The In-Between
Life's misery at times I've known;
it gives me cause to grieve -
on rocky shoals I have been thrown -
still, I choose to believe.
In spite of all the hurt I've seen
that was hard to forgive,
it's all the moments in between
that make me want to live.
I cling to moments between pain -
good days I won't forget.
I know I will be hurt again,
but I'm not beaten yet.
I want this to be understood
when from this sphere I'm gone:
The in-between days, they were good;
they kept me hanging on.
Perfection wasn't what I sought -
I disappointed too -
and when with anguish life was fraught
I simply muddled through.
I fiercely held to this belief -
some pain is worth the cost.
I learned that what defines real grief
is in-between days...lost.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, April 14, 2020
Life in the time of Covid-19 has exposed us to a disproportionate amount of disappointment. The long days of isolation and self-denial we're experiencing now perhaps help us paint a rosier picture than is merited of "life as it was." I can't speak for the rest of you, but, for the most part, my life isn't that much less exciting than it was in February. The things that made those days better were brief hours - and sometimes only moments - that were scattered among my daily routines; brief intervals in an otherwise fairly mundane schedule that added flavour to my life the same way a sprinkling of salt makes a bland meal palatable.
I miss those small things a lot - a visit with a friend from less than ten feet away, a walk that allows me to daydream, or just admire the scenery, without being ever vigilant about maintaining the proper distance from anyone I might encounter; a trip to the library, or a relaxing browse in a store. These are all small sacrifices.
Of course there are some bigger ticket items that most of us have to deny ourselves right now. We all have family and friends we can't currently visit with, places we want to go, and plans put on indefinite hold. I think what we really miss is the element of certainty that we used to take for granted; the ability to pencil something into our schedule - plan something ahead of time and enjoy the thrill of anticipation knowing that on a specific day in the future we were going to have a treat to look forward to. Presently we look forward to all kinds of things, we just have no idea when they will actually happen.
There are a lot of unpleasant feelings that accompany our uncertainty. Most of us are creatures of habit, and we like feeling like we can control when and how we accomplish our established tasks. Now, for many of us, days are largely unstructured. We often feel bored, vaguely annoyed, or frustrated by our circumstances. Sometimes we lack motivation, and other days we are raring to go, but every project we attempt gets stymied by something needed that isn't on hand, and can't be readily obtained. It seems likely that most of us will look back on our days of social distancing and paint them in bleaker hues than they deserved. These days are apt to provide us with fodder for hard luck stories we will pass on to future generations - our own versions of the infamous "I waded though four feet of snow - uphill both ways! - to get through the pandemic!"
I've had a lot of time to muse on the way we remember our lives in hindsight, and concluded that we exaggerate both the best and the worst of our experiences. Oddly, we pay very little attention to the rest of our lives - the majority of our lives - the "in-between days" that were neither great nor miserable; days that simply were. I've said this before - none of us routinely live up to our best moments, or live down to our worst. Our true selves live somewhere in-between; running in circles and trying to stay in the game out in midfield.
The importance of those seemingly insignificant times has been brought to mind recently, as my grown sons have jogged fragments of memory in long forgotten brain files. My request for Mother's Day was simple this year. Not being a fan of cut flowers, I made a simple request of each of them. I asked both to share their thoughts on the most important lesson I'd taught them. Once again I was surprised by how much impact small, everyday habits and happenings had on their lives. As my older son put it, "Mom, the best lessons you taught me were the ones that you never consciously set out to teach. They just happened spontaneously."
My younger son cited a few very "in-between day" habits that I had nurtured, little things that I didn't give a lot of thought to at the time; pragmatic Mom-ish suggestions for amusements that didn't cost a lot of money. Ways we could spend time together that kept all three of us busily entertained. There were no epic "once in a lifetime" days mentioned in the answers I received, just recollections of things that were a regular part of very ordinary days. There were no heroic moments of awesome parenting mentioned either, just observations of me being me.
In our relationships with others we take mundane days for granted. We keep our eyes peeled for feats of strength and endurance that qualify our nearest and dearest for love and admiration. We endlessly replay, and perhaps overly glorify, the award winning moments when we (or our spouse, child, or parent) really shone. Those podium worthy moments stay with us, and mollify doubts that our lives are overwhelmingly average.
Likewise, we are haunted by those moments when our worst actions, or those of a loved one, caused us to feel hurt, embarrassed, or ashamed. We tell ourselves that those events were too horrifying and egregious to be forgotten. We worry that these crimes mark us as irredeemable. Fear of repeating our misdeeds, and backsliding into behaviors we know we are capable of, make us feel paranoid. The truth is that most of civilization isn't likely to dwell on our mistakes. We may have to live through an unpleasant fifteen minutes of notoriety, but just as surely as our stellar moments are soon forgotten, our crimes will fade from memory too.
What most people will remember about us are the everyday, "in-between" things that probably seem insignificant. They'll remember the times we laughed at their jokes, the offhand hug we gave them on the day we didn't know they needed one, and the hours of humdrum time we logged together. Others are often most attentive to us in the moments we completely forget ourselves - when we are excited, passionate, lost in revelry, or preoccupied by some mundane task. They are filing away memories of the nonsense we spew, and the occasional profound statement that slips out (when neither of us are expecting it!) and the odd little traits that make us who we are. They are absorbing all of the lessons we teach without meaning to - the wisdom we have that is inherently our own.
Every in-between day counts. Our lives are measured in moments the less enlightened can easily miss, or worse yet, dismiss. Whether our relationships fail, or flourish, is largely dependent on our ability to look beyond the best and worst actions of those around us, and cling to the truth that lies in that middle ground. Optimism thrives when we cling tenaciously to the ordinary moments, and allow the dogged days that challenge us to make us vulnerable to failure, to misery, to boredom and frustration. Who needs hope when life is consistently easy? Plants bloom best after a season of dormancy, and perhaps people do too.
Once upon a time I lived a normal life - not too exciting, but comfortably predictable. It was full of people, activities, and events that I took for granted. Then came the pandemic - months of tedious "in-between" days that were not as bad as I'll someday recount them as being. It was a period full of days that simply were; they came, they went, and from the moment I awoke on each day, until the moment my restless mind and body succumbed to slumber, I had lots of unscheduled hours to think about everything - and everyone - I took for granted. I spent a lot of time during those days assessing myself, my life, my relationships, and my feelings, hopes and opinions. It was a time full of lessons I didn't mean to be taught, as I contemplated how the world might change, and how my world would evolve.
There is no "happily ever after" guaranteed at the end of this tale, and the unwritten ending depends on how the tale unfolds between the introduction and the final flourish on the page.
Don't waste this pause between a glorified past and an uncertain future. Make these in-between days count. Use this pause from ordinary life to think, create, dream and love. Promise yourself you will never take "ordinary" for granted again, and will always pay attention to the lessons you are, unintentionally, teaching and being taught.
Never underestimate the power of days "in between."
Tuesday, 12 May 2020
Thursday, 16 April 2020
Cry, Scream, Breathe, Pause, and Reset - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Recently a Facebook friend inspired me with a poignant post about how, after days of dealing admirably with the unique challenges brought on by self distancing, parenting, and working from home during a pandemic, she woke up one day unable to hold back tears.
I get it. I had a rough winter - holiday blues, an ailing mom that required a lot of my time and attention in January, a virulent cold that kept me in for much of February...and then along came March, and I enjoyed a whopping two weeks of normalcy before life became surreal. In short, while it has been a month since my self distancing efforts officially began, I feel like I have been unofficially living in a state of "mostly isolation" since 2020 began.
I was a very good sport about social distancing for the first fourteen days. I naively thought that a few weeks of collective effort would get us over the Coronavirus hump; the curve would start to flatten, and life would get back to normal. What were a few more weeks of denying myself outings and visits with friends in the grand scheme of things? I could do this!
Two weeks went by...the period of self distancing was extended until the end of April...and, like my Facebook friend, I began to feel the strain as all kinds of uncertainties took hold. Days became more lethargic, nights became longer. I slept poorly and felt flat.
Then one day, like my friend, I found myself getting teary eyed over everything, and when I read her post it resonated with me and inspired this poem.
Cry - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Cry your tears of yearning.
Cry your tears of pain.
Cry for what you're learning -
wisdom you'll retain.
Cry for all you're missing -
pleasures now denied;
cheeks you would be kissing
were there no divide.
Crying in confusion,
with my thoughts adrift -
soggy brain's conclusion -
my life is a gift.
With tears freely flowing,
heart is fertile earth
into which I'm sowing
some kind of rebirth.
Planted in pandemic,
seeds are sure to sprout.
Lest they grow dysthymic
thoughts get weeded out.
Friendships once neglected
from ashes arise;
feelings resurrected
take us by surprise.
Cry out in your longing
for all those afar.
Cry tears of belonging
with those where you are.
Cry in isolation,
spare all tears of grief -
safe from devastation
we'll cry in relief.
