Snow Flake Windows and Starry Nights - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

I love Christmas - always have, and always will. In my childhood Christmas was a magical time. Our pleasures were simple. As siblings we often teamed up in order to buy nicer gifts for each other. I helped my mother bake all kinds of cookies and squares to bring out during the holidays. We put up a real Christmas tree and the house had a wonderful woodsy smell. For our family it was a time of fun and happiness, and the warmth of family was easily felt. For our friends it was a place of hospitality, where they would be welcomed with cookies and ginger ale.

When my sons were young I tried to recreate that kind of Christmas enchantment, in spite of the fact that our budget was often tight. Two different motifs show up in abundance in my holiday decorating - both "cheap and cheerful" - and I'll explain the significance of each.

Snowflakes and Stars

Snow to cleanse the frozen ground,
stars to pierce the night,
symbols that I spread around -
Christmas they invite.
Snowflakes on my windowpane -
cheap, and simply made -
and their presence I'll explain;
why they're thus displayed.
Each unique and cut by hand
they lend winter cheer -
a tradition that has spanned
from our poorest year.

Stars that grace the coldest night,
lighting earth below.
See them shining - oh, so bright! -
on the frozen snow.
When upon the sea he'd roam,
seeking haven dry,
stars could guide a sailor home
if he'd read the sky.
Stars upon my Christmas tree
sparkle to remind -
When home's light you wish to see,
love is what you find.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 28, 2018

Snowflakes

A lot of people in my small town comment on the snowflakes that I put on my door every Christmas, and here's the story of how that tradition was born.

One year, when the boys were about three and four, I decided I wanted to decorate the house for Christmas. I truly had no decorating budget, but I did have a stack of mostly usable white paper at my disposal. So I cut out some paper snowflakes and taped them to the long, tall window that flanked the front door of our townhouse. When the light outside the front door was turned on, those snowflakes cast beautiful shadows in our entrance. My sons loved those snowflakes so much that they insisted I leave them up as long as the "real snow" lasted, and they asked for more of them the following winter.

Every year since then I've covered my windows with hand cut paper snowflakes. As my sons got older I taught them how to cut proper (six-sided!) paper snowflakes, and they'd help me arrange them in windows. At the end of winter I'd take them down, discarding the ones that were too tattered, and put the others, tape side down, on long sheets of waxed paper to roll up and save for the next year.

Now I'm getting older and I feel the cold more than I used to, but I refuse to become one of those crotchety people who hates snow. I live in Canada (for goodness sake!) - where snow is a fact of life - and it seems to me that those who complain endlessly about it make winter miserable for themselves and everyone around them. I really like snow. It's fresh and pure and glittery. I think of it as a beautiful white blanket that covers all the roots in the earth. It sparkles in the sunlight, and it reflects starlight at night. Yes, it's cold - just bundle up warm and enjoy it!

Snowflakes amaze me. As a child I was told that every snowflake was unique. When I first saw a snowflake under a magnifying glass I was astounded by how beautiful and fragile it was - here one moment; gone the next. They are a perfect metaphor for our individual lives - each is different, and their duration depends on circumstances. One snowflake, on a warm hand, melts quickly. Another, falling on frosty ground lasts, and when joined by many others, creates a layer of snow.

Like snowflakes, we need others of our kind around us. We can survive alone, but we thrive in company with our own.

The paper snowflakes on my windows remind me of some basic life lessons we'd all do well to heed. Sometimes the simple, inexpensive things are the most beautiful and inspiring. (My windows have inspired a little "flakiness" in my community.) Some of the most fragile things - and people - can join forces and change the climate in ways both good and bad. Every individual is unique, and we need to surround ourselves with other unique beings to really shine. And finally, life is short - enjoy all the beauty you can while you're here.

Stars

Once upon a time I had a friend who confessed that his Christmas tree had no decorations. At the time I worked at a health food store, and often, on my break, I'd stretch my legs by going to the dollar store next door. (Okay - I'll admit that sometimes I'd buy chocolate. Don't judge me! Chocolate has therapeutic effects. But that's another post...) Anyhow, one day, after ruminating on the sadness that my friend's naked tree represented, I was in said dollar store - and a bag of sparkly, metallic pipe cleaners caught my eye and fueled my imagination.

Once back in my quiet, customer-less store, I took one out of the bag and began twisting it. What simple thing could I shape from this lovely bit of bendable bling ? I fiddled a while, and a star was born! So I made all the metallic pipe cleaners in the bag into stars for my friend's tree. I liked them so well that I bought another bag on the way home from work so that I could make some for my tree too.

