"The Question"
Don't ask me what I do -
especially for pay.
I'm more than what I do
on any given day.
Try asking what I love.
(To most this matters more.)
Few are well defined by
the work they get paid for.
So ask what makes me tick,
what thrills me to the core;
what tugs upon my heart -
and you will learn much more.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb. 10, 2017
It happened again last night - I was asked the question that I've always dreaded.
"What do you do for a living?"
I hate answering that I'm a housewife, or a home-maker - or even borrowing from Rosanne Barr and saying I'm a Domestic Goddess. I don't like responding that I'm unemployed. Experience has taught me that those answers get no respect. Eyes glaze over and the asker can't get wait to move on to someone with a better answer to their inquiry. So I muttered something about doing odd jobs for my husband who owns a business, figuring that somehow that might redeem me at least a little.
I hate that question.
I wish I had just told the asker that - said it right out loud - just once for all of the hundreds (maybe thousands?) of times I've wanted to say it.
"I hate that question!"
(I wonder what response that would have gotten?)
It's not that I'm ashamed of the fact that I don't work for pay at the moment, or that I felt inferior in the days when I stayed home to raise my sons. I felt completely justified in my choice to be a stay at home mom. It was a pragmatic decision - somebody had to look after our sons, and since I loved them, and had never felt a call towards any particular career, it might as well be me. Most of the time I liked being home with my kids, even though it made me a pariah at work functions with my husband, where "the question" would inevitably be asked...
There I'd be, all dressed up and looking forward to interaction with adults. Hoping that maybe this time somebody would just ask about me - or about my kids - or frankly anything but my profession. Why was it so hard for these people to come up with better questions? Sheesh! I read books, I went to movies and watched the news! I even had an IQ sufficient to allow me to be conversant on a broad range of topics! But...nope. This was just another work function where people didn't know how to be people and fixated on jobs. So "the question" got asked, and I was quickly summed up as another boring housewife. I could almost hear them tsking as they walked away, and asking themselves why Todd would settle for such a boring wife.
But it goes back farther than that.
It goes back to the days when I worked as a fast food server, a sales clerk and a house cleaner. People who asked were always disappointed with how I was supporting myself - even when I was young enough to not have credentials to do anything more. The house cleaning years were worst, even though it was the job I enjoyed most. A few people pointed out that it was demeaning to scrub other peoples' floors and toilets, and that I should try and find a "better" job. This - in spite of the fact that cleaning paid twice as much as any other job I was qualified to do! Furthermore, I liked helping people who were too busy or infirm to clean for themselves. My clients were grateful for the service I provided, and that made the hard work satisfying. But oh - the looks of shock I endured! The looks of disappointment - and the looks of dismissal.
Maybe it even goes back farther than that.
My father was a brilliant man who finished grade twelve when he was about fifteen. He'd attended a one room schoolhouse, and his teachers saw that he was bright and let him work at his own pace. He could work out complicated math equations in his head! Furthermore, there were occasions where he'd challenge people with calculators to add six and seven digit numbers faster than he could without - and he'd win!
When people asked me what my father did I'd have to say that he worked at Algoma Steel - even though I knew that wasn't what he was. I knew it wasn't who he was, and that he had the intellect to hold a more prestigious position in life. (If you'd like to read more about my father, I can direct you to another post called Tapestries.) I knew, even as a child that very few people really want to work in factories, dig ditches or wait tables - but, as my father's life taught me, a lot of people have to cede their dreams and do what they have to do to keep bills paid and food on the table. I understood that these people didn't deserve to be seen as less intelligent, less interesting or less motivated than those who had exciting and lucrative careers.
As I grew up I learned to appreciate how many people work at things that seem boring, or are dirty, laborious, even dangerous - day in and day out. I learned that stereotypes are exaggerated - Preachers can be less than stuffy, undertakers can laugh, and librarians aren't all uptight neat freaks. I also came to understand how many people (like my father) don't get to work at the kind of job they dreamed of having. In fact, I've met very few people who spend their lives doing work they love, and those who do seem to make a lot of sacrifices along the way.
