Author: edebock

Looking for gnomes

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After spending the past three weeks caring for my aging parents, we’ve moved across town to our son and daughter-in-law’s for a few days before we head for home. I’m mentally and emotionally worn out and nervous about leaving Mom and Dad on their own and it hasn’t helped that it’s been grey and rainy the entire time that we’ve been in Vancouver. Fun with our grandsons is just the medicine I need at the moment and what could be more delightful than a walk in the woods to look for gnomes?

Twenty-three years ago, when our son, Matt, was in fourth grade, we shared our home with a Norwegian exchange student. Bjorn came to us bearing unique and interesting gifts for each member of the family. The boys received Norwegian trolls about 6 inches tall with mischievous, grinning faces. In recent months, Matthew’s troll took up residence on a shelf in the kitchen of his home. That led to questions from inquisitive 3-year-old Sam and prompted a discussion about gnomes. Searches of the nearby forest followed to see if any of these dwarfish creatures could be found. Yesterday we were invited to go along on one of these adventures!

Could there be a gnome in here?

Or here?

Though we didn’t see any, there must have been one living under this tree because Mommy “found” a teeny, tiny gold key that fits perfectly into the lock of the tiny gnome door that she and Daddy recently installed on the outer wall of the family room! The plan is to put the key back where it was found so that the gnomes can come to visit if they want to.

   

Robin claims that she had absolutely nothing to do with the little gnome gate that we found deeper in the woods. Perhaps, the little people are protecting their food stores from squirrels or maybe they have treasure hidden here!

Our grandsons, Sam and little brother Nate, are fortunate to live just a couple of blocks from the forest and very blessed to have parents who nurture and encourage their active imaginations. Way to go, Matt and Robin!

Operation Parent Care

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When I wondered at the end of a recent post what October would hold, I had no idea that we’d be spending much of it back in Vancouver!

We’ve lived for a long time with the knowledge that we might have to make a quick trip to the coast at any time if something happened to either of my elderly parents. That moment came when my father’s alarmingly large prostate caused a complete urinary blockage about three weeks ago. He also had a urinary infection. My sister, the doctor in the family, flew out first to provide immediate care but she wasn’t able to stay long term. We drove out arriving just a few hours before she had to leave for the airport to return to her family. Having the vehicle here has made it possible for us to ferry Dad to numerous medical appointments and procedures, some related to the prostate problem and some not.

It was with some trepidation that I took over from my sister knowing that in addition to cooking, grocery shopping, laundry and becoming primary caregiver for Mom, who’s in the late stages of Alzheimer’s disease, I’d also be responsible for caring for Dad’s medical needs. Before leaving home, we asked our church family and friends to pray and I have absolutely no doubt that they’ve been doing so. I’m absolutely certain that without those prayers, I would be completely unable to do all that I’ve had to do with any degree of patience or grace. Nothing in life really prepares you for having to clean your father’s catheter twice a day or help your mother change her soiled pants!

By Day 9 of Operation Parent Care, when Mom appeared to have developed a touch of diarrhea, I thought I might have reached the end of my rope. I didn’t know if I could handle another thing. That’s when something in the back of the toilet broke and we had a sudden flood! Water poured from the top of the tank like a mini Niagara. In minutes the bathroom was full of water and it was flowing out the door! Richard waded in, Dad ran (hobbled) off to find a pipe wrench and I called the apartment emergency number. Within minutes a maintenance man arrived at the door like a rescuing angel and in no time at all a powerful shop vac had sucked up most of the water and the toilet’s inner workings had been completely replaced. What could I do but laugh? The tension of the day had definitely been broken and on we went, tiptoeing over dampened carpet for the next 24 hours or so.

Today is Day 12. At this point, we have no idea how long we’ll be here. We do know that Dad requires surgery and that he’ll be catheterized until that takes place. It wasn’t at all comforting to have the specialist assure us that surgery could probably be booked for sometime before Christmas!

Fortunately, Dad’s infection has cleared and he has regained much of his strength. I’m teaching him to care for his own catheter and he’s beginning help with Mom’s care again. Sadly, her condition has deteriorated significantly since we were here just three months ago. My siblings and I are of the opinion that she needs a level of care that can’t really be provided at home, especially by a frail 89-year-old, but I’m not sure how much success we’ll have trying to convince him of that. I hate the idea of leaving them on their own again but what choice do we have. We’ll definitely ensure that someone is here to help when he undergoes surgery but I can’t stay here forever.

Blessed to be 60!

