Becoming Village People

I've heard a lot of talk in the last few years amongst the millennial generation about the desire for community, or 'the village' as some of them call it. Many millennials feel a lack of connection and a lack of working together for the common good of a group of people. Some young online influencers have theories as to what makes them feel disconnected. Maybe it's the internet with its strangely isolating social media platforms and barrage of doom. Maybe it is general malaise and isolation of the self in an increasingly complex society. Some young social media influencers present advice for others on how to foster community by reaching out, asking for help, and sharing what they have to offer in return.  I am not a millennial, only an observer, but I cannot help but feel for them. I have been a part of several communities over the years, and have benefitted hugely. 

For most of us, our first community is the family unit. I was the youngest of six children, so our family may even have qualified as a village, or maybe a hamlet. I don't remember ever being alone in the house until i was probably in my teens. I was surrounded by my community, whether I liked it or not. I had to learn to get along, put up with annoyances and teasing, and stand up for myself. On the other hand, I was very rarely lonely.

While I was born and raised in one community, once I left home I moved around a lot in the first eleven years of my independent life. I went to university in Vancouver, made a couple of friends there, got married, had a child, and then moved to a small town when my husband was hired by BC Parks. The first thing I did when I moved to the small town was find an organized group for new parents. Two mornings a week I would walk with my little boy to an unidentified hall somewhere and share stories and concerns with other parents (mostly moms), listen to guest speakers, eat snacks and drink coffee, then trek back home. On other days I went down to the coffee shop where regulars gathered to drink more coffee and discuss the news of the day. I didn't expect close friendships, just connection and some sort of social life. My husband and I frequented an excellent bakery in the town. The owner's daughter who worked there, would fill a big bag with bread and treats and never accept more than five dollars for it despite our protestations. I don't know why she did that, but we were so touched by her kindness. Money was tight in those early days, and every bit helped. Mary-Lou did not become a particularly close friend and we lost touch over the years, but I remember her so fondly as someone who made the village that much sweeter. 

When we moved again for another job I was lucky enough to already have a good friend from university in that town. We started a book club together and I invited some other moms I had met at the mom's group to join. I made friends with the owner of a local cafe and vintage shop. We traded various items and I still have a cabinet she gave me in exchange for an old wardrobe and some vintage chenille bedspreads. 

Alas, just as we were falling in love with living in that town, my husband was transferred to Vancouver Island where we knew almost no one. I quickly found a parent community through the Tot Stop which was held in the basement of a church. Again, I didn't expect deep friendships to come of it, just somewhere to go with my two little boys and relate to other parents deep in the trenches of parenthood, but a walking group came of it. The city park was where I met a very great friend. She saw me with my two boys in the same age range as her two boys and simply walked up to us declaring that we should be friends. She was new in town, too. We spent many happy times together over the seven years we lived on the Island. After two years in one Island community, we moved up Island to a remote and tiny lodge community. Finding 'the village' there was a huge challenge after the convenience of living within walking distance of every service we needed. For me, however, not fostering community was not an option. I persisted in finding ways to relate to the people around me. A small handful of young families made up the year-round lodge community, and eventually we started a kind of community pre-school. We took turns coming up with activities for the kids. Another lodge employee held movie nights. Every day the families would meet up at the basketball court or the beach, depending on the time of year. The lodge owners' nanny became a great friend, and her home became the kids' gathering place. Our time was not always easy in that tiny, but mega-beautiful lakeside community, but we made it work and reaped the rewards.

When we moved to the Fraser Valley our three older kids were school age, so it was easy to strike up conversations with other parents during school pick-up. We also made friends with people from the little church we attended. The town was small and we soon felt part of the village. New friends introduced us to other friends, and my desire to become involved in my community was answered (and then some!) I was asked to provide daycare by a woman from church. She was a teacher and had a son one year older than my youngest who was just a toddler at the time. When word got out that I was providing daycare another teacher I met at a Thanksgiving dinner asked if I would consider looking after her son, too. That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship and highly beneficial connection that has lasted more than twenty years. We traded daycare for organic beef and chickens raised on their farm, and my youngest was never lonely while her siblings were at school. Now, we trade puzzles and I am part of their garden co-op.