Adapting to the rapid changes entailed in keeping careful distance from each other has been difficult for all of us. Keeping to ourselves and staying in the house most of the time has been hard on all of us. Being ever vigilant about staying two meters away from people in stores and on walks can be downright mentally exhausting. I am starting to have nightmares about random people getting too close to me on the street, or, even more sweat inducing dreams where someone actually touches me! I am getting frustrated by how many items on any given shopping list can't be purchased because shelves in the store were bare. I get tired of spending time with the same three people, and missing the faces of friends - and familymembers who aren't living under my roof. I miss going to the library, chatting with the ladies in my book club, browsing in stores, attending Toastmasters meetings...
You get the picture. We're all missing our normal pleasurable routines that involve friends and extended family members, and we're all feeling bored, tired, lonely, anxious and frustrated.
Generally speaking I feel like I'm handling pandemic life with some sense of decorum. Unlike many, I get dressed every day. I try to be somewhat productive and don't binge watch Netflix. I do take walks. I can mostly handle living within the new boundaries imposed by Covid-19.
The hard part of managing life during a pandemic is that I still have the problems I had before this began - they didn't miraculously disappear. The injustice of this fact stings me daily. Our ordinary, everyday, preexisting challenges are still ongoing, and as unfair as it is, new problems still arise and tragedies still occur that further complicate my pandemic angst. Life goes on - the good, the bad, and the ugly.
I miss the good things that are presently denied, but I find myself more appreciative than ever for those I still have access to - sunshine and blue skies, a good meal, an amusing conversation or heartfelt chat with a friend, a good belly laugh, or a hug from one of the two people I'm allowed to hug.
As for the bad and the ugly - they hit me with a wallop that leaves me reeling. Far too often I am besieged by a sense of powerlessness. I can't rush to anyone's aid, and I can't easily escape my frustrations in any sense of the word. At times it feels like multiple problems laugh at the idea of socially distancing from each other, and instead link hands defiantly, daring me to take a run at them all at once. The "problems of real life" vs. Sharon, spurring me into reaction in an Olympic class game that challenges my mental strength -
"Red rover, red rover - we call Sharon over!"
Yeah world - thanks - I needed that. (Not.)
We are all in the same boat, and I can't speak for the rest of you, but I'm just trying to stay afloat. You can be as stalwart as you like, and blink away whatever tears threaten to roll down your cheeks, but I'm giving myself permission to cry. Vulnerability is its own form of strength. It takes courage to admit to sometimes feeling momentarily defeated. I'm giving myself permission to feel. It's not always going to be pretty, but that's okay. We all have a lot of emotion to purge, and we need to find healthy ways to do that.
Purge - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Purge yourself of all the fear you feel.
Let it out with every breath you hold.
Give your inner angst a form that's real -
let your screams be loud; your tears be bold.
Unlock deepest chasms of your mind
and purge the negativity therein.
Replace the darkness with some thoughts more kind -
reset your hollow core; anew begin.
Find positive ways to help you purge your negative emotions. I'm pouring my heart into poetry tossing darts like my life depends on hitting high triples and bullseyes. I'm talking to friends as often as I can, baking with a vengeance...I'm doing my best to cope with all of the problems life has the gall to serve up in spite of a pandemic! So are you.
Let it out - cry. Scream if you need to. Then breathe, pause, and reset. This isn't over yet. Life can feel overwhelming at the best of times, and getting through a pandemic intact requires collective effort.
I get it. I had a rough winter - holiday blues, an ailing mom that required a lot of my time and attention in January, a virulent cold that kept me in for much of February...and then along came March, and I enjoyed a whopping two weeks of normalcy before life became surreal. In short, while it has been a month since my self distancing efforts officially began, I feel like I have been unofficially living in a state of "mostly isolation" since 2020 began.
I was a very good sport about social distancing for the first fourteen days. I naively thought that a few weeks of collective effort would get us over the Coronavirus hump; the curve would start to flatten, and life would get back to normal. What were a few more weeks of denying myself outings and visits with friends in the grand scheme of things? I could do this!
Two weeks went by...the period of self distancing was extended until the end of April...and, like my Facebook friend, I began to feel the strain as all kinds of uncertainties took hold. Days became more lethargic, nights became longer. I slept poorly and felt flat.
Then one day, like my friend, I found myself getting teary eyed over everything, and when I read her post it resonated with me and inspired this poem.
Cry - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Cry your tears of yearning.
Cry your tears of pain.
Cry for what you're learning -
wisdom you'll retain.
Cry for all you're missing -
pleasures now denied;
cheeks you would be kissing
were there no divide.
Crying in confusion,
with my thoughts adrift -
soggy brain's conclusion -
my life is a gift.
With tears freely flowing,
heart is fertile earth
into which I'm sowing
some kind of rebirth.
Planted in pandemic,
seeds are sure to sprout.
Lest they grow dysthymic
thoughts get weeded out.
Friendships once neglected
from ashes arise;
feelings resurrected
take us by surprise.
Cry out in your longing
for all those afar.
Cry tears of belonging
with those where you are.
Cry in isolation,
spare all tears of grief -
safe from devastation
we'll cry in relief.
Adapting to the rapid changes entailed in keeping careful distance from each other has been difficult for all of us. Keeping to ourselves and staying in the house most of the time has been hard on all of us. Being ever vigilant about staying two meters away from people in stores and on walks can be downright mentally exhausting. I am starting to have nightmares about random people getting too close to me on the street, or, even more sweat inducing dreams where someone actually touches me! I am getting frustrated by how many items on any given shopping list can't be purchased because shelves in the store were bare. I get tired of spending time with the same three people, and missing the faces of friends - and familymembers who aren't living under my roof. I miss going to the library, chatting with the ladies in my book club, browsing in stores, attending Toastmasters meetings...
You get the picture. We're all missing our normal pleasurable routines that involve friends and extended family members, and we're all feeling bored, tired, lonely, anxious and frustrated.
Generally speaking I feel like I'm handling pandemic life with some sense of decorum. Unlike many, I get dressed every day. I try to be somewhat productive and don't binge watch Netflix. I do take walks. I can mostly handle living within the new boundaries imposed by Covid-19.
The hard part of managing life during a pandemic is that I still have the problems I had before this began - they didn't miraculously disappear. The injustice of this fact stings me daily. Our ordinary, everyday, preexisting challenges are still ongoing, and as unfair as it is, new problems still arise and tragedies still occur that further complicate my pandemic angst. Life goes on - the good, the bad, and the ugly.
I miss the good things that are presently denied, but I find myself more appreciative than ever for those I still have access to - sunshine and blue skies, a good meal, an amusing conversation or heartfelt chat with a friend, a good belly laugh, or a hug from one of the two people I'm allowed to hug.
As for the bad and the ugly - they hit me with a wallop that leaves me reeling. Far too often I am besieged by a sense of powerlessness. I can't rush to anyone's aid, and I can't easily escape my frustrations in any sense of the word. At times it feels like multiple problems laugh at the idea of socially distancing from each other, and instead link hands defiantly, daring me to take a run at them all at once. The "problems of real life" vs. Sharon, spurring me into reaction in an Olympic class game that challenges my mental strength -
"Red rover, red rover - we call Sharon over!"
Yeah world - thanks - I needed that. (Not.)
We are all in the same boat, and I can't speak for the rest of you, but I'm just trying to stay afloat. You can be as stalwart as you like, and blink away whatever tears threaten to roll down your cheeks, but I'm giving myself permission to cry. Vulnerability is its own form of strength. It takes courage to admit to sometimes feeling momentarily defeated. I'm giving myself permission to feel. It's not always going to be pretty, but that's okay. We all have a lot of emotion to purge, and we need to find healthy ways to do that.
Purge - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Purge yourself of all the fear you feel.
Let it out with every breath you hold.
Give your inner angst a form that's real -
let your screams be loud; your tears be bold.
Unlock deepest chasms of your mind
and purge the negativity therein.
Replace the darkness with some thoughts more kind -
reset your hollow core; anew begin.
Find positive ways to help you purge your negative emotions. I'm pouring my heart into poetry tossing darts like my life depends on hitting high triples and bullseyes. I'm talking to friends as often as I can, baking with a vengeance...I'm doing my best to cope with all of the problems life has the gall to serve up in spite of a pandemic! So are you.
Let it out - cry. Scream if you need to. Then breathe, pause, and reset. This isn't over yet. Life can feel overwhelming at the best of times, and getting through a pandemic intact requires collective effort.
Monday, 23 March 2020
Basic Math in the Age of A Coronavirus - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Pandemic Math
Formulate a new equation,
calculate a way to cope;
isolate from new contagion,
tabulate what offers hope.
Subtract all selfishness and greed,
react with added kindness -
Impact the world by meeting need;
extract your urge to blindness.
Division isn't what's required -
derision must be bested.
Decisions should be more inspired;
revision is requested.
Exemplify: All must attempt
to multiply endeavour.
We must comply - none are exempt.
Do or die - now, or never.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 23, 2020
My world has changed over the past ten days, as a crisis that seemed terrible, but was comfortably far from home, suddenly crashed my comfort zone.