Every year since then I've hung those stars on my tree. They are another creative and inexpensive decor innovation that morphed into a family tradition. (We also have a golden, pipe cleaner submarine, a tribute to the Beatles, that also gets a spot on the family Christmas tree every year.)

I love stars too, and have many fond memories of looking up into star-filled skies in northern Ontario where I was raised. Stars fascinate me - tiny pinpricks of light seen from earth are actually massive, flaming suns to other planets. Mind blown! I love knowing that stars create a map in the sky for sailors and explorers to navigate by. It thrills me to know that we can find our way home by following the stars.

One of my simple pleasures at this time of year is taking an evening walk to enjoy the Christmas lights my neighbours put up. There is something soul satisfying about walking in the crisp evening air - stars reflecting off the sparkling snow - and enjoying the coloured lights that are pretty and fun, but merely a cheap imitation of what the heavens offer us. Often these are solitary rambles. I walk alone, on these nights, but I'm not lonely.

The stars above will light my way home - to a snowflake covered door - and behind that door is love.

I Swear... By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

I swear.

I was always encouraged not to, and perhaps that's why I did - it became a small manifestation of the rebellion in my soul.

In my defense, I never swore because I thought it was a way of looking smart or cool. (Seriously - "cool" wasn't an attainable goal for me, and I was never afraid to use more impressive words to demonstrate that I knew my way around a dictionary.) Nope - those weren't my excuses. In fact, I never tried to excuse my bad habit at all.

I just tossed out a few nasty words here and there - mostly when I was alone - because it made me feel better. It eased my anxiety and provided much needed catharsis when I was angry or frustrated. Shutting my bedroom door and dropping a curse or two seemed like a safer option than hitting someone or exposing my rage to the household at large.

Research suggests that I might've been on to something. While I don't advocate a liberal sprinkling of profanity in our everyday conversation, I do think that there are times when a cuss or two make us feel a whole lot better. Studies have shown that using profanity might provide the following benefits:

Stress Relief!

This benefit seems like a no-brainer. I recently had a conversation with a seventeen year old, who reiterated what I've always felt.

"When you're really upset nothing feels better than swearing. You immediately begin to feel better."

I concur.

"Darn - I'm so annoyed!" will never provide the same degree of catharsis as letting a good expletive fly. Sometimes we're simply better able to cope with the stress of a situation by breaking the tension with a bit of well-placed profanity.

Pain Tolerance:

Recent studies have shown that swearing can reduce pain by as much as fifty percent. This explains why our first instinct, upon hitting a thumb with the hammer, is to swear profusely. Some speculate that swearing releases chemicals that dull our pain receptors. There's also evidence that swearing can make you perform better at the gym - so don't be too quick to pass judgement on that person cussing up a storm nearby.

It Signals Honesty:

People who occasionally swear in public are viewed as having more integrity than those who never swear. Their momentary lapse is seen as an indication that they are genuine, and not obsessed with appearing perfect all the time. Nobody's perfect - and the person who loses their cool, for a second or two - here and there - is more likely to acknowledge that they aren't. Swearing can also signify levels of trust between individuals, as well as demonstrate an understanding of boundaries and tolerance levels. Those prone to dropping the odd nasty word quickly learn to assess exactly how much swearing will be tolerated among different audiences.

I can't speak for the rest of you, but I've had worse experiences with hearing gossip and back-biting from people who'd never dare utter a "bad word" than I have from people who let loose occasionally, so I put some stock in this last theory especially. It seems logical (to me, at least) that the people who are occasionally shamed themselves by using profanity might be a bit less inclined to run around shaming others.

There are worse things you can do than swear a bit.

As parent, I tried to discourage swearing, but I sometimes swore in front of my sons, so I knew I had to excuse them if they followed suit from time to time. I didn't want to preach a "Do as I say, not as I do" sermon, and I also knew there were a lot bigger things to concern myself with than whether they used a bit of profanity.

When you host international students, the topic of profanity inevitably comes up. It's a necessary conversation; they need to understand what words are seen as "the worst" within our culture, and be certain that something that seems inoffensive in their country of origin - or their parent's home - isn't taboo in Canada or within the host family's home.

Oddly, right after our conversation, mention was made - on a television show we were watching - of a "swear jar". So I explained the concept.

"It could be a good way for me to save money", I quipped. "Especially at Christmastime!"

They laughed, having both heard the words I'm prone to utter when I drop things in the kitchen. And that, my friends, inspired this blog post and my latest poetic offering.