As I write this little history of the communities I have been lucky enough to be a part of, I realize that in all of them I was able to meet people through having children. I met many other people along the way through shared interests, but my children were my main conduit to community in each new place we moved to. I am hugely grateful that I am not having to move at my age to yet another town where I know no one. It can be much harder to find community when you're older. If I did have to move again, I would find somewhere to volunteer. I might take a class or join a theater group (backstage work is really fun). These days I spend a fair amount of time alone, which suits me after all those years of being a social butterfly, but I truly value the times I do get to spend with cherished friends and family members. My husband works at another remote lodge environment and I have taken the winter off to spend more time with him. I also spend time checking in with friends and my extended family members, some of whom are aging and needing a little more support. 

'The village' I am part of now could be represented like a map with many pins in it. Some of the pins are faded, and some have fallen out, but all are important to me. I have always had people I can call when things go awry. I have been that person for others, and I am grateful. I don't know how to advise the next generations on how to foster community and create that longed-for village. They have to figure it out for themselves, and they will. No person is an island (especially if they live on one!). The only thing I would tell young people is that connection is entirely worth the effort, the mistakes made, and the risk of rejection. I know I made social mistakes, as all young people do, but I still felt myself worthy of social connection and my place in the village. Everyone is worthy of community, of face-to-face interaction. Nothing replaces real human connection. 

"We are called to be strong companions and clear mirrors to one another, to seek those who reflect with compassion and a keen eye how we are doing, whether we seem centered or off course … we need the nourishing company of others to create the circle needed for growth, freedom and healing."-Wayne Muller

Closing the Door on 2024

I've had trouble settling down to write anything lately. My mind has been preoccupied by the sobering reality of several friends dealing with quite major health issues. My friends and I are all at that age now where, if we aren't ourselves dealing with major health issues, then we know someone who is. I am a person who prays, and I have been praying lately for five people, all women, in my circle who have been undergoing some sort of cancer treatment. In the last couple of weeks I received good news from two of these friends, and I now feel like maybe we are over the worst of this bout of scary and all-consuming scenarios.

In early December I attended a Christmas party at the home of a good friend of mine in the nearby town we used to live in. Her house was brimming with laughter and conversation. I had not seen many of the guests for a year or more. I noticed how everyone was looking a bit older, a bit greyer with a few more laugh lines and worry creases. I'm sure they thought the same of me. I thought how lucky we all were to be there, healthy, engaged and celebratory. There were a few young people there, too, friends of our hosts' son. I reflected on the gift that youthful energy and clear-eyed beauty bring to the table, and hoped that these young friends were making the most of this special and all too short-lived time in their lives.

Weeks ago, when my husband and I were walking on our favourite river trail, we noticed how friendly our contemporaries were. There were plenty of  'Hello! Nice day for it, eh?' greetings between us. I joked later that maybe we were all thinking the same thing: "Hey, look at us! Still upright and able. Isn't it great?" 

As I reflect on the past year, I feel grateful for being able to support my friends in their health crises. I have been on the receiving end of that support and know how much it can mean. I am grateful for my siblings whose support I feel through our daily check-ins and Wordle score sharing. I am grateful for my husband who continues to work through endless work challenges and toward personal lofty fitness goals while making sure I feel loved and cared for each and every day. I am grateful for my four children, whatever they bring, whether it is something to cheer me or educate me. It all counts. I am grateful for my mountain home away from home. Here I get to slow down, smell the good air, and drink the clear water. I am inspired here and always go home feeling refreshed. I am grateful for my health. It's not perfect, but with my cooperation (and often wavering motivation), it's pretty darn good. I am grateful for all the simple joys I experienced this past year, from cherry blossoms in spring to impromptu visits with old friends. And finally, I am grateful for the hard times. There's no school like them, and I hope I am a better and more resilient person for them.

