Tshway

Tshway is the phonetic anglicized sound of the word water in Mandarin.  My sweet little tutor, Sophie, tells me I have a great gift for mandarin, but I find it very difficult.  Seems that all the Asian friends I have made here speak so quickly, I wonder how I will ever be able to make sense of it when I translate in my head.

Tshway.  Don’t you love the sound of that? It almost seems like it is the sound of water itself.  Got me thinking of a conversation I had with my hubby on the way home from the lake last weekend.  It occured to me that some lakes are named with Lake in the beginning and some with Lake at the end. What makes the difference. I thought, maybe size? Lake Ontario, Lake Superior, Lake Erie, but then Slave Lake popped into my head, then Great Bear Lake. So size doesn’t matter when it comes to Lakes.  Of course this rounded my mind into thinking about rivers, and the same anomaly came up.  The River Thames, Hudson River, Mississippi River, The River Nile, hmm.  Is that only the ancient form or the literary form of identifying those rivers?

Lots of things seem to woosh around in my head.  Now this lovely new word, tshway,tshway,tshway.  Try it out. 

Posted in Uncategorized on September 2nd, 2009 1

Celestial Reckoning

I have been somewhat mournfully watching the Canada Geese preparing to leave the ponds close to my home.  Every day they journey out, further and further each time, stretching their beautiful wings and preparing their young for the journey ahead of them.  Imagine what it would be like to be born in the early spring, and by fall of the same year expected to undertake a flight of over a thousand miles.  Barely out of downy fluff and pinfeathers,  faced with flying all the way from Northern Alberta to Maine and then on to Mexico. 

I read a lovely account of hearing the geese moving overhead by the writer Robert James Waller.  He suggested that geese fly south in the fall and north in the spring using only Celestial Reckoning.  Navigation by the stars.  What a thought that conjured in my already over active imagination.  The lead goose takes point and it is he or she that the remainder of the flock follows, some as few as 10, some as large as 300.  Close you eyes and picture 300 Canada Geese moving overhead, wing spans of up to 6 feet, beating in a rythym as old as time itself. 

Fall signals the end of the growing season, and the beginning of the nesting cycle for those of us blessed to live in the north.  The urge to bake, to read, to curl up by the fire beckons me home;  makes me lose the urge to wander that I feel so keenly when its warm outside.

So long Canada’s.  See you in the Spring. 

Posted in Ramblings on October 24th, 2008 0

Me, Buddha and Nietzsche

In my quest to expand my reading horizons,  a book entitled Nietzsche for Beginners was suggested to me.  My daughter, the non reader actually suggesting something I may want to read!  I liked the title, however, found it interesting that my first instinct was to say no thanks, I can’t imagine that a nihilist could have anything to say that I want to hear!  In my joy over sharing any book with this child who usually does not share my obsession with the written word I decided to be open minded and give it a try.  To my surprise there were quite a few references that caught at my consciousness, and one quote that particularly stood out, was strangely entitled “The Death of God.”   It read ;  ‘An awful yet exhilirating thought! Awful because we feel abandoned by our former protector, yet exhilirating because suddenly our world opens to infinity.  Anything now is imaginable.’

Hmm.  I am at this point in my life where I am not only questioning the things I once believed to be true, but I am questioning the things I once believed to be false.  This brings many challenges, and yet this line of reasoning, this journey is proving to be quite amazing.  For example.  As a child I believed in the grandfatherly, white haired, forgiver of everything God.  Life itself taught me this was far too simple an assumption.  For a while as an adult I lost sight of him completely, lost sight of faith entirely and then gradually discovered a different spirituality asserting itself through the hubris of my experiences. 

Buddhism spoke a truth to me that I didn’t expect.  The simple logic of loving kindness, mindful living, lack of attachment and desire and the acceptance of change bring me great comfort.  I love the imagery of fighting change being ‘as futile as the day resisting the night, or winter resisting spring.’  Armed with this knowledge I am finding ways to let go of the past by visualizing this powerful message.  Whenever I feel myself clinging to old hurts or sadnesses that keep me in a place I no longer want to live, or overwhelmed with the ebb and flow of normal life I forcefully pull my thoughts to the positive, to the gains change bring, whether or not they are immediately obvious.  In fact, like most of my fellow searchers, the gifts that have come to me through tragedy are singularly the ones I cherish the most.

