Brownie Points?

No one is quite sure where the expression "brownie point" came from, although many people believe it began with the Girl Guide and Brownie program where girls worked to earn points or badges. What things earn brownie points with you? What would you like to earn brownie points for doing, or not doing? Here are my ideas in a poem:       

 Brownie Points?

For all the treats that I didn't eat

For all the gossip I didn't repeat

For all the words that I didn't say

When you made me angry yesterday

For all the shortcuts I didn't take

When I could have been a fake

Perhaps an angel was nearby -

Brownie point?

For all the clothes that I didn't buy

Even though they caught my eye

For all the times that I didn't cheat

But accepted my defeat

For all those times I could have lied

To save face and keep my pride

Perhaps an angel was nearby

Brownie point?

For all the songs that I couldn't sing

To send my feelings out on wing

For all the poems that I couldn't write

Though I toiled through the night

For all pictures that I couldn't draw

When my heart was feeling raw

Perhaps an angel was nearby -

Brownie point?

 

 

Getting Past Bleak

 

 

I didn't write my blog last week. I was feeling too discouraged. My world was bleak. I had a big writing disappointment on the weekend and  couldn't see past it to do any writing for a few days. I've had disappointments before. We all have. It just means we're human. But this time I wanted to examine what happened and see if I could do a better job of handling it. 

One thing I know for sure is that when I've let discouragement overwhelm me and I've given up on something important, I've always regretted it later. So I decided to do a little research. It was well worth it. There are some great sources of information on the web and I was able to really get to the bottom of my feelings and see how I caused my own disappointment.

The first thing to think about is our expectations. We are the ones who set the bar, through what we expect to have happen. When it doesn't work out, then we become disappointed. We set those expectations ourselves, based on what we believe we need as tangible proof that we are successful. If we dig deep enough, we can uncover what we've determined are the hallmarks of our success in any endeavor. 

When the tangible evidence we need to prove to ourselves that we're successful is something outside of ourselves, something beyond our control, we've set ourselves up for disappointment and discouragement. So how can we change that?

1. Adjust our definition of success to something we can control. Rather than looking to reap some external reward, make a commitment that success is about enjoying the process of learning and development and giving our best effort. If we still want the external rewards, make sure they are not the main focus and realize that worthwhile achievements take time and sometimes many tries before they come to fruition.

2. Realize there is no such thing as failure unless you give up. We need to reinterpret our setbacks as opportunities to learn that are a valuable part of the journey. This way we can take something from the experience to help us move closer to our goal, rather than letting it defeat us.

3. Refocus and recommit to our vision. Why did we choose this path? Why is it important? Re-visualize our success based on realistic expectations. We should set small goals and find healthy ways to reward ourselves for attaining them. We should take a moment to look back and realize how far we've come in our efforts and acknowledge how much we've already accomplished. Then we're more likely to realize how much richer our lives are because of the journey.

4. We can also look to how we can encourage and reward others around us, who also need acknowledgement and encouragement in the things they are trying to accomplish. When we move the focus away from ourselves towards others, it gives us a healthy break from wallowing in our own discouragement! 

5. Take a break. Go outside and get some fresh air and exercise. Do something fun. Enjoy the company of others. Get some rest. All of these will help us gain some perspective.

6. Share our disappointment with someone we trust. True friends and mentors are likely to help us put it in perspective, see our efforts objectively, and encourage us to keep going.

7. Don't let others set the bar for our success and don't compare ourselves to others. As women, we are particularly skilled at looking around and comparing everyone else's best to our worst. Learn how to acknowledge, applaud and admire others for their successes, rather using their success to put ourselves down.

8. Acknowledge our feelings, then take our ego out of it, and use what's happened to help us see ourselves more objectively, evaluate our efforts more effectively and identify where we could be doing something differently or better.

Looking back on this whole experience now I'm encouraged, rather than discouraged by the outcome. Although I didn't gain the external reward I had set myself to attain, I've learned so much about myself, why I was disappointed and how to move through disappointment that I've gained something more important, a life skill that I can use again and again. I am thinking of a few lines from the Desiderata:

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness....And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Ode to an Apron

 

Aprons have an amazing history! The word comes from the French naperon which literally translated means a small tablecloth. They have been worn for thousands of years, been made from a variety of materials in hundreds of different designs.

Aprons have long been part of the protective work clothing of men, women, and children. At some points in history the color of a man’s apron even indicated his profession.