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Well, the big day came and went and I don’t feel any different! I’m learning to say “I’m 60” and, just one day into the year, I’m already liking it better than being 59. The whole time I was 59, I dreaded turning 60 but now I realize that it’s just another decade and another new beginning.

Besides, being 60 gives me something to joke about. As friends gathered last evening for what I dubbed my “coming of age girlfriend party” I told them that now that I’m a little old lady, they’d have to  humour me and humour me they did. When I invited them, I told them that if the weather cooperated we’d be celebrating around the fire pit in my back yard. Hearty Albertans that they are, even though the temperature was only 4°C (37°F), they all arrived bundled up and ready for an outdoor party!

Apparently, there are lots of benefits to being 60. I’ve already been able to take advantage of a few discounts available to the over 55 crowd but just think of all the senior discounts I’ll qualify for now!

One of the cards that I received last night says “What kind of gifts does God give for a 60th birthday?” and goes on to list them… Grace, purpose, generations, perspective, contentment, relationships, values, memories. To some, like grace and purpose, I say I hope so and to others, like generations and memories, I say AMEN!

One of the best things about being older is grandchildren and the wonderful memories we make together. I was delighted to receive video messages via email from both sets of grandchildren yesterday and I also enjoyed a wonderful Skype visit with two of our Japanese “grandchildren” and their parents. I am truly blessed!

I also learned that 60 is definitely not too old to try something new. When I stopped by the liquor store a couple of days ago to pick up some wine for the party, I couldn’t resist this. Adult Chocolate Milk made with Premium Red Wine, boasts the label. Turning the bottle over, I read “This ultimate chocolate lover’s wine is a marriage of rich velvety chocolate, the freshest of milk, and premium red wine. This masterfully crafted artisanal concoction can be served on the rocks, like a traditional wine, or used as a mixer in many cocktails. Uptown Girl, a unique blend truly like no other.” It practically followed me home! Sipped on the rocks beside a roaring fire, it was definitely a winner.

My girlfriends obviously know me well. One wrote in her card “One thing I know for sure ~ you like tea ~ you love to read ~ and I’m positive… you love chocolate!” Though the invitation said no gifts, she brought me tea bags, a beautiful bookmark and chocolate covered almonds. Another friend brought me this, a chocolate bouquet made of 60 little chocolate treats! Did I mention how blessed I am?

Titus 2:3-5 says “Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God.” When I received my Bible as a Christmas gift in 1982, I was just 30 years old, a young wife and mother. I highlighted the latter portion of that passage. As years went by, however, the time came when I began to realize that it was the beginning portion that now applied to me. Eventually, I somewhat reluctantly highlighted that part of the passage with a different colour.

As we sat around the fire last night, I gave my girlfriends (all younger than I am) one piece of advice. Don’t do as I did and spend your 59th year worrying about turning 60, I told them. I am blessed to have the privilege and responsibility of going before them and I hope that I am setting a godly example but I also want to show them that aging isn’t such a bad thing.

“Thinking about age all the time is the biggest prison women can make for themselves.”  Miuccia Prada

Birthday roses from my hubby!

Banned Books Week

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It seems that there is a day, a week or a month for almost everything these days. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month in Canada and the US. October 1 was International Day of Older Persons as well as World Vegetarian Day. Tomorrow is World Teachers’ Day. Though some of these are well publicized, most come and go unnoticed by the majority of us. I wouldn’t have known that this was Banned Books Week had my online friend, Sarah, who is both a librarian and originator of the Awesomeday movement, not mentioned it on Facebook today.

As an avid reader, that definitely caught my attention and I began to do a bit of digging. I was absolutely astonished at what I discovered! Though the practice of governments banning books in Canada and the United States is a thing of the past and there are no books currently banned by either country, specific titles are frequently challenged and sometimes banned by individual school jurisdictions and public libraries.

I was flabbergasted by the books that have been challenged and in some cases, banned. Here are just a few that are considered controversial and are often banned in American schools:

Pulitzer Prize winning To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee which addresses issues of class,  courage, compassion and gender roles in the American South during the Great Depression has been challenged over the years for its use of profanity and racial slurs. Thankfully, not everyone agrees. In fact, in 2006, British librarians ranked the book ahead of the Bible as one “every adult should read before they die”.

Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, another American classic, is one of the most frequently banned books in American schools because Twain used the word “nigger” throughout. Surely teachers of American literature can be trusted to explain the reason behind the word; that Twain was trying to reveal the plight of the slave in America and that he was using the vernacular of the time.

