In Praise of Quiet:
Oh Introvert,
you won't exert
exub'rance of
an extrovert.
You'll try and fail -
'side them you'll pale -
until you on
own strengths prevail.
Use what you've got;
delve into thought.
For quiet wisdom
you'll be sought.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Jan. 12, 2018
In a recent conversation with some of my family, I described myself as an introvert. One of my sisters seemed incredulous, and perhaps rightly so. Her experience with me, as a family member, tells a different story. I'm not "shy" around family - in fact I'm pretty outspoken around most people I'm familiar with. I'm not afraid to talk about most things online - so how can I be an introvert?
Webster's dictionary defines the word introvert as "someone more interested in their own mental or emotional processes than in outside events etc." To paraphrase this, introverts spend a whole lot of time in their own heads. Introverts thrive on plenty of solitude. They do their best work alone, in peace and quiet. They prefer one on one conversations to spending time in large groups. They often feel anxious about attending social events and physically/emotionally drained afterwards. That doesn't mean they don't want to go, but it does mean that their definition of a great party is one where they found a few friends to spend the evening chatting with. They'd just rather not have to circulate all night long.
I recently finished reading Quiet (The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking) by Susan Cain. A quiz early in the book confirmed what I've always suspected about myself - I am an introvert! (I scored 14 out of 16 on this quiz - which is "based on Characteristics of introversion often accepted by contemporary researchers.")
Susan builds a strong case for the theory that North American society values extroversion over introversion. Think back to your own experiences and you'll see clear examples of times where you were rewarded for "being sociable" - or at least appearing to be sociable - and times when you were shamed for being too shy, cautious or solitary. It shouldn't be so surprising that many of us, as introverts, learned to become adept at hiding in plain sight. Appearing more extroverted than we are becomes a survival tactic. Let me elaborate:
How many times in school did you have to do "group work", give presentations to a group, answer questions in front of a group, and so on? Can you see that many of these situations are intimidating to quiet (or less socially confident) children and advantageous to those who are more extroverted? I did well in school, and as a result I had confidence when it came to answering questions - but I hated having to work in groups larger than three. I just wanted to go do my own work in peace and quiet - to focus all my energy on one task without a million distractions. Introverts work very effectively when they're allowed to process things at their own pace and prioritize time for themselves - and by themselves. Introverts aren't wild about group efforts and collaborations. They have their own ideas about how projects need to be completed, and just want to get on with it. Having to listen to a whole lot of extroverts work through their thoughts verbally sounds like a waste of time to us.
But sadly the prevailing attitudes in North America don't often play to the needs of the quiet, and quiet-loving, souls among us, and educators seem to be increasingly relying on group interaction within their classrooms.
I remember one scenario from my high school days that demonstrates exactly the sort of school experience that can make classroom learning miserable for an introvert. In my grade nine math class, I didn't know a soul. Strike one - I felt anxious just going to class. I soon discovered that for the first time ever I was completely confused by the subject material - which was a huge blow to my usually academically confident self - strike two. Because of those first two points, I was terrified to raise my hand and ask questions - and when I finally got up the nerve to do so, I encountered my worst feelings of inadequacy yet. You see, my teacher's solution to "helping" students who didn't understand was to send them up to the blackboard to "try and solve the problem themselves". I didn't even know where to begin solving those equations, and publicly demonstrating my ignorance was a resounding strike three for my ability to become mathematically proficient. After a couple rounds of public humiliation, I gave up and accepted failing grades - for the first time in my life. What's really sad about this experience is that I'm certain there were kids in that class who were more intimidated by that "helping" process than I ever was!
The upside of that experience was that I began to learn empathy for those who were more withdrawn than I was. As I began to look around for the kids who were obviously suffering more social discomfort than I was, I gained confidence - and found friends I could relate to. I learned that others, who seemed far shier than I was, were comfortable sharing their experiences and frustrations with me.
