The Common Cold
Who would have thought the common cold
could ever yield comedic gold?
But for those who wish to orate
the subject matter proved just great,
and somehow from this common thread
a lot of funny things were said.
We laughed at symptoms - cough and sneeze,
and at outrageous remedies
well guarded in some secret vault -
and laughter - how it does exalt!
Somehow a subject quite mundane
moved all into some fresh terrain -
promoting potions meant to heal
the varied aches and pains we feel.
And once our fancies took to flight,
Toastmasters chuckled all the night!
Those words - like mucus, phlegm and spit
embellish speeches quite a bit -
but best of all? The word catarrh -
a true vocabulary star!
A wonderful way to explain
an inflammation of membrane
from stuff that plugs the human nose
which each into a tissue blows.
The beauty then, of Thursday nights
is finding such profound delights
among folk not afraid to reach
for fodder for another speech!
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Jan 13, 2017
My husband and I have been looking for ways to meet people and get involved in the area since we moved to North Perth. Atwood doesn't have a lot happening, except the Lion's Club, which my husband promptly joined. (It's an "Atwood thing", we were told. Men in this town pretty well all become Lions or sign on as volunteer firemen, and since Todd is asthmatic and doesn't do ladders well, the choice seemed clear.) That helped Todd integrate, but I knew that I also needed to develop some interests outside my door, but still close to home.
While scouring a local community bulletin, I discovered that Listowel, a more bustling town just five minutes away, was looking for Toastmasters to join their local group. I've had some experience with public speaking, and for many years considered the possibility of becoming a Toastmaster to hone my skills. I thought it seemed like a possible way to meet nice people too, so I decided to check out the Linguists of Listowel and see what they were all about. Since I don't drive, Todd brought me to the first meeting, but as we were driving home he said he'd let Toastmasters be "my thing" if I wanted to join on my own. (He didn't want to cramp my style.) However, since we'd both enjoyed the experience that evening I told him I'd be happy to try something new and different with him. (Words every man married for decades longs to hear, right?!)
At our first meeting we didn't know what to expect, but we were seated beside experienced members of the group who explained each portion of the evening to us. We met a room full of warm and welcoming people who were encouraging with each other, and a lot more interested in pointing out each others' strengths than offering harsh criticisms of perceived weaknesses. We both left there feeling good about learning how to speak in front of these people. When we returned the following week we were greeted like old friends.
We've been involved for about a month now, and Thursday night's meeting was so much fun! The topic for the evening was "The Common Cold", which (I have to confess) didn't seem very inspired to me. I was asked to read something for the Literary Corner - choose any written passage and read it to the group - four minutes maximum. I got nervy and chose to read one of my own blog posts. I wasn't sure how well my efforts would be received, but I forged ahead and felt my post was well received. My husband was asked to be Grammarian - the member who enriches vocabulary by introducing a new word to the group, then counts how many times people fit that word into their comments, and also keeps track of the use of filler words (like um and eh) that speakers use that evening so that we all learn to root out negative speech habits.
In keeping with the theme of the evening, he chose the word catarrh - "inflammation of mucus membranes and nasal passages". Needless to say, that word got well used by every person present. The subject of colds, cold symptoms and cold remedies was a source of much amusement as the night progressed. A toast was made to Canada, for opening the country's secret vault of the best 150 home remedies ever. Our chair for the evening regaled us with fun facts about obscure cold remedies, and our Table Topics Master invented a fun game where he passed around two envelopes - one contained slips of paper naming common cold symptoms, and the other contained slips denoting unusual cold remedies. Our task was to remove one slip from the first "symptom" envelope, name and wax somewhat poetic about our symptom, and then spend the balance of the allotted two minutes explaining how the randomly-pulled cold remedy from the next envelope helped cure us - or didn't.
It's hard to maintain composure while people are talking about using outlandish home remedies like horseradish, or onion necklaces, to cure their cold symptoms. And the hilarity continued when people described exactly how they'd use each remedy to obtain relief. Snort that elderberry juice up your nose - it'll clear up the pesky catarrh in your sinus cavity! Bite into a clove of garlic - munch down that sucker like it's an apple - by golly it'll clear up your cough - and as an added benefit, continued use will keep anyone from ever getting close enough to share a germ with you again! Does chicken soup sound like a boring cure? Not if it's made with the recipe we heard! We also learned that French Canadians substitute gin for whisky in their Hot Toddies, and that the word catarrh just never gets old.
I would never have dreamed that so much laughter could ensue from discussion of the common cold, but we managed it.
There were serious moments in the evening too. One member gave a heartfelt speech about the importance of giving blood. It was well thought out and delivered. My own contribution was more serious than most of the rest of the evening too, but what I've discovered about Toastmasters is that every speech - be it serious or silly - has its merits. Whether we spend the evening laughing or nodding in serious agreement, everyone leaves edified. And fed with yummy snacks too! I think it's safe to say that each Linguist of Listowel learns something new every Thursday night, and leaves feeling good about what they experienced.
What better way could there be to spend a Thursday night?
Saturday, 14 January 2017
Saturday, 24 December 2016
Four Gifts - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Four Gifts:
Let laughter ring out like the bells
that flying reindeer wear -
to warm our hearts through winter nights
and lighten every care.
Let friendship's glow enhance our lives
like twink'ling lights on tree,
and lift our spirits with its light
so we'll in darkness see.
Let love burn bright in every heart
like yule log on the hearth,
that all may feel its radiance
and hope might fill the earth.
Let voices raise in carols sweet
proclaiming precious gifts,
to sing of laughter, friendship, love,
and hope that ever lifts.
Whatever else we lack or want,
if these four gifts we give -
we'll surely see them multiplied
through all the days we live.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 24th, 2016
Last night we hosted friends in our home, and my new old house was filled with the sounds of laughter and friendly chatter. Some of the people we invited we didn't know all that well, and we wondered whether our invites - given on short notice - would be accepted. But almost everyone we invited came. Most were neighbours who already knew each other, two were guys who did so much work on our house last fall that they started to feel like family, and one was an old high school friend who traveled a couple of hours to share supper, goodies and conversation with a room full of strangers.
My high school friend and I reconnected on Facebook six or seven years ago. He was a guy I met at the lunch table the first week of ninth grade - never a romantic interest, just a buddy. I've joked that you never forget your first boyfriend, and that you likewise never forget the guy who skipped class to sit in the cafeteria and pass you kleenex when you suffered through the breakup with your first boyfriend, and Phil was that guy. So a few years ago we reconnected in person, and after decades of not seeing each other discovered that we still enjoy each others' company. (I think he also likes my cookies : ))
It's fairly hard for me to extend myself socially. My range of comfort is small, and just passing out invitations was difficult. We are the newbies here - I didn't know what any of my invitees would like to do, or what they liked to eat. Maybe they'd find my shindig boring. (Maybe they did - but if so they were all too nice to let on.) What I do know is that it felt like there was easy comaraderie, the conversation didn't lag. We laughed together, they ate my food (and seemed to enjoy it), and they all thanked me for the invitation when they left.
Phil remarked as he was leaving that it was so nice to see neighbours come together and seem to enjoy each other. I'm sure there are people here in my town who don't like each other much, or who just don't intermingle because they feel they have little in common. Maybe some of the people who came here last night feel that way about others who came. I don't know - but really that doesn't matter. What's important is that they all came and visited with us, and that we sensed no discord. Our furnace repair guy seemed to bond with the guy across the street, and one set of neighbours who moved into their home several months before us got to meet someone new to them in our small town. I hope everybody here benefited from our shared evening in some small way.
As I laid in bed last night, I felt hopeful that these new acquaintances would someday become really good friends. Each of them has already demonstrated kindness and generosity, decency and inclusiveness. I thought back over the evening, and how good it felt to bring together old friends and new friends, and to have their laughter echo through the rooms of an old house that is still new to us. That gathering brought together the best gifts we can give and receive - laughter, friendship, love - and the hope that all of the three endure in our lives.