I swear - and while I'm not afraid to admit to it, I'd never go so far as to say I'm proud of it. It's just something I do sometimes, and as long as I (mostly) keep it behind my own closed doors I refuse to feel badly about it. (I don't really see it as a worse linguistic habit than using perpetually bad grammar - which hurts my ears every bit as much as the odd four letter word might hurt those with ears more sensitive to profanity.)

Yeah, I could start a "swear jar" - but I'll admit that for me it would likely be nothing but a way to bank spare change.

So without further ado, here's my @&%# poem:

Savings Plan

Here's how to save some money
a little at a time -
just start a swear jar, Honey;
add nickel, or a dime,
for each time you indulge in
the urge to be profane.
You will profit sin by sin,
with ev'ry cuss you'll gain.
Go on and curse - feel no guilt.
Go on - fill up that jar!
Tidy nest egg will be built;
rude tongue will take you far!
Do you want to take a trip
down to the sunny south?
Just go on - and let 'er rip,
and profit from that mouth!
Then, when you flash your bank roll,
some credence you'll accrue
for your tongue's lack of control
and every curse you spew!

by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 8, 2018.

Another Point of View - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Another Point of View

A road too seldom traveled -
because too few will dare -
where dogma is unraveled
by vista seen from there;
it's where our vision changes
so eyes can see anew
from high atop the ranges,
another point of view.

We need not climb a mountain
to come to such a place -
a drink from wisdom's fountain
can grant sufficient grace
to exercise some kindness
and empathy extend -
from both of these cure blindness
with better set of lens.

The lenses worn by others
are tried on by the brave.
They transform men to brothers;
relationships they save.
Miraculous the powers
exhibited by few
who, from compassion's towers,
see another point of view.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Oct 19, 2018

In our Toastmasters group, we sometimes participate in a speaking exercise called "Point/Counterpoint". A subject is chosen at random, and one member of the group stands up and presents one point of view on the topic, then the other speaker addresses the group with a contrary opinion. Imaginations are often stretched; the second speaker might actually be in full agreement with what was previously said, but spontaneous debate is the objective, and a second point of view must be offered. It's always interesting to watch the second speaker quickly come up with a (preferably) logical opposing argument.

Respectful debate is an art that's on the decline. Polarization is the new norm - everyone seems to be absolutely convinced that their approach to any given situation is the most correct, and their opinion is the only one that matters.

In younger days, many of us were encouraged to attempt to walk in the other guy's shoes. I always had trouble with this adage - how could I be expected to actually navigate the world in the same way as someone who had completely different experiences than I did? Logically, I knew that the "shoes" would never fit, and that my movement in the ill-fitting footwear would automatically make my journey even more difficult than that of the person who owned the shoes in question. None of us can navigate through new terrain in shoes that don't fit.

I like the concept of viewing the scenery through a different lens better. Remember being a child and trying on your friend's new glasses? The scenery around you suddenly distorted in bizarre ways, and it was hard to grasp the notion that those same glasses that made the world look crazy to you actually helped your friend see the world the same way your 20/20 vision allowed you to see it.

It can be hard to remember that our figurative "eyes" all see the world slightly differently. We might not ever be able to step into the "shoes" of another, but if we try to be empathetic, we can catch glimpses of the problems that others have to overcome.

A young man I know was always extremely bright, but "different" - awkward, overly stimulated by his own thoughts, and exhausted by the noise, confusion, and expectation to be socially "on" that high school placed on him. Knowing that he was brilliant, his parents fully expected him to go on to university. In Grade Twelve he told them that wasn't his plan - and for a time they were confused. The father was quite devastated - how could a boy who loved to learn be so adamant about not pursuing higher education? One day, in the course of picking up his son early from school, he walked through the same crowded and noisy halls that his son traversed daily. Suddenly he was granted a gift; for a brief moment he saw those halls through his son's eyes - and finally understood why his son felt as he did.

We seldom catch those "aha!" glimpses of what life can be like for those around us. In the case I just mentioned, the father truly wanted to understand why his son felt as he did. That was the precursor to the miracle of that moment of other-sighted-ness. Most of us, caught up in our own way of thinking, are far less invested in understanding the workings of the hearts and brains of our fellowmen. We can't relate to individuals who've been shaped by experiences so vastly different from our own, and often we simply don't care enough about them to try.

At other times, we've experienced things just similar enough to feel empathy. Our experience might pale beside greater trauma suffered, but it can provide us with a point of reference. Someone who was mugged on the street, and suffered a few minor injuries, can't equate their ordeal with that of the person who was raped, or had an attempt made on their life. However, they can remember that moment of fear when a stranger approached and lashed out at them. They can remember how they felt insecure about walking alone for a long time afterward. This enables them to reach out to the victim and say, "I think I might be able to imagine what that was like for you. I know how it feels to be afraid."

