Change, they say, is all about letting go of the past. This, I'm sure, is true. As I prepare to move to a different city, to leave a lovely, spacious and comfortable home, I remember happy occasion in this house with friends and family, summers in the garden. How I'll miss my two beloved birch trees, one outside my study, the other outside the bedroom. And there are other emotions too -- regrets at unfulfilled dreams and unmet expectations. These also need to be let go.
But change encompasses more, I realize, and this has to do with the future. What needs to happen is a reorienting of my life. I start to be aware that I'm beginning to welcome and open to what's coming towards me. Because this still lies ahead, it's not so obvious, yet the pull and the call of my new life in the future is definitely there.
Meantime, adjustment also has to happen by living in the present, sorting, discarding, and packing up, which process looks both back and forward.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
words we use
Last Thursday I made an exception to my rule of not going out in the mornings, and attended a farewell celebration of the Act of Consecration of Man and a luncheon for a retiring priest. He was asked to say the grace, and the second line of this struck me very much. This was 'Speech forms the soul.'
Going about today, watching or listening to any kind of media, it's impossible to miss the fact that swearing is common currency. I've never lived in a home where bad language has been the norm. Even 'though my Dad had been a soldier in the second World War, the worst he'd utter under duress was 'bugger'. I remember as a schoolgirl, singing that song 'Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do' and then the second verse, of Daisy's negative response to Michael that ended with, 'So ring your bell, and pedal like hell'. This came into my mind recently, and even now I hesitated, and my mind blipped over that last word. Yes, when I was a child we considered 'hell' to be a bad word!
When we moved to North America and our son was exposed to 'normal' high school, teenage cant, he felt a bombardment, a soul shock... although he soon fitted in (so he tells me). He still doesn't swear in my presence.
Call me old fashioned on this. Fine. The whole temper of our contemporary society almost demands swearing. But for me, words hold power. Once, for a week, I decided I'd better loosen up, and soon found myself saying the 's' word quite a lot, worse than any situation warranted. And I thought, do I really want to be reminded of my lower bodily functions so often?
So I'll stick to my staid habit and try not to take offence when others offend... or at least, put up a psychic shield.
Going about today, watching or listening to any kind of media, it's impossible to miss the fact that swearing is common currency. I've never lived in a home where bad language has been the norm. Even 'though my Dad had been a soldier in the second World War, the worst he'd utter under duress was 'bugger'. I remember as a schoolgirl, singing that song 'Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do' and then the second verse, of Daisy's negative response to Michael that ended with, 'So ring your bell, and pedal like hell'. This came into my mind recently, and even now I hesitated, and my mind blipped over that last word. Yes, when I was a child we considered 'hell' to be a bad word!
When we moved to North America and our son was exposed to 'normal' high school, teenage cant, he felt a bombardment, a soul shock... although he soon fitted in (so he tells me). He still doesn't swear in my presence.
Call me old fashioned on this. Fine. The whole temper of our contemporary society almost demands swearing. But for me, words hold power. Once, for a week, I decided I'd better loosen up, and soon found myself saying the 's' word quite a lot, worse than any situation warranted. And I thought, do I really want to be reminded of my lower bodily functions so often?
So I'll stick to my staid habit and try not to take offence when others offend... or at least, put up a psychic shield.
Monday, April 9, 2007
because Sunday is different
thus the advertising promo to introduce a new look to the Sunday edition of the newspaper proclaimed. I have no argument with the sentiment.
When I was a child, Sunday was different because we couldn't go to movies and all stores except 'corner cafes' were closed. Sporadically we went to church. Often we had company for afternoon tea... yes, all very colonial.
Today we please ourselves, and make our own free decisions. Nevertheless, Sunday still has a different mood to it, and Easter Sunday most of all. Yesterday, I wrapped my ten month old grandson in my shawl and stepped outside with him to experience the joy and upliftment of the morning. He sat quietly on my hip, attentive, drinking it all in and listening to the twittering of the birds.
When I was a child, Sunday was different because we couldn't go to movies and all stores except 'corner cafes' were closed. Sporadically we went to church. Often we had company for afternoon tea... yes, all very colonial.
Today we please ourselves, and make our own free decisions. Nevertheless, Sunday still has a different mood to it, and Easter Sunday most of all. Yesterday, I wrapped my ten month old grandson in my shawl and stepped outside with him to experience the joy and upliftment of the morning. He sat quietly on my hip, attentive, drinking it all in and listening to the twittering of the birds.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Maundy Thursday
I believe each day in Holy Week has an archetypal character. It seems entirely appropriate to break bread with friends on Maundy Thursday, and that's what we were invited to do.
For our dinner with these old, dear friends we arrived early (not my fault!) and left late, having savoured every mouthful of an asian-style meal, been enchanted and delighted by their newly, aesthetically pleasing, custom-built castle, and come into close conversation in front of a warming fire.
I drank no wine. "Coffee?" suggested our hostess. I succombed. And then arose a small dilemmma. "Espresso or organic?" she asked. Now, crunchy granola is my eating conviction -- hey, I have a great recipe -- but I know espresso is less worse for the heart. The latter's what I went with, and delicious it was.
So we make choices, from the trivial to the significant.
For our dinner with these old, dear friends we arrived early (not my fault!) and left late, having savoured every mouthful of an asian-style meal, been enchanted and delighted by their newly, aesthetically pleasing, custom-built castle, and come into close conversation in front of a warming fire.
I drank no wine. "Coffee?" suggested our hostess. I succombed. And then arose a small dilemmma. "Espresso or organic?" she asked. Now, crunchy granola is my eating conviction -- hey, I have a great recipe -- but I know espresso is less worse for the heart. The latter's what I went with, and delicious it was.
So we make choices, from the trivial to the significant.
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