These four things are gifts that never stop giving. I don't really care what presents I get tomorrow. Last night reminded me that I have enough, and that as long as I'm open to new friendships, to hospitality and laughter, to love and to hope, I will always have more than enough.
Merry Christmas to all of you, and may you each enjoy gifts of laughter, friendship, love and hope in the year to come.
Let laughter ring out like the bells
that flying reindeer wear -
to warm our hearts through winter nights
and lighten every care.
Let friendship's glow enhance our lives
like twink'ling lights on tree,
and lift our spirits with its light
so we'll in darkness see.
Let love burn bright in every heart
like yule log on the hearth,
that all may feel its radiance
and hope might fill the earth.
Let voices raise in carols sweet
proclaiming precious gifts,
to sing of laughter, friendship, love,
and hope that ever lifts.
Whatever else we lack or want,
if these four gifts we give -
we'll surely see them multiplied
through all the days we live.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 24th, 2016
Last night we hosted friends in our home, and my new old house was filled with the sounds of laughter and friendly chatter. Some of the people we invited we didn't know all that well, and we wondered whether our invites - given on short notice - would be accepted. But almost everyone we invited came. Most were neighbours who already knew each other, two were guys who did so much work on our house last fall that they started to feel like family, and one was an old high school friend who traveled a couple of hours to share supper, goodies and conversation with a room full of strangers.
My high school friend and I reconnected on Facebook six or seven years ago. He was a guy I met at the lunch table the first week of ninth grade - never a romantic interest, just a buddy. I've joked that you never forget your first boyfriend, and that you likewise never forget the guy who skipped class to sit in the cafeteria and pass you kleenex when you suffered through the breakup with your first boyfriend, and Phil was that guy. So a few years ago we reconnected in person, and after decades of not seeing each other discovered that we still enjoy each others' company. (I think he also likes my cookies : ))
It's fairly hard for me to extend myself socially. My range of comfort is small, and just passing out invitations was difficult. We are the newbies here - I didn't know what any of my invitees would like to do, or what they liked to eat. Maybe they'd find my shindig boring. (Maybe they did - but if so they were all too nice to let on.) What I do know is that it felt like there was easy comaraderie, the conversation didn't lag. We laughed together, they ate my food (and seemed to enjoy it), and they all thanked me for the invitation when they left.
Phil remarked as he was leaving that it was so nice to see neighbours come together and seem to enjoy each other. I'm sure there are people here in my town who don't like each other much, or who just don't intermingle because they feel they have little in common. Maybe some of the people who came here last night feel that way about others who came. I don't know - but really that doesn't matter. What's important is that they all came and visited with us, and that we sensed no discord. Our furnace repair guy seemed to bond with the guy across the street, and one set of neighbours who moved into their home several months before us got to meet someone new to them in our small town. I hope everybody here benefited from our shared evening in some small way.
As I laid in bed last night, I felt hopeful that these new acquaintances would someday become really good friends. Each of them has already demonstrated kindness and generosity, decency and inclusiveness. I thought back over the evening, and how good it felt to bring together old friends and new friends, and to have their laughter echo through the rooms of an old house that is still new to us. That gathering brought together the best gifts we can give and receive - laughter, friendship, love - and the hope that all of the three endure in our lives.
These four things are gifts that never stop giving. I don't really care what presents I get tomorrow. Last night reminded me that I have enough, and that as long as I'm open to new friendships, to hospitality and laughter, to love and to hope, I will always have more than enough.
Merry Christmas to all of you, and may you each enjoy gifts of laughter, friendship, love and hope in the year to come.
Tuesday, 13 December 2016
Goodness in the Middle - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Goodness in the Middle
White and gooey goodness
joins chocolate wafers - so -
and sticks them together
to become an Oreo!
And what's any sandwich
without stuff that's in between?
Take the filling out and
just the naked bread is seen!
Good stuff in the middle
is what helps our lives cohere.
In midst of confusion
there are moments crystal clear.
If sometimes I'm lonely
and miserable - or blue -
I see bread and wafers
but I ignore the glue!
There's good stuff in the middle -
stuff I should not forget.
There's still filling in a pie
I haven't tasted yet.
Tasty filling in a pie
might seem a little thing,
but such delicious "middles"
can make your taste buds sing!
Look for stars among the clouds
when everything looks bleak;
search inside and you'll find strength
in midst of moments weak.
Seek out a spot of beauty
among all that's mundane.
The good things in the middle
of your days can keep you sane!
There's more to life than wafers,
and more than crust or bread -
focus on the fillings that
enhance your life instead.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 11, 2016
Yesterday I attended the Presbyterian church in my village. (We had planned to run across the street to the United church, but we overslept, so the Presbyterians got us by default.) I love going to church at Christmas time, and because Mother Nature saw fit to dump seven or eight inches overnight, we weren't about to travel an hour to attend my husband's congregation. So, off we went to join the Presbyterians, neither of us knowing what to expect. We figured if the sermon wasn't inspiring, we'd at least get to sing a few Christmas carols and look inside a building we've admired many times.
Now I don't mean to give too much credence to stereotypes, but both my husband and I had a vague notion that Presbyterians were dour Scots, and that we may not be greeted enthusiastically. But the preacher met us at the door (we'd come into the wrong entrance) and showed us into the sanctuary, which was indeed very pretty. He seemed like a very friendly man, and when the service got underway I was impressed by his enthusiasm and his sincerity. (My husband carped that he used the word beautiful too often, but my response was that I'd rather be around someone who saw beauty everywhere than someone who never saw it at all!)
His message was thought provoking. One of the scriptures he reviewed was Isaiah Chapter 35. He pointed out that this passage was written as a type of poetry called chiasmus - which I'd heard of before, but hadn't given a thought to in several years. He broke it down like this:
Verses 1-2: Creation is transformed - desert places will become as lush and beautiful as fertile areas.
Verse 3: Humanity is transformed with strength
Verse 4: God comes to the rescue
Verse 5-6: Human transformation continues - the blind see, the lame walk; the deaf hear.
Verses 6-7: Creation continues to transform - water replenishes the desert.
I like the way this minister summed up the whole circular process - the work begins, God appears - in the middle! - and then work resumes.
I know a lot of people are ambivalent about the religious aspect of the Christmas season. (Yeah - I can call it that. I was raised believing in Jesus Christ, and thus my holiday is Christmas, and I fail to see how the way I reference what I'm celebrating in any way insults those who are celebrating something else this season.) Many who consider themselves Christian find great satisfaction in trying to keep God at the center of their lives. They strive to lead lives that emulate the characteristics of Jesus Christ - to be kind, service-oriented, non-judgmental and merciful.
But I know everyone doesn't see it this way, so I'm going to expand the concept of "God in the middle" by adding one small o - or perhaps "Oh" - into the mix. You don't need to be a Christian - or a believer in any god - to understand the importance of a little "oh", like -
"Oh - I'm so sorry" (compassion)
"Oh - I have extra!" (generosity)
"Oh - I can do that!" (confidence)
"Oh - I need help." (humility)
"Oh - that's amazing!" (wonder)
"Oh - that's beautiful!" (appreciation)
Here's the kicker - if you just add a small "oh" to the word god it becomes good. And if you live your life trying to keep everything good at your center, then your life becomes good. You become good.
Keeping the real spirit of Christmas hinges on our ability to see good, do good, and be good, and thus keep goodness in the middle of our lives.
