The Family Tree
Designer trees are lovely,
but belong in banks and malls.
No one ought to quibble with
my approach to decking halls.
Fancy trees may be admired,
but of meaning they're devoid -
in their quest for tastefulness
all sentiment is destroyed.
They have got no tales to tell,
no history to reveal -
those colour coded baubles
hold no symbolism real.
No amateur hands touched them,
no element is misplaced;
everything coordinates
and must be precisely spaced.
My ornaments have stories -
rich memories they carry -
they don't look picture perfect,
their styles and colours vary.
My tree is a family tree,
and I think it's wacky
that my bits of Christmas past
are seen by some as tacky.
I don't aim for showmanship,
or to with tree bedazzle -
that's too much cost and effort
spent making my nerves frazzle!
Christmas is a holiday
we enjoy as family.
We turn on Christmas carols
and together trim the tree.
Our tree is never perfect,
but its mish-mash makes us smile,
and being joyful matters
more than proving we have style.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Dec. 1st, 2007
Last weekend I heard a phrase uttered that always makes me feel sad.
"I don't let my kids touch the tree", said a young mother. "I do all of my Christmas decorating while they're at school."
I was in a neighbouring town, attending a tour of homes decorated for Christmas. I'll concede that to a lot of people attending the event, achieving perfect Christmas decor is probably an important part of the holiday season. (I was far more interested in visiting some nice old houses.)
Still, although I've heard that sentiment before, it never ceases to sadden me. I can't help but pity the poor little tykes who will never contribute to the family Christmas tree. I walked through all of those perfectly decorated homes last weekend without feeling the slightest twinge of envy. Every tree I saw looked the same - professionally decorated according to the most current design trends - and completely devoid of anything personal. No small children hung any of those perfectly placed ornaments, and no school projects hand crafted by an excited five, seven or ten year old graced those branches.
My approach to Christmas decorating is the complete opposite. My sons always helped me trim the tree - or trees. Popsicle stick reindeer and button covered, spray painted styrofoam balls held a place of honour. (Some have survived long enough that decades later they're still on the tree.) The reindeer they cut out with a jigsaw in Cub Scouts still get displayed.
Oh, I'll admit that I gave them a few rudimentary design tips along the way, things like spacing things out so that there isn't a big clump of ornamentation in one spot and bare branches in other places. They learned to try and evenly distribute balls of different colours, to put smaller ornaments closer to the top of the tree (so that it doesn't look top-heavy), and to put the sturdier ornaments near the bottom so that if children visit there's less worry about things getting broken. Otherwise, I'd just let them do their thing, and if a few items were really badly placed I'd move them - a bit - after the fact.
I've always loved the tradition of decorating the trees together as a family. We listen to Christmas carols and make a night of it. The ornaments we hang remind us of Christmases past - the foil balls we bought when the boys were toddlers, the ornaments the boys made, the bits Todd and I each inherited from our parents - they all mean something to us.
One year I made a whole bunch stars out of sparkly pipe cleaners. I'd heard a friend say he had no ornaments for his Christmas tree, so I bought the pipe cleaners at the dollar store and played with them until I came up with the idea of making little stars that could be placed directly on the tree. They appealed to my sense of whimsy, so I made some for our tree too. Then the boys got playing with those pipe-cleaners and decided this Beatle-loving family needed a few glittery gold submarines to hang on the tree. Why not? They still get hung, and remind us of the goofiness that we enjoy as a family.
Another family tradition we have is covering our windows with honest-to-goodness six-sided, hand cut snowflakes. I first did this when my sons were two and three, because it was cheap and cheerful decor. The boys loved those snowflakes and begged for them every year after. When they were six or seven they learned how to cut them out themselves, and many of the flakes on my front window were cut by Sam and Dan. (Some survive from year to year, and every year a few new ones are made.)
The "big tree" we decorate has a history of its own. It's the only artificial tree that my parents ever owned - purchased the year I left home. It's getting pretty old now, and sheds almost as much as a real tree would. Next Christmas we hope to put up a new tree - a bigger one that's more befitting of the ten foot ceilings in our new/old house. I'm sure we'll acquire a few new ornaments to go on it too, and when we do it's likely our tree will look slightly more coordinated than it presently does. But I don't aspire to a perfectly designed tree.
No - I like my family tree in all of its glorious imperfection. I like the memories it holds and the conversations it starts. I like knowing that my parents and grandparents touched some of what adorns it, and that my sons have left their mark. I like anticipating the day a grandchild or two will give me some precious effort and proudly say, "I made this for you, Grandma!" Surely when that day comes I'll hang the offering proudly on my tree.
My tree will never look perfect - I'm absolutely convinced of that. But somehow every year it feels perfect - and that matters a lot more to me than displaying a work of art.
Monday, 27 November 2017
Friday, 10 November 2017
Battlecry! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Battlecry!
I am in a war enlisted,
fighting battles in the world;
on my quest for peace and freedom
banner has now been unfurled.
I will not be the oppressor
of the innocent or meek,
but crusader in each battle
to protect those who are weak.
I wear only issued armour -
thus, with gratitude, I state
that my wounds are superficial
in this war on fear and hate.
So what spurs me on in battle
also fills me with great shame -
there are far too many victims
who will never say the same.
Every weapon that I carry
has been openly revealed -
only through love, freely offered,
may our world someday be healed.
Armed with tolerance and kindness
in the trenches I'll fight on,
urging all to join this battle
until enmity is gone.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 9, 2017
The world we live in has grown increasingly polarized. We divide ourselves into tribes based on political beliefs, opinions and ideologies. We are "Us", and all others are "Them". We don't stop to dwell on the similarities that exist between us - like the fact that we're all human beings. We forget that "They" have hearts too, and love their families just as we do. We don't want to stop to consider how "They" have been molded by the events in their lives, and how their experiences led them to hold opposing points of view. We don't really want to understand why they see the world as they do - we'd rather block "them" out, shut "them" down, or help "them" see the error of "their" ways.
We are arrogant - our desire to be right too often eclipses our desire to live in harmony with each other. And when we have the convenience of a "tribe" surrounding us who share our convictions, the notion that we might need to communicate with those who feel differently is apt to fly right out the window.
I'm not going to say that all arrogance is born of superiority. There are plenty of "humbly arrogant" souls out there too. These are the people who grow arrogant through fear, ignorance and laziness. Some of these people don't want to see the humanity in those outside their chosen tribe - because if they could, they might find bonds of commonality. And when we can relate to the "other" it becomes too difficult to ignore them. And if we pay attention to their lives, thoughts, or words, we might lose some of our certainty - and that's a frightening concept. Others are just too ignorant or lazy to learn anything about "the other side". My sister once had a sign that she hung on our bedroom wall. It said:
My mind is made up. Don't confuse me with facts.
I thought it was funny at the time, but now I find it is nothing but a sad commentary on the way most people feel.
Truthfully, the only facts most of us want to find are those that reinforce our own stance, and we live in a world where Google can speedily serve them up to us. This confirmation bias helps us dig in our heels - I'm right, you're wrong - end of discussion - usually before it has even started.
I grew up in a religion, and was devout for fifty years. My church was my "tribe". When I left, a few friends suddenly stopped communicating with me. I had strained relationships with some family members. It hurt - a lot. Those who were quick to write me off didn't bother to ask me why I felt the way I did. Some were afraid I'd try to sway their own beliefs. (For the record, I wouldn't. We do NOT need to agree on religious ideologies to care about each other.) What bothers me most about this distancing is the niggling feeling I have that they're more comfortable making assumptions about my change of heart than actually knowing my reasons, or hearing my story. If we talked, they might realize that I haven't changed - they'd still find the same old things about me to like and dislike. They'd still see that we share common interests; that we're still more alike than they're comfortable acknowledging.
But there are those who don't feel they can be close to anyone who swears allegiance to another tribe - or simply leaves the one they were enured in. Anyone who doesn't go to their church, or vote for the same party, or support the same causes, or... has to be suspect. Family members, people we once called friends, neighbours - all become classified as "them" - the outsider who feels differently, thinks differently, lives differently. You get the picture. I get it too, because I've been there - suspicious of people who embrace beliefs that I just cannot fathom. I'll even admit that sometimes I'm still there - blinded to another person's goodness simply because I can't seem to see the world the same way. Sometimes trying to empathize seems so daunting.
Fortunately, we all meet people who rebel against this tribal mentality. People who mean it when they say that whatever you do, think or feel, I will still love you. Friends who make it plain that they don't care whether your political views align. Family members who affirm that family will always come first with them - they will never shun you - ever.
My daughter-in-law is one of the most diplomatic souls I've ever met. On a vacation together last winter, she showed me a wonderful example of trying to see the opposing point of view. The five of us went to Florida to visit my father-in-law. Trump (who none of my clan have any admiration for) had just been elected, and we were about to meet up with a whole lot of people who helped vote him in. We cautioned our sons to NOT talk politics with Grandpa...and then he brought the subject up. I tried not to engage - I was a guest in his home and didn't want to cause offense. (I really like my father-in-law.) My husband engaged very cautiously. My sons (bless them!) did their best to not look too dismayed or disgruntled. And then my daughter-in-law spoke up. She simply said she didn't like Trump, or vote for him, but she sincerely wanted to know why he voted the way he did. A very respectful discussion ensued. Nobody came away with a different point of view, but we all listened to each other because she set the tone with an honest, polite inquiry.