Sometimes we can't really empathize at all. We've simply never had an experience that compares in any way to what the other person has gone through. Their lives and experiences have shaped them very differently. They are clearly "other". Can we manage to care about "them"?

We may not ever desire to see a point of view that is in such direct opposition to our own, but we can still demonstrate kindness. We can attempt enough self-mastery to engage in civilized debate. We can admit - to ourselves and them - that we can't see through their lens. We can offer a hand to steer them when their vision falters, rather than push them into the path of that oncoming freight train that they can't see. Isn't that what we hope they would do for us?

What happens when our own vision is clouded, when our lenses are smudged with arrogance, anger, or bigotry? Are we happy to keep stumbling over obstacles that we'd avoid with clearer lenses? Do we deny how much we can't see to keep our pride intact? What do we do when tears fog our lenses? Do we take them off and give them a rub, or do we refuse the arm of the person willing to steer us for a while, and trip ourselves up while we wallow in unnecessary misery?

We are stubborn. Sometimes we want to pass on our filthy, clouded lenses to others, all the while insisting that they'll afford clearer vision. Other times we're offered corrective eye wear that we refuse to put on.

In my mid-forties, I suddenly required reading glasses. I spent months in denial - what were they thinking, suddenly making my crossword puzzle print so small? I mean, really - who could see that? As it turns out, almost everyone could except me! Oddly, while my physical self was protesting glasses, my mental and emotional selves were beginning to open themselves up to improved vision. My heart was becoming more open to the plights of others, and my mind was suddenly ready to entertain other points of view. My new glasses ushered in a whole new era of sighted-ness for me.

I won't tell you that I'm always open to seeing life from another person's perspective - there are still times when I'm as stubborn as my pre-glasses self. I know what point I want to make, and I don't want to hear the opposing argument - let alone play devil's advocate and imagine the arguments against my point of view.

I might squint and strain my eyes and insist that the print has shrunk rather than put on my specs. Life can be like those times when I head out to dine, having forgotten that I need those reading glasses at all. I know I have all kinds of options, but realize I can't quite manage even the large-print menu in dim light. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, my mother or a friend will hand me their glasses, and while the prescriptions vary enough that my vision isn't perfected, I can at least see well enough to order a meal. The need for guess work on my part is eliminated by a brief glimpse through another lens.

Maybe that's all it takes - an admission that our ignorance has blinded us, and our glasses got left at home - followed by the generous offer of a fellow diner:

"Can't see? Here - try my glasses!"

Dance to Your Own Drumbeat - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Drums

This drummer beats for me - and me alone -
and I dance to rhythm all my own.
I'll move in time with music 'til it's gone;
don't know all the steps, but I'll catch on.
You hear another tune; have your own groove,
and can't tell me how I ought to move.
I'll march with fervor, or I'll tread with grace -
when drum changes tempo, I'll keep pace.
If I am out of step, you'll never know.
Your drummer does a diff'rent beat bestow.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, October 10, 2018

What was meant to be a temporary re-arrangement of furniture in our front sunroom inspired this post. Steve - the furnace guy - was coming in early the next morning to re-route some venting in the attic and our son's bedroom, and because said son is a night owl, this entailed a different spot for him to sleep for a night. Knowing that he'd bunked a night or two in the sunroom, I went in there to pull out the futon he'd be sleeping on, only to find that the drum was in the way.

The drum in question used to belong to my mother-in-law. When she moved into a nursing home several years ago, my sons claimed it. Nobody here plays the drums, but it's one of those things that we just can't seem to part with. For me, it symbolized something - I just wasn't sure what until I moved it yesterday. Looking for a spot to stick it for 24 hours, I plopped it down in the corner of our front entryway. I walked past it several times, and decided it looked at home in that spot. In fact, I decided it could make an important statement about our family.

"I'm going to leave it here" I told my husband. "I'll put a sign over it that says, 'Dance to your own beat' or 'Follow your own drum'..."

"I like it!" he responded.

So there it sits - sans sign - for now. Having it in our entryway is symbolic. We are a family that values individuality. My husband, my sons and myself all see the world differently. We are four shades of ideology. We have four different views on religion; four different views on politics. We keep different hours and enjoy different pastimes.We have varied opinions on fashion, on budgeting, on art, on music...Name a subject and the chances are good that the four of us will each have our unique take on it. We are individuals.

Amazingly, we don't spend all of our time together arguing. Why bother? As parents, we just wanted to raise decent kids - not little clones of either of us. My sons always got along well, in spite of the fact that they had different temperaments, personalities and interests. We love each other, but what makes us a happy family is that we genuinely like each other.