Do we look for the good in others? Do we take time to see what's wonderful about our world? Are we willing to admit that sometimes our vision is clouded - that we don't know everything, don't understand very much at all, and go through life stating our own biased opinions without ever observing how we're making others feel in the process? Too often we are focused on the negatives in our lives. We resent having to eat our crusts when the tasty bit of life's sandwich are consumed. We want to scrape off the frosting in the middle and toss out those now uninspiring wafers. We want to dig the filling out of the pie and toss out the crust. (If you're actually tossing out pie crusts, it's because making good piecrust is a dying art. I'll blog about that another time!)
Christmas is all about seeing possibilities. According to the story we've all heard, Jesus didn't arrive on earth as a full grown man, or a supernatural being with superpowers on display. He came as a helpless baby - one many believed would ultimately save humanity. It is a story of faith and hope and infinite possibilities. You don't need to be Christian to understand that every child born should be greeted as a miracle, and that each embodies possible greatness. Every child might grow up to do great things - to cure disease or change the course of humanity through innovation, invention or creation. Every culture and creed on the planet should be able to comprehend the wondrous possibilities that accompany a new life into the world.
Christmas is all about seeing potential in those around us. It's about seeing joy in the faces of those we love and seeing ways to give gifts that mean something to those we love, and then going a bit deeper to see how we can dedicate our talents and time to make others happy and meet their needs.
Do we actively try to "do good"? Do we care about the people around us, and do we care for them when they need assistance? Do we offer friendship to the lonely and comfort to the suffering? Do we involve ourselves in good causes and believe that we can, individually and collectively, make the world a little better each day? Are we focused on being kind, charitable and generous?
Christmas is all about doing good - giving to others. It's about being kind and charitable. It's about showing love for each other through the exchange of intangible gifts. It's about living as though you believe that the world is full of possibilities, and that somehow you can make a difference somewhere. It's also about belief - in the magic and the mysteries that fill our lives with moments of awe, in the power of love, and in ourselves and each other.
Do we make honest efforts at self improvement, or are we defeatists who say, "I am what I am, and this is all I'll ever be?" You don't need to be bothered aiming for perfection - just do your best to be consistently good, and you'll be surprised by how good you feel.
In order to embrace the true spirit of this season we need to embrace all of the best aspects of ourselves. We need to see how we each can emulate the positive traits of the characters of the nativity. We need to know how we can shine like a star, tend like a shepherd, seek like a wise man. We need to believe that we can nurture like Mary and protect like Joseph. We need to be angels who bear good news to humanity - even if the only positive news we have to share is that we believe we can work together to make the world a better place. We need to proclaim goodness through our efforts and actions.
I like the idea of "goodness in the middle". I like to believe that as we work to transform the world around us, we transform ourselves. Goodness comes to the rescue. We save ourselves, and each other, by our efforts to see the best, do our best and be our best. And then the work of transformation continues.
Christmas in my part of the world comes in the middle of cold temperatures and shoveling snow. It arrives in the midst of head colds and back aches. Christmas day comes in the midst of political turmoil, natural disasters, poverty, misery and chaos. The celebration of Christmas comes to the fortunate with all of its trimmings - good things to eat, good friends to celebrate with, presents to open, and beautiful decorations. There's so much goodness in the season - even if you don't see it as a religious holiday, try to see it for the opportunities it offers to share goodness.
I refuse to "bah humbug" through a season that started as a representation of something more. I won't bemoan the commercialism it entails. I won't carp on about the cold that is just part of the month of December where I live.
Instead, I will see this season as a little bit of wonderment in the middle - the good that comes just when we need a little encouragement in our transformative efforts. I'll see the bright lights on the long dark nights, and the possibilities the season offers - to build friendships, to serve others, to be enriched by a lovely story of hope, and by the majestic music that story inspired.
In the midst of my bleak midwinter, I'll consider how lucky I am to have something to celebrate.
White and gooey goodness
joins chocolate wafers - so -
and sticks them together
to become an Oreo!
And what's any sandwich
without stuff that's in between?
Take the filling out and
just the naked bread is seen!
Good stuff in the middle
is what helps our lives cohere.
In midst of confusion
there are moments crystal clear.
If sometimes I'm lonely
and miserable - or blue -
I see bread and wafers
but I ignore the glue!
There's good stuff in the middle -
stuff I should not forget.
There's still filling in a pie
I haven't tasted yet.
Tasty filling in a pie
might seem a little thing,
but such delicious "middles"
can make your taste buds sing!
Look for stars among the clouds
when everything looks bleak;
search inside and you'll find strength
in midst of moments weak.
Seek out a spot of beauty
among all that's mundane.
The good things in the middle
of your days can keep you sane!
There's more to life than wafers,
and more than crust or bread -
focus on the fillings that
enhance your life instead.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 11, 2016
Yesterday I attended the Presbyterian church in my village. (We had planned to run across the street to the United church, but we overslept, so the Presbyterians got us by default.) I love going to church at Christmas time, and because Mother Nature saw fit to dump seven or eight inches overnight, we weren't about to travel an hour to attend my husband's congregation. So, off we went to join the Presbyterians, neither of us knowing what to expect. We figured if the sermon wasn't inspiring, we'd at least get to sing a few Christmas carols and look inside a building we've admired many times.
Now I don't mean to give too much credence to stereotypes, but both my husband and I had a vague notion that Presbyterians were dour Scots, and that we may not be greeted enthusiastically. But the preacher met us at the door (we'd come into the wrong entrance) and showed us into the sanctuary, which was indeed very pretty. He seemed like a very friendly man, and when the service got underway I was impressed by his enthusiasm and his sincerity. (My husband carped that he used the word beautiful too often, but my response was that I'd rather be around someone who saw beauty everywhere than someone who never saw it at all!)
His message was thought provoking. One of the scriptures he reviewed was Isaiah Chapter 35. He pointed out that this passage was written as a type of poetry called chiasmus - which I'd heard of before, but hadn't given a thought to in several years. He broke it down like this:
Verses 1-2: Creation is transformed - desert places will become as lush and beautiful as fertile areas.
Verse 3: Humanity is transformed with strength
Verse 4: God comes to the rescue
Verse 5-6: Human transformation continues - the blind see, the lame walk; the deaf hear.
Verses 6-7: Creation continues to transform - water replenishes the desert.
I like the way this minister summed up the whole circular process - the work begins, God appears - in the middle! - and then work resumes.
I know a lot of people are ambivalent about the religious aspect of the Christmas season. (Yeah - I can call it that. I was raised believing in Jesus Christ, and thus my holiday is Christmas, and I fail to see how the way I reference what I'm celebrating in any way insults those who are celebrating something else this season.) Many who consider themselves Christian find great satisfaction in trying to keep God at the center of their lives. They strive to lead lives that emulate the characteristics of Jesus Christ - to be kind, service-oriented, non-judgmental and merciful.
But I know everyone doesn't see it this way, so I'm going to expand the concept of "God in the middle" by adding one small o - or perhaps "Oh" - into the mix. You don't need to be a Christian - or a believer in any god - to understand the importance of a little "oh", like -
"Oh - I'm so sorry" (compassion)
"Oh - I have extra!" (generosity)
"Oh - I can do that!" (confidence)
"Oh - I need help." (humility)
"Oh - that's amazing!" (wonder)
"Oh - that's beautiful!" (appreciation)
Here's the kicker - if you just add a small "oh" to the word god it becomes good. And if you live your life trying to keep everything good at your center, then your life becomes good. You become good.
Keeping the real spirit of Christmas hinges on our ability to see good, do good, and be good, and thus keep goodness in the middle of our lives.
Do we look for the good in others? Do we take time to see what's wonderful about our world? Are we willing to admit that sometimes our vision is clouded - that we don't know everything, don't understand very much at all, and go through life stating our own biased opinions without ever observing how we're making others feel in the process? Too often we are focused on the negatives in our lives. We resent having to eat our crusts when the tasty bit of life's sandwich are consumed. We want to scrape off the frosting in the middle and toss out those now uninspiring wafers. We want to dig the filling out of the pie and toss out the crust. (If you're actually tossing out pie crusts, it's because making good piecrust is a dying art. I'll blog about that another time!)