I paid very little attention to the novel Coronavirus (cause of COVID-19) until Northern Italy started going into lockdown. Messaging with Nico, the student we hosted from Genoa, made me begin to consider the life changes a pandemic initiates.
"We go nowhere now - except my parents go to work," he told me.
As the horror stories from Italy began to mount, so did my concerns for Nico, and for his parents who are both nurses.
Then, almost overnight I began to witness panic buying in the stores. The virus was moving much closer to home, and the people around me were divided - some still claiming this was nothing but another flu bug, others hunkering down into full-out survivalist mode. Essential products disappeared from grocery store shelves for days on end as hoarders stockpiled ridiculous amounts of toilet paper, cleaning products, paper towels and bread...every day seemed to bring a run on new items.
That's when I realized that we need to develop new types of mathematics to help us live peacefully within society during these days of social distancing, self-isolation, and quarantines. I'll elaborate on a few of the equations I've been working out as I try to solve the problems that this unique situation has presented.
Toilet Paper Math
I never would've imagined the day would come when news of a pandemic would send people out in droves to stock up on bottom wipes. It's ironic to me that toilet paper - which has seemingly become the ultimate symbol of civilization - has caused such incredible scenes of incivility at Costcos and Walmarts around the globe! Apparently a lot of people think they need to have enough on hand to last a decade. Either that, or they have never consciously considered how much they actually need to get through a few weeks.
I live in a household with four toilets and five adults, and based on how much is left from the thirty roll package I bought two weeks ago we have enough left to last us another 14 - 16 days. Thankfully stores have begun to limit how much of it you can buy, so when we start to run out I should be able to buy another thirty roll package and rest easy for another month, without worrying that some nutter has emptied the shelves again for the sake of filling up another room with the stuff!
Newsflash: Hoarding is the reason we have disruptions in the supply chain!
If we all relax a bit - take stock of what we already have, plan how we will use it, and then buy only what we really need in order to get through the next few weeks - we will all manage to meet our needs sufficiently. We need to subtract our urge to look out for ourselves first, and add a little faith in each other into the mix when we calculate our needs. If we are really convinced that nobody will come to our aid when we are in dire need of something, then we are missing something in our lives that is far more important than toilet paper, Lysol or bread.
Household Harmony Math
Family members + boredom + staying inside = a whole lot of potential misery.
There are a few things we can subtract from this equation, and a few things we can add to it, in order to come up with a far more positive solution.
First, the subtractions. Some will disagree, but so far we haven't all been ordered to stay inside our homes, and daily walks have been my salvation. Take your kids outside. Let them run a bit and get some fresh air. I say take your kids outside because you want to be certain they are distancing themselves from anybody else who wants a bit of air and exercise. Take advantage of the fact that you are home too, and play with them.
Are your kids complaining of boredom? Add some conversation into the equation. Read a book together and discuss it, or start a discussion jar full of subjects that interest your kids. Research topics together. Add some stimulation to the mix - teach them a new skill, or play a new game with them. Challenge them to increase vocabulary by learning to use a new word each day. Teach them all the things you wish your parents had taught you - this is an ideal opportunity for learning and growing together, since there are fewer distractions. Share your thoughts on the pandemic. We often underestimate how capable our children are of understanding what's going on in the world around them. Add opportunities for them to share their thoughts, fears and feelings.
My children are grown, but every household has its challenges right now. We all need to multiply our efforts to be considerate of each other. Being largely housebound together is more familiarity than most of us really want, and familiarity does breed contempt. Share the chips and don't hog the cookies! Clean up after yourself! Become resigned to the fact that there might be a new division of labour as there are more bodies idling around the house at a time when disinfecting surfaces is necessary for everyone's health, and orderliness is vital to some people's sanity!
Social Distancing Math
Every person who comes within coughing distance of us increases our chances of not only becoming infected, but of turning us into a carrier who can, in turn, infect the people around us. The scariest thing about this slippery virus is its unpredictability. Severity varies greatly, with some cases being completely asymptomatic, some manifesting as a mild cold or flu, and others becoming critical or fatal. Some might try to justify visits with friends and recreational shopping trips by saying, "Why not? We're young and healthy! You can't really expect us to completely stop hanging out with all our friends?"
Sorry kids, but that's exactly what most of us expect. I don't want to see you shopping with your friends for everyone's sake. Maybe controversially, I don't want to see your whole family - dad, mom, kids - in the essential stores. They've stopped that in Italy. We probably should do that voluntarily now too.
None of us are safe in making the assumption that we are virus-free, which is why social distancing measures have been recommended. Now is not the time for hugs and handshakes. Connect with your family and friends, but do it safely! My son has had a cold, and I haven't touched him in over a week. (I'll really enjoy hugging him again.) I haven't gotten within six feet of any of my friends since my last Toastmasters meeting eleven days ago - and even then we kept our distance from each other and only elbow bumped.
I have been dismayed, on the few occasions that I've ventured out to buy necessities, with the number of people who aren't taking social distancing seriously - the folks who stand too close behind you at the check outs or brush by you in the aisles. Really people! I'm basically treating everyone as though they might have the plague right now, and I'd prefer that you treat me like I'm a walking batch of contagion too!
We're all feeling the distance right now, but our loneliness has a purpose. We are being given an opportunity to help each other in the most important way possible - to potentially save lives by avoiding close interaction. It's a dose of loneliness and boredom for a noble cause, and simply not being able to be physically close to others is no reason to wallow in our misery. Connect with your people! Take up thy phone and TALK!
I go on a lot of rants about people being too chained to their electronic devices, but now is the time to use our technology to meaningfully connect. I am so grateful to live in an era that has provided me with ways to instantly message friends and relatives from afar; to see their faces and hear their voices. It is wonderful to be able to exchange voice messages with "my" boys in Brazil and have them thank me for giving them an opportunity to practice their English, or to share a joke and see that LOL pop up - or it's Brazilian equivalent - KKKKK.
Multiply your efforts to be kind, to express gratitude and show compassion. Say please, thank you, I'm sorry, and be especially liberal with the words, "I love you".
Let your words be the hugs you cannot give. Life will improve exponentially if we all stop looking at our sacrifices as a zero sum game. None of us are alone in our isolation.
Me = Us. All of us are alone together. Stay safe and be kind : )
Formulate a new equation,
calculate a way to cope;
isolate from new contagion,
tabulate what offers hope.
Subtract all selfishness and greed,
react with added kindness -
Impact the world by meeting need;
extract your urge to blindness.
Division isn't what's required -
derision must be bested.
Decisions should be more inspired;
revision is requested.
Exemplify: All must attempt
to multiply endeavour.
We must comply - none are exempt.
Do or die - now, or never.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 23, 2020
My world has changed over the past ten days, as a crisis that seemed terrible, but was comfortably far from home, suddenly crashed my comfort zone.
I paid very little attention to the novel Coronavirus (cause of COVID-19) until Northern Italy started going into lockdown. Messaging with Nico, the student we hosted from Genoa, made me begin to consider the life changes a pandemic initiates.
"We go nowhere now - except my parents go to work," he told me.
As the horror stories from Italy began to mount, so did my concerns for Nico, and for his parents who are both nurses.
Then, almost overnight I began to witness panic buying in the stores. The virus was moving much closer to home, and the people around me were divided - some still claiming this was nothing but another flu bug, others hunkering down into full-out survivalist mode. Essential products disappeared from grocery store shelves for days on end as hoarders stockpiled ridiculous amounts of toilet paper, cleaning products, paper towels and bread...every day seemed to bring a run on new items.
That's when I realized that we need to develop new types of mathematics to help us live peacefully within society during these days of social distancing, self-isolation, and quarantines. I'll elaborate on a few of the equations I've been working out as I try to solve the problems that this unique situation has presented.
Toilet Paper Math
I never would've imagined the day would come when news of a pandemic would send people out in droves to stock up on bottom wipes. It's ironic to me that toilet paper - which has seemingly become the ultimate symbol of civilization - has caused such incredible scenes of incivility at Costcos and Walmarts around the globe! Apparently a lot of people think they need to have enough on hand to last a decade. Either that, or they have never consciously considered how much they actually need to get through a few weeks.
I live in a household with four toilets and five adults, and based on how much is left from the thirty roll package I bought two weeks ago we have enough left to last us another 14 - 16 days. Thankfully stores have begun to limit how much of it you can buy, so when we start to run out I should be able to buy another thirty roll package and rest easy for another month, without worrying that some nutter has emptied the shelves again for the sake of filling up another room with the stuff!
Newsflash: Hoarding is the reason we have disruptions in the supply chain!
If we all relax a bit - take stock of what we already have, plan how we will use it, and then buy only what we really need in order to get through the next few weeks - we will all manage to meet our needs sufficiently. We need to subtract our urge to look out for ourselves first, and add a little faith in each other into the mix when we calculate our needs. If we are really convinced that nobody will come to our aid when we are in dire need of something, then we are missing something in our lives that is far more important than toilet paper, Lysol or bread.