Aprons have also been decorative, part of a fashion statement, and even indicated one’s status in the community. Among some groups or cultures, an apron is also part of ceremonial clothing. Here is my newest poem:

Ode to an Apron 

Some say that you are plain

But you are beautiful to me! 

You are my armour.

When I wear you, I’m invincible!

Like a soldier marching into battle

With weapons of vacuum and broom

 I face the foe undaunted

Garbage, laundry, and dishes beware!

 

Some say that you are plain

But you are beautiful to me! 

You are my uniform.

When I wear you, I’m focused.

Planning my work, creating order out of chaos.

Your pockets are deep.

I fill them with the forgotten and the misplaced

Setting the world to rights. 

 

Some say you are plain

But you are beautiful to me! 

You are my artist’s smock.

When I wear you, I create.

Original soups and crunchy salads.

Tempting appetizers and creamy desserts.

Fashioning tasty dishes and delectable delights

To please the eye as well as the palate (palette).

 

Some say you are plain

But you are beautiful to me! 

You are my superhero cape, my cloak of invisibility.

When I wear you, I’m amazing

I can run faster and work harder

Stretch time and money to achieve the impossible

Serve others unseen

And vanquish tears as if by magic.

 

Some say you are plain

But you are beautiful to me!

 

Follow the Joy

 

Looking back at my childhood, I realize I deprived myself of many sources of joy. My sister was four years older than I and was a very talented person, both musically and artistically. I, on the other hand, had a poor ear for music, was left-handed and struggled with my fine motor coordination. Even my mother would say things like, "Don't worry about it. You're such a hard worker and that makes up for a lot." People were always comparing us to each other and I internalized that comparison. No matter what I did, I could never measure up. 

As a result, I steered away from things I loved, things that brought me pure bliss and joy. I could not stop my need for music and pursued it despite my shortcomings, but I turned my back on art and visual expression and never looked back.

Through the years I ended up teaching both music and art in public school. I tried to help kids find the joy in their expression and not to worry about comparisons or competence. It was as much about the process as it was the final product. One day I realized the things I was telling students also applied to me. I needed to move past the feelings of being compared to someone else and being found wanting. I needed to embrace the things that brought me joy and made me whole. 

I posted this little painting, not because it's wonderful, but because I remember the absolute joy I felt while painting it along with my grandkids on an art afternoon in our family. It has some obvious flaws and I wanted those to show, too. We don't need to be embarrassed that our work isn't perfect. When I look at my little painting, I think of the joy, not the mistakes. 

I have many things that bring me joy on a daily basis. I love to write, both poetry and prose. I love to sketch and paint, and enjoy music in its many forms. I enjoy sewing, gardening and cooking. I'm not an expert in any of them, but it doesn't matter That's not the point. The point is that they lift my spirits and bring me joy in my life.

What brings you joy?

Confronting Clutter

Every day we are bombarded by clutter. We live in a period of time when there is just a lot of stuff and every time we turn on the TV, open a magazine or newspaper, or go online we are overwhelmed with advertising to buy more.

My mother was an orphan during the Great Depression. She had nothing. A scrap of paper, the stub of a pencil, a couple of spoonsful of leftover porridge - all was to be used, treasured and saved against a time of want. She taught all of her children well. Do not waste! Gather against a time of need.

The mindset that drives hoarding is fear and anxiety. Feelings of safety and security can come from having stuff. But when you mix yesterday's mindset for dealing with scarcity with today's reality of being bombarded with stuff, it's a recipe for disaster.

Having stuff takes work, and possessions can become an obstacle and a burden. That is the mindset that goes with the minimalist lifestyle. Those who have always had enough are not frightened by having only a little because there is a sense that there will always be more to get when you really need it. 

The current pandemic has stopped us in our tracks. Could we find ourselves without what we need? Loss of health, jobs and income bring back anxiety and an urge to save and collect against a time of want. The long term economic impact of the coronavirus is yet to be understood and it could be represent create systemic poverty for a long time, perhaps we are entering the next Great Depression. 

How are you managing the scarcity or abundance mindset? What strategies are you using to manage the day to day clutter? I'm caught in the middle. If only I had a crystal ball!