I won't tell you we've never had heated discussions, or that we always respect each others opinions, but we accept this as fact - we're allowed to see things differently. It's good to be unique.

I love my husband's ability to keep a civil tongue and an even temper. I love how my older son has a very dry wit and can remember bizarre facts on a million topics. I love watching my younger son in action - when he explains AI theory I understand little - but I love how passionate he is about his interests. I love that all three of them keep talking to me, whether I know what they mean or not!

I appreciate that my husband cares about my opinions. Many of our conversations begin with the words, "what do you think about..." It matters that we still ask these questions, even though we know there's a good chance that our points of view won't be completely aligned.

We're tolerant of each other's foibles. As I've said before, I do not excel at multi-tasking. (As an example, on Tuesday I opened the microwave to find the peas I meant to serve at Thanksgiving dinner.) My husband and kids know this about me. They understand that I'm incapable of real conversation while I'm preparing a meal, and they know that disorder in the kitchen makes me crazy enough to drop a bad word or two. I know this was an annoyance to my younger son when he'd invite friends from church over, but - bless him - rather than chastising me for my nasty mouth, he'd stoically come into the kitchen and offer assistance. His brother would do the same when kitchen counters got heaped with tins and ingredients during my annual Christmas baking binges - just step in and help re-create order from chaos.

We don't always agree, but we "get" each other.

Yes - we roll our eyes sometimes, but we do it as we bite our tongues. None of us is perfect, but as a family, this much diplomacy we've mastered:

- We don't always have to waste our time trying to sway each others' opinions.
- We don't have to agree with each other to enjoy each other.
- We don't have to like the same things.
- We respect each other's strengths and try to compensate for each other's weaknesses.
- Criticism should always be gentle.
- A whole lot of things we might want to say are better left unsaid.

At the risk of sounding trite, love really is the answer. As I've contemplated the drum that now sits in my front entrance, I've decided that we're perhaps not just marching to a different beat, but perhaps all hearing different drummers. Some are pounding bongos, some are beating snare drums. Some are tapping away on steel drums. At times the desire to share the rhythms we choose to hear is almost overwhelming. We each hear through our custom headphones, and most of us (secretly, at least) believe our music is best. We are social creatures who want to share what we love, and we often invite others to join us in our dance - forgetting that they already have choreographed moves of their own. Sometimes an inner critic wants to tell them what they're doing is wrong; to us their tempo seems off, or their movements don't seem fluid. Love is knowing how to hush that impulse.

Love is a clumsy dance that transcends all the genres. It is ballet's elite twirling their way through a mosh pit of ravers. Love is embracing the concept of not just hearing different beats, but knowing there are different drums and drummers. It's accepting that every drum has its merits, and every drummer has her or his own style. Every beat has its place.

Love is an open invitation:

Come as the individual you are, and dance to your unique drum beat.

Forward Thinking - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Forward Thinking

I must confess to feeling stress -
the future is uncertain.
I might choose "door", but can't ignore
what hides behind the "curtain."
What e'er occurs, the present blurs
the days that lie before us;
succeed or fail, strength will prevail
if victory ignores us.
I've ascertained that nothing's gained
by never taking chances;
So eyes ahead - I've learned to dread
regretful backward glances.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, September 24, 2018

I've learned that the only thing harder than taking chances and exploring new territory myself is watching the people I love embrace chance.  I'll confess that as a younger mother I was relieved that my sons weren't particularly athletic and not "team joiners." I often joke that it would've been hard for me to cheer them on when watching sporting events usually bores me stiff, and I likely wouldn't have been particularly thrilled when their team won or upset if they lost. I would've hated having to encourage them through those periods of personal disappointment when they did their best, but still didn't win. That's because I see winning and losing a little differently than most.

I have trouble with the concepts of "winning" and "losing". I think that any effort we make toward positive change is victory - regardless of whether or not we achieve every last thing we set out to do. Any time we take a leap out of our comfort zone we're being brave, and knowing that we had the courage to try is a reward in itself.

Victories are often bittersweet, and losses don't equal failures. As long as we learn from the experience we gained from working toward a goal, we've won something that nobody can ever take away from us.

Recently I won my first trophy ever. I entered a speech contest at Toastmasters. I practiced for hours before the competition and memorized every word and gesture. When I sat down after making my audience laugh for six minutes I felt that I'd won - and I would have refused to stop feeling that I'd won regardless of whether my name had been engraved on the trophy. I did something that was hard for me, and I did it better than I'd ever done it before - victory!