Household Harmony Math
Family members + boredom + staying inside = a whole lot of potential misery.
There are a few things we can subtract from this equation, and a few things we can add to it, in order to come up with a far more positive solution.
First, the subtractions. Some will disagree, but so far we haven't all been ordered to stay inside our homes, and daily walks have been my salvation. Take your kids outside. Let them run a bit and get some fresh air. I say take your kids outside because you want to be certain they are distancing themselves from anybody else who wants a bit of air and exercise. Take advantage of the fact that you are home too, and play with them.
Are your kids complaining of boredom? Add some conversation into the equation. Read a book together and discuss it, or start a discussion jar full of subjects that interest your kids. Research topics together. Add some stimulation to the mix - teach them a new skill, or play a new game with them. Challenge them to increase vocabulary by learning to use a new word each day. Teach them all the things you wish your parents had taught you - this is an ideal opportunity for learning and growing together, since there are fewer distractions. Share your thoughts on the pandemic. We often underestimate how capable our children are of understanding what's going on in the world around them. Add opportunities for them to share their thoughts, fears and feelings.
My children are grown, but every household has its challenges right now. We all need to multiply our efforts to be considerate of each other. Being largely housebound together is more familiarity than most of us really want, and familiarity does breed contempt. Share the chips and don't hog the cookies! Clean up after yourself! Become resigned to the fact that there might be a new division of labour as there are more bodies idling around the house at a time when disinfecting surfaces is necessary for everyone's health, and orderliness is vital to some people's sanity!
Social Distancing Math
Every person who comes within coughing distance of us increases our chances of not only becoming infected, but of turning us into a carrier who can, in turn, infect the people around us. The scariest thing about this slippery virus is its unpredictability. Severity varies greatly, with some cases being completely asymptomatic, some manifesting as a mild cold or flu, and others becoming critical or fatal. Some might try to justify visits with friends and recreational shopping trips by saying, "Why not? We're young and healthy! You can't really expect us to completely stop hanging out with all our friends?"
Sorry kids, but that's exactly what most of us expect. I don't want to see you shopping with your friends for everyone's sake. Maybe controversially, I don't want to see your whole family - dad, mom, kids - in the essential stores. They've stopped that in Italy. We probably should do that voluntarily now too.
None of us are safe in making the assumption that we are virus-free, which is why social distancing measures have been recommended. Now is not the time for hugs and handshakes. Connect with your family and friends, but do it safely! My son has had a cold, and I haven't touched him in over a week. (I'll really enjoy hugging him again.) I haven't gotten within six feet of any of my friends since my last Toastmasters meeting eleven days ago - and even then we kept our distance from each other and only elbow bumped.
I have been dismayed, on the few occasions that I've ventured out to buy necessities, with the number of people who aren't taking social distancing seriously - the folks who stand too close behind you at the check outs or brush by you in the aisles. Really people! I'm basically treating everyone as though they might have the plague right now, and I'd prefer that you treat me like I'm a walking batch of contagion too!
We're all feeling the distance right now, but our loneliness has a purpose. We are being given an opportunity to help each other in the most important way possible - to potentially save lives by avoiding close interaction. It's a dose of loneliness and boredom for a noble cause, and simply not being able to be physically close to others is no reason to wallow in our misery. Connect with your people! Take up thy phone and TALK!
I go on a lot of rants about people being too chained to their electronic devices, but now is the time to use our technology to meaningfully connect. I am so grateful to live in an era that has provided me with ways to instantly message friends and relatives from afar; to see their faces and hear their voices. It is wonderful to be able to exchange voice messages with "my" boys in Brazil and have them thank me for giving them an opportunity to practice their English, or to share a joke and see that LOL pop up - or it's Brazilian equivalent - KKKKK.
Multiply your efforts to be kind, to express gratitude and show compassion. Say please, thank you, I'm sorry, and be especially liberal with the words, "I love you".
Let your words be the hugs you cannot give. Life will improve exponentially if we all stop looking at our sacrifices as a zero sum game. None of us are alone in our isolation.
Me = Us. All of us are alone together. Stay safe and be kind : )
Friday, 28 February 2020
The Cure for Cabin Fever - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Cabin Fever!
I caught a common ailment
when forced to stay inside;
the snow came down profusely
and patience sorely tried.
The roads weren't safe to drive on;
high winds picked up the stuff,
and blew it willynilly
until I screamed, "Enough!
I'm getting tired of winter -
it's hard to navigate.
Another storm is coming -
I think I'll hibernate!
A day inside sounds lovely,
there isn't much to do...
I'll read and watch the telly - "
One day turns into two.
By day three I am fed up.
My books have all been read.
My screen time is excessive;
more days inside I dread!
I've now got cabin fever
and fear I'll go insane
if I don't take a shower
and indoors I remain.
I do not feel quite human -
my hygiene has decayed -
with others of my species
no contact have I made.
It's time to put my coat on
and into white world go -
to bundle up my body
and shovel out some snow.
The exercise will help me
clear cobwebs from my head.
I'm tired of doing nothing -
so I'll get tired instead!
These ailments caused by winter
are filled with irony -
we say we've got snow blindness
when snow is all we see.
And as for "cabin fever",
it's caused by what's outside.
When winter storms get ugly
we're caged where we reside.
When cage gets claustrophobic,
"hair of the dog" will cure -
We'll only feel improvement
when more snow we endure!
So put on boots and jacket
and go where you must go -
and cure your cabin fever
by going out in...snow.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb. 28th, 2020
The winds wail, and the trees blow as I sit and type. It's the third day of snow squalls in my little corner of the world, and I'm suffering from a full blown case of "Cabin Fever". Yesterday, few people ventured out - not even the snow plows - and a whole lot of us probably sat around in our bathrobes until noon. It was an easily justified decision - after all, none of our friends or neighbours were likely to just pop by, since they were all in hibernation mode too.
Yeah - some of the more industrious folk among us probably used the previous two snow days to clean house or get caught up on work they could do from home - but I doubt that I'm alone in spending too much time on my couch reading books and over-indulging in Netflix. You can start out a snowstorm with good intentions, but after a chore or two, it's pretty easy to ask yourself why you're bothering. Motivation wanes for a whole lot of us in the winter, and often completely disappears when you hear the words "snow day".
We Canadians are contrary creatures when it comes to winter. A whole lot of us complain endlessly about having to go out in the cold, but complain just as hard when we're told we should stay in. It's amazing how many things you suddenly feel that you need to do when you can't. Many will thoroughly relish a single day inside, but most will get restless on day two.
I can't speak for the masses, but I know that I have a harder time sleeping when I haven't been out of my house all day. So, by snow day number three I'm tired, cranky and looking a little unkempt. Yesterday I wrote myself a longish "to do" list, and woke up after another sketchy night's sleep feeling impatient to get on with it.
High on that list I've scrawled, "Go outside!" I shower so that I'll feel better if doing so puts me in anybody's path - but also because I'm tired of looking like someone who's been spending too much time wasting time.
I toss my final load of laundry in the dryer and head out to shovel the snow drifts that blocked my back door and left "get stuckable" drifts in the driveway that did manage to get plowed last night. My husband has just messaged me that he's on his way home from Mississauga, and after a white knuckle ride he'll appreciate having one less worry.
The snowy air feels crisp and clean, and I wonder why I didn't venture out sooner. My neighbour pulls into his driveway as I'm finishing up and offers to help me shovel. I tell him I'm just about finished touching up the drifted areas, and we chat for a few minutes before I head out for a short walk. On my way home, I stop by the Post Office, to find that it closed early because of the weather. I trudge home through the snow - still tired, but a bit less cranky.
I get home and finish the poem I started earlier. The ending is quite clear now that I've figured out how to survive "Cabin Fever". It suddenly seems obvious that after a few days of chilling inside my house I'm feeling better because I finally chilled out!
Winter in Ontario can feel endless, but it won't go away any faster if we hide ourselves away inside. It's worth the effort to bundle up and take a walk in the chilly air. Life is too short to stay inside, and hibernating is for bears.
I caught a common ailment
when forced to stay inside;
the snow came down profusely
and patience sorely tried.
The roads weren't safe to drive on;
high winds picked up the stuff,
and blew it willynilly
until I screamed, "Enough!
I'm getting tired of winter -
it's hard to navigate.
Another storm is coming -
I think I'll hibernate!
A day inside sounds lovely,
there isn't much to do...
I'll read and watch the telly - "
One day turns into two.
By day three I am fed up.
My books have all been read.
My screen time is excessive;
more days inside I dread!
I've now got cabin fever
and fear I'll go insane
if I don't take a shower
and indoors I remain.
I do not feel quite human -
my hygiene has decayed -
with others of my species
no contact have I made.
It's time to put my coat on
and into white world go -
to bundle up my body
and shovel out some snow.
The exercise will help me
clear cobwebs from my head.
I'm tired of doing nothing -
so I'll get tired instead!
These ailments caused by winter
are filled with irony -
we say we've got snow blindness
when snow is all we see.