When You Pause to Remember

 

My research for Book Three in the Windy Rafters Roughnecks series includes time travel to WW2. I've been thinking a lot the last week or so about the impact of war on those who stayed home. Just as we are all impacted by the pandemic, everyone at the time was impacted by the war. This poem reflects some of my thoughts:

 

When You Pause to Remember

 

When you pause to remember

Remember the ones who stayed home

Who said their goodbye, then, letting tears dry

Counted days until he came home.

 

When you pause to remember

Remember the ones who stayed home

Who stretched out the sugar and butter and meat

Who grew Victory Gardens and vowed no defeat

And believed that it could be done.

 

When you pause to remember

Remember the ones who stayed home

Who raised the kids and cared for the folks

Who kept the fires burning and kept alive hope

Then prayed for the strength to go on.

 

When you pause to remember

Remember the ones who stayed home

Who rolled all the bandages, knit scarves and gloves

Sewed vests and pajamas infused with their love

While thinking of days that were gone.

 

When you pause to remember

Remember the ones who stayed home

Running factories and farms, tired backs, weary arms

Carrying burdens, so often alone.

 

When you pause to remember

Remember the ones who stayed home

Who tried to stand tall when death came to call

And they heard that knock at the door.

 

When you pause to remember

Remember the ones who stayed home

And when he came back, injured or maimed

Haunted by demons that couldn’t be tamed

And they knew it had only begun.

 

When you pause to remember

Remember the ones who stayed home

When they said we had won and the fighting was done

But their sorrow and pain lingered on.

The Tortoise or the Hare?

Are you living life as the tortoise or the hare? I am constantly challenged by this, especially in my writing life. I like to think of myself as being more like the tortoise, having a quiet, uneventful routine and structure to my days. But when I get flashes of creative insight, I have to admit I'm off like the hare. I have a vision in mind and and I see the finish line beckoning me. Sometimes these creative stints can leave me exhausted and depleted.

Here are some examples. When I'm working on smaller pieces like this blog or my instagram stories, I think about them during the day or the week and write a little each day. This is easy to fit into my daily schedule without creating too many wrinkles for myself or others.

When I am preparing to write a book, I can be like the tortoise. I do a lot of reading, research and thinking. As I let all of that information just sit and percolate, somehow it reorganizes itself in a myriad of ways. I know I have to take time and process everything I've been learning before I start writing. If I try to push it into a structure prematurely, I'll end up frustrated and stuck. When I wait, I start to get new insights about how the setting, my characters and the plot events will contribute to the themes of the book and the story starts to take shape.

Then suddenly I'm ready to write and I'm off like the hare. Writing the first draft is an intense and all encompassing experience. The ideas, the characters and plot are burning to come to life on the page. They nudge and push at me. I write feverishly trying to get it all down. During this phase of the writing, I often get sudden flashes of ideas to take the story in a new direction. Usually these are productive. Sometimes they're not. I can't put this writing into my regular routine. It just doesn't work for me. During this time, it is hard to focus on anything else.

Once the story is down in some form, I can finally relax and resume working as the tortoise. Little by little and day by day I work and rework the material, sometimes making minor changes and sometimes deleting or adding whole scenes or chapters. Then I rework it again and again. It usually takes several revisions.

I'm almost at the end of my research for book three in my children's historical fiction series. I'm really getting ready to take off like the hare, but I'm feeling held back by a number of other responsibilities and practical considerations. Is there some way I can learn to write the first draft more like a tortoise? I'm not sure... If you don't hear anything from me for a while, you know the hare is off on a writing spree!

 

The Sound of Silence

 I fell into a restless sleep last night, as the wind continued to howl outside, the way it had for the last 48 hours. Suddenly I woke and sat up in bed. What had woken me? And then I realized. 

It was silent, completely silent. I had been woken by the sound of silence. 

As the irony of that idea took hold, I knew I needed to explore the thought and decided to make it the topic of today's blog. 

As I thought about setting up the blog, I realized I would need a picture to go with it and I wondered, what does silence look like? I scrolled through my camera roll and found a few pictures of nature in serenity, but I realized that silence looks different depending on what it means.

Sometimes silence is just that, a form of repose that brings peace to heart, mind and soul. That kind of silence is a rest or a reprieve from the relentless demands of daily living. Or from the constant buffetings of the wind. At Windy Rafters, when there is absolutely no movement in the tree in our front yard, when not a leaf, seedpod or twig of that maple tree moves, there is a welcoming silence.