Navigating education was nothing compared to my early experiences with dating. An extrovert has no problem speaking up and demonstrating interest. An introvert, on the other hand, needs to know with absolute certainty that the other party "likes" them before they'll give anything away. Because they spend so much time with their own thoughts, introverts are a lot more likely to second-guess themselves during social interactions. Here's a classic example from my own youth:
I was at a wedding reception and a guy I had a huge crush on asked me to dance. But I was uncertain that he'd asked me to dance because he hadn't asked me by name. So I hesitated - I mean - could he really have asked me to dance? In my moment of hesitation/disbelief a far more extroverted and popular girl seated next to me jumped up and said, "Sure - I'll dance with you!" Friends seated with me were certain that the invitation had been intended for me, and could see how crestfallen I was to have missed the opportunity. Forty years later, I still wish I'd done what the other girl did - simply jumped up and danced with him. But older, wiser, and still introverted me can't help but remember that he never asked again.
Let me tell you - I'm convinced that introverts suffer a lot of heartbreak before they find someone who's willing to take them as they are. While I love having a husband I can talk to, I'm even more appreciative of the fact that we can enjoy comfortable silences together.
Perhaps the only thing more challenging for an introvert than finding a trusted romantic partner is finding employment. Every manager wants to hire the proverbial "People Person" - whether or not sociability weighs heavily into the person's ability to do the job. Employers ask questions that are skewed toward extroverts. They want future hires to prove that they're charismatic. They want proof they can play to the crowd and sway others to their way of thinking, and whether their ideas merit being adopted by others is often a secondary concern. In spite of the fact that "slow and steady wins the race", North American employers consistently show a marked preference for hares over tortoises.
Many introverts learn to fake it in order to be hired. Some continue to put on an act at work, and essentially live double lives. Their "work persona" seems bubbly and energetic, but at home they are quiet, subdued and energized by their solitary pursuits. Other introverts are lucky enough to find employment that they feel passionately about - and a passionate introvert doesn't need to pretend. No matter how "shy" they may be, chances are they'll have areas of interest that they feel so strongly about that they could talk about them for hours with anyone who shares that interest - or expresses curiosity about it. Some passionate introverts learn to excel at making speeches and public presentations simply because they feel so strongly about their cause, or their area of expertise.
Remember this - people often differ from what we perceive them to be. All introverts don't manifest as "shy". Many, like me, learn to speak up for themselves. Many more of us are confident sharing our ideas in written form. We learn to let out some of the thoughts that keep us looking inward, and by sharing them become more outwardly focused. Reaching out to share our unique gifts with others increases our confidence - and helps us locate the other quiet, deep-thinking uni-taskers around us.
So here's to all the introverts out there - the ones who have fully embraced their "quiet" and the ones who push themselves far into the fray on a daily basis. We are important. We have plenty to offer in a noisy world. Some will see our meticulous efforts as plodding, and our desire to be alone as anti-social, but others will see who we really are - and love us. They'll appreciate our ability to listen and analyze the facts before offering a thoughtful response. They'll appreciate our more cautious nature, and the creative solutions our busy, observant brains dream up. They'll value the close relationships we offer them, over being part of an extrovert's large entourage. Some will ask us to dance again - and again...
In this chaotic world, it's often the quieter powers employed by the inwardly-focused that keep those around them grounded and comfortable.
Wednesday, 17 January 2018
Thursday, 4 January 2018
Resolute! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Resolute:
This I resolve:
I will evolve.
I'll problem solve,
and not dissolve.
I'll be aware,
and swear I'll dare
to really care
how others fare.
I'll try to plant
and not to rant;
to words decant
without a slant.
I won't impute
or fuel dispute -
I'll be astute.
I'm resolute.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 3, 2018
It's the same every year. As soon as the holidays begin wrapping up everyone begins talking about resolutions. I'll admit that I begin to think about what I want to accomplish over the next year of my life too, but I've stopped being so focused on the goals themselves.