I have not abandoned the religious teachings of my parents.  Far from it.  What I believe to be happening is the blending of the goodness inherent in those lessons with the natural progression of my own faith.  My own faith in the world, in humanity, in love, compassion, science, everything.  I was never sure what the expression, ‘I am spiritual, but not religious” meant.  I think I do now, or am beginning to.  With every assumption I challenge about myself, win or lose I find my vision of this life, this moment, improving.  Yes, it’s sometimes a shitty existence,  life brings suffering,  life is painful and loss is inevitable.  How we deal with those things means everything.  This premise seems simplistic yet is proving to be the toughest challenge yet.

Through all of this I finally forgave myself for being weak.  Forgave myself for being flawed.  Forgave myself for being me. I am even beginning to see myself the way the people that love me seem to.  It’s really nice. As I see myself in the eyes and the hearts of my loved ones, I learn to care for me.  Something we all desperately need to do!  What I desire now is to hold out some of this ‘truth’ to my kids;  if they want it, in the hope that their own path to acceptance and peace may be strengthened by my own.  If not, that’s ok too.  This is a road often travelled alone. 

good old R.F.  …and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

Posted in Ramblings on January 11th, 2008 0

Finding a new Doctor

26 years ago this September I moved to Edmonton.  2 weeks into my new life here,  I found myself scared, sick and doctorless in a big city emergency room losing my baby.  What a bizarre start to a new life.  As luck would have it and serendipity would direct it, there was a young family next door and they introduced me to their new doctor.  He was young, our age, just opening his family practise.  Chinese, soft spoken and gentle and I immediately took to his compassionate and careful ways of caring for us.  11 months later, and a son comes into our lives, this time successfully and my dear Doctor is there to welcome him.  Time passes, another child comes healthily into the world and our family is complete.  Two lovely daughters, one happy, healthy son and we are on our way.  Life progresses, children grow and through it all there is this amazing health care provider.  Ear infections, childhood illnesses, even the list of broken bones and stitches our youngest afflicted herself with and always his constant, calming care.

Very recently a letter arrives.  This wonderful man has suffered a great loss.  His wife is ill;  terminal, and he has chosen, rightly, to close his practise and care for her exclusively.  Tragic for both of them, and for their children, their family, but strangely enough unbelievably tragic for his patients as well. I have only compassion for his situation, of course, but I had no idea how badly his absence would affect me and my kids.  25 years with the same care and suddenly it is gone. 

I embark on a quest to find a replacement.  In a city that has seen unprecedented growth in the last ten years this proves to be an immense challenge.  There simply are no doctors taking new patients, but I found one.  Close to home, accepting new patients, marvelous I thought!  45 minutes of waiting in a very small treatment room and he comes in.  I try to introduce myself and he holds up an imperious hand and informs me that he is ‘a very busy man.  What are my issues?’  I stumble out with, “My doctor has had to close his practise and I am seeking a new family physician.”  He stops me mid-sentence and tells me he knows this as he has had to take many patients from that practise and again tells me what a busy man he is.  I’m not sure what to do at this point and I stare at him for a moment trying to collect my thoughts.  He barks out, “What are your medical issues?” and stares me down.  Somehow I squeak out the reasons I think I need a physicians care, and although I have a couple of ongoing  issues that are controlled with medication I am basically healthy.  He looks at me incredulously and says, “I am a very busy man, I prefer patients who only come in here with one problem, or just phone in to have their prescriptions refilled.  I don’t have time for patient care!”  Somehow, I found my voice and asked him, ”Why are you taking new patients if you don’t have the room for them in your practise?”  He evades this question altogether and tells me most of his patients are young, and from down east!  I obviously miss the relevance of this remark and am waiting for an answer to the question.  It never comes.  He looks at me one last time,  (to this point he still has not come any where near me or said my name ) and orders me to fill out the forms necessary to move my records to his office!  I am in shock by this point and truly don’t know what to say in retort.  He leaves the room and I am sitting there wondering what the hell just happened!  As I leave the office, I ask the harried receptionist to shred my files and tell her that I won’t be moving my charts or myself and under her breath I hear her say, “I don’t blame you.”  Holy shit.  