Sometimes silence is empty, a void that seeps deep into the loneliest recesses of the psyche, as if one was the last person on earth. I wonder if those who have travelled in space and ventured outside the spacecraft into space itself, or looked back on the earth and realized they were separated from all humanity have felt that kind of silence. I would like to know. 

Silence can also be ominous. I'm thinking of the "lull before the storm" or being in the "eye of a storm". I remember travelling to Edmonton a number of years ago and as we got closer to the city there was an ominous silence as strange cloud formations drifted silently across a greenish purple sky. When we arrived we discovered a tornado had just touched down, taking the roof off of the aquatic center where we were supposed to meet family. Many people died in that tornado. 

Silence can also be full. I love this print of a painting of an elderly man in prayer. To me this silence is full. It is warm, full of gratitude. It is like an unvoiced conversation between the man and is Father, an old friend.

In relationships, silence can mean so many things. It can seethe with tension or be full of anticipation. We speak of a pregnant pause or that silence is taken as agreement. 

Years ago I had an English professor who told us we should look for the spaces, look for what is not being said or who is not speaking, as well as the spoken word. I am certainly going to look at how I use silence in my writing. How do you write silence? Just something to think about....

Winter on the Prairies

 

As I drove out of my heated garage in my heated vehicle on Monday and headed for town, the thought came to me, "What was it like to live in southern Alberta in the winter long ago?"

The one constant is that the prairie winters have always been dark and cold. Our strategies to cope with that have changed over time. 

Even as a kid growing up in the sixties and seventies, I have memories of life in winter being different than it is today. I remember quilts and coats being heavier, but not as warm. I remember mittens knitted from wool getting soaked right through after snow  ball fights and making snowmen. It seemed that the winters were more severe and lasted longer then. The snow was deeper and my dad made a trail from the house to the barn. I remember walking through it with snow piled high on either side. I remember taking out our little wooden sled and being able to get some pretty good runs in the drifts just in our own farmyard. I always liked it when the snow was crusty and you could walk on top of it and didn't sink down. 

School mornings began in the dark with a bowl of oatmeal or cracked wheat porridge and getting dressed was a rushed affair as furnaces and insulation were not as effective back then. I was just grateful that girls were allowed to wear pants by the time I attended school, unlike my older sister, who had to face wearing a dress everyday in the cold. Those were also the days before leotards and pantihose and keeping your legs warm required wearing long stockings, held up by garters. Uggh!

My mother grew up during the Great Depression and I remember her telling about riding into town in a buggy with quilts covering their laps and heated rocks to keep their feet warm. There was no central heating and she remembers waking up in her attic room and finding frost on her bedding. Homework was done around the kitchen table by the meager light shed from a kerosene lamp. Evenings were cut short as times were hard and the kerosene needed to last as long as possible. Bedtimes were early and the nights were very long and very dark. 

What would it have been like to be a First Nations person in the early times and spend winter in a tipi out on the prairie? What strategies did they have to keep their children warm through blizzards and temperatures below zero, much below zero?

I realized that all of my Windy Rafters Roughnecks books take place in the summer, when the Ferris cousins gather to run the resort for the tourist season. Perhaps it would be interesting to set one book in the winter and explore those dynamics, especially historically.

As I drove along I had another more sobering thought. What about those, even today, who don't have adequate food and shelter during the winter? What about those living on the streets whose circumstances of unemployment, mental illness or addiction have left them vulnerable. Is this year, given the pandemic, going to leave even more people than usual in desperate circumstances? Something to think about looking out on a cold winter morning from inside my warm house.

Researching the Missing Chapter

 

My preparation for Windy Rafters Roughnecks Book 3 takes me into the era of the Great Depression and the beginning of WWII. What do we know about this time in Alberta's history, particularly among the Blackfoot people?

Over the last few weeks, my research coincided with Orange Shirt Day commemorating the years of  residential schools in Canada. I have been slowly uncovering what is sometimes called the missing chapter in Canadian history. It isn't easy to open this chapter and turn these pages. I am astounded and saddened by what I find. 

My sources include an online presentation given by Dr. Tiffany Prete from the University of Alberta. She is from the Blood or Kainai people and has recently completed a research project about the different types of schools on the Blood Reserve and their history. I have also watched the Orange Shirt Day presentation for Alberta students Grades 5-12 developed by the National Center for Truth and Reconciliation to be shared as part of Orange Shirt Day throughout the province.

From there, I spent time reviewing everything on the website for the NCTR, as well as looking into the calls to action put forward by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. I thought I would share some of my findings.