Let me explain. I used to go at this beginning of the year stuff with great gusto - writing a series of journal entries that broke down all of my yearly goals into tiny increments of improvement in a wide variety of categories. It was overkill, and I found that setting too many precise goals left me feeling overburdened before January was finished. And that is what prompted me to spend so much of my time lazing in the town of Stalledandstuck, instead of moving on to that great intermediate town of Progress - that was en route to the even bigger and more exciting place called Success. (See my earlier post, "Progress: A Sharp Right Turn before Stalledandstuck")
Now, contrary to the advice I've always been given, which is to set "specific" goals, I'm back to looking for general improvements in my life. The poem above lists a few of the areas where I could stand to see a little progress in my life.
1) I can be far too rigid. My fallback mode is to play the role of "old dog" - not too quick to pick up new tricks. My sister recently had her grandson point out to her that she wasn't old - just "her number" was. I need to remember that. The "number" is getting up there, and I can forget that it doesn't need to dictate how I live, or how I have fun. On New Year's Eve my son, daughter-in-law and exchange student invited me to go tobogganing with them. My first instinct was to say no - "Bah humbug!" said my brain, "You're too old for that kind of foolishness!" Thankfully I took some time to weigh out my decision. The hill was small. I had no preexisting injuries to worry about; no arthritis, no sore back. I had plenty of warm clothes to wear. In short, I had no significant reason to say no, so I went. Maybe I'm evolving beyond the point where I let "the number" hold me back. That gives me hope that I can evolve to move beyond a few other hang-ups too.
2) I stress too much over little things. When I'm overtired every tiny issue or setback in my life seems huge. I complain too much and spend too little time thinking my way through the problems at hand. A negative cycle can occur, wherein I end up angry, frustrated with myself, and finally embarrassed by the fact that I lost my cool somehow - gave in to tears or anger instead of working things through rationally. This year I'll work harder at not letting myself "dissolve" when I'm overtired and over-wrought. I'll try to remember to give myself a "time out" before I get to my breaking point.
3) Sometimes I'm just not as observant as I should be. I can get caught up in my own little world and not notice where I might be of service to others. At other times, I can see where I might be helpful, but I don't offer aid because I'm afraid I'll cause offense or my offer will simply be refused. (Offers refused or ignored can seriously look like rejection to me...but I'm learning that I shouldn't see it that way. People often need to know they can trust you before they'll accept your help.) I'm trying harder to trust my kinder impulses and let others know that I'm thinking of them - and I care.
4) I'm trying to become less inclined to push my opinions on others, but that's a tough slog. The urge to rant on and on (and on!) is ever present. I constantly need to remind myself that I don't need to engage in every debate, let alone win. If I can say - or write - one thought that plants a small seed of inquiry in another mind it really is enough. I don't need to let my biases show constantly. In fact, I'm learning that if I try to hide them a bit more often I learn how to listen better and forge more trusting relationships with those who see things differently.
5) I will continue making efforts to be kinder. This point goes along with the above paragraph. Sometimes it's just too darned easy to spew out a biased opinion. I forget to keep my wits about me and weigh out my commentary before I speak, which is often a counterproductive strategy.
No - this year instead of making all kinds of resolutions I am simply aiming to be more resolute. I will aim to not become sidetracked - in whatever goals I make along the way - by difficulties or opposition I encounter, or by risks I perceive. I'll do a few more things that take me out of my comfort zone - which is slowly expanding. I won't back down every time some task seems too challenging. I'll read harder books, take on new projects, and I'll learn some new things.
This I resolve:
I will evolve.
This I resolve:
I will evolve.
I'll problem solve,
and not dissolve.
I'll be aware,
and swear I'll dare
to really care
how others fare.
I'll try to plant
and not to rant;
to words decant
without a slant.
I won't impute
or fuel dispute -
I'll be astute.
I'm resolute.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 3, 2018
It's the same every year. As soon as the holidays begin wrapping up everyone begins talking about resolutions. I'll admit that I begin to think about what I want to accomplish over the next year of my life too, but I've stopped being so focused on the goals themselves.