And as for "cabin fever",
it's caused by what's outside.
When winter storms get ugly
we're caged where we reside.
When cage gets claustrophobic,
"hair of the dog" will cure -
We'll only feel improvement
when more snow we endure!
So put on boots and jacket
and go where you must go -
and cure your cabin fever
by going out in...snow.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb. 28th, 2020
The winds wail, and the trees blow as I sit and type. It's the third day of snow squalls in my little corner of the world, and I'm suffering from a full blown case of "Cabin Fever". Yesterday, few people ventured out - not even the snow plows - and a whole lot of us probably sat around in our bathrobes until noon. It was an easily justified decision - after all, none of our friends or neighbours were likely to just pop by, since they were all in hibernation mode too.
Yeah - some of the more industrious folk among us probably used the previous two snow days to clean house or get caught up on work they could do from home - but I doubt that I'm alone in spending too much time on my couch reading books and over-indulging in Netflix. You can start out a snowstorm with good intentions, but after a chore or two, it's pretty easy to ask yourself why you're bothering. Motivation wanes for a whole lot of us in the winter, and often completely disappears when you hear the words "snow day".
We Canadians are contrary creatures when it comes to winter. A whole lot of us complain endlessly about having to go out in the cold, but complain just as hard when we're told we should stay in. It's amazing how many things you suddenly feel that you need to do when you can't. Many will thoroughly relish a single day inside, but most will get restless on day two.
I can't speak for the masses, but I know that I have a harder time sleeping when I haven't been out of my house all day. So, by snow day number three I'm tired, cranky and looking a little unkempt. Yesterday I wrote myself a longish "to do" list, and woke up after another sketchy night's sleep feeling impatient to get on with it.
High on that list I've scrawled, "Go outside!" I shower so that I'll feel better if doing so puts me in anybody's path - but also because I'm tired of looking like someone who's been spending too much time wasting time.
I toss my final load of laundry in the dryer and head out to shovel the snow drifts that blocked my back door and left "get stuckable" drifts in the driveway that did manage to get plowed last night. My husband has just messaged me that he's on his way home from Mississauga, and after a white knuckle ride he'll appreciate having one less worry.
The snowy air feels crisp and clean, and I wonder why I didn't venture out sooner. My neighbour pulls into his driveway as I'm finishing up and offers to help me shovel. I tell him I'm just about finished touching up the drifted areas, and we chat for a few minutes before I head out for a short walk. On my way home, I stop by the Post Office, to find that it closed early because of the weather. I trudge home through the snow - still tired, but a bit less cranky.
I get home and finish the poem I started earlier. The ending is quite clear now that I've figured out how to survive "Cabin Fever". It suddenly seems obvious that after a few days of chilling inside my house I'm feeling better because I finally chilled out!
Winter in Ontario can feel endless, but it won't go away any faster if we hide ourselves away inside. It's worth the effort to bundle up and take a walk in the chilly air. Life is too short to stay inside, and hibernating is for bears.
Tuesday, 28 January 2020
Friends - the Family We Choose By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
The Family We Choose
When it comes to family
you might win; you might lose -
with our friends it's clear to see
that love's something we choose.
Your family must love you
(they haven't got much choice!),
but knowing that friends choose to
is reason to rejoice!
In spite of your glaring flaws
they chose you from the crowd -
a fact that ought to give pause -
then make you cheer out loud!
They aren't compelled to love you,
to listen or to care,
and knowing that they want to
should make us more aware
that even on our worst days
they see in us our best;
and multiply in all ways
how much our lives are blessed.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 27th, 2020
As a nomadic soul who has lived in six towns over the past three decades, I can't even begin to explain how much those few friends who have maintained contact through my many moves mean to me.
Those of you who have lived in one area your entire lives have no idea how hard it is to establish new social circles as an adult. I envy the lifelong friendships you have - the annual "gal pal" weekends and the shopping trips you take together. I haven't experienced that kind of friendship since I married three decades ago.
When you are the one who moves on, you learn how easy it is for your place to be filled. The friends you leave behind have other friends, and those friendships usually predate the bonds they established with you. While some of these people are quite sad to see you leave, you know they won't be lonely - their other friendships will soon fill the gap you leave behind. It is a thought that is both comforting and depressing - we don't want our friends to be too sad about our departure, but we secretly fear that we'll be forgotten altogether. Only rarely is the connection strong enough that the remaining parties will really make an effort to maintain more than superficial contact - and while I can't speak for everyone who has changed cities more than once or twice, those are the friendships that matter most to me.
In October, we hosted a group of friends that we used to regularly socialize with more than twenty years ago. The circumstances that brought us all together had changed, and we were all different people than we had been two decades ago, but we still valued the bonds we had forged. We vowed we would all get together again soon, and not wait for another two or three years to pass before we had another reunion.
This past weekend, we got together with one of these couples. Knowing that they'd be babysitting grandchildren in the GTA over my birthday weekend, they invited us to join them at their son's apartment so we could celebrate together. It was a casual affair - we ate our dinner together after the kiddos had been fed, and they watched cartoons while we ate and talked. They bought me a birthday present - a colour changing mug that says "Friends are the family you choose." It's a sentiment that I wholeheartedly endorse.
I like the fact that this mug starts out plain and brown, and is illustrated with a kitten and a puppy. It demonstrates just how unlikely some of our friendship pairings might be - and how when we're in hot water, and the tea of life can be a bit hard to sip - the beauty of friendship often shows itself in its most vivid hues.
I grew up in a big, boisterous family with five siblings - all very different from each other. We love each other because we share common history, common parents, relatives and genes. Other than those things, most of us don't have much in common. We live in far flung cities, enjoy varied pastimes, ascribe to our own belief systems and vote different ways. I've sometimes wondered if any of them would actually become friends with me if we met as strangers.
We love each other because we need to, and we have to - because we are family. It isn't a mark of particular pride to me that these people make room in their hearts for me, and I for them - it's what society expects from a group who all sprang from the same genetic stock and grew up in a common household - sharing bedrooms, bathrooms, squabbles over possessions, and perceived parental slights. Who but a sibling can understand your gripe about a parent without making you feel completely disloyal? They don't always understand us or like us, but they care. We can rest assured that they'll show up if we really need them, and they'll fill seats at our funeral if they outlive us.
Those friendships that last over decades and across miles are different. We bond with these people because we choose to - and because they choose to reciprocate.We don't agree on every single aspect of our lives, but somehow it's okay. Faults that might seem intolerable in a spouse or family member are more easily overlooked in someone who interacts with us because they want to. Differences in opinion are more easily set aside when we receive, and reciprocate, hospitality. It is harder to take someone for granted, or to be unforgiving, when we know they have made a conscious decision to like us, even though we might occasionally give them reason not to.
These are the people who hear your secrets and keep them. They don't judge you when you toss around loose words in frustration and anger. They stick by you when you are such a misery to be around that your husband, kids and siblings enjoy you about as much as a small piece of Lego wedged in their shoe.
They give you praise that is genuine, compliments that you never even considered as applicable to you, and pep talks that don't sound condescending. They tell you off when they need to, but never in a way designed to deliberately hurt you. They will be brutally honest at times, but never unfair.
Your conversations might be less frequent than you'd like, but they tend to come when you need them most, and you cherish them like rare and precious jewels. When you actually get to see each other face to face, no matter how long it's been, you pick up old conversations as though you chatted with them yesterday. Although the circumstances in your separate lives may have radically changed, you always seem to rediscover what brought you together as friends, and can still enjoy each other's companionship.
In an age where technology gives us unlimited access to hordes of people who don't matter much to us, we have increased opportunities to spend time with people who don't play an everyday role in our lives - even though we wish they could. The messages my faraway friends send me buoy my spirit when I feel lonely, and motivate me to reach out to those who are in closer proximity - those people who might become dear friends...someday.
That's the crux of the difficulty for introverted nomads like me - the fact that friendships take time to establish. While I am in my limbo state - surrounded by pleasant acquaintances who have not yet won my trust and become cherished friends - I can't help but be grateful for the people who have loved me across the spans of time and distance. For some mysterious reason, we continue to make the same choice - to care when we aren't obligated to, and to love and appreciate each other simply because we can - and that is a beautiful thing.
When it comes to family
you might win; you might lose -
with our friends it's clear to see
that love's something we choose.
Your family must love you
(they haven't got much choice!),
but knowing that friends choose to
is reason to rejoice!
In spite of your glaring flaws
they chose you from the crowd -
a fact that ought to give pause -
then make you cheer out loud!
They aren't compelled to love you,
to listen or to care,
and knowing that they want to
should make us more aware
that even on our worst days
they see in us our best;
and multiply in all ways
how much our lives are blessed.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 27th, 2020
As a nomadic soul who has lived in six towns over the past three decades, I can't even begin to explain how much those few friends who have maintained contact through my many moves mean to me.
Those of you who have lived in one area your entire lives have no idea how hard it is to establish new social circles as an adult. I envy the lifelong friendships you have - the annual "gal pal" weekends and the shopping trips you take together. I haven't experienced that kind of friendship since I married three decades ago.
