Ferris Wheels and Roller Coasters

I’ve never felt the allure of adventure.  Never even wanted to.  My earliest memory of witnessing screaming people hurtling themselves through space is when I was about 10 years old and a “fair” came to town.  Scattered throughout a mall parking lot were striped tents, several different types of amusement rides and a big old ferris wheel.  I recall standing in awe and looking way, way up at the precariously swinging baskets while feeling slightly queasy from my first bewildering taste of overly sweet, pink cotton candy.  Wiping sticky fingers on my pretty summer dress, I turned my back on the looming monster with its shrieking occupants and opted instead to try out the more docile merry-go-round.

In the decades that have passed since that fateful encounter, I’ve done my best to avoid ferris wheels and roller coaster rides, literally and figuratively.  They’re too darn stressful!  But fate has a way of tossing you smack dab in the highest basket without warning and, when it does, you have no choice but to hang on for dear life.  My husband and I were recently reluctantly taken on one such horrifying ride with his unexpected diagnosis of cancer.  Before we could even grasp the reality of it, we were on a plane flying thousands of miles into the unknown to seek advanced medical assistance.  Fear and dread came along as our travelling companions. 

The next few weeks were permeated with doctors’ visits, painful procedures, and interminable waiting when each second seemed like a million years and life itself was in a state of suspended animation.  Then came the dire news that a hoped for short cut procedure was unsuccessful and major surgery was the only other option.  More waiting, fretting, worrying, struggling to maintain some degree of normalcy when our whole world was turned topsy-turvy and the outcome was uncertain. 

Amidst all of this turmoil, we clung to a little ray of hope and a precious secret shared with our eldest son and his beautiful wife who had just recently informed us that a new family member was on the way - our first grandchild.  Since there was so little time between hearing this wonderful news and the flip side bad news, there was no opportunity to do much shopping but I had managed to pick up a sweet, tiny undergarment as a token reminder of good things to come.  My husband carried that little onesie with him throughout his entire ordeal, proudly informing everyone he met that he was soon going to be a “Poppy”.   Mere words could never convey the positive impact which that miniscule piece of clothing had on both of us during those anxiety- ridden days on life’s roller coaster.  We even named it Poppy’s good luck charm.

Following what was termed a successful surgery, we were soon caught unawares by an unexpected setback in my husband’s recovery.  Finally, his condition improved to the point where he was released from hospital and we took a tentative little gasp of fresh, clean, non-institutional air.  But our joy in this victory over adversity was short lived as just two days later, my husband’s father passed away suddenly and, once again, the entire family was sent reeling into a state of shock.  How much more could we take at that point?  It seemed as if a black hole had opened up and swallowed us completely within its bleakness. 

Yet, we were never alone in our struggles.  Our faith in a loving, compassionate God and the truly wonderful, prayerful support of friends and family were the crutches on which we rested during those dark, energy-draining days.  Without such assistance, I don’t know how we could have survived the barrage. 

My husband’s amazing recovery continues and we recently received the incredible news that all signs of cancer were removed through the surgery – no further treatments necessary.  What a blessing!  Earlier this month, he proudly participated in the survivors’ walk at our local Relay for Life and you can probably guess what he carried in his hand during that victory lap. 

Now, we eagerly await the arrival of that precious little baby boy in a few short months.  Nana and Poppy plan to be there with bells on for the big day.   When he is old enough to visit an amusement park, I think we’ll head on over to the ferris wheel and roller coaster to take a look at all the silly, screaming people while we eat our cotton candy.  Then we’ll passively stroll on to the merry-go-round or maybe even the giant tea cups for a nice, pleasant little spin.  Leave the more adventuresome rides for someone else.

 

How Does Your Garden Grow?

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary.  How does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells, and pretty maids all in a row.”  (English nursery rhyme)

Just a short year ago, when I joined the ranks of the semi-retired, I decided that it was about time I created a small garden in my backyard.  Nothing elaborate or fancy, just a pleasant little space to brighten up a dingy corner.  My eyes have always appreciated the aesthetic merit of lavish floral displays spreading colour and beauty across a backdrop of lush velvet greenery.  Alas, my poor nose doesn’t share the fascination.  Allergies force me to restrict my proximity to many flourishing blooms.  Still, a garden I wanted and a garden I would have!

So, dressed in my best Indiana Jones costume, I set off into the area 51 section of my backyard (out behind the garage) where no human had ventured to go in many a year, armed to the teeth with spade, pruning shears, and whippersnipper, hell bent on thrashing the bejeepers out of whatever entity had taken up residence there for the past five decades.  The battle lasted for at least a week and it was not a pretty sight.  After hacking, slashing and digging my way through waist high mutant weeds, I eventually emerged triumphantly from the wilderness, although by that time I probably resembled John the Baptist more closely than I care to admit.  My victory was sweet, though, as I proudly surveyed the little patch of cleared land just waiting to fulfill my botanical dreams. 