  This leaves me with medi-centre style care.  Committed care facilities no doubt, but completely impersonal.  No continuity, no common ground or history, no connections from one family member to the others. Unbearably long wait times, no appointments available and unlikely to meet with the same doctor more than once.  Finding the courage to discuss personal health issues with a complete stranger who really has ten minutes to give you and no more is daunting to say the least.  If you suffer from ongoing health issues or heaven forbid mental illness of any kind you are forced to blurt out things you barely face with a trusted confidant.  I don’t doubt their capacity to care, their ethics or their training, but it takes time to build the relationship of trust necessary to seek help.  How do you do that in ten minute intervals with a doctor that can’t even sit down to talk with you? 

So, here I am furiously seeking alternatives.  I have no idea where to go from here, but have no choice as the option of no family physician is just not viable for me. 

Don’t we live in very strange times?

Posted in Ramblings on January 9th, 2008 0

Two and a Half (Wise) Men

Saturday morning dawned clear and cold, and as usual I was up long before my husband.  For some reason, I just can’t sleep in the way I used to.  We were up early, woken by our cats looking for breakfast,  and once awake, I couldn’t stay in bed any longer.

I was sitting in the front room, watching the morning break over the street, the glow of our Christmas lights shining on the snow drifts in our front yard, the way the arms of the spruce tree held the snow and the lights in a picture perfect tableau. I was admiring my Christmas tree in the pre-dawn light and having a rare moment of complete peace and satisfaction with the world and my place in it.  I was thinking about my kids,  my sisters so far away,  my big brother and how long it had been since we sat around the tree together.  I was thinking about my parents, how much they loved Christmas, everything about Christmas.  The fun, the food, the friends and family that surrounded us.  They were like two big kids and thier joy was an infection we all happily contracted.   I wasn’t sad, just reflective really.  Lost in other Christmases when things were different, not better, just different.

“from out on the lawn there arose such a clatter…” almost.  From the kitchen came the scrabbling of claws on lino, scritch scritch scritch,  dead silence for a second and then the unmistakable sound of my 6 month old kitten, Baxter, trying to make the corner into the dining room.  In hot pursuit was Izzy, our year old kitten, the much older and wiser version of cat of course. 

 He didn’t quite make it.

Right in his path was our creche.  Complete with angels, sheep, cows, shepherds and of course 3 wise men looking earnestly and somberly on.  As Baxter rounded the corner, or attempted to, he veered into the manger, and one of the wise men, Caspar I think,  sadly in the wrong place at the wrong time, was sent flying,  only to land head first on the lovely wooden floor of the stable so lovingly recreated by my carpenter husbands hands. 

Off flew his head - off flew the terrified cat, and just I sat there and watched the whole thing play out in what seemed like slow motion photography!  The poor  mans head spun in a crazy circle and then rolled over and over until it came to a stop next to a sheep. 

Once I stopped laughing and let me tell you, that took some time, I went to the scene of the carnage and picked up poor Caspar. His head had snapped off cleanly, like he had been beheaded by something swift and sharp. How strange he looked, headless, with his flowing robes and outstretched hands bearing a gift. I wasn’t sure what to do with him!

 An easy fix my husband assured me. A little gorilla glue from our friends at Lee Valley and all would be returned to normal.

Not quite I think.  The story just begs telling.  I had to phone everyone in my family.  I phoned my kids, I phoned my mom, I phoned my sisters and the story grew funnier with every conversation.  We all shared that laugh, that crazy moment when the unexpected comes. Of course, then the conversation moved to Christmases past, and funny things that we remembed, some we resurrected from childhood memories, some were family stories that just hadn’t come up, hadn’t been shared.  In turn I spoke to all of them, and by the time the afternoon rolled around I had had quite an unexpected day!

Later that evening,  at a concert at the John Walter House, one of the musicians asked ‘had anyone had a Christmas catastrophe yet that they’d like to share?’ Cat-astrophe alright, and one too good to keep to myself.  I treated a roomful of strangers to a well recieved laugh and felt the story grow again.

Something so simple.  Something that came to me at a time when I was feeling nostalgic about my kids growing up, homesick for my family, my sisters, old friends…and what happens?  A wise man loses his head and I find Christmas. 

Thanks Baxter.  I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.   

Posted in Family Ties on December 23rd, 2007 1