When you are the one who moves on, you learn how easy it is for your place to be filled. The friends you leave behind have other friends, and those friendships usually predate the bonds they established with you. While some of these people are quite sad to see you leave, you know they won't be lonely - their other friendships will soon fill the gap you leave behind. It is a thought that is both comforting and depressing - we don't want our friends to be too sad about our departure, but we secretly fear that we'll be forgotten altogether. Only rarely is the connection strong enough that the remaining parties will really make an effort to maintain more than superficial contact - and while I can't speak for everyone who has changed cities more than once or twice, those are the friendships that matter most to me.
In October, we hosted a group of friends that we used to regularly socialize with more than twenty years ago. The circumstances that brought us all together had changed, and we were all different people than we had been two decades ago, but we still valued the bonds we had forged. We vowed we would all get together again soon, and not wait for another two or three years to pass before we had another reunion.
This past weekend, we got together with one of these couples. Knowing that they'd be babysitting grandchildren in the GTA over my birthday weekend, they invited us to join them at their son's apartment so we could celebrate together. It was a casual affair - we ate our dinner together after the kiddos had been fed, and they watched cartoons while we ate and talked. They bought me a birthday present - a colour changing mug that says "Friends are the family you choose." It's a sentiment that I wholeheartedly endorse.
I like the fact that this mug starts out plain and brown, and is illustrated with a kitten and a puppy. It demonstrates just how unlikely some of our friendship pairings might be - and how when we're in hot water, and the tea of life can be a bit hard to sip - the beauty of friendship often shows itself in its most vivid hues.
I grew up in a big, boisterous family with five siblings - all very different from each other. We love each other because we share common history, common parents, relatives and genes. Other than those things, most of us don't have much in common. We live in far flung cities, enjoy varied pastimes, ascribe to our own belief systems and vote different ways. I've sometimes wondered if any of them would actually become friends with me if we met as strangers.
We love each other because we need to, and we have to - because we are family. It isn't a mark of particular pride to me that these people make room in their hearts for me, and I for them - it's what society expects from a group who all sprang from the same genetic stock and grew up in a common household - sharing bedrooms, bathrooms, squabbles over possessions, and perceived parental slights. Who but a sibling can understand your gripe about a parent without making you feel completely disloyal? They don't always understand us or like us, but they care. We can rest assured that they'll show up if we really need them, and they'll fill seats at our funeral if they outlive us.
Those friendships that last over decades and across miles are different. We bond with these people because we choose to - and because they choose to reciprocate.We don't agree on every single aspect of our lives, but somehow it's okay. Faults that might seem intolerable in a spouse or family member are more easily overlooked in someone who interacts with us because they want to. Differences in opinion are more easily set aside when we receive, and reciprocate, hospitality. It is harder to take someone for granted, or to be unforgiving, when we know they have made a conscious decision to like us, even though we might occasionally give them reason not to.
These are the people who hear your secrets and keep them. They don't judge you when you toss around loose words in frustration and anger. They stick by you when you are such a misery to be around that your husband, kids and siblings enjoy you about as much as a small piece of Lego wedged in their shoe.
They give you praise that is genuine, compliments that you never even considered as applicable to you, and pep talks that don't sound condescending. They tell you off when they need to, but never in a way designed to deliberately hurt you. They will be brutally honest at times, but never unfair.
Your conversations might be less frequent than you'd like, but they tend to come when you need them most, and you cherish them like rare and precious jewels. When you actually get to see each other face to face, no matter how long it's been, you pick up old conversations as though you chatted with them yesterday. Although the circumstances in your separate lives may have radically changed, you always seem to rediscover what brought you together as friends, and can still enjoy each other's companionship.
In an age where technology gives us unlimited access to hordes of people who don't matter much to us, we have increased opportunities to spend time with people who don't play an everyday role in our lives - even though we wish they could. The messages my faraway friends send me buoy my spirit when I feel lonely, and motivate me to reach out to those who are in closer proximity - those people who might become dear friends...someday.
That's the crux of the difficulty for introverted nomads like me - the fact that friendships take time to establish. While I am in my limbo state - surrounded by pleasant acquaintances who have not yet won my trust and become cherished friends - I can't help but be grateful for the people who have loved me across the spans of time and distance. For some mysterious reason, we continue to make the same choice - to care when we aren't obligated to, and to love and appreciate each other simply because we can - and that is a beautiful thing.
Thursday, 2 January 2020
Looking Ahead to a Year of "Perfect Vision" By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
20/20 Vision
It's easy to glance backward
when we should look ahead -
not focus on the future,
rewind the past instead!
But nothing is accomplished
when we relive misdeeds,
and endless rumination
is not what this muse needs!
Thus as new year's beginning
I'll inventory soul -
take stock of dreams and wishes
and try to gain control.
I'll list goals I can work on -
forgive those I cannot -
and tally up my fortunes;
give thanks for all I've got.
I'll count up those I love most,
and those who count on me,
and offer them affection
with generosity.
I'll carefully examine
the things I can improve;
minimizung obstacles
that I cannot remove.
In year of 20/20
I hope my sight is clear
to see opportunities
wherever they appear.
I hope in vivid detail
my eyes will always see
the beauty found in nature,
and in humanity.
May I see self more kindly,
and view others with grace;
help maximize potential
and inner qualms erase.
May I direct my focus
with utmost clarity
to just and noble causes
that fight disparity.
With thoughts more forward focused,
and sight lines broad and clear,
my aim is to contribute
to a "perfect vision" year.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 2nd, 2020
Last year was a hard year for me - a difficult end to a decade that was full of change and often difficult transitions.
Ten years ago I lived a very different life, in another place and another house. I had two sons living at home, and strict dogmas that I adhered to. I lived my life with an almost obnoxious level of certainty that I was doing most things as they ought to be done.
Eight years ago I began a journey that brought me to another state of mind entirely. I began to rethink a lot of the ways I had always lived my life, putting the focus on what I really believed in my heart as opposed to what I felt I *should* believe. I moved out of my comfort zone and spent the better part of a year living in Toronto with my son, only living in my home in Kitchener on weekends. It was an eye opening year that initiated a lot more changes in my life.
Five years ago my younger son got engaged - then married six months later. Nothing bound us to Kitchener any longer; our younger son had received his undergraduate degree, and he and his wife moved to Boston to pursue further education. Our older son was between jobs and open to the idea of a change in locale. My husband was self-employed, and said he could work from home wherever we chose to live, so we decided it was time to leave the city behind and embark on a new adventure in a more pastoral setting.
Four years ago the hunt for a unique property began, and eight months later we moved to our new/old home. New beginnings are exciting, but difficult. Every time I move I feel optimistic - surely "this time" I will find my "happy place" - friendships; purpose; community. Establishing myself is always harder than I think it will be.
Life is often difficult for nomadic introverts like me. I struggle to get to know people. I hate making small talk. I don't like going through the process of "finding friends" - the feeling that I am weighing the merits of others, and being weighed in return. I hate the standard "friend interview" questions - "What do you do?" (Really? You don't work??? Incredulous stare..)
"So, where did you go to university?...Oh - you didn't finish?" (Disappointed head shake..) At that point my telepathy kicks in, and it seems clear to me that I'm viewed as someone who is boring and has little to offer. (I've paid a heavy price for a few of my earlier life choices.) My inner critic is always quick to chime in, and hard to shut up, which makes the friend-making thing that much harder still.
My focus on finding friends stalled in the fall of 2017 when I discovered the joys of being a host mom to a Brazilian student attending the local high school. Since then we've hosted three more boys - two from Brazil, and one from Italy. I found a few friends who also hosted students, and became best buds with a succession of seventeen year old boys.
While my husband was busy working, and getting involved with municipal politics, I manned the home front - kept the boys fed, and baked copious batches of well appreciated home-made cookies. I had interesting, fun, and sometimes challenging conversations with our adopted "sons." They told me I was "a good English teacher." They made me feel useful and appreciated. They kept me sane!
While they stayed with us they were our kids. We watched television together. We argued at the table. We explored the local haunts, went on shopping trips, celebrated holidays and birthdays, took road trips - lots of upsides to the experience - but one really big downside. You love them to bits - but then they go home. We hold out hope that our Italian son will visit someday, but when kids go back to Brazil you know that unless your finances allow for frequent trips to South America, or sending plane tickets so they can visit you, your chances of seeing them much in the future - if ever - aren't great.
For the past six months I've felt lonely and rudderless without my international sons. Very few exchange students came to the local school in the fall, so we had no opportunity to host. It was another disappointment in a year full of hard revelations. I had health issues arise that reminded me that I'm not invincible and grappled with the concept of mortality as I've watched friends and family lose loved ones. I've seen aging friends and family suffer injuries and declining health.
I've struggled with my role as "the mayor's wife." (How can I keep a low profile and avoid recognition while still being seen as sufficiently supportive? How can I censure my opinions on those occasions when I'm asked for them? How do I deal with people who want to see my aging self as nothing more than an escort on an arm?)