You see, up until the last decade of my life, I was so afraid of failing that I refused to compete - at anything. The fact that I'm brave enough to blog about my thoughts and feelings still astounds me - and I've been doing this for ten years! The blogs that I wrote early on got very little traction, but I kept writing - another victory. After a lifetime of staying in the background, I was putting myself out there - into cyberspace - and hoping that somewhere along the line a few people would care what I had to say - and maybe even be able to relate to some of my posts. And from someone who subconsciously bought into the notion that if you couldn't be "best" at something you were better off never trying, that was something.

As a mother I tried not to encourage competition among my sons. I refused to believe that one was inherently better than the other, and as a result my two very different sons get along really well and enjoy each other when they're together. I don't think there's any kind of "Mom loves you better" dialogue between them. I never asked them if they were first in their class or consciously compared them to friends or classmates. I was happy if a C became a B, or a B grew into an A. The only person I need to compete with is me, and the only person you need to compete with is you.

Accolades aren't what matters in life. Sometimes we'll demonstrate mediocre ability and be praised to the hilt - and still be disappointed in ourselves because we know we didn't give our best. Other times we'll throw everything we have into an effort and get no recognition whatsoever, but still manage to walk away with head held high.

My husband and sons know how I feel about winning and losing. They know that I'm proud of every effort they make. One of my proudest moments as a mom was watching my younger son come onstage and utter less than three lines in a play that he'd written and directed. I didn't jump up and down and scream "That's my boy!" - but he knew I was there thinking it. If his play had received weak applause I would've been just as proud as I was during his standing ovation.

Win or lose, life goes on in this family. We love each other, we respect each other and we enjoy each other. Whether there are trophies, titles or awards in the offing, none of those things change.

We don't admit defeat, but carry on - in personal victory - heads held high.

Forward thinking is all about continuing to move ahead, regardless of whether your attempt was deemed a victory, or a defeat.

Getting Down and Dirty - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Doing the Dirty Work:

Almost all will volunteer
to sit on a committee -
happy that they can appear
where they will look most pretty.
But, sad truth I have beheld -
which I find quite appalling -
is that most must be compelled
to do the work that's galling.
No one wants to chip a nail
or sweat to do the hard stuff.
Best laid plans can often fail
'cause follow-up is too tough.
Most line up to sit on boards
where chairs are soft and cushy -
but if to work you urge these lords
they'll say you're being pushy!
All show up to take their bow
once everything is cleaned up,
'cept the one who manned the plow
before the field was greened up.
See them wearing haute couture
prepared to meet the presses -
but not the one clad in manure
who cleaned up all the messes!

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, September 10, 2018

Volunteerism is a funny thing - everybody likes the idea of it, but diving in and doing the hard work entailed to make things happen doesn't hold quite the same appeal. The sad truth is that far too many of us want our volunteer efforts to be - well, effortless.

Years ago I supervised a church group for girls twelve to eighteen years of age. Part of the mandate of the program was to encourage the girls to do "service projects" - which usually entailed doing some child tending for young parents in the congregation or fetching/carrying/clearing dirty dishes for one church activity or another. (Trust me - I tried to encourage them to think of more creative ways to serve, but never with any success.) Every few months we'd have planning meetings, and as long as we were focused on fun activities everyone was cooperative, but the second the words "service project" came up the girls shut down. Volunteerism didn't even enter the picture for most of them. They were told they were supposed to help out from time to time, so they did - under duress.

We can write off this experience as invalid, because I was working with teenagers. Still, in my experience, adults often aren't much better. Once, in a women's organization I was part of in that same congregation, a suggestion was made that we prepare meals at a soup kitchen downtown. Nobody signed up. A while earlier, when it was suggested that some ladies could get together to prepare meals for expectant mothers in the congregation, the response had been much better. Why was one opportunity for service embraced while the other was rejected? I've given this a lot of thought over the years and come to a few conclusions:

First of all, people are reluctant to help those they don't know - especially when it involves working with strangers to serve those on what they consider on the "fringes" - the homeless, the abused and the mentally or physically challenged. I don't want to sound too judgemental - I didn't sign up that day either. While my reason for not signing up was valid (I was out of town on the dates in question),  I can't deny that I was relieved to have a good excuse to not volunteer - and for the very reasons I just listed.

Secondly - it's harder to get motivated to help others under your own steam (signing up for a work shift on your own, and when you have to work for and with people you don't know, doing unfamiliar tasks in a new environment) than it is to commit to gathering in a group of familiar people to do things you know how to do, for people you're familiar with.

In other words, service is a whole lot easier when we're dealing with a whole lot of familiar components, and it's a lot more pleasant when we can combine it with an opportunity to socialize.