Let me explain. I used to go at this beginning of the year stuff with great gusto - writing a series of journal entries that broke down all of my yearly goals into tiny increments of improvement in a wide variety of categories. It was overkill, and I found that setting too many precise goals left me feeling overburdened before January was finished. And that is what prompted me to spend so much of my time lazing in the town of Stalledandstuck, instead of moving on to that great intermediate town of Progress - that was en route to the even bigger and more exciting place called Success. (See my earlier post, "Progress: A Sharp Right Turn before Stalledandstuck")
Now, contrary to the advice I've always been given, which is to set "specific" goals, I'm back to looking for general improvements in my life. The poem above lists a few of the areas where I could stand to see a little progress in my life.
1) I can be far too rigid. My fallback mode is to play the role of "old dog" - not too quick to pick up new tricks. My sister recently had her grandson point out to her that she wasn't old - just "her number" was. I need to remember that. The "number" is getting up there, and I can forget that it doesn't need to dictate how I live, or how I have fun. On New Year's Eve my son, daughter-in-law and exchange student invited me to go tobogganing with them. My first instinct was to say no - "Bah humbug!" said my brain, "You're too old for that kind of foolishness!" Thankfully I took some time to weigh out my decision. The hill was small. I had no preexisting injuries to worry about; no arthritis, no sore back. I had plenty of warm clothes to wear. In short, I had no significant reason to say no, so I went. Maybe I'm evolving beyond the point where I let "the number" hold me back. That gives me hope that I can evolve to move beyond a few other hang-ups too.
2) I stress too much over little things. When I'm overtired every tiny issue or setback in my life seems huge. I complain too much and spend too little time thinking my way through the problems at hand. A negative cycle can occur, wherein I end up angry, frustrated with myself, and finally embarrassed by the fact that I lost my cool somehow - gave in to tears or anger instead of working things through rationally. This year I'll work harder at not letting myself "dissolve" when I'm overtired and over-wrought. I'll try to remember to give myself a "time out" before I get to my breaking point.
3) Sometimes I'm just not as observant as I should be. I can get caught up in my own little world and not notice where I might be of service to others. At other times, I can see where I might be helpful, but I don't offer aid because I'm afraid I'll cause offense or my offer will simply be refused. (Offers refused or ignored can seriously look like rejection to me...but I'm learning that I shouldn't see it that way. People often need to know they can trust you before they'll accept your help.) I'm trying harder to trust my kinder impulses and let others know that I'm thinking of them - and I care.
4) I'm trying to become less inclined to push my opinions on others, but that's a tough slog. The urge to rant on and on (and on!) is ever present. I constantly need to remind myself that I don't need to engage in every debate, let alone win. If I can say - or write - one thought that plants a small seed of inquiry in another mind it really is enough. I don't need to let my biases show constantly. In fact, I'm learning that if I try to hide them a bit more often I learn how to listen better and forge more trusting relationships with those who see things differently.
5) I will continue making efforts to be kinder. This point goes along with the above paragraph. Sometimes it's just too darned easy to spew out a biased opinion. I forget to keep my wits about me and weigh out my commentary before I speak, which is often a counterproductive strategy.
No - this year instead of making all kinds of resolutions I am simply aiming to be more resolute. I will aim to not become sidetracked - in whatever goals I make along the way - by difficulties or opposition I encounter, or by risks I perceive. I'll do a few more things that take me out of my comfort zone - which is slowly expanding. I won't back down every time some task seems too challenging. I'll read harder books, take on new projects, and I'll learn some new things.
This I resolve:
I will evolve.
Tuesday, 19 December 2017
Making Christmas - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Making Christmas:
I looked out my window,
and what do you know?
A nasty grey drizzle
had melted my snow!
And rain in December,
it just isn't right -
It clouds o'er my Christmas
and stifles delight.
"But I will be happy",
I said to myself.
The mood of the weather
I'll put on the shelf.
I'll turn on the tree lights
and get down to work.
I've got things to finish,
there's no time to shirk!"
So I frosted cookies
then popped up some corn.
I got plenty done before
it was mid-morn.
Then old friend stopped by
with some cookies on plate.
I felt pretty good then -
in fact, I felt great!