First of all, I was amazed at how long residential schools existed in Canada. The first schools were opened in 1831 and the last was closed in 1997. Over 150,000 indigenous students experienced some form of residential school education. This is called the missing chapter in Canadian history for important reasons. Survivors of these schools, who experienced the trauma of being separated from their families, taken from their culture and way of life, and often neglected and abused, do not easily share their experiences of these dark times. Some did not survive to tell their stories at all. For example, I read a very sad newspaper report of three young native boys, under the age of ten, who ran away from the residential school they attended after being harshly disciplined, and froze to death, trying to make their way home. 

The only records from those times and places were kept by the schools, presenting only one perspective on what took place. These have not been open to the public until recently and many of these documents have been tied up in the largest class action lawsuit of Canadian history. There are questions about the accuracy of some of the information kept, particularly about the whereabouts of missing children. Many of the statistics show hundreds, if not thousands, of children registered in schools who simply disappeared. We know some were buried in unmarked graves on school grounds. 

School officials, many who were also priests, nuns or other ministers, sometimes  "bought" the children from their parents for food or money to get them to come to schools. Those running the schools often had no training as teachers, doctors or nurses and yet they provided both education and medical care for the children. Many children died of hunger, malnutrition and sickness. There are even instances cited where nutritional research was carried out using indigenous children. It is hard to believe that this is the Canada we know and love, yet the records speak for themselves.

As researchers like Dr. Prete work, they discover the history is very fragmented. It involves thousands of hours of examining documents and trying to put the pieces together. It is also hard going because of the emotional distress that arises from reading and processing these painful stories and statistics.

Schools for indigenous children were not all the same. On the Blood Reserve alone there were many different types of schools. Mission schools, opened by churches before the Indian Act, have no records.  After the Indian Act, government records show that the purpose of these schools moved from the assimilation of indigenous children through segregation from their families and cultures to assimilation of indigenous children through integration into western culture. Both of these were highly traumatic to the children. In reading what was written by government officials at the time, it is clear that the purpose of these schools was to eradicate First Nations, Metis and Inuit culture by taking the children and erasing their language, culture and family ties. This was desired because the First Nations culture was deemed to be heathen and inferior to western culture. The only hope of redemption was to be found in destroying it and adopting children into European ways of life.

I am only scratching the surface of this research so far. I am impressed by the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission which issued 94 calls to action based on their findings, one of which was the development of the National Center for Truth and Reconciliation which has taken over this work and is housed at the University of Manitoba.

I was encouraged by the Orange Shirt Day presentation prepared by the National Center for Truth and Reconciliation. While there is sadness in the acknowledgement of the TRUTH, there is clearly hope for the future through RECONCILIATION. That hope lies in those who were once exploited, the children. 

The question weighs heavily on me, how will I incorporate this piece of history with truth and sensitivity into my next book?  

Gratitude is Healthy

 

I made a commitment a long time ago to take time to feel and express gratitude every day. I haven't been 100% successful, but it has been a really good choice with a profound impact on how I see my life and the world. Nurturing gratitude helps turn our perspective to the positive around us, rather than the negative. When the cup was already half full, suddenly it's more than half full, often it's brimming over. 

Expressing gratitude through the arts gives our creativity wings. The more we look to be grateful for, the more we see what is really wonderful around us, despite our daily challenges. Through our offerings of song, poetry and pictures we help others to see it, too.

Expressing gratitude to others improves and strengthens our relationships. Grateful people are happy people and fun to be around. When we are grateful and when we express our appreciation, it draws other people to us. 

Here is my 2020 Gratitude acrostic to share with you.

G - grandchildren in the garden, playing, picking produce and discovering the joys of harvest

R - responsibilities that keep me focused, learning and moving forward through retirement

A - animals in the yard and in the field bringing beauty and companionship in the great outdoors

T - time to work on the myriad of projects that were on my "someday" list

I - imagination that fuels the need to create something of beauty every day

T - technology, with all its complexity and frustrations, keeping us connected in challenging times

U- understanding from my husband, who patiently endures all my creative flights of fantasy

D- daughters and son-in-laws who are my pillars in times of trouble

E - education, provided through my parents' sacrifices, which has given me a much expanded vision of the world

What are you appreciating this Thanksgiving?

Is it good to be content?