As this year closes and another one opens, may you find doors to inspiration, to hope, and to love aplenty, just waiting for you to pass through and embrace them. 

Until next time, and with hopes for a more peaceful 2025 in our crazy, beautiful world,

Rebecca

All Souls Day

Today I am taking some time to remember

all those souls I have known

who have moved on from this mixed bag of beauty and sorrow

Lea, Peter, my parents and grandparents

My godparents, Judy and Martin

friends and mentors named Kathleen, Phyllis, Marylee, and Irene

and schoolmates 

Pat, Laurel, Jason, Richard, and Jon

For whom we now pray.

Also those souls I did not know but think of nonetheless: 

my brother Michael who was born and died long before I came along,

(Would I be here had he lived?)

various ancestors whose DNA I share with my children

 and authors and artists who filled the treasure chest of thought and vision

I look to for inspiration and comfort -

'We read to know we are not alone,' says C.S. Lewis' student in Shadowlands. 

And then there are those with no one to remember them

in November we look upon the trees

singing their swan song in ruby red dress

Spirits waving in the fields

seem to say 'Vanity, vanity, all is vanity,' 

'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die' 

My heart reaches out to lift them up and set them free

to the place where I hope to go

someday long from now

if only someone will remember me.

An Engaging Topic

My husband and I were living it up in Vancouver, celebrating our wedding anniversary. We had spent the night at a guest house after indulging in a grand meal at the sort of restaurant people like us only go to once in a blue moon, and decided, for nostalgic reasons, to go for brunch at Sophie's Cosmic Cafe, a Vancouver institution, before heading home. Sophie's is chock-a-block with vintage chachkies and brightly coloured walls, and serves old-school breakfasts. V ordered an egg and sausage platter, and I ordered the French toast. We drank coffee (my half decaf Americano was actually kind of awful, but I didn't complain because the food was so good) and tucked into our meals. 

Like many restaurants, Sophie's had music playing at a good volume through the speakers. I noticed as we ate, that the playlist was vintage, like the restaurant and its contents (and some of its patrons). I hummed along to the tunes while V and I enjoyed our brunch experience, my mom's voice in my head saying "No singing at the table" silenced. A song came on that I had loved as a kid, "Don't Bring me Down" by ELO (Electric Light Orchestra). I had finished my breakfast and was sipping my bad coffee, alternating with ice water, and started singing along quietly. Suddenly, I heard a voice in the booth behind me, also singing along quietly. We both noticed each other singing at the same time and turned around to see to whom the other voice belonged. The chorus came up and we sang to each other, just a little louder,  

                    Don't bring me down

                    No, no, no, no, no

                    Ooh-ooh-hoo

                    I'll tell you once more before I get off the floor

                    Don't bring me down

People near us started staring. We didn't care. We sang the whole song together. Songs you knew when you were young tend to stay locked in your brain forever. I remembered most of the lyrics, even singing 'Don't bring me down BRUCE' instead of 'groos' as it's supposed to be, because I had never learnt the original version of the line. When the song was over we shook hands and introduced ourselves. Turns out the man I was singing with was celebrating his seventieth birthday, and sharing brunch with some good friends who had flown in for the occasion from Winnipeg. We all chatted for a bit in a jovial manner befitting a birthday celebration, and the man thanked me for singing with him - said I had made his day. He invited us to his birthday party (I'm not sure he really meant it), but we said we had to be going home.  