Christmas is all about seeing possibilities. According to the story we've all heard, Jesus didn't arrive on earth as a full grown man, or a supernatural being with superpowers on display. He came as a helpless baby - one many believed would ultimately save humanity. It is a story of faith and hope and infinite possibilities. You don't need to be Christian to understand that every child born should be greeted as a miracle, and that each embodies possible greatness. Every child might grow up to do great things - to cure disease or change the course of humanity through innovation, invention or creation. Every culture and creed on the planet should be able to comprehend the wondrous possibilities that accompany a new life into the world.
Christmas is all about seeing potential in those around us. It's about seeing joy in the faces of those we love and seeing ways to give gifts that mean something to those we love, and then going a bit deeper to see how we can dedicate our talents and time to make others happy and meet their needs.
Do we actively try to "do good"? Do we care about the people around us, and do we care for them when they need assistance? Do we offer friendship to the lonely and comfort to the suffering? Do we involve ourselves in good causes and believe that we can, individually and collectively, make the world a little better each day? Are we focused on being kind, charitable and generous?
Christmas is all about doing good - giving to others. It's about being kind and charitable. It's about showing love for each other through the exchange of intangible gifts. It's about living as though you believe that the world is full of possibilities, and that somehow you can make a difference somewhere. It's also about belief - in the magic and the mysteries that fill our lives with moments of awe, in the power of love, and in ourselves and each other.
Do we make honest efforts at self improvement, or are we defeatists who say, "I am what I am, and this is all I'll ever be?" You don't need to be bothered aiming for perfection - just do your best to be consistently good, and you'll be surprised by how good you feel.
In order to embrace the true spirit of this season we need to embrace all of the best aspects of ourselves. We need to see how we each can emulate the positive traits of the characters of the nativity. We need to know how we can shine like a star, tend like a shepherd, seek like a wise man. We need to believe that we can nurture like Mary and protect like Joseph. We need to be angels who bear good news to humanity - even if the only positive news we have to share is that we believe we can work together to make the world a better place. We need to proclaim goodness through our efforts and actions.
I like the idea of "goodness in the middle". I like to believe that as we work to transform the world around us, we transform ourselves. Goodness comes to the rescue. We save ourselves, and each other, by our efforts to see the best, do our best and be our best. And then the work of transformation continues.
Christmas in my part of the world comes in the middle of cold temperatures and shoveling snow. It arrives in the midst of head colds and back aches. Christmas day comes in the midst of political turmoil, natural disasters, poverty, misery and chaos. The celebration of Christmas comes to the fortunate with all of its trimmings - good things to eat, good friends to celebrate with, presents to open, and beautiful decorations. There's so much goodness in the season - even if you don't see it as a religious holiday, try to see it for the opportunities it offers to share goodness.
I refuse to "bah humbug" through a season that started as a representation of something more. I won't bemoan the commercialism it entails. I won't carp on about the cold that is just part of the month of December where I live.
Instead, I will see this season as a little bit of wonderment in the middle - the good that comes just when we need a little encouragement in our transformative efforts. I'll see the bright lights on the long dark nights, and the possibilities the season offers - to build friendships, to serve others, to be enriched by a lovely story of hope, and by the majestic music that story inspired.
In the midst of my bleak midwinter, I'll consider how lucky I am to have something to celebrate.
Monday, 28 November 2016
I've Got This - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
This:
This is where I am now -
where I'm meant to be -
traveling a new road;
happy to be free.
This is what I sing now,
though the tune is new -
listen to the lyrics -
surely they'll ring true.
This is what I feel now -
how I always did.
Tears of pain and joy flow;
tears that I once hid.
This is who I am now -
who I've always been.
If you had been watching,
this you would have seen.
This is what I hope now;
that you'll simply see -
circumstances change - still
I'm the same old me.
This is what I love now -
no - that's not quite true.
When it comes to love, well -
it's never what, but who.
Now I love you better -
this you must believe.
All the love that fills me -
this will never leave.
Join me in this chorus:
Nothing is amiss -
all that really matters
is this, and this - and this.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 27, 2016
My next bit of written communication, after this post is finished and up, is writing the annual family newsletter. As I sit and contemplate my new life in a big old house in a very small town, I am amazed by how many circumstances in my life have changed.
My life is very quiet now, and in some ways a lot less structured than it used to be. I don't go to a gym three times a week anymore - it seems like too much trouble to be hitching a ride to the next town when my treadmill is set up in a lovely sun room, and most days I have the option of doing the "clean your house workout" or working on one of many fairly labour intensive home improvement projects that we have on the go. Whether I choose to strip wallpaper, pull up carpets, wash walls with TSP or get caught up on laundry depends on a whole variety of factors. Some days I go non-stop, and others I may only mosey as far as the local library and spend way too much time reading and dreaming on one of our comfy couches. I'm learning the importance of self-regulation now - as I have to consider what must be done when and establish priorities. This is something my life was lacking before, and evidence that I'm where I'm supposed to be.
My quiet days are teaching me to be ready to seize opportunities for socialization when they present themselves - even when I need to step outside my comfort zone to do so. It's a tough challenge for me, but necessary. This is something I need.
My town is very small. It consists of:
1) A post office
2) A cafe - open weekdays from morning until mid-afternoon.
3) A convenience store/gas station, which sells mostly snacks, and at any given time has a few loaves of bread and gallons of milk for sale.
4) A library - open roughly three times a week at somewhat odd hours
5) A Rona - smallest one you've ever seen, but it's there.
6) A computer store
7) An accountant's office, which never seems to be open.
8) An outdoor community pool
9) A community center - surprisingly large!
10) A volunteer fire department
The lack of amenities that I used to take for granted has forced me to be more organized, resourceful and waste-conscious. Leftovers must be promptly eaten. Trips to the next town for grocery items must be minimized. I'm proud of the progress that I'm making in these areas - and grateful for this opportunity to improve my organizational skills. This is where I'm supposed to be.
That huge community center gets used. It's the hub of the community, and this is a community in every sense of the word. People smile, wave, and greet each other on the street. People here look out for each other. The man who mows our lawn keeps me supplied with farm fresh eggs. The woman across the street says, "Stop by some time for a cup of tea." We run into neighbours in the post office and the hardware store and we stop and chat. They offer their time and their tools to help us with our projects. This is the kind of community that I want to be part of.
My house is an ongoing project. I wake up in the morning excited to call it home. I've lived here three months and still find odd little details that thrill me - like lovely old hinges on doors and little discrepancies in the ornate woodwork that show how skilled the original craftsman was. I have plenty of scope for imagination as I contemplate next changes and dream about what this place will become. This house and I need each other.
As I consider all of the things that have changed in my life I'm reminded of how many more things have stayed the same. I love my family beyond words - my husband, my sons, my new daughter-in- law, my siblings, my mother. This will never change. I cherish my old friends who have stayed with me through every move and change in my life - this won't ever change either. I appreciate every old friend from my past who cares enough to foster genuine re-connection - those who have traveled to visit me, who spend time engaging in online chats and message exchanges. This is something that matters. These people laugh with me and cry with me, and this keeps me going on rough days.
You know those rough days - we all have them. But we can "get by with a little help from our friends". This is the beauty of friendship and love. This is generosity of spirit - this is caring.
I am go grateful for all of this - the changes, the growth, the new opportunities before me. I'm grateful for my continued health, my marriage, my old friends and the new ones I'm making. I'm learning to appreciate the tears as much as the laughter in my life. This ability to feel and respond is what makes us human - as well as humane.
My circumstances have changed, but I was ready for this. Who knows how far I might go with this.
I'm not exactly as I was, but this is the life I choose. This is me.
I've got this.
This is where I am now -
where I'm meant to be -
traveling a new road;
happy to be free.