Last year I often felt lonely, emotionally flat, unmotivated and discouraged. This year I want things to be different. I have a clear vision of what I plan to do differently to facilitate positive change.
I'm working on getting my driver's license. This is a big deal for me. Life with a narcoleptic father (who often scared my impressionable childhood self by falling asleep behind the wheel!) made me fear learning to drive, but I'm working hard to conquer that fear. I've learned that people can sometimes treat you like a lesser being when you don't have a driver's license - and I'm sick of being viewed as "lacking independence" because I can't drive myself places. When I lived in the city I didn't feel the need to drive - I could walk most places I frequently went, and if I wanted, or needed, to venture further afield there was a bus stop at the corner. When you live in a very small town and have a husband who often needs to travel you can go a little stir crazy. This is the year I take the wheel!
Driving will open up some new opportunities for me, and allow me to explore the world outside my door. As for inner exploration, I have plans to do plenty of that as well.
One of my former students helped me set up my new iPad and figure out how to use the camera and edit photos. I've discovered that I love taking pictures! For Christmas I was given a gift certificate to take a few photography lessons, and I'm really looking forward to learning some skills from a professional photographer. I've learned that life often looks better through the eye of a lens.
Another of my former students exposed me to new forms of music - jazz, Bossa Nova, classical guitar. My tastes had grown predictable, and a little musical exploration was past due. Most days now I make a conscious effort to listen to something different.
I'm going to renew my commitment to writing - more poems, more blog posts, and perhaps a few new projects in the offing. It's easy to get discouraged when you put effort into writing blog posts that few read, thanks to Google/Facebook analytics, but I shall forge ahead. I will keep reminding myself that the size of my audience doesn't matter as much as my dedication to getting words and ideas in print. My brain needs more exercise.
Speaking of exercise - I'm determined to take more walks, use my treadmill, and utilize the gym membership I purchased last fall. I don't like going to the gym alone, but I'm going to try to be diligent. I know I feel better when I move - but that doesn't always make it easier. It's time to prioritize health and fitness.
There are things I need to do less often too - like listening to my inner critic! This year year I'm buying her a muzzle! I'm going to ask for less advice, and listen harder to my own instincts. I'm going to try to worry less about things I have no control over. I'm going to waste less time on trivialities and spend more time learning things - reading books, indulging my curiosity and coming up with creative solutions to the tired old conundrums that have plagued me far too long. I might even find a few new friends that way.
For too long, I have sat on the sidelines, watching life unfold around me without much participation. Some way, somehow I have to change that.
It's time to stop musing and start doing. It's time to contribute more than words to the world around me.
It's time to put a difficult year behind me and follow my vision into action. Wish me luck : )
It's easy to glance backward
when we should look ahead -
not focus on the future,
rewind the past instead!
But nothing is accomplished
when we relive misdeeds,
and endless rumination
is not what this muse needs!
Thus as new year's beginning
I'll inventory soul -
take stock of dreams and wishes
and try to gain control.
I'll list goals I can work on -
forgive those I cannot -
and tally up my fortunes;
give thanks for all I've got.
I'll count up those I love most,
and those who count on me,
and offer them affection
with generosity.
I'll carefully examine
the things I can improve;
minimizung obstacles
that I cannot remove.
In year of 20/20
I hope my sight is clear
to see opportunities
wherever they appear.
I hope in vivid detail
my eyes will always see
the beauty found in nature,
and in humanity.
May I see self more kindly,
and view others with grace;
help maximize potential
and inner qualms erase.
May I direct my focus
with utmost clarity
to just and noble causes
that fight disparity.
With thoughts more forward focused,
and sight lines broad and clear,
my aim is to contribute
to a "perfect vision" year.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 2nd, 2020
Last year was a hard year for me - a difficult end to a decade that was full of change and often difficult transitions.
Ten years ago I lived a very different life, in another place and another house. I had two sons living at home, and strict dogmas that I adhered to. I lived my life with an almost obnoxious level of certainty that I was doing most things as they ought to be done.
Eight years ago I began a journey that brought me to another state of mind entirely. I began to rethink a lot of the ways I had always lived my life, putting the focus on what I really believed in my heart as opposed to what I felt I *should* believe. I moved out of my comfort zone and spent the better part of a year living in Toronto with my son, only living in my home in Kitchener on weekends. It was an eye opening year that initiated a lot more changes in my life.
Five years ago my younger son got engaged - then married six months later. Nothing bound us to Kitchener any longer; our younger son had received his undergraduate degree, and he and his wife moved to Boston to pursue further education. Our older son was between jobs and open to the idea of a change in locale. My husband was self-employed, and said he could work from home wherever we chose to live, so we decided it was time to leave the city behind and embark on a new adventure in a more pastoral setting.
Four years ago the hunt for a unique property began, and eight months later we moved to our new/old home. New beginnings are exciting, but difficult. Every time I move I feel optimistic - surely "this time" I will find my "happy place" - friendships; purpose; community. Establishing myself is always harder than I think it will be.
Life is often difficult for nomadic introverts like me. I struggle to get to know people. I hate making small talk. I don't like going through the process of "finding friends" - the feeling that I am weighing the merits of others, and being weighed in return. I hate the standard "friend interview" questions - "What do you do?" (Really? You don't work??? Incredulous stare..)
"So, where did you go to university?...Oh - you didn't finish?" (Disappointed head shake..) At that point my telepathy kicks in, and it seems clear to me that I'm viewed as someone who is boring and has little to offer. (I've paid a heavy price for a few of my earlier life choices.) My inner critic is always quick to chime in, and hard to shut up, which makes the friend-making thing that much harder still.
My focus on finding friends stalled in the fall of 2017 when I discovered the joys of being a host mom to a Brazilian student attending the local high school. Since then we've hosted three more boys - two from Brazil, and one from Italy. I found a few friends who also hosted students, and became best buds with a succession of seventeen year old boys.
While my husband was busy working, and getting involved with municipal politics, I manned the home front - kept the boys fed, and baked copious batches of well appreciated home-made cookies. I had interesting, fun, and sometimes challenging conversations with our adopted "sons." They told me I was "a good English teacher." They made me feel useful and appreciated. They kept me sane!
While they stayed with us they were our kids. We watched television together. We argued at the table. We explored the local haunts, went on shopping trips, celebrated holidays and birthdays, took road trips - lots of upsides to the experience - but one really big downside. You love them to bits - but then they go home. We hold out hope that our Italian son will visit someday, but when kids go back to Brazil you know that unless your finances allow for frequent trips to South America, or sending plane tickets so they can visit you, your chances of seeing them much in the future - if ever - aren't great.
For the past six months I've felt lonely and rudderless without my international sons. Very few exchange students came to the local school in the fall, so we had no opportunity to host. It was another disappointment in a year full of hard revelations. I had health issues arise that reminded me that I'm not invincible and grappled with the concept of mortality as I've watched friends and family lose loved ones. I've seen aging friends and family suffer injuries and declining health.
I've struggled with my role as "the mayor's wife." (How can I keep a low profile and avoid recognition while still being seen as sufficiently supportive? How can I censure my opinions on those occasions when I'm asked for them? How do I deal with people who want to see my aging self as nothing more than an escort on an arm?)
Last year I often felt lonely, emotionally flat, unmotivated and discouraged. This year I want things to be different. I have a clear vision of what I plan to do differently to facilitate positive change.
I'm working on getting my driver's license. This is a big deal for me. Life with a narcoleptic father (who often scared my impressionable childhood self by falling asleep behind the wheel!) made me fear learning to drive, but I'm working hard to conquer that fear. I've learned that people can sometimes treat you like a lesser being when you don't have a driver's license - and I'm sick of being viewed as "lacking independence" because I can't drive myself places. When I lived in the city I didn't feel the need to drive - I could walk most places I frequently went, and if I wanted, or needed, to venture further afield there was a bus stop at the corner. When you live in a very small town and have a husband who often needs to travel you can go a little stir crazy. This is the year I take the wheel!
Driving will open up some new opportunities for me, and allow me to explore the world outside my door. As for inner exploration, I have plans to do plenty of that as well.
One of my former students helped me set up my new iPad and figure out how to use the camera and edit photos. I've discovered that I love taking pictures! For Christmas I was given a gift certificate to take a few photography lessons, and I'm really looking forward to learning some skills from a professional photographer. I've learned that life often looks better through the eye of a lens.
Another of my former students exposed me to new forms of music - jazz, Bossa Nova, classical guitar. My tastes had grown predictable, and a little musical exploration was past due. Most days now I make a conscious effort to listen to something different.
I'm going to renew my commitment to writing - more poems, more blog posts, and perhaps a few new projects in the offing. It's easy to get discouraged when you put effort into writing blog posts that few read, thanks to Google/Facebook analytics, but I shall forge ahead. I will keep reminding myself that the size of my audience doesn't matter as much as my dedication to getting words and ideas in print. My brain needs more exercise.