Lord of the Flies by Nobel Prize winning author, William Golding, tells the story of a group of British schoolboys stranded on an uninhabited island who try to govern themselves with disastrous results. In 2005, the novel was chosen by Time magazine as one of the 100 best English language novels published between 1923 and 2005 but it is often criticized and in many cases banned from schools because of its use of profanity, sexuality, racial slurs and violence. It is perhaps the book I remember most vividly from high school English class more than 40 years ago. It’s not a pleasant read but do we learn and grow if we read nothing but entertaining fluff?

The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank, the ever-hopeful true story of a young teenager who eventually died in the Holocaust has been banned for being “too depressing”. Unbelievable!

I was perhaps most shocked to find Katherine Paterson’s novel, Bridge to Terabithia, on several lists of most commonly challenged and banned books! As a teacher, I had absolutely no qualms about reading this beautiful book about two lonely children who create a magical forest kingdom to my upper elementary school students year after year. The inspiration for the book, in which one of the main characters dies, came from a tragic event in the author’s own experience when a close friend of her son’s was struck by lightning and died. Death is a reality, even for children, and this book handles it exquisitely.

I could go on and on about books that have been banned from schools but I literally had to laugh out loud over a few of the children’s books that have at one time or another been challenged or banned from public libraries. Librarians must roll their eyes at some of the criticisms parents bring forth!

Believe it or not, in at least one location, the first Where’s Waldo book was banned because in one of the drawings a beach is shown where a woman lying on the sand has part of a breast exposed! This in a nation where pornographic magazines are readily available on news stands! Imagine someone poring over the thousands and thousands of tiny characters featured in a Waldo book and singling out this one “offensive” character! I would have needed a magnifying glass to see her!

Then there’s I Have to Go! by beloved children’s writer, Robert Munsch. What parent hasn’t bundled a tiny tot into a snowsuit or a car seat with a five point harness only to have them announce almost immediately, “I have to go PEE!” If that’s offensive, we might as well ban Thomas’ Snowsuit too. After all, aren’t the teacher and the principal cross-dressers?

I can’t even begin to imagine why anyone would object to Al Perkin’s Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb! The story line is a little thin (okay, non-existent) but young children love the madcap band of dancing, prancing monkeys and the book’s rhythmic cadence. I think I might still have a copy of it in the bookshelf in the basement.

Certainly it is the responsibility of every parent to be aware of what their children are reading and in some cases, even to limit those choices. There are books that I’d rather not see on a library shelf and books that I choose not to read. There are books that probably aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on or the time and brain cells required to read them but, as honorary chairman of this year’s Banned Book Week, Bill Moyers, has been quoted as saying, “censorship is an enemy of the truth”. The more widely read we are, the better we will know and understand the world we live in and the people we share this planet with.

Hello October!

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October has long been one of my favourite times of year. It’s a bittersweet in-between time; summer is over but winter hasn’t arrived yet.

In my mind, October is golden. We don’t see the reds and oranges that eastern Canada is famous for at this time of year but we have gold; golden fields at rest after harvest and this outside my front window!

Sadly, in no time at all it will look like this, taken during the first week of November last year.

And that’s on one of its best days when it was dressed in hoar frost and the sun was shining on it. No, I’m definitely not a fan of winter but that’s one of the things that makes October so special. Each golden moment is precious because we know it won’t last.

Early October is a time of celebration at our house with both our wedding anniversary and my birthday falling during the first week. Canadian Thanksgiving, celebrated on the first Monday of October, follows hard on their heels.

Later in the month there’s another date that’s important to me. It was 37 years ago in mid October when I surrendered the life that I’d already screwed up royally to the awesome Creator of the universe who had a purpose and a plan for my life (Jeremiah 29:11) and what a difference that made!

As winter approaches, some may consider October a time to hunker down close to home but though days are shorter now and nights are cooler, Canadian poet William Carman Bliss expressed the feeling of my heart when he penned

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir,
We must rise and follow her;
When from every hill of flame,
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

Hello, October! I wonder what you have in store for this gypsy girl this year?

Inspired!

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A couple of weeks ago one of my favourite fashion bloggers, Jeannie, writer of gracefully50, published a post in which she wore an unbuttoned trench dress as a long jacket over a tight black dress. It made for a unique and classy look but then, I think Jeannie could wear a paper bag and look stylish!

What intrigued me was the realization that I had very similar items hidden away in my own closet. Neither had seen the light of day in a very long time but they were pieces I hesitated to get rid of; the black dress because, after all, every woman is supposed to have a LBD and the other because I’ve always simply loved it.

This afternoon, my daughter and I dressed up and did a photo shoot. I took pictures for her blog post about her latest fabulous thrift store finds and she photographed me in my take on Jeannie’s outfit. I don’t have the funky shoes or the adorable pup to complete the look but here’s my version.

