever.
My daughter-in-law is one of the most diplomatic souls I've ever met. On a vacation together last winter, she showed me a wonderful example of trying to see the opposing point of view. The five of us went to Florida to visit my father-in-law. Trump (who none of my clan have any admiration for) had just been elected, and we were about to meet up with a whole lot of people who helped vote him in. We cautioned our sons to NOT talk politics with Grandpa...and then he brought the subject up. I tried not to engage - I was a guest in his home and didn't want to cause offense. (I really like my father-in-law.) My husband engaged very cautiously. My sons (bless them!) did their best to not look too dismayed or disgruntled. And then my daughter-in-law spoke up. She simply said she didn't like Trump, or vote for him, but she sincerely wanted to know why he voted the way he did. A very respectful discussion ensued. Nobody came away with a different point of view, but we all listened to each other because she set the tone with an honest, polite inquiry.
We need more of that kind of interaction in our troubled world - more respectful "why" and "how". More listening. More seeing each other as a whole bunch of imperfect people, finding different solutions and coming to different conclusions. We need to care enough about others to ask questions, even when the answers we're sure to get won't satisfy us. Our opinions may not be changed through these exchanges - but we can halt anger and enmity over differing opinions and choices spilling over onto the individual concerned. We can agree to disagree, and in doing so remain a "we", not an "us" and "them".
Even when our minds are made up we can build unity by hearing another person's point of view - their "facts".
What matters is that we were open to dialogue. We sat down as friends, family members or opposing parties and we talked and listened.
If we can love each other enough to do that, we just might eventually manage to unify as a common tribe:
Humanity.
I am in a war enlisted,
fighting battles in the world;
on my quest for peace and freedom
banner has now been unfurled.
I will not be the oppressor
of the innocent or meek,
but crusader in each battle
to protect those who are weak.
I wear only issued armour -
thus, with gratitude, I state
that my wounds are superficial
in this war on fear and hate.
So what spurs me on in battle
also fills me with great shame -
there are far too many victims
who will never say the same.
Every weapon that I carry
has been openly revealed -
only through love, freely offered,
may our world someday be healed.
Armed with tolerance and kindness
in the trenches I'll fight on,
urging all to join this battle
until enmity is gone.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 9, 2017
The world we live in has grown increasingly polarized. We divide ourselves into tribes based on political beliefs, opinions and ideologies. We are "Us", and all others are "Them". We don't stop to dwell on the similarities that exist between us - like the fact that we're all human beings. We forget that "They" have hearts too, and love their families just as we do. We don't want to stop to consider how "They" have been molded by the events in their lives, and how their experiences led them to hold opposing points of view. We don't really want to understand why they see the world as they do - we'd rather block "them" out, shut "them" down, or help "them" see the error of "their" ways.
We are arrogant - our desire to be right too often eclipses our desire to live in harmony with each other. And when we have the convenience of a "tribe" surrounding us who share our convictions, the notion that we might need to communicate with those who feel differently is apt to fly right out the window.
I'm not going to say that all arrogance is born of superiority. There are plenty of "humbly arrogant" souls out there too. These are the people who grow arrogant through fear, ignorance and laziness. Some of these people don't want to see the humanity in those outside their chosen tribe - because if they could, they might find bonds of commonality. And when we can relate to the "other" it becomes too difficult to ignore them. And if we pay attention to their lives, thoughts, or words, we might lose some of our certainty - and that's a frightening concept. Others are just too ignorant or lazy to learn anything about "the other side". My sister once had a sign that she hung on our bedroom wall. It said:
My mind is made up. Don't confuse me with facts.
I thought it was funny at the time, but now I find it is nothing but a sad commentary on the way most people feel.
Truthfully, the only facts most of us want to find are those that reinforce our own stance, and we live in a world where Google can speedily serve them up to us. This confirmation bias helps us dig in our heels - I'm right, you're wrong - end of discussion - usually before it has even started.
I grew up in a religion, and was devout for fifty years. My church was my "tribe". When I left, a few friends suddenly stopped communicating with me. I had strained relationships with some family members. It hurt - a lot. Those who were quick to write me off didn't bother to ask me why I felt the way I did. Some were afraid I'd try to sway their own beliefs. (For the record, I wouldn't. We do NOT need to agree on religious ideologies to care about each other.) What bothers me most about this distancing is the niggling feeling I have that they're more comfortable making assumptions about my change of heart than actually knowing my reasons, or hearing my story. If we talked, they might realize that I haven't changed - they'd still find the same old things about me to like and dislike. They'd still see that we share common interests; that we're still more alike than they're comfortable acknowledging.
But there are those who don't feel they can be close to anyone who swears allegiance to another tribe - or simply leaves the one they were enured in. Anyone who doesn't go to their church, or vote for the same party, or support the same causes, or... has to be suspect. Family members, people we once called friends, neighbours - all become classified as "them" - the outsider who feels differently, thinks differently, lives differently. You get the picture. I get it too, because I've been there - suspicious of people who embrace beliefs that I just cannot fathom. I'll even admit that sometimes I'm still there - blinded to another person's goodness simply because I can't seem to see the world the same way. Sometimes trying to empathize seems so daunting.
Fortunately, we all meet people who rebel against this tribal mentality. People who mean it when they say that whatever you do, think or feel, I will still love you. Friends who make it plain that they don't care whether your political views align. Family members who affirm that family will always come first with them - they will never shun you - ever.
My daughter-in-law is one of the most diplomatic souls I've ever met. On a vacation together last winter, she showed me a wonderful example of trying to see the opposing point of view. The five of us went to Florida to visit my father-in-law. Trump (who none of my clan have any admiration for) had just been elected, and we were about to meet up with a whole lot of people who helped vote him in. We cautioned our sons to NOT talk politics with Grandpa...and then he brought the subject up. I tried not to engage - I was a guest in his home and didn't want to cause offense. (I really like my father-in-law.) My husband engaged very cautiously. My sons (bless them!) did their best to not look too dismayed or disgruntled. And then my daughter-in-law spoke up. She simply said she didn't like Trump, or vote for him, but she sincerely wanted to know why he voted the way he did. A very respectful discussion ensued. Nobody came away with a different point of view, but we all listened to each other because she set the tone with an honest, polite inquiry.
We need more of that kind of interaction in our troubled world - more respectful "why" and "how". More listening. More seeing each other as a whole bunch of imperfect people, finding different solutions and coming to different conclusions. We need to care enough about others to ask questions, even when the answers we're sure to get won't satisfy us. Our opinions may not be changed through these exchanges - but we can halt anger and enmity over differing opinions and choices spilling over onto the individual concerned. We can agree to disagree, and in doing so remain a "we", not an "us" and "them".
Even when our minds are made up we can build unity by hearing another person's point of view - their "facts".
What matters is that we were open to dialogue. We sat down as friends, family members or opposing parties and we talked and listened.
If we can love each other enough to do that, we just might eventually manage to unify as a common tribe:
Humanity.
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