We need more of that kind of interaction in our troubled world - more respectful "why" and "how". More listening. More seeing each other as a whole bunch of imperfect people, finding different solutions and coming to different conclusions. We need to care enough about others to ask questions, even when the answers we're sure to get won't satisfy us. Our opinions may not be changed through these exchanges - but we can halt anger and enmity over differing opinions and choices spilling over onto the individual concerned. We can agree to disagree, and in doing so remain a "we", not an "us" and "them".
Even when our minds are made up we can build unity by hearing another person's point of view - their "facts".
What matters is that we were open to dialogue. We sat down as friends, family members or opposing parties and we talked and listened.
If we can love each other enough to do that, we just might eventually manage to unify as a common tribe:
Humanity.
I am in a war enlisted,
fighting battles in the world;
on my quest for peace and freedom
banner has now been unfurled.
I will not be the oppressor
of the innocent or meek,
but crusader in each battle
to protect those who are weak.
I wear only issued armour -
thus, with gratitude, I state
that my wounds are superficial
in this war on fear and hate.
So what spurs me on in battle
also fills me with great shame -
there are far too many victims
who will never say the same.
Every weapon that I carry
has been openly revealed -
only through love, freely offered,
may our world someday be healed.
Armed with tolerance and kindness
in the trenches I'll fight on,
urging all to join this battle
until enmity is gone.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 9, 2017
The world we live in has grown increasingly polarized. We divide ourselves into tribes based on political beliefs, opinions and ideologies. We are "Us", and all others are "Them". We don't stop to dwell on the similarities that exist between us - like the fact that we're all human beings. We forget that "They" have hearts too, and love their families just as we do. We don't want to stop to consider how "They" have been molded by the events in their lives, and how their experiences led them to hold opposing points of view. We don't really want to understand why they see the world as they do - we'd rather block "them" out, shut "them" down, or help "them" see the error of "their" ways.
We are arrogant - our desire to be right too often eclipses our desire to live in harmony with each other. And when we have the convenience of a "tribe" surrounding us who share our convictions, the notion that we might need to communicate with those who feel differently is apt to fly right out the window.
I'm not going to say that all arrogance is born of superiority. There are plenty of "humbly arrogant" souls out there too. These are the people who grow arrogant through fear, ignorance and laziness. Some of these people don't want to see the humanity in those outside their chosen tribe - because if they could, they might find bonds of commonality. And when we can relate to the "other" it becomes too difficult to ignore them. And if we pay attention to their lives, thoughts, or words, we might lose some of our certainty - and that's a frightening concept. Others are just too ignorant or lazy to learn anything about "the other side". My sister once had a sign that she hung on our bedroom wall. It said:
My mind is made up. Don't confuse me with facts.
I thought it was funny at the time, but now I find it is nothing but a sad commentary on the way most people feel.
Truthfully, the only facts most of us want to find are those that reinforce our own stance, and we live in a world where Google can speedily serve them up to us. This confirmation bias helps us dig in our heels - I'm right, you're wrong - end of discussion - usually before it has even started.
I grew up in a religion, and was devout for fifty years. My church was my "tribe". When I left, a few friends suddenly stopped communicating with me. I had strained relationships with some family members. It hurt - a lot. Those who were quick to write me off didn't bother to ask me why I felt the way I did. Some were afraid I'd try to sway their own beliefs. (For the record, I wouldn't. We do NOT need to agree on religious ideologies to care about each other.) What bothers me most about this distancing is the niggling feeling I have that they're more comfortable making assumptions about my change of heart than actually knowing my reasons, or hearing my story. If we talked, they might realize that I haven't changed - they'd still find the same old things about me to like and dislike. They'd still see that we share common interests; that we're still more alike than they're comfortable acknowledging.
But there are those who don't feel they can be close to anyone who swears allegiance to another tribe - or simply leaves the one they were enured in. Anyone who doesn't go to their church, or vote for the same party, or support the same causes, or... has to be suspect. Family members, people we once called friends, neighbours - all become classified as "them" - the outsider who feels differently, thinks differently, lives differently. You get the picture. I get it too, because I've been there - suspicious of people who embrace beliefs that I just cannot fathom. I'll even admit that sometimes I'm still there - blinded to another person's goodness simply because I can't seem to see the world the same way. Sometimes trying to empathize seems so daunting.
Fortunately, we all meet people who rebel against this tribal mentality. People who mean it when they say that whatever you do, think or feel, I will still love you. Friends who make it plain that they don't care whether your political views align. Family members who affirm that family will always come first with them - they will never shun you - ever.
My daughter-in-law is one of the most diplomatic souls I've ever met. On a vacation together last winter, she showed me a wonderful example of trying to see the opposing point of view. The five of us went to Florida to visit my father-in-law. Trump (who none of my clan have any admiration for) had just been elected, and we were about to meet up with a whole lot of people who helped vote him in. We cautioned our sons to NOT talk politics with Grandpa...and then he brought the subject up. I tried not to engage - I was a guest in his home and didn't want to cause offense. (I really like my father-in-law.) My husband engaged very cautiously. My sons (bless them!) did their best to not look too dismayed or disgruntled. And then my daughter-in-law spoke up. She simply said she didn't like Trump, or vote for him, but she sincerely wanted to know why he voted the way he did. A very respectful discussion ensued. Nobody came away with a different point of view, but we all listened to each other because she set the tone with an honest, polite inquiry.
We need more of that kind of interaction in our troubled world - more respectful "why" and "how". More listening. More seeing each other as a whole bunch of imperfect people, finding different solutions and coming to different conclusions. We need to care enough about others to ask questions, even when the answers we're sure to get won't satisfy us. Our opinions may not be changed through these exchanges - but we can halt anger and enmity over differing opinions and choices spilling over onto the individual concerned. We can agree to disagree, and in doing so remain a "we", not an "us" and "them".
Even when our minds are made up we can build unity by hearing another person's point of view - their "facts".
What matters is that we were open to dialogue. We sat down as friends, family members or opposing parties and we talked and listened.
If we can love each other enough to do that, we just might eventually manage to unify as a common tribe:
Humanity.
Wednesday, 25 October 2017
Happy Halloween from the Haunted Kitchen! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
This is a very scary tale (for most homeowners) of how my appliances are completely uncooperative with me, and conspiring with each other.
About a decade ago, we replaced our old fridge with a newer, larger, and more energy efficient model. Knowing that the old one wasn't worth much, it became our "garage fridge". It got plugged in and utilized on occasion - when we had a party, or when I was doing holiday baking. Otherwise it just sat out there, with its door carefully taped open so it wouldn't grow mildew.
I was happy to see the old fridge leave my kitchen. It was too small and too noisy. It hummed loudly, and that wasn't all.
It intermittently meowed like a cat! Seriously - over the years we had that fridge, guests frequently asked if we had a cat.
"Nope", I'd say, "It's our fridge."
It was the weirdest thing ever. Guys in appliance stores laughed when I'd tell them how my fridge sounded like a cat. I began to tire of them looking at me oddly, and I gave up asking them about the noise.
I speculated that perhaps my fridge was possessed by the spirit of one of my former pets - maybe Fluffy, my childhood cat, who was devoted to me in spite of the fact that I didn't feed her enough, and who supplemented her diet with mice and birds. (I loved that cat - I just never read the instructions on the can about how much food she should get. I was just a kid, but I still feel guilty about that.) My next cat, Mitts, fared better on the food front, but perhaps the kitten I gave to an irresponsible friend (who dropped it off on the side of a country road when she tired of it) was haunting me? (Trust me - I was pretty upset with the friend, so I didn't think that haunting was justified.) Perhaps it was Bitts, Mitt's son - the runt of the litter who we kept, never dreaming he'd grow into a massive galoot with six claws on every paw, the result of a little inbreeding. Bitts was a real sweetheart - well fed, well loved - and not a likely candidate to possess a second-rate fridge.
For whatever reason, the fridge meowed like a cat. Or, I should say, it meows - present tense - like a cat.
You see, when we moved into our new/old house, we claimed the cat/fridge from our former garage and put it into service in our new kitchen. "Kitty" is a miserable, cat-in-heat kind of appliance, but she keeps our food cold and will have to do the job until we break down and buy some new appliances.
Our oven is an old one that got reused too. At the end of 2014 I was fed up with said oven, and penned the following -
Ode to My Oven
My oven, I fear is possessed.
It flicks on and off, off and on.
Its antics leave me quite distressed,
but soon enough "Spook" will be gone.
Its convect fan died long ago -
now thermostat's broken once more.
It needs exorcism I know -
this fact I just cannot ignore.
Be still, haunted oven so cursed.
Your time in my kitchen shall cease.
I've eaten your best and your worst -
and soon at the curb you'll find peace.
-Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Nov 8th, 2014
HA! So, let me tell you the story of my oven.
Have you ever purchased a lemon that was posing as an appliance? "Spook" was bad news almost from the get-go. Like a lot of men, he's always had a tendency to run hot and cold. His thermostat was replaced twice before I got fed up and just learned to compensate. Currently he's over-heating, so every recipe is baked at a considerably lower temperature. And for good measure, I set the timer for a shorter period of time than is suggested.
Oh - do let me tell you about my oven timer! You'd think a miserable beast like Spook would have a lovely loud voice, but nope - not the case at all. When the timer goes off I hear one polite little beeep that lasts about three seconds. If I'm not in the same room, the thing is pretty well useless.
Once upon a time, Spook was a convection oven, but after repairing that feature twice we figured we'd go back to doing things the old fashioned way.
In the winter of 2015, we began looking at replacements for our possessed oven. My younger son was newly-engaged, and it had been decided that I'd provide baked goods at his reception. Spook was just too unreliable to do the job, so off he went to the garage. I eagerly anticipated the day he'd make it the rest of the way to the curb, but it wasn't to be....
You see, we began talking about moving in a year or so, and even I had to admit that Spook was better than no stove at all. Thus we decided we'd keep him "just in case" we found a place with no appliances.
BINGO! Heck, when we bought our new/old home, it didn't even have a kitchen, so "Spook and Kitty" have each received a reprieve from the scrap heap, and live on in my current kitchen.
Yes, I've learned to work around their eerie peculiarities. I put up with the meowing, and the flicking, and the lack of convection fan, and the practically useless timer... And frankly, old Spook and I churn out some pretty decent baking!
The biggest problem is that I fear the two of them have incited a rebellion in my kitchen. My microwave and toaster don't co-operate with each other at all, and somebody always trips a breaker when they inadvertently get turned on at the same time. (Warm the soup, then put in the toast!) Don't get me started on Tim the Toaster - he's a pretty useless tool too. He burns every second piece of bread he's given, and leaves the alternate slice untoasted. Fickle as they come!
The scariest part of this story is that my appliances are all in league with each other to drive me insane before we break the bank and buy new ones.
Kitty lets out a purring laugh when Spook burns the brownies. Spook gives an approving flick every time she yowls like a she-cat getting some action. They've created a rift between the toaster and the microwave that only a certified electrician can resolve (love ya, Ron Lockie!), and I'm betting that they both put my treadmill up to calling me "Trufflebutt"!
Sometimes a girl just can't catch a break.
About a decade ago, we replaced our old fridge with a newer, larger, and more energy efficient model. Knowing that the old one wasn't worth much, it became our "garage fridge". It got plugged in and utilized on occasion - when we had a party, or when I was doing holiday baking. Otherwise it just sat out there, with its door carefully taped open so it wouldn't grow mildew.
I was happy to see the old fridge leave my kitchen. It was too small and too noisy. It hummed loudly, and that wasn't all.
It intermittently meowed like a cat! Seriously - over the years we had that fridge, guests frequently asked if we had a cat.
"Nope", I'd say, "It's our fridge."
It was the weirdest thing ever. Guys in appliance stores laughed when I'd tell them how my fridge sounded like a cat. I began to tire of them looking at me oddly, and I gave up asking them about the noise.
I speculated that perhaps my fridge was possessed by the spirit of one of my former pets - maybe Fluffy, my childhood cat, who was devoted to me in spite of the fact that I didn't feed her enough, and who supplemented her diet with mice and birds. (I loved that cat - I just never read the instructions on the can about how much food she should get. I was just a kid, but I still feel guilty about that.) My next cat, Mitts, fared better on the food front, but perhaps the kitten I gave to an irresponsible friend (who dropped it off on the side of a country road when she tired of it) was haunting me? (Trust me - I was pretty upset with the friend, so I didn't think that haunting was justified.) Perhaps it was Bitts, Mitt's son - the runt of the litter who we kept, never dreaming he'd grow into a massive galoot with six claws on every paw, the result of a little inbreeding. Bitts was a real sweetheart - well fed, well loved - and not a likely candidate to possess a second-rate fridge.
For whatever reason, the fridge meowed like a cat. Or, I should say, it meows - present tense - like a cat.
You see, when we moved into our new/old house, we claimed the cat/fridge from our former garage and put it into service in our new kitchen. "Kitty" is a miserable, cat-in-heat kind of appliance, but she keeps our food cold and will have to do the job until we break down and buy some new appliances.
Our oven is an old one that got reused too. At the end of 2014 I was fed up with said oven, and penned the following -
Ode to My Oven
My oven, I fear is possessed.
It flicks on and off, off and on.
Its antics leave me quite distressed,
but soon enough "Spook" will be gone.
Its convect fan died long ago -
now thermostat's broken once more.
It needs exorcism I know -
this fact I just cannot ignore.
Be still, haunted oven so cursed.
Your time in my kitchen shall cease.
I've eaten your best and your worst -
and soon at the curb you'll find peace.
-Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Nov 8th, 2014
HA! So, let me tell you the story of my oven.
Have you ever purchased a lemon that was posing as an appliance? "Spook" was bad news almost from the get-go. Like a lot of men, he's always had a tendency to run hot and cold. His thermostat was replaced twice before I got fed up and just learned to compensate. Currently he's over-heating, so every recipe is baked at a considerably lower temperature. And for good measure, I set the timer for a shorter period of time than is suggested.
Oh - do let me tell you about my oven timer! You'd think a miserable beast like Spook would have a lovely loud voice, but nope - not the case at all. When the timer goes off I hear one polite little beeep that lasts about three seconds. If I'm not in the same room, the thing is pretty well useless.
Once upon a time, Spook was a convection oven, but after repairing that feature twice we figured we'd go back to doing things the old fashioned way.
In the winter of 2015, we began looking at replacements for our possessed oven. My younger son was newly-engaged, and it had been decided that I'd provide baked goods at his reception. Spook was just too unreliable to do the job, so off he went to the garage. I eagerly anticipated the day he'd make it the rest of the way to the curb, but it wasn't to be....
You see, we began talking about moving in a year or so, and even I had to admit that Spook was better than no stove at all. Thus we decided we'd keep him "just in case" we found a place with no appliances.
BINGO! Heck, when we bought our new/old home, it didn't even have a kitchen, so "Spook and Kitty" have each received a reprieve from the scrap heap, and live on in my current kitchen.
Yes, I've learned to work around their eerie peculiarities. I put up with the meowing, and the flicking, and the lack of convection fan, and the practically useless timer... And frankly, old Spook and I churn out some pretty decent baking!
The biggest problem is that I fear the two of them have incited a rebellion in my kitchen. My microwave and toaster don't co-operate with each other at all, and somebody always trips a breaker when they inadvertently get turned on at the same time. (Warm the soup, then put in the toast!) Don't get me started on Tim the Toaster - he's a pretty useless tool too. He burns every second piece of bread he's given, and leaves the alternate slice untoasted. Fickle as they come!
The scariest part of this story is that my appliances are all in league with each other to drive me insane before we break the bank and buy new ones.
Kitty lets out a purring laugh when Spook burns the brownies. Spook gives an approving flick every time she yowls like a she-cat getting some action. They've created a rift between the toaster and the microwave that only a certified electrician can resolve (love ya, Ron Lockie!), and I'm betting that they both put my treadmill up to calling me "Trufflebutt"!
Sometimes a girl just can't catch a break.
Wednesday, 11 October 2017
Frank-ly, My Dear, I Can Do It My Way! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Frank-ly
Oh save me from the critics who will say
"You're better off just doing things my way."
Those folks who edit lives and hearts and verse
are always ready to your efforts curse.
They'll easily abbreviate your soul
if for an instant you grant them control.
They'll tell you how to think, behave and dress,
'til everything you do, you second guess.
But frankly, we can all more Frank-like be
and face down all the editors we see.
We can stand firm and tell them it's okay
to offer imperfection our own way.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Sept 22, 2017
There are two kinds of people in the world - the critics, and the criticized. I'm pretty certain most of us have been both. I'm also fairly sure that many of us feel that we veer toward being one more often than the other.
I've said it before, and I know I'll say it again. I'm a harsh critic. I'm brutal in assessing myself, and I often have pretty strong opinions about other people's actions as well. Almost every day I see people doing things badly - in my opinion. I see parents not parenting well, drivers who shouldn't be driving, people being careless in a myriad of ways - and I almost never confront any of them with my criticisms. I don't enjoy confrontations, and I've learned that it doesn't make sense to tell other people what they should be doing. Life is easier all around if I live and let live.
Online I see people wearing hideous get-ups, writing posts that are filled with spelling and grammar errors, expressing incoherent opinions, taking pictures of baking that doesn't look that great, arguing without ever making a valid point...and so on. I scroll past 95% of the time without commenting. (I'm not perfect!) Okay, I might vent at my husband about the goofiness and ignorance I see, but very seldom will I comment unfavourably on another person's post. Their page, their post. If I like what they have to say, I can comment or give them the thumbs up, and if I don't, I can ignore it.