This is what I sing now,
though the tune is new -
listen to the lyrics -
surely they'll ring true.
This is what I feel now -
how I always did.
Tears of pain and joy flow;
tears that I once hid.
This is who I am now -
who I've always been.
If you had been watching,
this you would have seen.
This is what I hope now;
that you'll simply see -
circumstances change - still
I'm the same old me.
This is what I love now -
no - that's not quite true.
When it comes to love, well -
it's never what, but who.
Now I love you better -
this you must believe.
All the love that fills me -
this will never leave.
Join me in this chorus:
Nothing is amiss -
all that really matters
is this, and this - and this.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 27, 2016
My next bit of written communication, after this post is finished and up, is writing the annual family newsletter. As I sit and contemplate my new life in a big old house in a very small town, I am amazed by how many circumstances in my life have changed.
My life is very quiet now, and in some ways a lot less structured than it used to be. I don't go to a gym three times a week anymore - it seems like too much trouble to be hitching a ride to the next town when my treadmill is set up in a lovely sun room, and most days I have the option of doing the "clean your house workout" or working on one of many fairly labour intensive home improvement projects that we have on the go. Whether I choose to strip wallpaper, pull up carpets, wash walls with TSP or get caught up on laundry depends on a whole variety of factors. Some days I go non-stop, and others I may only mosey as far as the local library and spend way too much time reading and dreaming on one of our comfy couches. I'm learning the importance of self-regulation now - as I have to consider what must be done when and establish priorities. This is something my life was lacking before, and evidence that I'm where I'm supposed to be.
My quiet days are teaching me to be ready to seize opportunities for socialization when they present themselves - even when I need to step outside my comfort zone to do so. It's a tough challenge for me, but necessary. This is something I need.
My town is very small. It consists of:
1) A post office
2) A cafe - open weekdays from morning until mid-afternoon.
3) A convenience store/gas station, which sells mostly snacks, and at any given time has a few loaves of bread and gallons of milk for sale.
4) A library - open roughly three times a week at somewhat odd hours
5) A Rona - smallest one you've ever seen, but it's there.
6) A computer store
7) An accountant's office, which never seems to be open.
8) An outdoor community pool
9) A community center - surprisingly large!
10) A volunteer fire department
The lack of amenities that I used to take for granted has forced me to be more organized, resourceful and waste-conscious. Leftovers must be promptly eaten. Trips to the next town for grocery items must be minimized. I'm proud of the progress that I'm making in these areas - and grateful for this opportunity to improve my organizational skills. This is where I'm supposed to be.
That huge community center gets used. It's the hub of the community, and this is a community in every sense of the word. People smile, wave, and greet each other on the street. People here look out for each other. The man who mows our lawn keeps me supplied with farm fresh eggs. The woman across the street says, "Stop by some time for a cup of tea." We run into neighbours in the post office and the hardware store and we stop and chat. They offer their time and their tools to help us with our projects. This is the kind of community that I want to be part of.
My house is an ongoing project. I wake up in the morning excited to call it home. I've lived here three months and still find odd little details that thrill me - like lovely old hinges on doors and little discrepancies in the ornate woodwork that show how skilled the original craftsman was. I have plenty of scope for imagination as I contemplate next changes and dream about what this place will become. This house and I need each other.
As I consider all of the things that have changed in my life I'm reminded of how many more things have stayed the same. I love my family beyond words - my husband, my sons, my new daughter-in- law, my siblings, my mother. This will never change. I cherish my old friends who have stayed with me through every move and change in my life - this won't ever change either. I appreciate every old friend from my past who cares enough to foster genuine re-connection - those who have traveled to visit me, who spend time engaging in online chats and message exchanges. This is something that matters. These people laugh with me and cry with me, and this keeps me going on rough days.
You know those rough days - we all have them. But we can "get by with a little help from our friends". This is the beauty of friendship and love. This is generosity of spirit - this is caring.
I am go grateful for all of this - the changes, the growth, the new opportunities before me. I'm grateful for my continued health, my marriage, my old friends and the new ones I'm making. I'm learning to appreciate the tears as much as the laughter in my life. This ability to feel and respond is what makes us human - as well as humane.
My circumstances have changed, but I was ready for this. Who knows how far I might go with this.
I'm not exactly as I was, but this is the life I choose. This is me.
I've got this.
Tuesday, 15 November 2016
In the Aftermath - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
In the Aftermath...
Slowing thoughts and speeding actions,
pacifying inner factions -
of intentions I take stock.
I will synchronize my clock.
Life's too short to be caught racing
when the world that you are facing
makes you want to turn time back
as you race the same old track.
You may want to dig your heels in,
but you'll go into a tailspin
if you spur on the same horse
when you ought to just change course.
So change your inner dialogue,
don't pander to a demagogue,
assess what you might think.
Life ends in just a blink.
And your thoughts will all be banished
when the rest of you has vanished
but your actions will live on
when the rest of you is gone.
So transform thought into action -
it's time to gain some traction
making earth a better place
and not an endurance race.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg
A lot has happened in the past few weeks. The world lost a couple of great men, and the United States elected a new President - a man that almost all are united in believing will make huge changes, but whether this stir-up on the political front will lead to positive or negative change is a huge source of divisiveness.
All of the events I've mentioned have left me feeling contemplative, not exactly morose, but sober. My brain goes into overdrive wondering how Americans voted someone I see as despotic into power. Why should he be rising in power just as people more deserving are powerless, afraid, sick, dying...gone.
In the aftermath of the election I've participated in a lot of conversations about what this new American president will do to the United States, trade agreements, the economy, international relations and the whole wide world. I've listened, nodded and added about a nickel's worth of commentary. I'm not wise, and not terribly politically astute. I'm not even American, so some could argue that the election doesn't have much to do with me. Still, it doesn't feel right - I'm uneasy about the outcome and feel an increased wariness toward mankind in general terms. That isn't right either. How should I respond to this change?
Here's what I've concluded:
I can listen. When I agree I can nod my head. When I disagree I can try to assuage the fear that lies behind the anger. I can respond civilly when others express opinions that seem ignorant, racist, sexist, bigoted and uninformed. Whether I like what they say or not, they can say what they wish.
I can diffuse arguments by refusing to emotionally engage with those who express their opinions in ways that seem designed to incite my wrath or abase me, or anyone else. I can choose to walk away and not listen too.
I can try to be a better, kinder, more inclusive person. I can seek opportunities to engage and converse with people who aren't anything like me. I can try to disprove my own biases by looking past superficial differences. By working on improving myself, and my ability to forge a greater variety of relationships, I can make my own little corner of the world a nicer place to be.
I can remember that this situation - the American election, and the looming shadow of the incumbent President, will pass. The Donald will not become President for life, and unless he initiates the apocalypse, anything else he does can eventually be undone. While there's life, there's hope - which leads to my thoughts on the passing of two different men.
In the aftermath of Leonard Cohen's death I've thought a lot about the power of words. I've considered how enriched the masses can feel when one poet turns thoughts into poetry and music. I've raised a glass to Leonard, listened to his poems quoted and sung, and heard stories from others about how his words affected them, influenced their lives and made them think. I've seen diverse people gathered round a table reflecting on the life, the death, and words of one man, and I've seen how those words, read and quoted, connected them.
Life is too short to leave important words unsaid, unwritten, unexpressed. It's not enough to think good thoughts when those thoughts never bear fruit. It's time to write your words, speak your words, and act on the things you say. It's time to create something of your life that will unite a ragtag crew around a dining room table someday.
In the aftermath of the death of someone I barely knew, I was able to talk to, walk with, listen to, and share love and wisdom with someone I love a lot. I became better able to see how the gentle, unassuming people we encounter on the journey affect us more profoundly than the blustering posturing, pandering speechifying wannabe politicians in the world.