So is asking "the question" really the best way to figure out who someone is?
Next time you find yourself in a group of people, hold off on asking it for a while. Remember that a job doesn't really define a person. Ask them about their hobbies, passions, hopes and dreams first. Ask them about people they love and admire, places they've traveled, and how they'd spend their days if they didn't have to worry about paying bills. Ask them what matters most to them, and how they'd like to change the world.
I think you'll find that better questions enable better - more interesting and revealing - conversation.
Friday, 10 February 2017
Wednesday, 25 January 2017
Freedom@Fifty-five By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
@fifty-five:
In youth a choir seemed to jeer and taunt,
"You'll never get the future that you want!"
Thus in the grip of fear I oft' was held,
and to its whims my mind was oft' compelled.
For far too long my brain would not believe
life offered more than my heart could conceive -
so limited my life in terms of scope
that I could not believe that faith was hope.
The world was just too horrid to behold -
and human weakness couldn't be controlled.
But as I aged I finally observed
some things that left me thoroughly unnerved -
for there is beauty when the heart can see
there's goodness in much of humanity,
and seeing this, plant seeds of faith anew
that prompt us to our old beliefs review.
And so at length I chose another path -
and rid myself of earlier self-wrath
by offering upon a blazing pyre
the effigies of those predictions dire
which kept me so encumbered by their chains
that I could never seize the offered reins.
Now heart has followed where my mind did lead,
and from past misconceptions I am freed!
At last I hear a very different choir
sing choruses to heart and mind inspire.
This truth is simple - and so elegant -
In my own life I can be celebrant!
I can plan both the journey and the route,
and no one ever really ought to doubt
that my own compass tells me where to go -
for I know best the soil where I will grow!
And here I'll build the future that I want
whatever voices choose to jeer or taunt.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Today I celebrate my fifty-fifth birthday, and I'm giving myself a gift. I'm freeing myself from a weight I've carried for over a year, lifting it off my shoulders and dropping it at your feet...
For a very long time my blog posts have talked about change, and I've alluded to the fact that I've made many changes in my life. Some of these changes have been obvious - like the fact that I moved. I'm living a whole different life now - embracing small town atmosphere and working toward the dream of breathing new life into our old Victorian house so that some day it can be a source of income as well as a happy home.
But there has been one source of change in my life that I was loathe to share publicly - afraid that some of you would see me differently, and maybe stop listening to me. Maybe you'd decide my posts weren't worth reading, or that we couldn't be friends anymore if I told you this. Furthermore, I've been afraid that in telling you this truth you'd see me as a sinner, a traitor, or a coward, because there are some who say that's what I am now. I hope you're not one of them. You see, no matter what changes I've made in my life, if I ever considered you a true friend that hasn't changed. And it won't change - even if you feel that we no longer have anything in common once I say this...
I no longer belong to any church. You read that right. (Whew - I said it!)
I was born and raised in a faith that was my whole world for most of my life. My church was my community, and my sense of purpose revolved around service in my church. My identity was enmeshed in membership in my church. I was proud to belong.
Until things changed. My husband stopped attending and I felt judged by many because he'd rejected the faith. And over the years a lot of the things I was raised to believe stopped resonating with me. Not because I sinned, because honest to goodness, I live the most squeaky clean life you can imagine. That hasn't changed one whit, and isn't likely to. What many of you may not have understood was that I've always had my own moral compass leading my life. The things I chose not to indulge in were things I simply never wanted. I made my own choices. The church was never my crutch, never my reason for saying no or yes. So believe me when I tell you that I still live as I always have.
How can my life still be rewarding without faith? I know that's a question some of you will ask, and I have an answer. My life is not without faith! I have my very own theology - perhaps I always did. I have faith in the goodness of humanity, and genuinely believe there are more kind and decent people in the world than there are mean, nasty people wanting to hurt me, or anyone else. I really see that goodness in people now that I'm less concerned about what they do or don't believe, and merely focus on their words and deeds. I have a lot more faith in myself too, now that I've embraced my ignorance and admitted that I don't have all the answers. There is a great sense of freedom in saying out loud - "I just don't know!" I feel more content with my life now that I focus on merely being a good person, rather than worrying about achieving any level of perfection in this life or any other. My only competition now is with myself as I strive to be better than I was the day before.