I've learned the hard way that what I think of other people, and their efforts, is really none of their business. There have been a few times in my life when I offered unsolicited opinions and had very bad experiences. Now, I almost always keep my mouth shut. I can think what I want to think about people - or whatever they want to put out there - but I don't need to share my opinion with them.
Sure - there are times and places where I have an obligation to offer, and receive, criticism. Most learning environments necessitate the doling out of some constructive criticism, and I understand that. Too often in those situations, people who want to learn become discouraged simply because they hear a whole lot more about what they're doing wrong than what they're doing right. Why do so many choose to tip the scales in favour of criticism when they could just as easily be building up another person's self esteem?
In Praise of Praise
In my late thirties I took a very basic computer course at a community college. Until then I'd barely touched our computer, except to dust it. Then suddenly the internet was becoming a big deal - and it was time for me to learn how to do a few basic things online. I had a hard time keeping up with the other adult learners in my group, and became the butt of jokes in the classroom. Part of this was because the instructor had a tendency to roll her eyes whenever I asked for help. It was pretty demoralizing. She really didn't think I'd ever figure out anything computer related - and seemed to enjoy drawing attention to my lack of tech savvy.
But I knew something she didn't - I knew I was smart enough to figure it all out - and just needed a lot more time to practice the skills she very hastily covered in class. Most of the others could pick things up merely by hearing the instructions, but I needed to go off on my own and do. She was shocked when I handed in the final assignment. I probably took twice as long to do it than anyone else, but I did a good job. I think I might've performed better all along if her focus had been on encouraging me, rather than repeatedly pointing out how inept I was.
One of the things I love about my experience with Toastmasters is that our group is so supportive and encouraging. We all evaluate each other's speeches - and focus on what was done well. When you know that people are looking harder for opportunities to praise than to criticize, it becomes easier to hear them offer you a few "grow points". Nobody leaves feeling discouraged after giving a speech, because we can all empathize with each other. We understand that if one member of the club feels like a failure it's because the rest of us have failed that person. We didn't do all we could to help them see their potential and gain confidence.
I wish the rest of the world operated by the same unwritten rules. There ought to be some sort of basic ratio for compliments to criticisms out there. Instead, most people think it's okay to be critical as long as they "balance things" by tossing out a compliment now and then. I want you to think about that - if we get as much negative feedback as we do praise, don't we receive the message that we're as much of a failure as we are a success?
Nobody wants to feel like they're teetering on the brink of failure - which is why I try to keep my opinions in check a lot more often than I used to. I know how hard it is to continually hear criticism from those who think they're being kind because they occasionally toss in a little faint praise, perhaps in order to tell themselves that they're being objective.
What I Think of YOU is None of Your Business!
There have been times when I've had friends ask my opinion, or even practically beg me to critique some creative effort.
"I really want to hear what you honestly think", they've implored.
When I was foolish enough to give them very carefully worded and honest opinions, they were not well received. Now I decline those invitations. Oh - I know there are people out there who claim they "want criticism", but in my experience most who say this are kidding themselves. People want accolades, not criticism. They ask for criticism because they're pretty sure they only merit positive feedback.
I, on the other hand, don't care if everyone heaps praise on me, but will gladly admit that I'm highly appreciative when those who disapprove of me, or anything that I say, do, or write, have enough forbearance to keep it to themselves. When I tell people I'd rather not get negative feedback, I think that just makes me more honest than most.
Years ago I was in a writer's group where one member of the group had taken a few writing and editing courses. This person insisted it be a "Critique Group". I didn't want to critique - or be critiqued. Who was I to tell others how to express themselves? Who were they to tell me what words to use? I stuck it out for a year, feeling more and more frustrated as time went on. I liked the people in the group - even the one who was the aspiring critic - but I was simply looking to bounce ideas off other people who liked to write, not have every item I shared with the group get "edited". If I'd wanted an editor, I would've hired one!
At that point I was forced to concede that artistically I'm not a collaborator. I like to go off on my own and create - and if the finished project isn't perfect, at least the offering is mine.
What You Think of ME is none of My Business!
I took me a long time to become insistent on doing things my way. When I was younger I seemed to be continually at the mercy of people who wanted to tell me how to do everything "better" - meaning the way they would do things. Now it upsets me that I so stoically let their critical comments rain down on me while I stayed silent.
Once, in my 30's, I taught a group of 10 -12 year old girls. Every week one little girl in the group would share some gem about me that her mother had seen fit to share with her.
"My mother says you wear too much make-up."
"My mother says your dresses are too short!"
"My mother says she doesn't know how you walk in those heels."
To provide a bit of background, I didn't know the mother concerned. I could identify her, and that afforded me enough information to not become too upset by any of these comments. She never wore a lick of make-up, so my modest use of it may have seemed excessive. Since her skirts all hung several inches below her knees, exposing my kneecaps (barely) probably seemed pretty scandalous. And because I never saw her wear anything but the most sensible shoes, she might have been genuinely flummoxed by how I walked in two inch heels.
Still, she really didn't need to share her critique of me through her impressionable preteen daughter. Looking back on that experience a few decades later, I wish I'd let this woman know - gently - that she was passing a legacy of negativity to her progeny. I wish I had told her that my appearance wasn't up for grabs as far as her judgements were concerned. If I faced that kind of criticism now, you can bet I wouldn't let it pass, but at the time I meekly went home every week, stinging from the injustice of being fodder for another woman's gossiping tongue.
Over the years I've heard criticisms of pretty well every aspect of my life, and I bore it all pretty patiently. (Criticism of people I love has never been well tolerated. Just - don't.) With age I'm acquiring enough to confidence to stand up for myself. I have a right to live as I wish - to believe what I want, wear what I want, and express myself in my own way! You also have a right to do whatever you want - and not hear my opinions on the matter. Since I've adopted a policy to (as much as possible) keep my criticisms of individuals away from their ears, I think it's perfectly acceptable to speak up when I get unasked for advice or opinions. Sounds fair - right?
Who are you to tell me how to live? What right do I have to tell you what you "should" do?
The words, "Don't ask, don't tell" have a wonderfully appropriate application when it comes to criticism. We are all entitled to have an opinion, but the other guy is just as entitled to not hear it!
Don't Ask, Don't Tell - Don't Tell, Don't Ask
If I don't ask
and you don't tell
then everything
will go quite well.
If my input
gets no request
I'll bite my tongue -
it's for the best.
If only more
held this belief
the world would see
a lot less grief.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, October 3, 2017
Oh save me from the critics who will say
"You're better off just doing things my way."
Those folks who edit lives and hearts and verse
are always ready to your efforts curse.
They'll easily abbreviate your soul
if for an instant you grant them control.
They'll tell you how to think, behave and dress,
'til everything you do, you second guess.
But frankly, we can all more Frank-like be
and face down all the editors we see.
We can stand firm and tell them it's okay
to offer imperfection our own way.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Sept 22, 2017
There are two kinds of people in the world - the critics, and the criticized. I'm pretty certain most of us have been both. I'm also fairly sure that many of us feel that we veer toward being one more often than the other.
I've said it before, and I know I'll say it again. I'm a harsh critic. I'm brutal in assessing myself, and I often have pretty strong opinions about other people's actions as well. Almost every day I see people doing things badly - in my opinion. I see parents not parenting well, drivers who shouldn't be driving, people being careless in a myriad of ways - and I almost never confront any of them with my criticisms. I don't enjoy confrontations, and I've learned that it doesn't make sense to tell other people what they should be doing. Life is easier all around if I live and let live.
Online I see people wearing hideous get-ups, writing posts that are filled with spelling and grammar errors, expressing incoherent opinions, taking pictures of baking that doesn't look that great, arguing without ever making a valid point...and so on. I scroll past 95% of the time without commenting. (I'm not perfect!) Okay, I might vent at my husband about the goofiness and ignorance I see, but very seldom will I comment unfavourably on another person's post. Their page, their post. If I like what they have to say, I can comment or give them the thumbs up, and if I don't, I can ignore it.
I've learned the hard way that what I think of other people, and their efforts, is really none of their business. There have been a few times in my life when I offered unsolicited opinions and had very bad experiences. Now, I almost always keep my mouth shut. I can think what I want to think about people - or whatever they want to put out there - but I don't need to share my opinion with them.
Sure - there are times and places where I have an obligation to offer, and receive, criticism. Most learning environments necessitate the doling out of some constructive criticism, and I understand that. Too often in those situations, people who want to learn become discouraged simply because they hear a whole lot more about what they're doing wrong than what they're doing right. Why do so many choose to tip the scales in favour of criticism when they could just as easily be building up another person's self esteem?
In Praise of Praise
In my late thirties I took a very basic computer course at a community college. Until then I'd barely touched our computer, except to dust it. Then suddenly the internet was becoming a big deal - and it was time for me to learn how to do a few basic things online. I had a hard time keeping up with the other adult learners in my group, and became the butt of jokes in the classroom. Part of this was because the instructor had a tendency to roll her eyes whenever I asked for help. It was pretty demoralizing. She really didn't think I'd ever figure out anything computer related - and seemed to enjoy drawing attention to my lack of tech savvy.