I think that's why there's such a marked divide between the planners and committee sitters and the "roll up yer sleeves and get 'er done" types - the drones of volunteerism. It usually takes a room full of people to collaborate in the planning stages, and this is usually done in a pleasant, sociable environment. Once you get down to the business of carrying out various chores, it might mean solitary drudgery that leaves you looking disheveled and smelling like the dirty laundry you're now wearing.

There's the simple fact that a lot of people really do want their volunteerism to be neat and clean; to go and sit and talk to the other "ideas people", and then emerge from all the planning looking fresh as a daisy. These are the people who are "movers and shakers". They'll raise the money, plan the event, choose the venue - and delegate. I'm not going to say that any of this is bad at all - planning is a vital part of serving.

The problem is, if everybody is planning, and nobody shows up to actually do the heavy lifting, then not much ever gets accomplished.

A few days ago my husband and I were having a conversation with a few friends about being proactive in the community. Most of us find plenty to complain about, but seldom make genuine efforts to solve the problems that we see.

I'll be blunt - I still feel frustrated that my weeding initiative rapidly evolved into a work party of one. It was pointed out to me that when one party is passionate about doing something it becomes altogether too easy for others to stand back and let them take care of the problem on their own. Once the worst of the weeds were gone, I could handle it myself, right?

Well, I could - but I'd rather not. While I don't have a full time job, and I really care about keeping the weeds down in my community, I'd rather not do it alone. It's a lot of work for one person and my middle-aged back gets sore. Besides, I have a whole raft of projects to engage my solitary hours at home, and they get put aside too often, even when I'm not doing anything elsewhere. Like any chore, weeding was more enjoyable when I had helpers to talk with; the work went faster and we could accomplish a whole lot more in the same amount of time! (Thank you so much to those ladies who helped me in the first few weeks. If there hadn't been such a push in the beginning, even I might have given up!)

"Offer beer", our friend suggested, "and they'll come out in droves."

I laughed at the suggestion, and replied that what I'd envisioned was perhaps stopping at noon and doing lunch together at the local diner. And no - not on my dime. (I don't have a job, remember?) Shouldn't the company of friends while working, and celebrating a job well done afterwards, be enough motivation? Sheesh -  no one should require bribery with free lunch to get out and work for an hour or two!

The same friend went on to say that he'd rather not head up committees and be in charge of this or that, just tell him where he's needed and he'll show up and do what needs doing.

"Wow!', I thought - "I've finally met another person happy to be a drone!"

Fact is, I can deliver a mighty motivational speech - until I actually need to motivate other people to get out and help me. I'm clearly a worker bee, so people are happy to assume I'll go ahead and do whatever I want done, which is absolutely true when it comes to improving my own turf. However, my town is common turf, and its appearance would be vastly improved with a little spit and polish. I complained about weeds along the main drag for two solid years before I got off my duff and started pulling them. While I was working one morning, a town employee came out and told me that the municipality simply doesn't have the personnel to pull up weeds. They'll come out and whack them down periodically - but they aren't allowed to spray them and don't have time to pull them. Extrapolate - a good rainfall means a huge healthy weed with a deep root will grow incredibly tall overnight.

Takeaway message - if we want things to consistently look relatively weed-free, we need to be willing to yank out some weeds. We already know I'll pull some, but I can't do it all alone.

Every day, we look around our towns and cities and see things that need improving. We complain to our spouses and friends about them, and if they bother us enough we call our councilman or fire off a letter to our MP. Sometimes that just isn't enough, and what we really need to do to see a difference is stop griping about the problems and start doing - get off your bottom, pull on your work gloves (or work boots) and get down to work! Get dirty! Clean up the garbage! Weed the cracks! Add a coat of paint to a few neglected surfaces! When a few people work together to improve their corner of the world, they can make a huge difference.

Maybe by next year, I'll miraculously have acquired the power to motivate a few others to take activism to a crab-grassroots level. I'll keep going to Toastmasters to improve my motivational speaking skills. If that doesn't work, I'll make friends with some committee-sitter who knows how to send other drones to my aid.

Either way I'm prepared to keep getting down and dirty. Are you?

Be Kind to Yourself - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Be Kind to Yourself

Make peace with yourself -
who you are; who you were -
think of the hardships
you've had to endure.
You might have regrets
about things that you did,
and choices you made
that you hoped would stay hid -
we've all made mistakes
that we'd like to undo -
be kind to yourself
and forgive the old you.