I've always tried not to lie or cheat or hurt others - and that's why it's been so hard to keep this to myself for as long as I have. I have no desire to hurt any of you who still believe the things I used to believe. I didn't make any grand announcement on Facebook because I was afraid that my decision to leave would somehow offend you. But by keeping this to myself I was hurting me. It bothered me to let you think I hadn't changed. It made me feel like I was being a traitor to myself. It made me feel guilty for following my conscience and doing what I felt was right. I hated feeling that many of you felt safe in the assumption that in spite of all the change I alluded to, that hadn't changed. So now I'm being honest - for my sake and yours.
I resigned in October of 2015.
I don't want to go into all of the reasons I resigned my membership, but it wasn't a decision I made lightly. I don't want to engage in debate, or influence anybody else to come to the same conclusions that I have. I can live with the fact that we see things differently. Please don't feel badly. Don't shed tears for me, or pray for me to have a change of heart and come back. My heart has already changed - in wonderful, meaningful ways. Every person I ever loved is still loved - and perhaps loved better. My heart seems to have more room in it for love since I stopped trying to force myself to believe things that just didn't seem right to me. I'm happy. I feel that my life has purpose and direction. My conscience is alive and well, and I trust it to keep me living as I should.
It hurts me that some of you won't feel the same toward me now that you know I've left the church. Just remember that this change came a while ago, and that many of you have been interacting with me since I ceased being a member - and you were none the wiser. That's because I'm still the same person I always was. We still have common life experiences and interests and ideas to draw upon, and we can still be friends. This doesn't have to be a big deal.
I still love you, and I'm sorry if this news shocks you or makes you feel sad. That wasn't my intention at all. It's just that I'm fifty-five... old enough to know my own heart, and finally brave enough to speak my own truth. I needed to be able to say this, and couldn't feel free of the weight I carried until I did. I hope you can understand that.
I have enough faith to believe that most of you will choose to love me anyway - the ball is in your court.
Thanks for listening and not judging.
Sharon
In youth a choir seemed to jeer and taunt,
"You'll never get the future that you want!"
Thus in the grip of fear I oft' was held,
and to its whims my mind was oft' compelled.
For far too long my brain would not believe
life offered more than my heart could conceive -
so limited my life in terms of scope
that I could not believe that faith was hope.
The world was just too horrid to behold -
and human weakness couldn't be controlled.
But as I aged I finally observed
some things that left me thoroughly unnerved -
for there is beauty when the heart can see
there's goodness in much of humanity,
and seeing this, plant seeds of faith anew
that prompt us to our old beliefs review.
And so at length I chose another path -
and rid myself of earlier self-wrath
by offering upon a blazing pyre
the effigies of those predictions dire
which kept me so encumbered by their chains
that I could never seize the offered reins.
Now heart has followed where my mind did lead,
and from past misconceptions I am freed!
At last I hear a very different choir
sing choruses to heart and mind inspire.
This truth is simple - and so elegant -
In my own life I can be celebrant!
I can plan both the journey and the route,
and no one ever really ought to doubt
that my own compass tells me where to go -
for I know best the soil where I will grow!
And here I'll build the future that I want
whatever voices choose to jeer or taunt.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Today I celebrate my fifty-fifth birthday, and I'm giving myself a gift. I'm freeing myself from a weight I've carried for over a year, lifting it off my shoulders and dropping it at your feet...
For a very long time my blog posts have talked about change, and I've alluded to the fact that I've made many changes in my life. Some of these changes have been obvious - like the fact that I moved. I'm living a whole different life now - embracing small town atmosphere and working toward the dream of breathing new life into our old Victorian house so that some day it can be a source of income as well as a happy home.