But I knew something she didn't - I knew I was smart enough to figure it all out - and just needed a lot more time to practice the skills she very hastily covered in class. Most of the others could pick things up merely by hearing the instructions, but I needed to go off on my own and do. She was shocked when I handed in the final assignment. I probably took twice as long to do it than anyone else, but I did a good job. I think I might've performed better all along if her focus had been on encouraging me, rather than repeatedly pointing out how inept I was.
One of the things I love about my experience with Toastmasters is that our group is so supportive and encouraging. We all evaluate each other's speeches - and focus on what was done well. When you know that people are looking harder for opportunities to praise than to criticize, it becomes easier to hear them offer you a few "grow points". Nobody leaves feeling discouraged after giving a speech, because we can all empathize with each other. We understand that if one member of the club feels like a failure it's because the rest of us have failed that person. We didn't do all we could to help them see their potential and gain confidence.
I wish the rest of the world operated by the same unwritten rules. There ought to be some sort of basic ratio for compliments to criticisms out there. Instead, most people think it's okay to be critical as long as they "balance things" by tossing out a compliment now and then. I want you to think about that - if we get as much negative feedback as we do praise, don't we receive the message that we're as much of a failure as we are a success?
Nobody wants to feel like they're teetering on the brink of failure - which is why I try to keep my opinions in check a lot more often than I used to. I know how hard it is to continually hear criticism from those who think they're being kind because they occasionally toss in a little faint praise, perhaps in order to tell themselves that they're being objective.
What I Think of YOU is None of Your Business!
There have been times when I've had friends ask my opinion, or even practically beg me to critique some creative effort.
"I really want to hear what you honestly think", they've implored.
When I was foolish enough to give them very carefully worded and honest opinions, they were not well received. Now I decline those invitations. Oh - I know there are people out there who claim they "want criticism", but in my experience most who say this are kidding themselves. People want accolades, not criticism. They ask for criticism because they're pretty sure they only merit positive feedback.
I, on the other hand, don't care if everyone heaps praise on me, but will gladly admit that I'm highly appreciative when those who disapprove of me, or anything that I say, do, or write, have enough forbearance to keep it to themselves. When I tell people I'd rather not get negative feedback, I think that just makes me more honest than most.
Years ago I was in a writer's group where one member of the group had taken a few writing and editing courses. This person insisted it be a "Critique Group". I didn't want to critique - or be critiqued. Who was I to tell others how to express themselves? Who were they to tell me what words to use? I stuck it out for a year, feeling more and more frustrated as time went on. I liked the people in the group - even the one who was the aspiring critic - but I was simply looking to bounce ideas off other people who liked to write, not have every item I shared with the group get "edited". If I'd wanted an editor, I would've hired one!
At that point I was forced to concede that artistically I'm not a collaborator. I like to go off on my own and create - and if the finished project isn't perfect, at least the offering is mine.
What You Think of ME is none of My Business!
I took me a long time to become insistent on doing things my way. When I was younger I seemed to be continually at the mercy of people who wanted to tell me how to do everything "better" - meaning the way they would do things. Now it upsets me that I so stoically let their critical comments rain down on me while I stayed silent.
Once, in my 30's, I taught a group of 10 -12 year old girls. Every week one little girl in the group would share some gem about me that her mother had seen fit to share with her.
"My mother says you wear too much make-up."
"My mother says your dresses are too short!"
"My mother says she doesn't know how you walk in those heels."
To provide a bit of background, I didn't know the mother concerned. I could identify her, and that afforded me enough information to not become too upset by any of these comments. She never wore a lick of make-up, so my modest use of it may have seemed excessive. Since her skirts all hung several inches below her knees, exposing my kneecaps (barely) probably seemed pretty scandalous. And because I never saw her wear anything but the most sensible shoes, she might have been genuinely flummoxed by how I walked in two inch heels.
Still, she really didn't need to share her critique of me through her impressionable preteen daughter. Looking back on that experience a few decades later, I wish I'd let this woman know - gently - that she was passing a legacy of negativity to her progeny. I wish I had told her that my appearance wasn't up for grabs as far as her judgements were concerned. If I faced that kind of criticism now, you can bet I wouldn't let it pass, but at the time I meekly went home every week, stinging from the injustice of being fodder for another woman's gossiping tongue.
Over the years I've heard criticisms of pretty well every aspect of my life, and I bore it all pretty patiently. (Criticism of people I love has never been well tolerated. Just - don't.) With age I'm acquiring enough to confidence to stand up for myself. I have a right to live as I wish - to believe what I want, wear what I want, and express myself in my own way! You also have a right to do whatever you want - and not hear my opinions on the matter. Since I've adopted a policy to (as much as possible) keep my criticisms of individuals away from their ears, I think it's perfectly acceptable to speak up when I get unasked for advice or opinions. Sounds fair - right?
Who are you to tell me how to live? What right do I have to tell you what you "should" do?
The words, "Don't ask, don't tell" have a wonderfully appropriate application when it comes to criticism. We are all entitled to have an opinion, but the other guy is just as entitled to not hear it!
Don't Ask, Don't Tell - Don't Tell, Don't Ask
If I don't ask
and you don't tell
then everything
will go quite well.
If my input
gets no request
I'll bite my tongue -
it's for the best.
If only more
held this belief
the world would see
a lot less grief.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, October 3, 2017
Sunday, 24 September 2017
Finding "Kansas" - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Kansas!
Some say, "You're not in Kansas anymore!"
But Kansas, friends, is just outside my door!
There is a cornfield two scant blocks away,
and not much further, fields of fresh mowed hay.
Today I went to see a country fair -
and petted cows and sheep while I was there.
And such pastoral visions I have seen!
I'm more "in Kansas" than I've ever been!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Sept.23, 2017
Fourteen months ago we threw caution to the wind and made a bold move. We left our home of thirteen years in Kitchener and moved to a very small town an hour away. We'd always enjoyed exploring the countryside on the outskirts of whatever place we lived, but when our sons were in high school a dream was born. We were getting tired of living where our taxes continued to rise as our services diminished. We hated trying to navigate a city that was perpetually under construction, but never seemed to significantly improve. My husband realized he could work from anywhere, so why not escape the city? Other than housing a son (who was attending the University of Waterloo), and having my mother in town, we had no real ties to Kitchener. We craved a change of scenery and a fresh start.
We began to relish what we dubbed our "Corn and Beans Tours"- those exploratory drives down country roads that we took whenever we had free time on our hands. I began monitoring real estate listings in small towns, trying to assess where suitable properties could be obtained for a reasonable price.
"After the boys have left, we'll do it," we told ourselves. "We'll move out of the city into some quaint little burg."
Autumn of 2015 signaled the right time to make a change. Our younger son had just married, and he and his new wife moved to Boston to attend graduate school. Our older son said he wasn't adverse to making a move with us. He'd help us settle in, and if he didn't enjoy the rural adventure he could always move back to Kitchener. An earnest search for the right property ensued. I scoured realtor.com on a daily basis. In January, we began doing drive-bys - checking out listings that looked promising. In February we found a realtor who was willing to show us properties all over a fifty or sixty mile radius.
We found our house in April, put an offer in on it in May, got our house on the market as soon as we could, sealed the deal at both ends in early July, and were moved in by the beginning of August. Our rural adventure had begun!
I love our new/old house, and the town is very friendly, but after a year of concentrating almost entirely on home improvements, I began to feel panic settling in. Most of "the big stuff" had been completed inside the house. Progress had been stop and start - which is what happens when a self-employed man is writing the cheques. Still, we'd finished most of the big projects (except for one major renovation that is about to begin). With the the house nearing a reasonable state of completion, what would I do with my time?
Our forays into rural pursuits made me acutely aware of just how inept I would be as a truly rural housewife. I don't can, preserve or make jam. (I'm not even much of a cook.) My sewing machine treats me worse than my treadmill, and I always end up swearing at it! Thus quilting and I don't seem like a very good match. I've never milked a cow. (I touched one for the first time yesterday!) I haven't driven farm machinery - or a motorcycle or ski-doo. I haven't even been a passenger on either of them in the last two in decades. I've never been terribly enamored of country music. (It's okay, but I'd rather listen to rock 'n roll - or church choirs - or soft rock...) Can I learn to fit in?
I've always enjoyed pretty solitary pursuits - I read, I write, I bake. I like to socialize, but over the past several years I found myself growing more closed off. I'd been surrounded by people who all expected me to think the way they thought - and when I began to realize I didn't, I began to withdraw. Socializing with the people I knew grew difficult and stressful. When I moved, I vowed I'd try harder to be sociable - especially around women - because frankly they are more intimidating to me than men. (I blame 29 years in a predominantly male household for that. I can speak politics, science fiction and goofball, but I'm not so great when it comes to talking female.)
Women's conversation is harder to jump into. It's more personal - and I never know how much to share. I'm out of practice when it comes to these interactions. I feel like an interloper when I try to ease myself into a group of chatting female acquaintances. Sometimes I really do feel like a fish out of water.