Before long another
appeared at my door -
this one bearing presents -
what could I ask more?
On grey drizzly day when
the weather is bleak,
and for Christmas spirit
so wearied I seek -
I turned on my lights and
though skies never cleared,
The grey in my heart - well,
it just disappeared!
I kept making Christmas
for my family,
and others showed up who
made Christmas for me!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 19, 2017
It's not often that I post twice in the space of a week, but when inspiration hits, why not?
Christmas has been very busy this year. It seemed to sneak up on me. Until yesterday I still thought it was two weeks away - seriously. So yesterday was a very harried day as I rushed to finish up the Christmas baking. Today I woke up feeling more like I had a decent grip on this whole Christmas thing - and then I looked out the window.
Nothing douses my Christmas spirit faster than a rainy day in December. I get gloomy at the mere thought that we might have a green Christmas. I'm a northern girl - born and bred in Sault Ste. Marie - and Christmas is just plain supposed to be white. And not "a skiff of snow white", but a full fledged grab your skates and/or toboggan white.
So I will admit that the clouds and drizzle made my holiday spirit go fizzle...
But there were things to do and I had no time to mope, so I turned on my indoor Christmas lights and got down to work. I frosted cookies. I watered my plants. I put together a couple of cookie tins for friends. I started making caramel popcorn (a favourite stocking stuffer in our household) - and then, there was a knock on my door.
Our realtor came by with cookies. He's an interesting guy, our realtor. He moonlights as a part-time pastry chef, and makes lovely European delicacies that he sometimes sells to restaurants. (He's that good.) He's also a really nice guy, so a visit from him is always pleasant. He came in and we had a brief visit. I gave him a tour of the house, and he admitted that if there's a house he's sold that he wishes he could've bought himself, this one is it.
Well, the cookies made me pretty happy, but knowing how much he likes my house reminded me just how much I like my house - which made me happier still.
He'd barely left when a friend stuck her head in my front door and called out to me. She came bearing gifts - one for me, and one for our exchange student. They were really sweet, thoughtful gifts - and like the Grinch I could feel my heart getting two sizes bigger.
You see, "Holiday Dreams Sharon" still makes the odd appearance. She tells me I put in all kinds of time cleaning and preparing and "making Christmas happen." She whispers in my ear, "they don't really appreciate all the time you put into this!"
Oh, I know she's wrong. I know it when my grown sons still ask (with a look of avid hope) if I'm making their favourite treat this year. I know it when the one who lives here happily helps trim the tree - and his brother says, "Save some ornaments for me to hang!" I know it when our exchange student casts longing glances as yet another container of goodies is put in the fridge. I know it when my husband salivates as I run through my repertoire of daily baking tasks, or looks around our house and says, "She sure does dress up nicely for Christmas!"
But in spite of all the affirmation that I get from my menfolk, sometimes I get weary - like I did this morning. And at times like that nothing can boost spirits more than having a friend (or two!) stop by and chat. The gifts and cookies were bonus. The real gift is knowing that I'm being thought of. The real gift is being reminded that I have a really great place to live. The real gift is knowing I'm loved.
The real gift is knowing that what comes around, really does go around. The Christmas that I'm busy making for others is elsewhere being made for me.
Merry Christmas (again!) from the Rhyming Muse, and may you all "make Christmas" in the best way you can for those you love and care for.
I looked out my window,
and what do you know?
A nasty grey drizzle
had melted my snow!
And rain in December,
it just isn't right -
It clouds o'er my Christmas
and stifles delight.
"But I will be happy",
I said to myself.
The mood of the weather
I'll put on the shelf.
I'll turn on the tree lights
and get down to work.
I've got things to finish,
there's no time to shirk!"
So I frosted cookies
then popped up some corn.
I got plenty done before
it was mid-morn.
Then old friend stopped by
with some cookies on plate.
I felt pretty good then -
in fact, I felt great!
Before long another
appeared at my door -
this one bearing presents -
what could I ask more?