Speaking of exercise - I'm determined to take more walks, use my treadmill, and utilize the gym membership I purchased last fall. I don't like going to the gym alone, but I'm going to try to be diligent. I know I feel better when I move - but that doesn't always make it easier. It's time to prioritize health and fitness.
There are things I need to do less often too - like listening to my inner critic! This year year I'm buying her a muzzle! I'm going to ask for less advice, and listen harder to my own instincts. I'm going to try to worry less about things I have no control over. I'm going to waste less time on trivialities and spend more time learning things - reading books, indulging my curiosity and coming up with creative solutions to the tired old conundrums that have plagued me far too long. I might even find a few new friends that way.
For too long, I have sat on the sidelines, watching life unfold around me without much participation. Some way, somehow I have to change that.
It's time to stop musing and start doing. It's time to contribute more than words to the world around me.
It's time to put a difficult year behind me and follow my vision into action. Wish me luck : )
Wednesday, 11 December 2019
No "Merry" to be Found - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
No "Merry" to Be Found
Sun shines on snow -
around you mirth -
but now you know
no peace on earth.
When grief descends
as Christmas nears,
reach out to friends
who'll dry your tears.
Give loved ones part
of load you bear -
they know your heart;
you know they care.
Humanity
grants us a gift,
when we see pain
we want to lift.
Our love is oft'
all we can share -
let hearts be soft;
show that you care.
Shine love on those
whose smiles are lost
for love bestows
gifts beyond cost.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 11, 2019
My first difficult Christmas occurred when I was seventeen. My Grandmother Flood, who was like a third parent to me, died on November 18th of that year. Our Christmas Season was understandably subdued. My grandmother had suffered a stroke two weeks before her death, and I spent those weeks taking my turn at her bedside, gradually losing hope that she would ever come home again. It was harrowing experience for a girl my age who had never lost anyone close to her. I fell behind on assignments for school, and did badly on exams that semester. I hesitantly approached one teacher - and was grateful to receive concern, compassion, and the needed extension from her.
I had a good friend whose family had suffered an even more devastating loss that year - the death of a young and vibrant family member - and she helped me get through that "unmerry" Christmas. I knew she understood the loss I was feeling, and from my experience with her I learned the difference between sympathy and empathy. All of my friends were sad for me, but she was sad with me. She truly understood the gaping hole in my heart because she had one too.
Nineteen years later my father died of a heart attack on December 5th. My relationship with him had always been somewhat complicated, and my sorrow was also complicated - by feelings of guilt. Why had I wasted so much of my life fighting with him? Had he died really knowing that I loved him?
While attending his funeral, three hours away from where I was then living, I missed an appointment with the Principal and Vice Principal of my sons' public school. It had completely skipped my mind in my rush to get to my mother and siblings. I hastily apologized and rescheduled the meeting when I returned home. As I entered the room where they both awaited, beginning to apologize for rescheduling, and, as I was about to offer an explanation, they gave each other a conspiratorial glance, and the Vice Principal cut me off -
"It's okay, we understand", she sneered. "Everyone is so busy with their shopping at this time of year!"
My jaw fell open in astonishment at her assumption, and I quickly explained that I hadn't even begun my shopping yet because I had been too busy planning and attending my father's funeral.
An uncomfortable silence preceded their shamefaced apologies. We had our meeting, and through all of those uncomfortable minutes that followed I hoped they had both learned a lesson about jumping to conclusions.
At this time of year, it is easy to assume that the person who seems disorganized and misses a meeting or leaves an assignment unfinished has a case of the holiday frazzles. It's easy to believe that the grumpy person ahead of you in line at the check outs "has no Christmas spirit!" The neighbour who doesn't want to come to your Christmas event or party is "Bah Humbug"...
We all make snap assumptions at times when the truth is far more complicated, and infinitely sadder. Death doesn't wait for the holidays to end, neither does any other tragedy, accident or illness. Doctors don't wait until the new year to give the grim diagnosis, and depression doesn't magically disappear with the first Christmas carol. In fact, winter in cold climates brings its own special brand of depression and anxiety into the mix - Seasonal Affective Disorder leaves millions feeling depressed each winter, and accounts for about 10% of all depression cases. During the holidays, marriages still break down, kids still get in trouble, and financial strains hurt more than ever.
There are a whole lot of reasons for people to feel stressed, depressed and dismayed at this time of year, and before we accuse anyone around us of dropping a wet blanket on our cheerful festivities we need to dig a little deeper into understanding what they might be experiencing. We need to reach out to others, and to try to be the friend that others feel safe reaching out to.
In a season where we rush out to buy gifts for others, let's not overlook the gifts we can give that don't cost us a cent, but may cost us time, energy or restraint. We can be more patient with the ornery, more soothing and generous toward the disgruntled; more considerate toward those who face challenges we may not be fully aware of. But more than anything else, we can be kind, and try to demonstrate compassion, sympathy, empathy and love toward everyone we encounter.
Gifts of love and kindness not only keep giving - they foster "peace on earth and goodwill towards all". We are all made richer when we share the gifts of the heart.
Sun shines on snow -
around you mirth -
but now you know
no peace on earth.
When grief descends
as Christmas nears,
reach out to friends
who'll dry your tears.
Give loved ones part
of load you bear -
they know your heart;
you know they care.
Humanity
grants us a gift,
when we see pain
we want to lift.
Our love is oft'
all we can share -
let hearts be soft;
show that you care.
Shine love on those
whose smiles are lost
for love bestows
gifts beyond cost.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 11, 2019
My first difficult Christmas occurred when I was seventeen. My Grandmother Flood, who was like a third parent to me, died on November 18th of that year. Our Christmas Season was understandably subdued. My grandmother had suffered a stroke two weeks before her death, and I spent those weeks taking my turn at her bedside, gradually losing hope that she would ever come home again. It was harrowing experience for a girl my age who had never lost anyone close to her. I fell behind on assignments for school, and did badly on exams that semester. I hesitantly approached one teacher - and was grateful to receive concern, compassion, and the needed extension from her.
I had a good friend whose family had suffered an even more devastating loss that year - the death of a young and vibrant family member - and she helped me get through that "unmerry" Christmas. I knew she understood the loss I was feeling, and from my experience with her I learned the difference between sympathy and empathy. All of my friends were sad for me, but she was sad with me. She truly understood the gaping hole in my heart because she had one too.
Nineteen years later my father died of a heart attack on December 5th. My relationship with him had always been somewhat complicated, and my sorrow was also complicated - by feelings of guilt. Why had I wasted so much of my life fighting with him? Had he died really knowing that I loved him?
While attending his funeral, three hours away from where I was then living, I missed an appointment with the Principal and Vice Principal of my sons' public school. It had completely skipped my mind in my rush to get to my mother and siblings. I hastily apologized and rescheduled the meeting when I returned home. As I entered the room where they both awaited, beginning to apologize for rescheduling, and, as I was about to offer an explanation, they gave each other a conspiratorial glance, and the Vice Principal cut me off -
"It's okay, we understand", she sneered. "Everyone is so busy with their shopping at this time of year!"
My jaw fell open in astonishment at her assumption, and I quickly explained that I hadn't even begun my shopping yet because I had been too busy planning and attending my father's funeral.
An uncomfortable silence preceded their shamefaced apologies. We had our meeting, and through all of those uncomfortable minutes that followed I hoped they had both learned a lesson about jumping to conclusions.
At this time of year, it is easy to assume that the person who seems disorganized and misses a meeting or leaves an assignment unfinished has a case of the holiday frazzles. It's easy to believe that the grumpy person ahead of you in line at the check outs "has no Christmas spirit!" The neighbour who doesn't want to come to your Christmas event or party is "Bah Humbug"...
We all make snap assumptions at times when the truth is far more complicated, and infinitely sadder. Death doesn't wait for the holidays to end, neither does any other tragedy, accident or illness. Doctors don't wait until the new year to give the grim diagnosis, and depression doesn't magically disappear with the first Christmas carol. In fact, winter in cold climates brings its own special brand of depression and anxiety into the mix - Seasonal Affective Disorder leaves millions feeling depressed each winter, and accounts for about 10% of all depression cases. During the holidays, marriages still break down, kids still get in trouble, and financial strains hurt more than ever.
There are a whole lot of reasons for people to feel stressed, depressed and dismayed at this time of year, and before we accuse anyone around us of dropping a wet blanket on our cheerful festivities we need to dig a little deeper into understanding what they might be experiencing. We need to reach out to others, and to try to be the friend that others feel safe reaching out to.
In a season where we rush out to buy gifts for others, let's not overlook the gifts we can give that don't cost us a cent, but may cost us time, energy or restraint. We can be more patient with the ornery, more soothing and generous toward the disgruntled; more considerate toward those who face challenges we may not be fully aware of. But more than anything else, we can be kind, and try to demonstrate compassion, sympathy, empathy and love toward everyone we encounter.
Gifts of love and kindness not only keep giving - they foster "peace on earth and goodwill towards all". We are all made richer when we share the gifts of the heart.
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