But - I like it here. When I go back into Kitchener-Waterloo it doesn't feel like home, just noisy and congested. Six weeks ago I visited Toronto, and one afternoon in the Eaton Center made me feel sweaty and irritated - almost claustrophobic. I wondered aloud how people could catch their breath in crowds like that all day. I missed my big old house and my little town. I longed to take a big gulp of countrified air - manure and all!
I may not be entering any home-made pickles in the county fair (yet!), but I've adapted to the pace. I love having neighbours who wave when they drive by - or call out hellos as I walk by. When we begin to pass farmers' fields on the way home, I feel air moving deep into my pinched lungs. I begin to feel relaxed. I appreciate every horse, cow and Mennonite buggy I see. These sights don't seem to be becoming mundane, so I know I'm in the right place.
Yesterday, as we drove to the spectacle of our first plowing match, my husband reached over and took my hand.
"We're not in Kansas, anymore, " he said.
I thought about all the ways our lives have changed. Our son found a full time job six weeks after we moved here. My husband became a member of the local Lion's club - which has helped us get to know some really great people. We're discovering that we each have a little country in our soul. We can groove on watching dancing tractors. I can bake a pie that could be a legitimate contender in any agricultural fair. I might still need to discover the other bakers, board game players, readers and writers in my town - but I'm betting they're out there - and I'm not going to stop looking.
I looked over at my husband and gave his hand a squeeze.
"I disagree," I answered, taking a deep breath and waving my other hand toward the towering corn stalks we drove past.
"We're more in Kansas than we've ever been."
Some say, "You're not in Kansas anymore!"
But Kansas, friends, is just outside my door!
There is a cornfield two scant blocks away,
and not much further, fields of fresh mowed hay.
Today I went to see a country fair -
and petted cows and sheep while I was there.
And such pastoral visions I have seen!
I'm more "in Kansas" than I've ever been!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Sept.23, 2017
Fourteen months ago we threw caution to the wind and made a bold move. We left our home of thirteen years in Kitchener and moved to a very small town an hour away. We'd always enjoyed exploring the countryside on the outskirts of whatever place we lived, but when our sons were in high school a dream was born. We were getting tired of living where our taxes continued to rise as our services diminished. We hated trying to navigate a city that was perpetually under construction, but never seemed to significantly improve. My husband realized he could work from anywhere, so why not escape the city? Other than housing a son (who was attending the University of Waterloo), and having my mother in town, we had no real ties to Kitchener. We craved a change of scenery and a fresh start.
We began to relish what we dubbed our "Corn and Beans Tours"- those exploratory drives down country roads that we took whenever we had free time on our hands. I began monitoring real estate listings in small towns, trying to assess where suitable properties could be obtained for a reasonable price.
"After the boys have left, we'll do it," we told ourselves. "We'll move out of the city into some quaint little burg."
Autumn of 2015 signaled the right time to make a change. Our younger son had just married, and he and his new wife moved to Boston to attend graduate school. Our older son said he wasn't adverse to making a move with us. He'd help us settle in, and if he didn't enjoy the rural adventure he could always move back to Kitchener. An earnest search for the right property ensued. I scoured realtor.com on a daily basis. In January, we began doing drive-bys - checking out listings that looked promising. In February we found a realtor who was willing to show us properties all over a fifty or sixty mile radius.
We found our house in April, put an offer in on it in May, got our house on the market as soon as we could, sealed the deal at both ends in early July, and were moved in by the beginning of August. Our rural adventure had begun!
I love our new/old house, and the town is very friendly, but after a year of concentrating almost entirely on home improvements, I began to feel panic settling in. Most of "the big stuff" had been completed inside the house. Progress had been stop and start - which is what happens when a self-employed man is writing the cheques. Still, we'd finished most of the big projects (except for one major renovation that is about to begin). With the the house nearing a reasonable state of completion, what would I do with my time?
Our forays into rural pursuits made me acutely aware of just how inept I would be as a truly rural housewife. I don't can, preserve or make jam. (I'm not even much of a cook.) My sewing machine treats me worse than my treadmill, and I always end up swearing at it! Thus quilting and I don't seem like a very good match. I've never milked a cow. (I touched one for the first time yesterday!) I haven't driven farm machinery - or a motorcycle or ski-doo. I haven't even been a passenger on either of them in the last two in decades. I've never been terribly enamored of country music. (It's okay, but I'd rather listen to rock 'n roll - or church choirs - or soft rock...) Can I learn to fit in?
I've always enjoyed pretty solitary pursuits - I read, I write, I bake. I like to socialize, but over the past several years I found myself growing more closed off. I'd been surrounded by people who all expected me to think the way they thought - and when I began to realize I didn't, I began to withdraw. Socializing with the people I knew grew difficult and stressful. When I moved, I vowed I'd try harder to be sociable - especially around women - because frankly they are more intimidating to me than men. (I blame 29 years in a predominantly male household for that. I can speak politics, science fiction and goofball, but I'm not so great when it comes to talking female.)
Women's conversation is harder to jump into. It's more personal - and I never know how much to share. I'm out of practice when it comes to these interactions. I feel like an interloper when I try to ease myself into a group of chatting female acquaintances. Sometimes I really do feel like a fish out of water.
But - I like it here. When I go back into Kitchener-Waterloo it doesn't feel like home, just noisy and congested. Six weeks ago I visited Toronto, and one afternoon in the Eaton Center made me feel sweaty and irritated - almost claustrophobic. I wondered aloud how people could catch their breath in crowds like that all day. I missed my big old house and my little town. I longed to take a big gulp of countrified air - manure and all!
I may not be entering any home-made pickles in the county fair (yet!), but I've adapted to the pace. I love having neighbours who wave when they drive by - or call out hellos as I walk by. When we begin to pass farmers' fields on the way home, I feel air moving deep into my pinched lungs. I begin to feel relaxed. I appreciate every horse, cow and Mennonite buggy I see. These sights don't seem to be becoming mundane, so I know I'm in the right place.
Yesterday, as we drove to the spectacle of our first plowing match, my husband reached over and took my hand.
"We're not in Kansas, anymore, " he said.
I thought about all the ways our lives have changed. Our son found a full time job six weeks after we moved here. My husband became a member of the local Lion's club - which has helped us get to know some really great people. We're discovering that we each have a little country in our soul. We can groove on watching dancing tractors. I can bake a pie that could be a legitimate contender in any agricultural fair. I might still need to discover the other bakers, board game players, readers and writers in my town - but I'm betting they're out there - and I'm not going to stop looking.
I looked over at my husband and gave his hand a squeeze.
"I disagree," I answered, taking a deep breath and waving my other hand toward the towering corn stalks we drove past.
"We're more in Kansas than we've ever been."
Friday, 8 September 2017
Out, Out Darn Thought! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Oh the Thoughts Thinkers Think!
We all have a Thinker
designed to make thoughts,
to figure out details;
connect all the dots.
Our Thinker's not perfect,
sometimes it's confused -
it holds power o'er us
that's sometimes abused.
When we feel frustration
our Thinker mouths off,
"Just look what you've done now!"
your Thinker might scoff.
"You've handled things badly,
you ought to have known!
You're awfully stupid -
your chances are blown!"
At times like that, just leave
your Thinker alone!
The darn thing's not working
when it sends you thoughts
that leave you discouraged
and tied up in knots!
Oh, the thoughts Thinker thinks,
they are not always great -
you ought to ignore some
until they abate!
When Thinker malfunctions,
just give it a whack,
and soon you will notice
good thoughts coming back!
And the good thoughts it thinks
they will fill you with zest -
you'll hit the road running,
and ace every test!
When Thinker is gracious
your life is less stressed.
When Thinker is freed up
from negative fuzz
your thoughts are inspiring -
your brain is abuzz!
You're bound to have insights!
Solutions are found!
You're filled with contentment!
Your wisdom astounds!
"Oh goodness - you're brilliant!"
your Thinker avers,
"Your logic is flawless!
Your poetry purrs!"
My Thinker is fickle -
that's what I conclude.
It flatters and flattens;
it's kind, and it's rude.
And Oh! How my thinker
controls attitude!
I'm learning to root out
my Thinker's worst thoughts -
embrace the artistry,
discard the blots.
Thoughts that my Thinker thinks
are imperfect, but still,
I'll take all the good ones
and use them - I will!
I'll share them with passion
in prose, verse and speech;
my Thinker's good thoughts might
some more Thinkers reach!
And maybe - just maybe -
a few will be taught
by a couple of thinks
that my Thinker once thought!
(Well, that's what the Thinker
of Rhyming Muse sought.)
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Sept. 2017
Hold that thought! Or at least - hold it if it's just another one of those mundane, "What shall I wear?" or "Goodness - it's raining again!" kind of queries or statements. A lot of the stuff that rumbles around in our noggins doesn't really need to be shared. Few of us set the world aflame with commentary on the weather. But we share trivialities with each other because it's what is easy and comfortable. Our tendency is to keep the deeper thoughts and feelings inside, where they're safe - and where they won't expose us.