On grey drizzly day when
the weather is bleak,
and for Christmas spirit
so wearied I seek -
I turned on my lights and
though skies never cleared,
The grey in my heart - well,
it just disappeared!
I kept making Christmas
for my family,
and others showed up who
made Christmas for me!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 19, 2017
It's not often that I post twice in the space of a week, but when inspiration hits, why not?
Christmas has been very busy this year. It seemed to sneak up on me. Until yesterday I still thought it was two weeks away - seriously. So yesterday was a very harried day as I rushed to finish up the Christmas baking. Today I woke up feeling more like I had a decent grip on this whole Christmas thing - and then I looked out the window.
Nothing douses my Christmas spirit faster than a rainy day in December. I get gloomy at the mere thought that we might have a green Christmas. I'm a northern girl - born and bred in Sault Ste. Marie - and Christmas is just plain supposed to be white. And not "a skiff of snow white", but a full fledged grab your skates and/or toboggan white.
So I will admit that the clouds and drizzle made my holiday spirit go fizzle...
But there were things to do and I had no time to mope, so I turned on my indoor Christmas lights and got down to work. I frosted cookies. I watered my plants. I put together a couple of cookie tins for friends. I started making caramel popcorn (a favourite stocking stuffer in our household) - and then, there was a knock on my door.
Our realtor came by with cookies. He's an interesting guy, our realtor. He moonlights as a part-time pastry chef, and makes lovely European delicacies that he sometimes sells to restaurants. (He's that good.) He's also a really nice guy, so a visit from him is always pleasant. He came in and we had a brief visit. I gave him a tour of the house, and he admitted that if there's a house he's sold that he wishes he could've bought himself, this one is it.
Well, the cookies made me pretty happy, but knowing how much he likes my house reminded me just how much I like my house - which made me happier still.
He'd barely left when a friend stuck her head in my front door and called out to me. She came bearing gifts - one for me, and one for our exchange student. They were really sweet, thoughtful gifts - and like the Grinch I could feel my heart getting two sizes bigger.
You see, "Holiday Dreams Sharon" still makes the odd appearance. She tells me I put in all kinds of time cleaning and preparing and "making Christmas happen." She whispers in my ear, "they don't really appreciate all the time you put into this!"
Oh, I know she's wrong. I know it when my grown sons still ask (with a look of avid hope) if I'm making their favourite treat this year. I know it when the one who lives here happily helps trim the tree - and his brother says, "Save some ornaments for me to hang!" I know it when our exchange student casts longing glances as yet another container of goodies is put in the fridge. I know it when my husband salivates as I run through my repertoire of daily baking tasks, or looks around our house and says, "She sure does dress up nicely for Christmas!"
But in spite of all the affirmation that I get from my menfolk, sometimes I get weary - like I did this morning. And at times like that nothing can boost spirits more than having a friend (or two!) stop by and chat. The gifts and cookies were bonus. The real gift is knowing that I'm being thought of. The real gift is being reminded that I have a really great place to live. The real gift is knowing I'm loved.
The real gift is knowing that what comes around, really does go around. The Christmas that I'm busy making for others is elsewhere being made for me.
Merry Christmas (again!) from the Rhyming Muse, and may you all "make Christmas" in the best way you can for those you love and care for.
Saturday, 16 December 2017
Christmas Re-viewed - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Christmas Re-viewed
I see this season
through new set of eyes
as each experience
fills you with surprise.
And thus for me, old
flavours have more zest -
and everything I see
is reassessed.
I see afresh the
places that I go,
and feel the icy
chill of winter snow.
I watch as new tastes
settle on your tongue,
and ears hear carols
you have never sung.
And gratitude is
washed o'er me anew
as I see Christmas
from your point of view.
by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Dec. 10, 2017
At the end of November we had a guest come to stay - an international student from Brazil. The house was in the midst of yet another round of renovations, and we could've said it just wasn't the right time - but we didn't. And he doesn't care one bit that there's dust in the hallway upstairs or a curtain on our bathroom door. In fact, he loves our house, loves the town, and is a really, really good sport when we correct his English pronunciation and grammar.