Of all our farm cats, this guy is probably the most content. He spends most of the day sleeping, draped across the railing of our deck, or on the seat of my swing. All the same, as soon as there is any sound or movement, he is instantly awake and checking things out. Wouldn't it be nice if we could all achieve perfect relaxation and then be 100% "on" and focused when we need to be?

All of my life I have been a "doer", an achievement-oriented person, constantly thinking and in motion. From the time I was a child, being raised in the intensity of our work ethic on the farm, I soon learned that my greatest value was when I was working, contributing, and accomplishing things. I've also been driven by the need to create and experience the joy of creation. I love the tangible evidence of my thoughts, knowing that my creations are the embodiment of my ideas that now exist independent of me. 

I am only lately beginning to realize the value of just "being" as well as "doing".  There is satisfaction in existing as well as producing. I like to take a few moments out of the day to just be still, empty my mind, become aware of things both inside and outside of myself. There is joy in that kind of "in the moment" contentment. It's like a mini mental and physical renewal. Then I can get back to my creating with more energy and focus! 

 

Perfection is an Illusion

 

I inherited this 1937 Eaton Beauty doll from my aunt. She's just perfect, isn't she? In fact, she's not. She's in great shape, but like everything else, time has taken its toll. If you look carefully you can see she has a small chip and a crack on the left corner of her mouth.

I'm sure the day Aunt Ruth received her, she seemed absolutely perfect. But even then she wasn't really. No matter how well she was made, I'm sure a close examination would have revealed small irregularities here or there. Since that time she has undergone many changes, including a whole new set of clothes. In the world of antiques, all of these would work together to make her less desirable, but not to me. To me she is perfect because of her imperfections, because of the experiences she has encountered and survived. 

As a classroom teacher, I often had children make what they considered to be irreparable mistakes on a painting in art class and want to throw out the whole thing and start again. Part of working with art is learning how to take an error and and make it into something unique, interesting and perhaps even extraordinary. The original mistake can take the painting in a whole new direction and perhaps help it become  even more fascinating. It all depends on how you look at it.

Sometimes we can just get too detail-oriented, bringing everything, including ourselves, unrelentingly under the microscope, hyper-focused on exposing every tiny imperfection. When we do this, we lose sight of the larger picture and torture ourselves unnecessarily. Perhaps even worse is when we turn the microscope on others, judging them continuously for small flaws which we look for and inevitably find. 

Life is full of glorious imperfections that add beauty and interest to everything we see, both in the natural world and in the people around us. We need to learn to love the imperfections, even in ourselves! 

As a reader and a writer, there is nothing more annoying than a "perfect" character. A perfect character can't learn, grow or change. As a writer there's really no place to go with them, except to expose them to experiences which make them more human.

In short, perfection is a fleeting moment at best and almost always an illusion.

 

What About Heroes?

 With all of the anger, violence and desecration of public property over the last few months, I've been thinking a lot about heroes.

What is a hero? Google defines a hero as a person who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements or noble qualities.

As a writer of children's historical fiction, heroes are part of my everyday work. From a writer's point of view, even an extraordinary hero needs to be believable. While a hero can be courageous, accomplish amazing tasks and display a firmness of character that is truly admirable, that character must also show vulnerability. Perhaps they have doubts or weaknesses with which they struggle and which impede their progress towards goals. Man's struggle with himself is a major theme in literary works throughout time. A perfect hero is not believable. We cannot identify with such a person. They cannot inspire us to greater heights.

Perhaps part of the problem is with the word "idealize". To idealize someone is to regard them as being perfect or better than they actually are. We have made them bigger than life. In past times, there was a lot of idealizing of public historical figures. When people are idealized, it is only a matter of time before the truth is revealed and our admiration not only wanes, but plummets and anger and cynicism sets in. 

Another important point is that to understand someone from the past, we need to understand them within their own historical context. To judge someone from another culture or time based on our own contextual beliefs and values is shortsighted and unfair.

Take my great great grandmother Mary Ann, for instance. She and her brother left their home in England to emigrate to the western United States, when she was twenty and he was eighteen. They arrived safely in America, but her brother died of mountain fever during their overland travel by ox team. Upon arriving at their destination, Mary Ann found herself completely alone. She married a man she barely knew and they had thirteen children. At age thirty, Mary Ann lost her vision. She never saw eight of her children. To make matters more difficult, she was left a widow at age forty-five when several of her children were still young. Somehow she managed.