   

Not only did I love the look but it was amazingly comfortable. Now I just have to decide where to wear it!

How do I write?

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A friend recently asked me an interesting question about how I write.

“Do you edit or just let it flow?” 

Much of my writing is actually done in my head before putting pen to paper or in today’s venacular, fingers to keyboard. I’ve always written this way, mulling things over and sorting them out in my mind before beginning to write them down.

Once I actually start writing, however, I edit, edit, edit! Every sentence is read and reread. Changes are constantly being made. When it comes to my writing, as in many other aspects of life, I’m a perfectionist. Downright anal might be a more honest assessment!

Like anyone who writes, I have my own personal style. I realize that there are many ways to  say the same thing but if something doesn’t sound quite right to me, it gets changed. To my mind, writing is a craft.

Editing is so much easier than it was in the pen and paper days. The internet is a fabulous tool. I often google a word meaning to ensure that I’m using it properly, sometimes finding a synonym that I like even better. Similarly, when I don’t want to use the same word too often, I search for a synonym. Though I’m pretty confident about my spelling, spellcheck is also a valuable tool.

Titles can be tricky. Sometimes, as in my post entitled Turn left at the three legged dog, the title comes to mind first but that’s quite rare. More often, I begin writing without a title and think of one later, sometimes after the article itself is completely finished. Occasionally, I begin with a working title but change it before I’m done.

My husband is one of my greatest fans and whenever I’m unsure about a post, I have him read it over before I publish it. Most often, he assures me that it’s fine but occasionally he points out something that I’ve missed or that isn’t entirely clear.

So, fellow bloggers, I’m interested in knowing how you write.

“Do you edit or just let it flow?” 

Are they or aren’t they?

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It always boggles my mind that new rocks mysteriously appear in farmers’ fields each season! Though it seems as if they must simply drop from the sky, I’m told that it’s actually frost action that brings them to the surface. Today, while I was harvesting in one of the most recently cleared parts of Louis’ land, the combine picked up one of these rocks that lay hidden in a swath of canola. In addition to plugging up the machine, it broke three teeth on the pick-up auger as well as the chain that turns it.

Climbing down from the machine, I proceeded to unplug the pick-up by hand all the while wishing that I’d thought to bring a pair of work gloves with me. As the scratches on my arms will attest, canola straw is brittle and sharp. Eventually I cleared enough of it away to expose the rock wedged in underneath. As I pulled it out, what could have been nothing more than an annoying delay became something much more intriguing. Could that possibly be a ribstone in my hands?

Ribstones , carved by the natives who wandered this windswept prairie more than 1000 years ago, are thought to depict the ribs of buffalo, the animal that provided for so many of their needs. We first saw this type of rock carving at a native ceremonial site on a high point of land located about 24 km north of here. Here’s one of the rocks found there

and here’s the rock I found in the combine today.

Is it only my imagination or do you see a similarity?

While Louis went to town to buy a new chain, I picked up other rocks strewn around the area and piled them up so that they can be easily found and removed from the field before one them causes another mishap. I looked closely at each one before adding it to the pile but they were just ordinary rocks void of interesting markings of any kind. A little stone, too small to be a threat, caught my attention only because its light colour stood out against the darker field. Picking it up, I noticed immediately that it fit snugly into my palm. Examining it more closely, I realized that it appeared to have been carved into its present shape and that one edge formed a sharp blade.

   

 

It was easy to imagine a young brave chipping away at this rock turning it into a tool that his iskwew (is-KWAY-oh, Cree word for woman and the word that our term squaw is likely derived from) would use to scrape the hides after his next hunt. Perhaps it was an elderly man, one too old to join the hunt, who spent his time making tools like this one.

As you can see, hours on the combine leave plenty of time for my imagination to run wild! Are these simply unusual rocks or are they artifacts; remnants of times long past and people who roamed these parts long before the fields were cleared and cultivated? When harvest is over, I hope to do some research and try to find out and I’ll probably be back in that field picking rocks again in hopes of finding more of interest!

Dressing like a girl

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I’m a blue jeans kind of girl. Perhaps that has something to do with growing up in an era when girls were required to wear skirts to school every day. I took my final year of high school in the Northwest Territories. The only good thing about that was the fact that we were allowed to wear pants to school from the beginning of November to the end of February, a concession to the fact that the school remained open even when the temperature plunged to -50°F (-45°C) or lower! By the time I entered an Alberta classroom as a teacher five years later, dress pants were permitted and during the last few years of my career, Casual Friday had made its way into the schools. Finally I could go to school in blue jeans!

Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to spend my retirement working as a seasonal farm labourer but at this time of year, I can be found wearing faded, well worn blue jeans and a t-shirt or sweatshirt while operating a combine! I often wear dressy jeans to church but at this time of year, after dressing like a farmer all week, I love to dress like a girl on Sunday. That’s when my skirts are most apt to come out of the closet.

I’m especially glad that I chose to dress up for church yesterday. Our local high school has a long standing tradition of holding graduation in mid September. It makes absolutely no sense to me especially considering that this is a farming community where a fall grad invariably falls in the middle of the busy harvest but tradition is tradition and it isn’t likely to change anytime soon.

The morning after the big celebration, the graduates in our congregation traditionally come to church dressed in their graduation finery and each is presented with a Bible with their name engraved on the cover. They’re sometimes a bit bleary eyed after the festivities of the evening before but it allows all of us an opportunity to share in their special moment.

Yesterday, three young men showed up for church looking much more formal than usual. I was delighted when one of their mothers asked me to pose for a photo with them after the service. It doesn’t seem like very long ago that they were little boys in my Sunday School class & look at them now! Matthew, the one on my right, is studying engineering while Rylun and Jason are apprenticing mechanics.

photo by Michelle Edey

I’m glad I was suitably dressed for the occasion!

Letters to the editor

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I’ve been reminded of the power of words recently. I’m not one who usually sits around writing letters to the editor but I’ve written three of them in the last couple of weeks and have received interesting responses to each one.

The September issue of More, Canada’s magazine for women over 40, contained an article that drew the reader’s attention to Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide, written by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn, a book that I think should be required reading for every citizen of the developed world. I wrote a letter (email) commending the editorial staff for this and received a reply from copy editor, Brenda Thompson, telling me that they may choose to reprint a portion of my letter in an upcoming issue! Words can be encouraging.

I read the Edmonton Journal online every morning. On August 29, I came across what I considered to be an example of blatantly irresponsible journalism. The first sentence of an article entitled “Man charged with shooting two Mounties south of Edmonton slated to appear in court” stated that Sawyer Robison was the subject of a manhunt “after wounding two Killam RCMP officers during a shooting.” As was pointed out later in the article, details of the shooting have never been publicly released. Though the shooting took place just a few miles from here, I do not know Sawyer Robison. I don’t know if he is innocent or guilty. I do know, however, that he has not yet had his day in court. He has not been found guilty of wounding the RCMP officers and I was appalled that the Edmonton Journal would print this for public consumption. I assumed that this was an extreme lapse in judgement and fired off an email to Editor-in-Chief, Lucinda Chodan. Her response was almost immediate. “You are completely right,” she said and thanked me for bringing this to her attention. “As soon as I received your email, I asked our staff to correct the article.” she went on to say and included a link to the revision. Words are powerful.

This morning I entered into a Facebook discussion, initiated by a friend of mine, about an editorial that appeared in a local weekly, The Edge, out of Wainwright, Alberta. It was written by reporter, Mickey Djuric, in response to the suggestion made recently by the niece of Toronto mayor, Rob Ford, that women can avoid sexual assault by “not dressing like a whore.” While her point that women should never be blamed for being assaulted or raped is well taken, I found her attitude and the way she expressed her opinion absolutely unacceptable. Her final paragraphs were particularly appalling.

We will not let anyone tell us how we should dress, or what garments are dubbed as appropriate for your eyes.
Sluts, whores, tarts (Whatever you want to label us). Show your cleavage, or legs, and tell everyone to go screw themselves while doing it.

I did mention that The Edge is a small town newspaper, didn’t I? They’re not known for quality journalism but this goes way beyond the norm. Even in this day and age, I was astonished that an editorial staff anywhere would find this suitable for printing and said so in my letter (email) to Editor-in-Chief, Kelly Clemmer. I asked him if this was really the message that we want to give teenage girls and young women and suggested that had Ms. Djuric shown up for her job interview dressed the way she suggests and speaking the way she does in the editorial, she probably wouldn’t have been hired. In the real world, employers do have the right to tell us how we should dress!

I also told him that, right or wrong, anyone who thinks that a girl who dresses provocatively doesn’t put herself at greater risk or make herself a more likely target for exploitation has their head in the sand! Though he defended the point that he felt his writer was trying to make, Mr. Clemmer did agree with some of my points and has promised to publish my letter in an upcoming Edge.

So, as we often tell little children, use your words! They are powerful. Use them to encourage, use them to correct, use them to admonish. We who are privileged to live where we have the freedom to speak our mind should do so!