By spending time in the space of someone so recently departed, I could see how he'd imbued his environment with his essence. It was a calm, peaceful, simple, earthy room - and if the door blew open once or twice while I was there, my rest was still easy. I saw plants he'd tended, things he'd built, and a philosophy of simplicity in evidence everywhere.
In the aftermath of his death I want to work harder at being humble, grateful and peaceable. I've been reminded that life is short - none of us know how many days we have - we must spend them in the best ways possible. Take time to express appreciation to the people you love most. Brighten someone's day with a compliment or a smile - they'll remember it. Live graciously with those with whom you disagree - life is too short to waste time accumulating enemies. Live simply and purposefully. Create something, whether it's a work of art, a poem, a garden or something as mundane as a tie rack - just something, anything, that will outlast you. Leave some sort of legacy that can connect those who gather when you're gone.
Decide now what you'll leave behind you. Live the stories you want told around a table. Write the songs, the poems, the love letters you want written. Leave no important words unsaid.
Life is short. Consider how you want to be considered in the aftermath.
Slowing thoughts and speeding actions,
pacifying inner factions -
of intentions I take stock.
I will synchronize my clock.
Life's too short to be caught racing
when the world that you are facing
makes you want to turn time back
as you race the same old track.
You may want to dig your heels in,
but you'll go into a tailspin
if you spur on the same horse
when you ought to just change course.
So change your inner dialogue,
don't pander to a demagogue,
assess what you might think.
Life ends in just a blink.
And your thoughts will all be banished
when the rest of you has vanished
but your actions will live on
when the rest of you is gone.
So transform thought into action -
it's time to gain some traction
making earth a better place
and not an endurance race.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg
A lot has happened in the past few weeks. The world lost a couple of great men, and the United States elected a new President - a man that almost all are united in believing will make huge changes, but whether this stir-up on the political front will lead to positive or negative change is a huge source of divisiveness.
All of the events I've mentioned have left me feeling contemplative, not exactly morose, but sober. My brain goes into overdrive wondering how Americans voted someone I see as despotic into power. Why should he be rising in power just as people more deserving are powerless, afraid, sick, dying...gone.
In the aftermath of the election I've participated in a lot of conversations about what this new American president will do to the United States, trade agreements, the economy, international relations and the whole wide world. I've listened, nodded and added about a nickel's worth of commentary. I'm not wise, and not terribly politically astute. I'm not even American, so some could argue that the election doesn't have much to do with me. Still, it doesn't feel right - I'm uneasy about the outcome and feel an increased wariness toward mankind in general terms. That isn't right either. How should I respond to this change?
Here's what I've concluded:
I can listen. When I agree I can nod my head. When I disagree I can try to assuage the fear that lies behind the anger. I can respond civilly when others express opinions that seem ignorant, racist, sexist, bigoted and uninformed. Whether I like what they say or not, they can say what they wish.
I can diffuse arguments by refusing to emotionally engage with those who express their opinions in ways that seem designed to incite my wrath or abase me, or anyone else. I can choose to walk away and not listen too.
I can try to be a better, kinder, more inclusive person. I can seek opportunities to engage and converse with people who aren't anything like me. I can try to disprove my own biases by looking past superficial differences. By working on improving myself, and my ability to forge a greater variety of relationships, I can make my own little corner of the world a nicer place to be.
I can remember that this situation - the American election, and the looming shadow of the incumbent President, will pass. The Donald will not become President for life, and unless he initiates the apocalypse, anything else he does can eventually be undone. While there's life, there's hope - which leads to my thoughts on the passing of two different men.
In the aftermath of Leonard Cohen's death I've thought a lot about the power of words. I've considered how enriched the masses can feel when one poet turns thoughts into poetry and music. I've raised a glass to Leonard, listened to his poems quoted and sung, and heard stories from others about how his words affected them, influenced their lives and made them think. I've seen diverse people gathered round a table reflecting on the life, the death, and words of one man, and I've seen how those words, read and quoted, connected them.
Life is too short to leave important words unsaid, unwritten, unexpressed. It's not enough to think good thoughts when those thoughts never bear fruit. It's time to write your words, speak your words, and act on the things you say. It's time to create something of your life that will unite a ragtag crew around a dining room table someday.
In the aftermath of the death of someone I barely knew, I was able to talk to, walk with, listen to, and share love and wisdom with someone I love a lot. I became better able to see how the gentle, unassuming people we encounter on the journey affect us more profoundly than the blustering posturing, pandering speechifying wannabe politicians in the world.
By spending time in the space of someone so recently departed, I could see how he'd imbued his environment with his essence. It was a calm, peaceful, simple, earthy room - and if the door blew open once or twice while I was there, my rest was still easy. I saw plants he'd tended, things he'd built, and a philosophy of simplicity in evidence everywhere.
In the aftermath of his death I want to work harder at being humble, grateful and peaceable. I've been reminded that life is short - none of us know how many days we have - we must spend them in the best ways possible. Take time to express appreciation to the people you love most. Brighten someone's day with a compliment or a smile - they'll remember it. Live graciously with those with whom you disagree - life is too short to waste time accumulating enemies. Live simply and purposefully. Create something, whether it's a work of art, a poem, a garden or something as mundane as a tie rack - just something, anything, that will outlast you. Leave some sort of legacy that can connect those who gather when you're gone.
Decide now what you'll leave behind you. Live the stories you want told around a table. Write the songs, the poems, the love letters you want written. Leave no important words unsaid.
Life is short. Consider how you want to be considered in the aftermath.
Monday, 31 October 2016
Voices in the Night - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Voices in the Night
When I wake up in the night
paralyzed by fear
I'm not seized up at the sight
of ghostly phantoms near.
I'm not frightened by the dark -
no ghosts linger there -
but I face a haunting stark
when questions are laid bare
All of life's complexity
haunts those sleepless nights;
fills me with perplexity -
anxiety invites.
Always at the crux - self doubt -
What would I do if...?
And I'm forced to think about
the things that scare me stiff.
It's not a lingering spirit
hov'ring near my bed,
but this self doubt, I fear it -
it clamors in my head.
It tells me that I'm foolish -
I'll never succeed.
It's taunts are mean and ghoulish
and on my fear they feed.
For all too long I heed them -
voices in the night,
yet sleeplessness has freed them -
why should I think they're right?
Self doubt will prey upon you
when you're tired and stressed.
In darkness it will haunt you,
to this I can attest.
Refuse interrogation
through the midnight hours -
let sleep's rejuvenation
re-calibrate your powers.
Sing yourself a lullaby,
drift back off to sleep -
ghosts of angst you can defy
when self belief you keep.
You must refuse to heed them -
voices in the night -
and never, ever feed them
your dark and dismal fright.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Oct. 30, 2016
People often ask me if my new/old house is haunted. I guess it's a reasonable enough question when your house is a hundred and twenty years old and has such a varied history. After all, it's seen a lot of living, this house - and since it served as a retirement home for several years, perhaps it's share of dying as well. (Not to mention a whole lot of dissatisfaction by those who didn't receive payment on claims made during the thirty years it housed an insurance company!) But my answer is always the same - my house is not haunted.
What I could add, at this point in my response is, "But I am."
I've been haunted most of my life by the ghosts of every single person who ever told me (or tried to tell me) that I couldn't do something - that I wasn't smart enough, talented enough, or good enough. Sometimes these voices are quite specific in their criticisms, and taunt me with statements like, "You're just too socially awkward to ever make friends easily, so you should resign yourself to being lonely" - or "You are simply not talented enough to ever receive any recognition for your efforts. You might as well stop trying."
Sometimes the voices play heavily on my insecurities, telling me horribly depressing things - like how I'll probably die a penniless widow and a burden to my children.
These voices don't bother me a lot during daylight hours - perhaps because I'm apt to keep myself busy and productive - but during my hours of insomnia (which has been a problem as far back as I can remember), they are ruthless.