A trip to the gardening centre was next on the agenda and I eagerly browsed through the colourful selections until my watery eyes and dripping nose prompted a hasty exit.  But I was happy with my pretty, though limited, flower choices.  Back home again, I filled in the tiny garden area with some lovely blossoms and delightful ornaments.  Pleased with myself, you betcha!  Yep, I enjoyed two glorious days of patting myself on the back before the damn weeds returned with a vengeance.  The rest of the summer passed by in a blur as I was forced to participate in repeat performances of the battle of the weeds.

This year, when the snow finally melted and the mud disappeared, I rather reluctantly crept out behind the garage once more to sneak a peek at the remnants of last year’s garden.  What a mess!  The hosta that seemed to be doing so well last summer was nowhere in sight, grass was growing up through the black earth I had spread with such care, and those ugly, octopus like weeds with their vile yellow tops were the only things flourishing in my poor little garden.  Anger exploded behind my eyes in mind-numbing flashes and I grabbed the shears with murderous intent.  Not only did I viciously snip off the tops of the weeds, but I also mercilessly dug out their far-reaching tentacles from beneath the earth’s surface and threw them over the fence in wild abandon.  I briefly thought of using a chemical weed killer but the wellbeing of my doggies overcame my desire for immediate annihilation of those dreadful troublemakers.  At the end of the first day, I crawled out from behind the garage battered and exhausted but satisfied that I had won another round against my mortal enemy. 

Refreshed after a long, soothing soak and a good night’s sleep, I strolled onto the patio the next morning with a cup of tea  and revelled in the sun’s warm touch on my skin as I surveyed my little backyard kingdom.  I nearly choked on Greek yogurt when my eyes perceived the unmistakable invasion of sneaky, snaky weeds in the grass far beyond the confines of the garage.  Oh, me nerves!  Logic and rationale vanished as I attacked the marauders with the mind-set of Attila the Hun and I’ve kept up the assault for days.  My fingers are muddy and torn, my legs hurt, my back aches, my arms scream in pain, and my butt is in agony.  The backyard looks like a pock-marked lunar landscape.  If NASA wanted to recreate another staged moon landing, they could do so quite convincingly right here.

I have a daunting suspicion that I’ll wear out before the weeds do.  The mere thought of repeating this process on an annual basis sends pulsating shivers of abhorrence up and down my spine.  Joni Mitchell probably had the right idea when she sang, “They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.”  Might be something to consider!

I Have a Friend

I have a friend who is like no other I’ve ever known.  My friend is not part of my Rummoli group; nor has my friend ever gone dress shopping with me or swapped pregnancy experiences or shared a bottle of suntan lotion on a sunny beach.  My friend’s caring and generosity of spirit is not exclusively mine, but I am proud and happy to share that love with so many other grateful people. 

I have a friend who places the wellbeing of others at the top of his priority list.  From phone calls during times of stress, to personal visits, to handwritten messages of encouragement, to bouquets of brightly colored flowers, to cards of condolence or congratulation, my friend never misses any opportunity to bring comfort or a smile to the lives of those he encounters.  His numerous little acts of kindness spin a web of happiness in an ever expanding circle of benevolence.

I have a friend who expresses his Christian faith in a way that is simplistic and non-judgemental.  My friend sees each and every person in the same light, regardless of social standing, gender, race or creed.  My friend made his appearance on this earth well over eight decades ago, but his egalitarianism reflects a surprisingly modern approach to life in this rapidly changing world.   Yet, traditional principles of faithfulness and family values resonate strongly in his personal ethics and interaction with other people.

I have a friend who is always ready and willing to listen when I need a sympathetic ear.  I have a friend who is not afraid to say, “I’ll pray for you.”  I have a friend who quietly works behind the scenes to do whatever he can to lighten the load for others.  I have a friend who shuns the spotlight and steadfastly refuses to be lured by the trappings of his profession’s hierarchy.  I have a friend who may never be publicly acknowledged as a “saint”, but who carries that distinction, nonetheless, in the hearts of countless people whose lives he has gently touched. 

Thank you, Fr. Neil Haight, OMI for being my friend.

Waves

The ebb and flow of coastal waves awakes me in the night.

It calls to me, as in days of old, "Let go of fear and fright."

This little cove of childhood days shelters me once more.

Brace yourself, it whispers, afore the tempest strikes the shore.

I see the storm clouds brewing, darkness fills the sky;

churning waves and tears of rage as lightning flashes by.

The gentle lop of yesteryear gives way to crashing, pounding surf;

we are swept along within its tide, torn from familiar turf.

The tapestry is drowning - no, see it clings tightly to the rocks!

Keep heads above the water and eyes upon the docks.

The storm will pass, its fury spent, and peace will come once more.

God's universe will right itself along this wave tossed shore.

The Journey

We started this journey a long time ago,

not knowing its purpose or where we would go.

A vow and a promise were all that we had,

love pledged forever in good times and bad.

Through laughter and tears we stood side by side,

like beads through our fingers the years they slipped by.

Around us our family helped chart life’s true course,

we weathered the storms for better or worse.

Bumps in the road or churning rough seas,

 just temporary setbacks for you and for me.

Faith, friends and family have kept us afloat

when turmoil threatened to topple our boat.

The future awaits, with promises anew,

mountains to climb and vistas to view.

The journey continues, its path winds along,

together we’ll dance to life’s destiny song.

