Thursday, 30 October 2014

Shame is part of our problem.

As the disturbing revelations flow from a trickle to a flood in the Jian Ghomeshi case, I, like many others have not only been horrified by what I have learned but also have just plain learned a lot. I have learned a lot about what victims of sexual assault go through, I have learned why so many choose not report this crime, I have begun to learn a tiny but interesting amount of information about the culture of BDSM and how important consent is to its participants.  I have also learned about Canadian law.  Most of all,  I have learned about myself that I still have so much to learn.  In more than one of the articles I’ve read in recent days, the writer has written something to the effect of “you (the reader) should be ashamed for immediately siding with Jian”.  I agree it tells us a lot about our collective understanding of sexual assault how readily so many of us wanted to believe his side of things, but subsequently so many of us have learned new things and undoubtedly will be more skeptical of the person speaking and more concerned about who is being silent(silenced) from now on.


Shame does not help us learn anything. We already know that, right? Shame is in fact part of our problem. Let’s not be ashamed. Let’s take collective stock, let's listen with an open heart to anyone who is brave enough to speak up and understand our role in why so many people feel they can't.

We still have so much to learn and start (and continue) learning as much as we can. Shame dooms learning, and we can’t afford shame one minute longer.


Tuesday, 14 October 2014

Can you rocketship me?

Can you rocketship me?

Or should I ballet all the way there?


What verbs are not verbs yet, but  really really should be?




Thursday, 9 October 2014

Contemplative Barbie

Barbie at rest.  We know all about Barbie's habits. She's industrious, well educated--busy healing dogs, delivering babies, being an entrepreneur and designing rocket ships. She has got it going on.  Stylish and in control sum her up.  She's a bit  messy-- at least she is around our house-- dropping shoes, cell phones and evening dresses as she goes, but I've come to learn that she's got another side too.

She is often alone. Occasionally, she hangs out in a heap of other Barbies, sipping coffees or camping, but more often than not, she can be found sitting alone staring out into the room, or the closet or the bottom of the bed. Barbie can be contemplative.  She understands better than anyone that between jobs and leisure, she needs to rest. She sits, plotting her next move or channelling peace. She must. If she can find the time to do this, so can I.

Thursday, 2 October 2014

Left or Right?

“Meanings is not important,"said the BFG. "I cannot be right all the time. Quite often I is left instead of right.” 

I am not a night person.

My daughter does not really like being read to.

Combined, this means I rarely have the energy to read to her and she reluctantly listens when I do dig deep and find some energy.

We have found a solution.

She has started reading to me.

"Take a bite and I am positive you will be shouting out oh how scrumdiddlyumptious this wonderveg is!” 


The BFG by Roald Dahl is a book I have never read before and it is rather exhausting.  His brilliant bending of every word he touches requires concentration. My daughter speculated that he did not use autocorrect.  Explaining to her that autocorrect was not invented when he wrote it was really difficult.

She has got the stretch left in her brain to accomodate these inventions, I adore falling asleep to these verbal contortions.

"Titchy little snapperwhippers like you should not be higgling around with an old sage and onions who is hundreds of years more than you.” 

The RED print was her suggestion.

Tuesday, 30 September 2014

We feed children

 "We feed children in order that they may soon be able to feed themselves; we teach them in order that they may soon not need our teaching." C. S. Lewis


Sunday, 28 September 2014

A place for that.


We are taught from an early age not to yell for help when we are swimming in case we unduly alarm the people around us.  I took this lesson right to my heart.

I have been thinking a lot lately about how I have somehow  trained myself to resist help.  Pride is partly to blame, never wanting to be accused of not being "helpful" is also a culprit.  For whatever reason, I feel compelled to tackle most of everything I do solo.  I repel help by not asking for it and assuming it's not needed, until it is.

I have, in turned, trained the people around me not to expect that I need their help and I have almost (almost) forgotten how to ask for help.

This weekend I needed help. I had a stressful situation on my hands (our hands) and I completely absorbed it.  My lips were trembling I was so stressed out, I could not think straight, my heart was racing.

Help!

I took my son to basketball. The sun was strong and gorgeous and we walked slowly  home together.  I asked him to help me, not by discussing my stress, but by saying yes to his request to walk through the public gardens. I kept saying yes to looking at the geese, and taking all the detours I too often railroad over. I asked and he eagerly took the lead.

I accepted his help and it helped.

Help!

When I got home,I asked for help from my husband. I said out loud:  "I can't handle this, I don't want to feel this way any more, help me get perspective."  And he did it, without question.  Just like that.   Within minutes, the adrenaline drained away and my whole body regulated itself again.

Now that I have asked, and they have helped, I know one thing.  I need to keep on asking and yelling for help.

Thursday, 25 September 2014

Prism

Green tinged sunshine floods the kitchen.  It blinds me for a minute  to the rotting compost and unfolded laundry (dirty and clean) just a short pace away.


My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares. Why should you?
Erma Bombeck