We live in a big house - we have room for one more. (Ha - we have room for more than one more!)
I felt some anxiety about taking in a student. What if the student found the town boring, and hated the shows we watch on television? I'm not a great cook - what if the student hated the meals I prepared? I'd just have to hope that a few good desserts could atone for less than stellar meals....
I lucked out. Our student has a sweet tooth. He has enjoyed getting caught up on Star Wars before we take him to the upcoming movie. If you ever want to witness pure ecstasy, watch the expression on the face of a kid who's biting into his first (still warm and gooey) home-made chocolate chip cookie.
"This is amazing!" he said - and I knew he'd forgive the sloppy Joe's and the canned sauce I'd serve up with pasta. Last night I made brownies, which were proclaimed the "new favourite".
Hosting this boy is a lot of fun. He marveled at the decorations I put up for Christmas, and asked if we were going to put up "a big tree" - I'd already erected several three foot trees in strategic locations and a four foot tree in the kitchen. Last Saturday night we hauled our old six-footer up from the basement and the four of us decorated it. The end result was proclaimed beautiful.
The next day we took him and his friend on a day trip to Goderich. It was beyond gratifying to see those two kids stare out at Lake Huron.
"This is the most beautiful place in Canada I've seen!", he told us.
It's interesting to re-evaluate all of the things you do and places you go - especially at Christmastime. Seriously - how many times have I gone to Goderich and never even bothered to look at the lake? And those treats that I deem too commonplace for Christmas? Not by his standards!
"I bake a lot at Christmas" I told him. "We have a little taste of what I baked, and then put the rest in the fridge to eat over the holidays."
"Do you bake chocolate chip cookies, cupcakes and brownies at Christmas?" he asked.
He looked a bit disheartened when I said I didn't, but perked up quickly when told he'd definitely enjoy those treats again before he returns to Brazil at the end of January. The cupcakes, by the way, were a cake mix. He had no idea what a cake mix was, and wondered how I baked such small cakes - so I showed him the box and explained that you add eggs, oil and water, stirred it up, and baked it in a special cupcake pan. Sheesh - how often have I baked a cake mix - apologetically, I might add - without stopping to consider that it's a convenience that relatively few people get to enjoy?
Shortbread cookies were apparently underwhelming, but Nanaimo bars got two thumbs up. Next week, he and I are going to make brigadeiros - a truffle-like treat they make in Brazil. It's nut free and gluten free, so my husband and daughter-in-law will definitely approve!
I've forewarned our guest that our house will get noisier and more crowded once my son, daughter-in-law and mother arrive for the festivities. He'll get to see us in our rowdy, holiday glory, and watch how our family's Christmas traditions play out. I know it sounds crazy, but that makes me feel more excited about Christmas than I've felt in a long time.
Make no mistake - as adults go, I get pretty excited about Christmas. I love the baking, the decorating and the Christmas carols (most of which our house guest has never heard) - but to catch a glimpse of a Canadian Christmas as seen through the eyes of a sixteen-year-old Brazilian is a rare opportunity that I'm relishing.
To someone who's never seen snow, never seen our Santa Claus, or worn winter boots, life in this part of the world, and at this time of year, is pretty different. I'm sure he thinks I'm loco for liking snow (heck - most Canadians think I am!) - but hey - there is something magical about fresh snow in December.
So here's my challenge for the holiday-harried and winter-weary North Americans reading this post:
Pretend - for just one day - that it's all new to you. Sniff the smell of fresh pine trees and wreaths on your way into the grocery store. Marvel over the invention of the chocolate chip - or a cake mix, or a cupcake pan. Look at those sparkling, snow-laden boughs like you've never seen them before. Listen to an honest-to-goodness Christmas carol carefully. (Warning - don't torture your ears by attempting this with Jingle Bells or the Little Drummer Boy!)
Are you still feeling jaded about Christmas? If so - you need to pretend harder.
Merry Christmas to all of you from the Rhyming Muse : )
Monday, 27 November 2017
The Family Tree - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
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.
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.
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.
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