 

Author: Y.M.T.

Is the spirit a-movin'?

Stupefied!  That was my reaction to the announcement made by Pope Benedict XVI concerning his decision to renounce his ministry as Bishop of Rome and spiritual leader of over one billion Catholics.  I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who was stunned by this sudden notice of impending resignation.  After all, it’s the Pope we’re talking about.  The last Supreme Pontiff to resign did so about six hundred years ago.

However, from the time of his election, Pope Benedict never appeared quite comfortable in the Chair of St. Peter.  Following on the heels of the very popular Pope John Paul II, the former Cardinal Ratzinger seemed to pale in comparison to his predecessor.   His decision now to step down further emphasizes the differences between these two men.  The duties and strains of the past eight years have certainly taken its toll on a man who was nearly 80 when he assumed the hefty responsibilities of the papacy.  Yet, unlike Pope John Paul II who so visibly showed the world what it was like to suffer through the debilitating effects of geriatrics, the current Pope has determined that, for the sake of the Church, it would be better to cope with his failing health in a much more private manner.  And why not?  Surely even a Pope deserves to have a little peace and quiet in his twilight years.  It also takes considerable courage to publicly acknowledge one’s limited capacity of mind and body and to relinquish the reins of power for the greater good. 

So, that brings the Catholic Church to the brink of a new opportunity.  Very shortly, a conclave will convene to select a new Pope from the ranks of the College of Cardinals and one can only hope that the spirit is indeed a-movin’ within this process.  Given the significant challenges facing the Church in modern times, it’s imperative that the 266^th Pope be a relatively young man (in comparison to other Cardinals), enthusiastic, energetic, and in touch with the issues and concerns of the people he is chosen to serve.   If the next Pontiff is going to revitalize the faithful, he must be open to positive change and be willing to drag the Church into the 21^st century, despite opposition from some conservative members within the Vatican.  It will not be an easy task, but this may be the last chance to reach out to millions of disconnected Catholics throughout the world, especially in North America.  “Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle in them the fire of your love.”

 

That's Inspirational!

Egalitarianism (n):  a belief in human equality esp. in social, political, and economic affairs

Heroism (n):  the qualities of a hero, (eg) bravery, courage…valor

Inspirational (adj):  (having) the act or power of moving the intellect or emotions, (eg) embolden, encourage, hearten

Merrian-Webster’s Dictionary and Thesaurus (2006)

Words such as these usually evoke images of soldiers, police officers or firefighters heroically risking their own lives to save someone else’s.  The connotation doesn’t naturally flow to include a small, soft-spoken 15 year old Pakistani girl named Malala.  Yet, with every fiber of her being, she personifies equality, heroism, and inspiration.  Despite having been nearly killed by a Taliban assassin who cowardly jumped aboard a school bus and put a bullet in her brain and another in her neck, she remains steadfast and determined to stand up to tyranny.  Prior to undergoing her most recent round of surgery, she quietly but purposefully stated in a news conference that she intends to continue with her campaign to assure the right of education for children all over the world.  During the conference, Malala said, “…I am getting better day by day.  It’s just because of the prayers of people.  Because all people – men, women and children – all of them have prayed for me.  And because of all these prayers, God has given me this new life, a second life.  And I want to serve.  I want to serve the people, I want every girl, every child, to be educated.”  That’s inspirational!

In December, a young medical student from India lost the struggle to survive after enduring inexplicable horror in a gang rape and brutal beating which took place on a bus in New Delhi.  Unbelievably, a similar incident took place in India just a few weeks later, but this time the victim survived the ordeal and was dumped like a sack of garbage in a local village once her attackers had finished with her.  The Human Rights Watch recently gave a failing grade to India’s government regarding what that organization described as the rampant sexual abuse of women and children, especially in schools and state-run facilities.  Spurred into action by these shocking atrocities, the people of India – women and girls, in particular – have decided that enough is enough.  They are fighting back and demanding that the authorities take definitive action in putting an end to such outrageous and unacceptable behaviour.  That’s inspirational!

Again in December, the world witnessed another vile act of depravity when six teachers – all of them women – did their best to shield their tiny students from a gunman’s assault rifle.  Those teachers and twenty little children died in a hail of bullets.  But, the nightmare of their last moments on earth has emboldened millions of people in the US to stand up to the powerful influence of the NRA and to press on with their battle to ban assault weapons.  That’s inspirational!

Within my own ever expanding family, there is a group of awesome young women who have wholeheartedly grasped the opportunity which post-secondary education offers, and some of them have even left home and family behind at a relatively young age to pursue their academic dreams in far-away centers of learning.  Others have chosen to follow a similar scholarly path closer to home while simultaneously holding down part-time or full-time jobs.  That’s inspirational!

Thank you, Malala, and all the other enthusiastic, determined, intelligent, young – and not so young – women of the world whose dream is to make a better life for themselves and everyone around them, regardless of sex, race, creed, or social standing.  May your simple message and strong witness to the tenets of respect and equality for all reverberate throughout the world, dismantling the shackles of oppression and intimidation link by link until basic human rights are afforded to every single person who inhabits this earth.  That’s inspirational!