Mary Ann's daughter, Eliza, my great grandmother, emigrated to Canada. When Eliza's husband died, Mary Ann rode a train, blind and unaided, all the way to Canada, to stay with Eliza and help her for a year following her husband's death.Was she extraordinary or was she crazy? That depends on how you look at it. If you judge her by today's standards, she made many decisions that we might not make. For example, why would you have eight more children after you were blind? If you look at her life within her own context, she did hard things because she had to do them and displayed great courage by going going beyond to do hard things she didn't have to do.

It's unfortunate that all I have are stories about her, but nothing in her own words. I value diaries and journals written by people from the past because that is the only way to truly see into their world and understand their perspectives and motivations. 

So while we're crashing, burning and discarding these heroes from the past we should ask ourselves a few questions. Were they admirable within their own time and context? Did they exalt themselves or who was it that idealized them? When we disregard them as unfitting role models for today, was there anything they should be remembered for or are we casting them aside completely, without giving credit where credit is due? And lastly, what does it mean to live in a world without heroes?        

Dealing with the Immensity

This photo was one of our first sights of Australia a few years ago. It was one of those times when I looked out and was completely overwhelmed by what I saw.

Looking out at life and feeling overwhelmed is a frequent thing for me. While the vista may be stunning, it can also be frightening and just a little too much to take in. Over the years I've learned some coping strategies I thought I'd share. 

My first  strategy, when I'm too close to the edge, is to just step back and breathe. I just take a minute to look away and get my balance.

The second thing I do is break it down. When I was a kid I remember a little poem that went like this:

Little drops of water

Little grains of sand

Make the might ocean

And the pleasant land.

( Julia Abigail Fletcher Carney) 

It really helps me to break the whole picture down into little pieces, Then I can manage and narrow my focus. There are two questions I ask myself:

"What's most important?" and "What's next?"

When I was a school administrator, I had a notebook with a page, or sometimes two, for each day. I divided it into at least four quadrants. One was simply my schedule. Another quadrant was a list for the classroom, the third a list for the office and the fourth, a list for home and family. In that way I was able to keep a lot of balls in the air at once.

Now I'm retired, I still have a lot of things I want to accomplish and find I need structure in my day. I've started making a goal sheet for the week. It's divided into the different areas in which I want or need to work. Each area has a list of things I'd like to accomplish that week. The thing I like about this is that it gives me flexibility within the structure. Some things still have a deadline or an urgency, but others are choices I can make depending on where I want to focus my energy. At the end of the day or the week, I have a feeling of accomplishment when I can check things off that are done and see that I'm actually making progress, even when it's slow.

What this beautiful photo off the coast of Australia doesn't show is the hordes of little black flies that enveloped us as soon as we stepped out of our vehicle. They were incredibly annoying and made it hard to focus on the view. That's the other thing I struggle with sometimes, the myriad little distractions that get in the way of my goals. Over the years I've learned to sift through those as well. 

If the distractions are people, they're important. Sometimes I just have to set my work aside and give my time and attention to some else. If they are simply distractions, I find ways to shut them down and out. Every once in a while it's nice to relax and choose to be distracted by something that's just simply enjoyable. 

Do you have any strategies you use when feeling over the top? I'm always interested in new ideas!

 

Happy 115th Birthday, Alberta!

 

On September 1, 1905, Alberta officially became a Canadian province. In fact, both Alberta and Saskatchewan became provinces that day. Prior to that they were both sections of the Northwest Territories and their flag was the flag of the Hudson's Bay Company. 

In Alberta, the ceremony was held at noon and George Hedley Vicars Bulyea was appointed as the Lieutenant Governor.

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Alberta was named for Princess Louise Caroline Alberta, the fourth daughter of Queen Victoria. Princess Louise's husband, the Marquess of Lorne, served as the Governor General of Canada from 1878-1883.The name was given in 1882 when Alberta became a provisional district of the Northwest Territories and remained the name when it became a province. Lake Louise in Banff was also named for this princess. 

Alberta didn't get its own official flag until June 1, 1968. The flag was adopted for use as a centennial banner in 1967 and then voted to be the official flag by the Alberta Legislature the following year. 

The wild rose was adopted as Alberta's official flower in 1930. 

The road from Windy Rafters Barn to the main Orton Road is dotted by wild roses in June. This year was especially beautiful with the rain we received. Perhaps we should call it Wild Rose Drive!