I maintain that there are two kinds of thoughts that really need to be let out - and for different reasons:
Your Worst Thoughts
Sometimes we have really discouraging thoughts that want to rain all over our parade. Remember - if you think you're a drip it's probably because you're all wet! (Never get a girl named Flood started on water jokes. )
We need to pull these thoughts out of our heads before they pull us into our own personal purgatory. We might be able to verbally share them with a long suffering spouse or a trusted friend, or we might have to write them in a journal. We might have to lock ourselves in a room and let them speak their piece before we go on counterattack and stomp them dead. There is no making peace with thoughts that are looking to knock you flat. Nope - in those situations you need to be well versed in mortal combat manoeuvres. We have to rid ourselves of these thoughts, quickly and ruthlessly, or they'll drive us as crazy as the cricket in our front hall is driving my husband. (We think it's trapped in a vent.) The thing chirps endlessly - just like the negative thoughts our brains brew up on a really bad day.
Let out those soul-sucking thoughts in the most positive way you can muster. They're like vermin that get into your house - a mouse that darts out from under your couch, or a bat that suddenly swoops down your hall - total mood killers. At my last house we had mice get in a few times, and they made me question everything I thought I knew about my housecleaning habits - even though I knew they weren't coming in because my house was dirty (because it wasn't - and isn't). They simply showed up because they could - a few tiny holes in the foundation allowed them a way to infiltrate. The bat, who showed up at our current address, kept me from sleeping decently for several nights - ugh! (My attic has been declared clean by every tradesperson who's ever gone up there - and yet somehow one found a way in.) It didn't stay long because we weren't exactly welcoming. But if negativity comes knocking and we offer it a comfortable spot to roost it will stick around.
When I let my thoughts begin to drag me down, misery rapidly ensues. I know that I have to clear this thought vermin out of my head pronto, or like Lady Macbeth I'll soon be tormented beyond reach - and thus I've written a new poetic mantra:
Out - out, darn thought
depart my head!
I've better thoughts
to think instead!
Surround yourself with the kind of people who make your soul impenetrable - or will at least stick around to scare off the nasty ideas your brain dreams up - and help fill in the chinks so they don't come back!
Your Best Thoughts
Our brains are always busy, but we get to choose how they fill their days. Luckily, most brains are as capable of inspiring helpful thoughts and ideas as they are of harbouring the darker ones.
I don't think most of us are as quick to share our really positive thoughts and good ideas with the world as we should be. (There isn't enough spontaneous song and dance out there!) Most people fill their lives up with so much "busy" that their crazy, fun, imaginative and genius, groundbreaking thoughts get pushed aside - and all of those mundane musings I mentioned at the beginning of this post take over their harried heads.
Think back to your childhood. Remember how you couldn't wait to put crayons to paper and bring your wild imaginings to life? Remember how you loved telling your parents fantastical tales based on the antics of the kids at school? The responsibilities of adulthood seem to drain us of our creative juices when we need them most.
Let your best thoughts out! Write them. Speak them. Paint them. Turn them into inspiring conversations, poetry and music. Use them to solve problems - big and small. Use them to generate laughter and love. Share them - and you'll inspire others to share their best thoughts, best feelings, and best efforts with the world.
There's a lot more room in the universe for happy thoughts, infectious laughter and genuine enthusiasm. We all need more compliments, more encouragement and more opportunities to exchange ideas. The world needs more output from dreamers, inventors, artists and craftsmen.
I don't believe the best music has been written yet - and I'm certain that my best blog post is still inside me. Your best ideas probably haven't been shared. In fact, I'm betting that you've never given your best ideas the head space they deserve. Your adult self has likely squeezed them into whatever wee cranny is left over after the mundane and miserable have staked their claim on your mental real estate. That's certainly been the case with me - far, far too often.
Your best thoughts are meant to be shared. They deserve to be shared. Yes, there's always a risk that your words won't do them justice. (I know all about that...) Maybe your grand idea won't be perfectly executed and you'll be disappointed with whatever you're trying to produce. So what? One thing I'm learning more with every passing year is that other people don't have access to the perfect vision in my head, and amazingly enough, they often think that an original idea, imperfectly rendered, is pretty impressive. Tell yourself this -
Out out, great thought!
I'll share instead
of keeping you
locked in my head.
Plagued by the kind of thoughts that fill you with self doubt? Lose them.
Brimming with thoughts and ideas that might improve your world? Use them!
We all have a Thinker
designed to make thoughts,
to figure out details;
connect all the dots.
Our Thinker's not perfect,
sometimes it's confused -
it holds power o'er us
that's sometimes abused.
When we feel frustration
our Thinker mouths off,
"Just look what you've done now!"
your Thinker might scoff.
"You've handled things badly,
you ought to have known!
You're awfully stupid -
your chances are blown!"
At times like that, just leave
your Thinker alone!
The darn thing's not working
when it sends you thoughts
that leave you discouraged
and tied up in knots!
Oh, the thoughts Thinker thinks,
they are not always great -
you ought to ignore some
until they abate!
When Thinker malfunctions,
just give it a whack,
and soon you will notice
good thoughts coming back!
And the good thoughts it thinks
they will fill you with zest -
you'll hit the road running,
and ace every test!
When Thinker is gracious
your life is less stressed.
When Thinker is freed up
from negative fuzz
your thoughts are inspiring -
your brain is abuzz!
You're bound to have insights!
Solutions are found!
You're filled with contentment!
Your wisdom astounds!
"Oh goodness - you're brilliant!"
your Thinker avers,
"Your logic is flawless!
Your poetry purrs!"
My Thinker is fickle -
that's what I conclude.
It flatters and flattens;
it's kind, and it's rude.
And Oh! How my thinker
controls attitude!
I'm learning to root out
my Thinker's worst thoughts -
embrace the artistry,
discard the blots.
Thoughts that my Thinker thinks
are imperfect, but still,
I'll take all the good ones
and use them - I will!
I'll share them with passion
in prose, verse and speech;
my Thinker's good thoughts might
some more Thinkers reach!
And maybe - just maybe -
a few will be taught
by a couple of thinks
that my Thinker once thought!
(Well, that's what the Thinker
of Rhyming Muse sought.)
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Sept. 2017
Hold that thought! Or at least - hold it if it's just another one of those mundane, "What shall I wear?" or "Goodness - it's raining again!" kind of queries or statements. A lot of the stuff that rumbles around in our noggins doesn't really need to be shared. Few of us set the world aflame with commentary on the weather. But we share trivialities with each other because it's what is easy and comfortable. Our tendency is to keep the deeper thoughts and feelings inside, where they're safe - and where they won't expose us.
I maintain that there are two kinds of thoughts that really need to be let out - and for different reasons:
Your Worst Thoughts
Sometimes we have really discouraging thoughts that want to rain all over our parade. Remember - if you think you're a drip it's probably because you're all wet! (Never get a girl named Flood started on water jokes. )
We need to pull these thoughts out of our heads before they pull us into our own personal purgatory. We might be able to verbally share them with a long suffering spouse or a trusted friend, or we might have to write them in a journal. We might have to lock ourselves in a room and let them speak their piece before we go on counterattack and stomp them dead. There is no making peace with thoughts that are looking to knock you flat. Nope - in those situations you need to be well versed in mortal combat manoeuvres. We have to rid ourselves of these thoughts, quickly and ruthlessly, or they'll drive us as crazy as the cricket in our front hall is driving my husband. (We think it's trapped in a vent.) The thing chirps endlessly - just like the negative thoughts our brains brew up on a really bad day.
Let out those soul-sucking thoughts in the most positive way you can muster. They're like vermin that get into your house - a mouse that darts out from under your couch, or a bat that suddenly swoops down your hall - total mood killers. At my last house we had mice get in a few times, and they made me question everything I thought I knew about my housecleaning habits - even though I knew they weren't coming in because my house was dirty (because it wasn't - and isn't). They simply showed up because they could - a few tiny holes in the foundation allowed them a way to infiltrate. The bat, who showed up at our current address, kept me from sleeping decently for several nights - ugh! (My attic has been declared clean by every tradesperson who's ever gone up there - and yet somehow one found a way in.) It didn't stay long because we weren't exactly welcoming. But if negativity comes knocking and we offer it a comfortable spot to roost it will stick around.
When I let my thoughts begin to drag me down, misery rapidly ensues. I know that I have to clear this thought vermin out of my head pronto, or like Lady Macbeth I'll soon be tormented beyond reach - and thus I've written a new poetic mantra:
Out - out, darn thought
depart my head!
I've better thoughts
to think instead!
Surround yourself with the kind of people who make your soul impenetrable - or will at least stick around to scare off the nasty ideas your brain dreams up - and help fill in the chinks so they don't come back!
Your Best Thoughts
Our brains are always busy, but we get to choose how they fill their days. Luckily, most brains are as capable of inspiring helpful thoughts and ideas as they are of harbouring the darker ones.
I don't think most of us are as quick to share our really positive thoughts and good ideas with the world as we should be. (There isn't enough spontaneous song and dance out there!) Most people fill their lives up with so much "busy" that their crazy, fun, imaginative and genius, groundbreaking thoughts get pushed aside - and all of those mundane musings I mentioned at the beginning of this post take over their harried heads.