But there has been one source of change in my life that I was loathe to share publicly - afraid that some of you would see me differently, and maybe stop listening to me. Maybe you'd decide my posts weren't worth reading, or that we couldn't be friends anymore if I told you this. Furthermore, I've been afraid that in telling you this truth you'd see me as a sinner, a traitor, or a coward, because there are some who say that's what I am now. I hope you're not one of them. You see, no matter what changes I've made in my life, if I ever considered you a true friend that hasn't changed. And it won't change - even if you feel that we no longer have anything in common once I say this...
I no longer belong to any church. You read that right. (Whew - I said it!)
I was born and raised in a faith that was my whole world for most of my life. My church was my community, and my sense of purpose revolved around service in my church. My identity was enmeshed in membership in my church. I was proud to belong.
Until things changed. My husband stopped attending and I felt judged by many because he'd rejected the faith. And over the years a lot of the things I was raised to believe stopped resonating with me. Not because I sinned, because honest to goodness, I live the most squeaky clean life you can imagine. That hasn't changed one whit, and isn't likely to. What many of you may not have understood was that I've always had my own moral compass leading my life. The things I chose not to indulge in were things I simply never wanted. I made my own choices. The church was never my crutch, never my reason for saying no or yes. So believe me when I tell you that I still live as I always have.
How can my life still be rewarding without faith? I know that's a question some of you will ask, and I have an answer. My life is not without faith! I have my very own theology - perhaps I always did. I have faith in the goodness of humanity, and genuinely believe there are more kind and decent people in the world than there are mean, nasty people wanting to hurt me, or anyone else. I really see that goodness in people now that I'm less concerned about what they do or don't believe, and merely focus on their words and deeds. I have a lot more faith in myself too, now that I've embraced my ignorance and admitted that I don't have all the answers. There is a great sense of freedom in saying out loud - "I just don't know!" I feel more content with my life now that I focus on merely being a good person, rather than worrying about achieving any level of perfection in this life or any other. My only competition now is with myself as I strive to be better than I was the day before.
I've always tried not to lie or cheat or hurt others - and that's why it's been so hard to keep this to myself for as long as I have. I have no desire to hurt any of you who still believe the things I used to believe. I didn't make any grand announcement on Facebook because I was afraid that my decision to leave would somehow offend you. But by keeping this to myself I was hurting me. It bothered me to let you think I hadn't changed. It made me feel like I was being a traitor to myself. It made me feel guilty for following my conscience and doing what I felt was right. I hated feeling that many of you felt safe in the assumption that in spite of all the change I alluded to, that hadn't changed. So now I'm being honest - for my sake and yours.
I resigned in October of 2015.
I don't want to go into all of the reasons I resigned my membership, but it wasn't a decision I made lightly. I don't want to engage in debate, or influence anybody else to come to the same conclusions that I have. I can live with the fact that we see things differently. Please don't feel badly. Don't shed tears for me, or pray for me to have a change of heart and come back. My heart has already changed - in wonderful, meaningful ways. Every person I ever loved is still loved - and perhaps loved better. My heart seems to have more room in it for love since I stopped trying to force myself to believe things that just didn't seem right to me. I'm happy. I feel that my life has purpose and direction. My conscience is alive and well, and I trust it to keep me living as I should.
It hurts me that some of you won't feel the same toward me now that you know I've left the church. Just remember that this change came a while ago, and that many of you have been interacting with me since I ceased being a member - and you were none the wiser. That's because I'm still the same person I always was. We still have common life experiences and interests and ideas to draw upon, and we can still be friends. This doesn't have to be a big deal.
I still love you, and I'm sorry if this news shocks you or makes you feel sad. That wasn't my intention at all. It's just that I'm fifty-five... old enough to know my own heart, and finally brave enough to speak my own truth. I needed to be able to say this, and couldn't feel free of the weight I carried until I did. I hope you can understand that.
I have enough faith to believe that most of you will choose to love me anyway - the ball is in your court.
Thanks for listening and not judging.
Sharon
Saturday, 14 January 2017
Toastmasters Take on the Common Cold - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
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?
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, 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.
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