The experience I had at Sophie's brought to the fore some thoughts I have had lately, about how people these days engage (or don't) with the world. I grew up in a boisterous family in a small town where we knew almost everyone. Most of my siblings will still talk to anyone, anywhere. I am a bit more reserved than some of my family, but in the right moment and mood I can have great interpersonal exchanges with strangers. People often talk about how unfriendly Vancouverites are, but I have found that you often get what you give. My experience at Sophie's is a perfect example. Sure, I don't do impromptu karaoke in restaurants on a regular basis, but I tend to have friendly exchanges with people more often than not if I begin the exchange by being open and friendly towards them. I have to say, this happens more often with people who are my age or older. The pre-cellphone generations are much more used to greeting each other and initiating conversation. I find, even in my own mid-sized home city, that young people rarely make eye contact with me if I am walking down the street. It's like they are trained not to. When I do get a greeting or a smile I am pleasantly surprised. I do not want to harp on the younger generations. It's not their fault. They are a product of the society they grew up in. But, I do want to encourage them to engage more outside of their social bubble. As you get older life can often get decidedly lonelier. We are more isolated than ever before. If you don't believe me, Google the subject. There are a thousand articles proving my claim and warning of the dangers prolonged social isolation can wreak on one's mental health. 

There is a passage in a book I am reading by Ann Cleeves, the great mystery novelist, that reads: 

"When Jen got home, the kids were holed up in their rooms again. They answered when she shouted up at them, but they didn't come down. There was evidence that they'd scavenged for food. She thought that prison wouldn't be any sort of deterrent for this generation, as long as they were allowed cell phones and internet access in their cells." 

Makes you think, doesn't it? God, I hope it does.

I also have to work on reaching out more. After going through burnout a few years ago, I isolated myself to a great degree, just to get some rest. I had been an incredibly social person who tended to attract similar friends. When I think back to my 30's and 40's I was rarely alone. Now I am alone a lot of the time. I don't generally mind because I have learned to like my own company and a quieter life than before, but I know I need companionship so I make the effort to engage when I am out and about. I greet people, especially elderly people, I make small talk with sales people and servers, and I compliment young parents on their cute children if they'll let me. While I hope I am brightening their day, I am the one who benefits most. And, if I can 'make someone's day' like the man in Sophie's Cosmic Cafe, then I get an extra-big boost of serotonin. Engaging is good for me, and I will argue that it is good for you, too. 

https://youtu.be/z9nkzaOPP6g?si=K2URmgx1QohGifRE

                   

'Til next time, 

Rebecca

Dancing, Waiting for the Dam to Break

I was reading something humorous recently that said choosing where to live in our country should be based on which natural disasters one is most comfortable dealing with. Are you relatively okay with tornadoes and hail storms? Move to the prairies. Content with cleaning up after the tail end of a hurricane? Live on the East Coast. Good with forest fires and flooding? Alberta and the Interior of British Columbia are your best bet (although, the East Coast has had some share in the forest fire phenomenon in recent years). Feeling calm about the ever present threat of a major earthquake? Hightail it to the West Coast. I live between the Interior of BC and the West Coast. The potential for disaster is as varied as my province is geographically dynamic. Before you roll your eyes at me for calling my province 'geographically dynamic' I got this off the trusty internet just now: 

"Geography is a study of the earth and phenomena related to it. The earth is dynamic with variations in its physical and cultural environments. These geographical phenomena, whether physical or human, are not static but highly dynamic. They change over time."

If you need proof, Google what just happened on the Chilcotin River about 450 kms north of where I sit. A massive slide (or more accurately, a slump) dammed the river, creating a lake 11 kilometers long. Experts predicted the water to start moving across the top of the landslide, and while hoping for the best outcome downstream, communities along the Chilcotin and the Fraser Rivers braced for the worst. The damage downstream was held off by the debris emptying into the much wider Fraser River and then being purposefully trapped close to the town of Hope. The look of the area in the Chilcotin will be changed forever. Until the next event comes along, that is.

The earth has always been dynamic, from plate tectonics and volcanoes, to river levels constantly changing, etc., etc., but lately, it seems the planet has been a little too dynamic. Temperatures are more extreme as the planet warms, causing a veritable 'Clash of the Climate Titans'. The Jasper fire was paired with fierce and forceful winds that pushed the fire rapidly towards the town, doing major damage to human property and animal habitat.  From where I sit today, there is a forest fire 20 kms to the east, and one 150 kms to the north. We have had a lot of lightning in the past seventy-two hours and the potential for further fires well into the autumn is ever-present despite the intermittent rain showers.  Summers are getting hotter and longer. Thousands of trees where I live in the mountains are infected with spruce bud worm and for weeks I looked out the window at hundreds of the spruce bud moths flying around. We'll need a couple of weeks of well below freezing temperatures to eliminate these infestations, but last winter was barely cold enough for snow. I have to believe that Mother Nature knows what she's doing, and I really hope we humans are prepared to work with her. So far, we've not been terribly good at that. Our efforts have been more on the 'taking from her' side of things.