Think back to your childhood. Remember how you couldn't wait to put crayons to paper and bring your wild imaginings to life? Remember how you loved telling your parents fantastical tales based on the antics of the kids at school? The responsibilities of adulthood seem to drain us of our creative juices when we need them most.
Let your best thoughts out! Write them. Speak them. Paint them. Turn them into inspiring conversations, poetry and music. Use them to solve problems - big and small. Use them to generate laughter and love. Share them - and you'll inspire others to share their best thoughts, best feelings, and best efforts with the world.
There's a lot more room in the universe for happy thoughts, infectious laughter and genuine enthusiasm. We all need more compliments, more encouragement and more opportunities to exchange ideas. The world needs more output from dreamers, inventors, artists and craftsmen.
I don't believe the best music has been written yet - and I'm certain that my best blog post is still inside me. Your best ideas probably haven't been shared. In fact, I'm betting that you've never given your best ideas the head space they deserve. Your adult self has likely squeezed them into whatever wee cranny is left over after the mundane and miserable have staked their claim on your mental real estate. That's certainly been the case with me - far, far too often.
Your best thoughts are meant to be shared. They deserve to be shared. Yes, there's always a risk that your words won't do them justice. (I know all about that...) Maybe your grand idea won't be perfectly executed and you'll be disappointed with whatever you're trying to produce. So what? One thing I'm learning more with every passing year is that other people don't have access to the perfect vision in my head, and amazingly enough, they often think that an original idea, imperfectly rendered, is pretty impressive. Tell yourself this -
Out out, great thought!
I'll share instead
of keeping you
locked in my head.
Plagued by the kind of thoughts that fill you with self doubt? Lose them.
Brimming with thoughts and ideas that might improve your world? Use them!
Tuesday, 22 August 2017
My Treadmill and I - It's complicated! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Ode to My Treadmill:
Oh the miles we've walked together
you and I through thin and thick -
and my steps, you keep them steady,
urging me to pace that's quick.
Seems whenever I am restless
you are at my beck and call -
with your aid I'm ever climbing
and I never seem to fall.
My devotion can't be questioned
(though we've had our ups and downs)
but dear Treadmill, I'll admit it
on your frame I've bestowed frowns.
So today I pause to thank you
for accepting my abuse -
with you I am always moving;
weather offers no excuse!
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 18, 2013
My treadmill and I have been together for more than a decade, and it's been a long and complicated relationship. She came into our family when I was going through menopause, and gaining a pound every time I so much as thought about eating a piece of cake. It was a truly dismal time for someone who loves to bake treats - and eat them.
At the time I belonged to one of those all female gyms, and in spite of doing my utmost to go three times weekly, and being a dedicated pedestrian, I continued to gain weight. Treadmill made me feel less guilty about missing the odd workout and staying in on those days when it rained non-stop, or was excessively warm or cold. Some days I loved her for giving me another way to be active. Other times I resented her mere presence in my house. She constantly reminded me that my carefree days of eating seconds, and never worrying about my weight were, well - behind me...
We've spent a lot of time together, but it isn't always a very balanced relationship - I can't help but feel that she's a bit of a control freak. I mean, she's totally obsessed with how fast I go and how many calories I burn. And she's soooo impatient! Some days she natters at me the whole time I'm with her -
"Hurry up, hurry up, hurry, hurry, hurry-up!", she'll chant continually. I swear she's never satisfied!
She can be a bit of a nag too - always telling me my heart-rate is too high - or not high enough. She encourages an unhealthy clingy-ness in me by threatening to cast me off like yesterday's garbage if I refuse to stay tethered or hang on to her. I'm also pretty certain that she lies sometimes, and simply refuses to tell me how many calories I've really burned.
I distanced myself from her earlier this summer. We didn't have a falling out, but by necessity she sat unplugged for almost two months while we stripped wallpaper and repainted in her room. (A long time for a minor fix, but we've faced a few wallpaper issues around here. That's fodder for a whole other post.) She mocked me ruthlessly while she sat there, neglected and dejected - and continually coated in plaster dust no matter how many times I vacuumed. A week ago we revived her - my husband and son eased her back into her spot, and I administered CPR. (Well, I plugged her in!) I thought that maybe she'd be happy for me - after all, I've lost a few pounds over the summer, even without her help. That's a whole lot of walking and mosquito dancing - and no second helpings. (Especially on dessert!) How could she not be proud of my efforts?
Still, no high five. No "Congratulations Sharon!" or double calories burned bonus points showed up on her screen. Instead I felt she was mildly resentful. This morning I tried to spend some quality time with her and she was downright discouraging - called me names the whole time!
"Trufflebutt, trufflebutt, truffle, truffle Trufflebutt!", she jeered.
I have to admit that I was feeling persecuted. (Not to mention a little confused by the weirdness of it all.) Why "Trufflebutt"? I don't eat truffles - I can't afford them, and honestly, I've never even coveted a real truffle. Was she saying that my butt looked like I ate too many truffles? That sure wouldn't be fair - I haven't even been indulging in the chocolate kind!
Now that I've shut her up (well, turned her off) - and the sweat has dried - I've decided to take "Trufflebutt" as a compliment. Maybe she's a better friend than I give her credit for, and in her own unique way was trying to convey a sense of my intrinsic worth. Truffles are a delicacy, and they're valuable. Maybe she was actually telling me that I'm worth the effort, and my back end can become an asset again, instead of a liability...?
Yeah - I think I'll go with that.
Oh the miles we've walked together
you and I through thin and thick -
and my steps, you keep them steady,
urging me to pace that's quick.
Seems whenever I am restless
you are at my beck and call -
with your aid I'm ever climbing
and I never seem to fall.
My devotion can't be questioned
(though we've had our ups and downs)
but dear Treadmill, I'll admit it
on your frame I've bestowed frowns.
So today I pause to thank you
for accepting my abuse -
with you I am always moving;
weather offers no excuse!
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 18, 2013
My treadmill and I have been together for more than a decade, and it's been a long and complicated relationship. She came into our family when I was going through menopause, and gaining a pound every time I so much as thought about eating a piece of cake. It was a truly dismal time for someone who loves to bake treats - and eat them.
At the time I belonged to one of those all female gyms, and in spite of doing my utmost to go three times weekly, and being a dedicated pedestrian, I continued to gain weight. Treadmill made me feel less guilty about missing the odd workout and staying in on those days when it rained non-stop, or was excessively warm or cold. Some days I loved her for giving me another way to be active. Other times I resented her mere presence in my house. She constantly reminded me that my carefree days of eating seconds, and never worrying about my weight were, well - behind me...
We've spent a lot of time together, but it isn't always a very balanced relationship - I can't help but feel that she's a bit of a control freak. I mean, she's totally obsessed with how fast I go and how many calories I burn. And she's soooo impatient! Some days she natters at me the whole time I'm with her -
"Hurry up, hurry up, hurry, hurry, hurry-up!", she'll chant continually. I swear she's never satisfied!
She can be a bit of a nag too - always telling me my heart-rate is too high - or not high enough. She encourages an unhealthy clingy-ness in me by threatening to cast me off like yesterday's garbage if I refuse to stay tethered or hang on to her. I'm also pretty certain that she lies sometimes, and simply refuses to tell me how many calories I've really burned.
I distanced myself from her earlier this summer. We didn't have a falling out, but by necessity she sat unplugged for almost two months while we stripped wallpaper and repainted in her room. (A long time for a minor fix, but we've faced a few wallpaper issues around here. That's fodder for a whole other post.) She mocked me ruthlessly while she sat there, neglected and dejected - and continually coated in plaster dust no matter how many times I vacuumed. A week ago we revived her - my husband and son eased her back into her spot, and I administered CPR. (Well, I plugged her in!) I thought that maybe she'd be happy for me - after all, I've lost a few pounds over the summer, even without her help. That's a whole lot of walking and mosquito dancing - and no second helpings. (Especially on dessert!) How could she not be proud of my efforts?
Still, no high five. No "Congratulations Sharon!" or double calories burned bonus points showed up on her screen. Instead I felt she was mildly resentful. This morning I tried to spend some quality time with her and she was downright discouraging - called me names the whole time!
"Trufflebutt, trufflebutt, truffle, truffle Trufflebutt!", she jeered.
I have to admit that I was feeling persecuted. (Not to mention a little confused by the weirdness of it all.) Why "Trufflebutt"? I don't eat truffles - I can't afford them, and honestly, I've never even coveted a real truffle. Was she saying that my butt looked like I ate too many truffles? That sure wouldn't be fair - I haven't even been indulging in the chocolate kind!
Now that I've shut her up (well, turned her off) - and the sweat has dried - I've decided to take "Trufflebutt" as a compliment. Maybe she's a better friend than I give her credit for, and in her own unique way was trying to convey a sense of my intrinsic worth. Truffles are a delicacy, and they're valuable. Maybe she was actually telling me that I'm worth the effort, and my back end can become an asset again, instead of a liability...?
Yeah - I think I'll go with that.
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