In my youth I had nightmares - dreams that woke me up feeling afraid of something - and I'd call out to someone - my mother, my grandmother, or whichever sibling had the misfortune of currently sharing a bedroom with me. And soon I'd receive comfort from whoever I shouted for, and the incident would be over as I was mollified by soothing words or a warm body next to mine. Worse were the night terrors that I sometimes experienced - waking hallucinations that had me absolutely convinced they were real - rabid wolves loose in my room, or strangers lurking in corners. I remember being too frightened to move or scream - completely paralyzed by fear. Those experiences took longer to get over, and sometimes for hours afterward I'd lie warily awake.
Grown-up me seldom experiences nightmares, and never has night terrors. But often my dreams wake me so gradually that I'm trying to solve the problems of the universe before I even realize that I'm awake. Or, conversely, I'm jolted into full alertness by a horrible feeling that I'm woefully ill-equipped to deal with any unexpected curve balls that life might throw me. Other times, my perceived inadequacies keep me wide awake long after the rest of the household is asleep. Events of the day, and conversations I've had, play back in an endless loop, while the midnight voices lend their overdubbed commentary - always along the lines of "You didn't handle that well at all. You shouldn't have said that. Why didn't you do this? Honestly - you're just plain hopeless!"
I wish I could blame these comments on some translucent, mysterious entity, but I can't. The voices sound just like mine. I am my own worst enemy. I am the critic who stands to wield the gong that tells me I need to head backstage in shame.
I'm not looking for sympathy or words of encouragement. In my well-slept and rational daylight hours I know I'm not so terrible. There are things I can do well and I know I make a few useful contributions to the world I live in. But, like so many other people in the world, I carry burdens of insecurity that can feel crushing when I'm vulnerable. (And in my case, vulnerability is very much tied to how well rested I am.) I've learned a few techniques to keep the midnight hauntings at bay. I silently sing to myself - any song that is calming or even simply monotonous helps. I concentrate on working through logistical problems in my head or making lists of projects I need to tackle over the coming days or weeks. If I can't lull myself back into slumber, I get up and read something that will relax me. Thus I usually manage to escape the negative self-talk before it succeeds at monopolizing my sleepless hours.
I have worked out strategies that curtail the time that the ghouls can haunt me. But I need to ask this question - what is it that haunts you? What are the niggling doubts that turn you into your own worst enemy? With what do your midnight voices taunt you?
I don't believe I'm alone in being pursued by the "this and that" phantoms that subject us to their banshee wails of disappointment and failure. I think that most of us are a lot more apt to face down the ghosts of regret and missed chances than any unearthly yowls from the undead.
Find a way to block the negative voices (that probably bear an uncanny resemblance to your own) and have faith in yourself. Because in a life filled with complexity and perplexity, you need to believe in you.
Do what you need to do to stay strong and happy. And if you hear negative voices in your darkest hours refuse to listen. Cling tightly to hope and belief in your own ability to overcome obstacles.
Don't be your own worst enemy, and don't let your insecurities, whatever they may be, haunt your life. Don't let voices in the night disturb your peace of mind.
You're okay.
When I wake up in the night
paralyzed by fear
I'm not seized up at the sight
of ghostly phantoms near.
I'm not frightened by the dark -
no ghosts linger there -
but I face a haunting stark
when questions are laid bare
All of life's complexity
haunts those sleepless nights;
fills me with perplexity -
anxiety invites.
Always at the crux - self doubt -
What would I do if...?
And I'm forced to think about
the things that scare me stiff.
It's not a lingering spirit
hov'ring near my bed,
but this self doubt, I fear it -
it clamors in my head.
It tells me that I'm foolish -
I'll never succeed.
It's taunts are mean and ghoulish
and on my fear they feed.
For all too long I heed them -
voices in the night,
yet sleeplessness has freed them -
why should I think they're right?
Self doubt will prey upon you
when you're tired and stressed.
In darkness it will haunt you,
to this I can attest.
Refuse interrogation
through the midnight hours -
let sleep's rejuvenation
re-calibrate your powers.
Sing yourself a lullaby,
drift back off to sleep -
ghosts of angst you can defy
when self belief you keep.
You must refuse to heed them -
voices in the night -
and never, ever feed them
your dark and dismal fright.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Oct. 30, 2016
People often ask me if my new/old house is haunted. I guess it's a reasonable enough question when your house is a hundred and twenty years old and has such a varied history. After all, it's seen a lot of living, this house - and since it served as a retirement home for several years, perhaps it's share of dying as well. (Not to mention a whole lot of dissatisfaction by those who didn't receive payment on claims made during the thirty years it housed an insurance company!) But my answer is always the same - my house is not haunted.
What I could add, at this point in my response is, "But I am."
I've been haunted most of my life by the ghosts of every single person who ever told me (or tried to tell me) that I couldn't do something - that I wasn't smart enough, talented enough, or good enough. Sometimes these voices are quite specific in their criticisms, and taunt me with statements like, "You're just too socially awkward to ever make friends easily, so you should resign yourself to being lonely" - or "You are simply not talented enough to ever receive any recognition for your efforts. You might as well stop trying."
Sometimes the voices play heavily on my insecurities, telling me horribly depressing things - like how I'll probably die a penniless widow and a burden to my children.
These voices don't bother me a lot during daylight hours - perhaps because I'm apt to keep myself busy and productive - but during my hours of insomnia (which has been a problem as far back as I can remember), they are ruthless.
In my youth I had nightmares - dreams that woke me up feeling afraid of something - and I'd call out to someone - my mother, my grandmother, or whichever sibling had the misfortune of currently sharing a bedroom with me. And soon I'd receive comfort from whoever I shouted for, and the incident would be over as I was mollified by soothing words or a warm body next to mine. Worse were the night terrors that I sometimes experienced - waking hallucinations that had me absolutely convinced they were real - rabid wolves loose in my room, or strangers lurking in corners. I remember being too frightened to move or scream - completely paralyzed by fear. Those experiences took longer to get over, and sometimes for hours afterward I'd lie warily awake.
Grown-up me seldom experiences nightmares, and never has night terrors. But often my dreams wake me so gradually that I'm trying to solve the problems of the universe before I even realize that I'm awake. Or, conversely, I'm jolted into full alertness by a horrible feeling that I'm woefully ill-equipped to deal with any unexpected curve balls that life might throw me. Other times, my perceived inadequacies keep me wide awake long after the rest of the household is asleep. Events of the day, and conversations I've had, play back in an endless loop, while the midnight voices lend their overdubbed commentary - always along the lines of "You didn't handle that well at all. You shouldn't have said that. Why didn't you do this? Honestly - you're just plain hopeless!"
I wish I could blame these comments on some translucent, mysterious entity, but I can't. The voices sound just like mine. I am my own worst enemy. I am the critic who stands to wield the gong that tells me I need to head backstage in shame.
I'm not looking for sympathy or words of encouragement. In my well-slept and rational daylight hours I know I'm not so terrible. There are things I can do well and I know I make a few useful contributions to the world I live in. But, like so many other people in the world, I carry burdens of insecurity that can feel crushing when I'm vulnerable. (And in my case, vulnerability is very much tied to how well rested I am.) I've learned a few techniques to keep the midnight hauntings at bay. I silently sing to myself - any song that is calming or even simply monotonous helps. I concentrate on working through logistical problems in my head or making lists of projects I need to tackle over the coming days or weeks. If I can't lull myself back into slumber, I get up and read something that will relax me. Thus I usually manage to escape the negative self-talk before it succeeds at monopolizing my sleepless hours.
I have worked out strategies that curtail the time that the ghouls can haunt me. But I need to ask this question - what is it that haunts you? What are the niggling doubts that turn you into your own worst enemy? With what do your midnight voices taunt you?