You've turned out quite well;
your opinion is sought.
Your wisdom increasing -
it was quite dearly bought.
You've earned some respect
since you've started to be
a person who cares,
and who lives decently.
Be kind to yourself
and just live as you should.
You've shed who you were
and become someone good.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, July 30, 2018

A friend recently recently talked about how much he enjoys adopting the persona of a character he once portrayed in a play. It got me thinking about the different roles we take on in life - the roles we're forced into and the ones we willingly take on. I think that most of us embody different personas along the way as different aspects of our personality come to the forefront under different circumstances.

To state that I lacked confidence as a youth would be putting it mildly. I never saw myself as pretty enough, smart enough or good enough. I had a few good friends, but never considered myself overly popular. In my own eyes, I always fell short of what I thought I should be.

It often felt like I was harbouring a couple of different people inside. What I considered "real me" was somewhere between the person who manifested herself at school, and the person my family knew. My closest friends caught occasional glimpses of that fun, wacky person, but "she" didn't emerge as often as she should have - I was far too worried that if I cut loose, people would ridicule me. A lot of the time I would've been happy to be just about anyone but me.

When I got married (at 26) I was beginning to come into my own, but motherhood set me back a bit. Having two sons in rapid succession left me tired, cranky and impatient far too often. Once again I seemed to spend too many days disliking the person who I seemed to be at the time. Money was perpetually tight in those days, and my husband was still in Grad school until our younger son was a year old. My parents lived three hours away, so I didn't have a lot of family support. We scrimped and saved to pay for a babysitter every few weekends so that we could get out without the boys, and I could escape needy toddlers for a few hours.

At the time it felt like a lot of my friends were acing motherhood - doing it so much better than I was. Now that I look back with my increased life experience, it's dawned on me that I've always been more open about my struggles than many. In retrospect, I can also see how one friend had less financial stress, and another had a mom nearby who took her kids fairly often, and others simply had the ability to appear confident - even when they may have been as uncertain as I was. It took me a lot of years to see that I did pretty well most of the time.

Hindsight has taught me that forgiving the flaws of your past self finally comes once you've fully acknowledged everything you were up against in those worst moments.

It took me a long time to realize that I was critical of myself - and others - because I'd been raised around too much criticism. I aimed for perfection, and felt that I couldn't allow myself to be happy about making incremental improvements in myself. For most of my life, I was far too judgmental. In my mid-forties, not liking the way my "inner critic" was taking over my internal monologue (and far too often my external dialogue as well), I began to rethink the way I lived and the things I professed to believe. Oddly, the things I really believed at my core never came into question. I knew that I'd always had a deep sense of morality - I knew good from bad, and had a huge capacity for kindness. I'd just never figured out how to be kind to myself.

I began to actively search for the positives in my life - not just taking time to enjoy great moments in the present, but to rethink my past in a kinder light. I searched for the best parts of myself - aspects that had consistently been part of me - even throughout the less than stellar parts of my life - and I found them.

It's easy to look back at who we used to be and chastise that person with all kinds of advice about what we shoulda/woulda/coulda done differently, but I've come to the conclusion that those types of recriminations aren't fair or kind. Most of us tried to do the best we could, and when we erred we paid the price. The mistakes we've already made are behind us, and craning our necks to keep looking at them only bends us out of shape.

Now in my fifties, I've finally managed to (mostly) forgive the less than flattering aspects of my old selves. By making peace with "them", I've became a lot more comfortable with the person I am now. I can throw myself into a role when I'm participating in a murder mystery or telling a tall tale at Toastmasters - and have a great time doing it - but I don't want to be anyone other than who I am. I can claim ownership of the creativity that temporarily brings these characters to life - and that's enough for me.

I love knowing that I can still play and create. I can cut loose without worrying that anyone (or at least anyone who matters) will ever think less of me for letting out my inner goofball. Yesterday, I posted video of myself telling my prize-winning "Tall Tale." The second I saw myself onscreen I started to think negative thoughts about how physically unflattering the video is - I look fat, I should have fixed my hair, put on more makeup... I almost didn't post it. Then I caught myself and posted it - with only one small disclaimer about not being quite as fat as I look. (Hey - it's progress!) I think it's a funny video - who cares if anyone criticizes the way I look? It's not an audition tape for a beauty pageant, just a spur of the moment recording I did to make people laugh. A lot of people have watched it now, and I'm not going to feel badly about the fact that I don't look awesome in it. I've finally figured out that I have other ways of shining. 

It is hugely satisfying to know that I'm making progress - and that I'll have opportunities to learn and grow for as long as I live. At last I can say that I like who I'm becoming. So here is my advice to you:

Be kind to yourself - you' re still evolving too.