I don't believe I'm alone in being pursued by the "this and that" phantoms that subject us to their banshee wails of disappointment and failure. I think that most of us are a lot more apt to face down the ghosts of regret and missed chances than any unearthly yowls from the undead.
Find a way to block the negative voices (that probably bear an uncanny resemblance to your own) and have faith in yourself. Because in a life filled with complexity and perplexity, you need to believe in you.
Do what you need to do to stay strong and happy. And if you hear negative voices in your darkest hours refuse to listen. Cling tightly to hope and belief in your own ability to overcome obstacles.
Don't be your own worst enemy, and don't let your insecurities, whatever they may be, haunt your life. Don't let voices in the night disturb your peace of mind.
You're okay.
Tuesday, 18 October 2016
The Telling Trees - An Ode to Fall - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
The Telling Trees
The vibrant greens are colour tinged,
the evening air grows cool
and early mornings start again
with children back in school.
As summertime draws to a close
for harvest we prepare -
eyes turn toward the telling trees -
such varied hues they wear!
Adorned in shades of gold and red
their limbs gracefully sway
in tempo with the autumn breeze
that shakes some leaves away.
They rain down gently on the ground
to rustle 'neath our feet
as pumpkins are baked into pies
then carved for "Trick or Treat".
That's when the chill in earnest comes,
as branches are stripped bare,
soon to be garbed in robes of white
when snowflakes glisten there.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg - Sept. 19, 2009
Today on my way to get a much needed haircut I noticed something I needed even more than a decent trim. The autumn leaves are spectacular - I've been vowing to get out and snap some pictures of my sleepy little town all dressed for fall - and I knew the day had come. I suddenly and absolutely craved a walk with my camera to capture this season before the brisk winds could blow all of those splendid colours off the trees to land at my feet.
It was a walk that reminded me why I love October. It was shirtsleeve weather - not too hot and not too cool. The sky was a moody blue-grey that taunted me, saying, "I could go either way today. Maybe I'll let the sun shine through those clouds, and maybe I won't..." I like the mercurial skies of autumn, perhaps because I'm less invested in either sunshine or rain at this point in the year. I'm not spending significant time doing outdoor chores now - so let it do what it will! Maybe - just maybe - I'm mellowing enough to accept that I can't control anyone or anything around me, and that real satisfaction in life comes from just moving through the world with appreciation for whatever I happen to see. I can adapt to whatever the sky gives me.
The leaves were fabulous against that sky - although I'm not sure my camera captured it all the way my eyes saw it. There could be richer hues down the road - if the wind doesn't blow too hard over the next week or two, but I liked seeing a little green in the mix - the progression of tones - greens, yellows, golds, oranges and reds - all a gentle reminder of the summer that just passed and the fact that winter is around the corner.
I love living in a part of the world where there are four distinct seasons - and the fact that winter is coming doesn't bother me in the least. Part of the reason I love the fall is because it awakens happy anticipation in me - there are holidays ahead! Later today I'll put up a few Halloween decorations, and a few weeks from now we'll start putting up Christmas lights! (You can say I'm rushing the season, but hanging the lights soon is just being pragmatic. There could be early snow. And my tree(s) won't go up until December 1st.)
This will be my first Halloween and my first Christmas in my new/old house, and yes, I'll confess that I've been pondering how to dress this place up for holidays since we first walked through the doors with our realtor! Fall reminds me that there are always things worth celebrating, even when nights get longer and darker and the atmosphere around you grows chillier than you've been used to.
I'm still in the early pages of a new chapter in life. There are a lot of firsts in front of me. On Friday I'm off to a "Ladies Night" put on by a local service club. I don't know what to expect, but I'm sure grateful that a neighbour thought to stop by and invite me. It's an opportunity to get to know more neighbours and perhaps develop friendships. Fall reminds me that just as green leaves change and eventually die, new leaves will grow in the spring. Life is full of beginnings and endings - and while some of my friendships won't be able to withstand my changes in circumstance, there are new friends waiting to be made, and plenty of new experiences to be had as I embark on this new, more bucolic phase of life.
The trees are telling me that aging is okay, that adaption is worth striving for. Everything has its time and season. Winds can wail or whisper and skies can be bright or dark, but the trees tell the real story. They'll stand tall regardless of the sky, and in the wind they'll bow more often than they'll break.
And through every season those trees will remind me that change is a vital part of life.
The vibrant greens are colour tinged,
the evening air grows cool
and early mornings start again
with children back in school.
As summertime draws to a close
for harvest we prepare -
eyes turn toward the telling trees -
such varied hues they wear!
Adorned in shades of gold and red
their limbs gracefully sway
in tempo with the autumn breeze
that shakes some leaves away.
They rain down gently on the ground
to rustle 'neath our feet
as pumpkins are baked into pies
then carved for "Trick or Treat".
That's when the chill in earnest comes,
as branches are stripped bare,
soon to be garbed in robes of white
when snowflakes glisten there.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg - Sept. 19, 2009
Today on my way to get a much needed haircut I noticed something I needed even more than a decent trim. The autumn leaves are spectacular - I've been vowing to get out and snap some pictures of my sleepy little town all dressed for fall - and I knew the day had come. I suddenly and absolutely craved a walk with my camera to capture this season before the brisk winds could blow all of those splendid colours off the trees to land at my feet.
It was a walk that reminded me why I love October. It was shirtsleeve weather - not too hot and not too cool. The sky was a moody blue-grey that taunted me, saying, "I could go either way today. Maybe I'll let the sun shine through those clouds, and maybe I won't..." I like the mercurial skies of autumn, perhaps because I'm less invested in either sunshine or rain at this point in the year. I'm not spending significant time doing outdoor chores now - so let it do what it will! Maybe - just maybe - I'm mellowing enough to accept that I can't control anyone or anything around me, and that real satisfaction in life comes from just moving through the world with appreciation for whatever I happen to see. I can adapt to whatever the sky gives me.
The leaves were fabulous against that sky - although I'm not sure my camera captured it all the way my eyes saw it. There could be richer hues down the road - if the wind doesn't blow too hard over the next week or two, but I liked seeing a little green in the mix - the progression of tones - greens, yellows, golds, oranges and reds - all a gentle reminder of the summer that just passed and the fact that winter is around the corner.
I love living in a part of the world where there are four distinct seasons - and the fact that winter is coming doesn't bother me in the least. Part of the reason I love the fall is because it awakens happy anticipation in me - there are holidays ahead! Later today I'll put up a few Halloween decorations, and a few weeks from now we'll start putting up Christmas lights! (You can say I'm rushing the season, but hanging the lights soon is just being pragmatic. There could be early snow. And my tree(s) won't go up until December 1st.)
This will be my first Halloween and my first Christmas in my new/old house, and yes, I'll confess that I've been pondering how to dress this place up for holidays since we first walked through the doors with our realtor! Fall reminds me that there are always things worth celebrating, even when nights get longer and darker and the atmosphere around you grows chillier than you've been used to.
I'm still in the early pages of a new chapter in life. There are a lot of firsts in front of me. On Friday I'm off to a "Ladies Night" put on by a local service club. I don't know what to expect, but I'm sure grateful that a neighbour thought to stop by and invite me. It's an opportunity to get to know more neighbours and perhaps develop friendships. Fall reminds me that just as green leaves change and eventually die, new leaves will grow in the spring. Life is full of beginnings and endings - and while some of my friendships won't be able to withstand my changes in circumstance, there are new friends waiting to be made, and plenty of new experiences to be had as I embark on this new, more bucolic phase of life.
The trees are telling me that aging is okay, that adaption is worth striving for. Everything has its time and season. Winds can wail or whisper and skies can be bright or dark, but the trees tell the real story. They'll stand tall regardless of the sky, and in the wind they'll bow more often than they'll break.
And through every season those trees will remind me that change is a vital part of life.
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