Before colonization, Indigenous peoples moved around. They had their territories, but plenty of space within them. If an area flooded, they would move to higher ground. They had their summer and their winter hunting grounds, fishing grounds, and areas to gather berries and plants. We settlers like our little, permanent plots of land. We buy insurance against anything changing about that plot of land. The insurance rates have been skyrocketing in the last few years as a reaction to climate-related disasters (Our condo complex's rates tripled since 2017), and I am left wondering how sustainable the whole industry is. What if we could just pick up our houses and move them? For obvious reasons, I see all kinds of problems with that idea. I suppose the alternative is to move to another little plot of land in a different community, country, or even a different planet as some are proposing. Can we really escape, though? Or are we just buying time? The answer lies within ourselves. We need to get used to change, and we need to get used to downsizing our consumptive natures and sometimes dangerous habits. We mostly need to accept how in denial most of us are. Can we stem the tide of disasters? Experts say yes, but without us each also saying yes with our actions, the situation doesn't look promising.

Not every disaster is related to climate. Some are decades, centuries, or even millennia in the making. A crack widens and the proverbial dam breaks. Many are made worse by climate, though. The slump in the Chilcotin may have been lessened if the trees on the slope were not killed by fire, contributing to destabilization of the slope. The good news is, scientists and engineers are working constantly to find new ways for us to deal with and even lessen the effects of disaster. First Nations and Government are teaming up to tackle forest fire mitigation using traditional techniques. Climate anxiety is a genuine issue these days, especially among young people. The remedy partially lies in doing what we can, when and how we can, and leaving the rest to Nature herself. She's actually a pretty smart cookie. I personally believe we can still live with joy and humour in a constantly changing world. We cannot control the dynamic nature of our planet, but we can control our contribution to it. We have choices we get to make every day to make our world and our climate healthier and happier for all of us. So, as my sister-in-law says, let's "make good choices!" 

Feelings, Whoa, Whoa, Whoa

When you're a small child, you usually concentrate on having one feeling at a time. You're either ecstatic, mildly contented (when playing with a toy, for example) or crying your eyes out like the world is going to end. Some little kids also get really angry, but I was not one of those kids, in my own memory at least. As a teenager, your moods can swing wildly and teens can often milk those feelings for all they're worth for maximum impact. When you feel sad, for instance, you might put on some equally sad music so you can really wallow in it for a while. Conversely, you can become loud and expressive when high on a happy feeling. My girlfriends and I were a lively group when excited and happy. We were a common sight around town, linked arm and arm across the road singing at the top of our lungs.

An advantage of growing older and becoming more experienced is the ability to entertain opposing emotions at the same time. A person can be going through something really, really hard, but still find joy in the everyday things like an unusual bird or flower, or a new song on the radio that grabs their attention. I would argue that this ability is acquired through discipline, just like any other skill. If I'm having a hard day, I try very hard to not let my difficulties own the whole of me. I seek out activities like exercise, reading, writing, and cooking to ease my mind, or I seek out a friend to talk to. Having children helped greatly with the discipline. I simply could not wallow in sadness or my sensitive children would pick up on it and become concerned. The term 'fake it 'til you make it' comes to mind. 

Today, for example, I am in pain. I have a tricky back, and it doesn't seem to matter that I practice yoga daily, walk and run regularly, spend large amounts of funds on excellent mattresses and pillows, my back will insist on giving me problems from time to time. My back started acting up yesterday. After a rough sleep during which any movement woke me, I got up still in pain. I did some gentle yoga and went for a walk around the lake. Although certain movements caused me to flinch until I was loosened up by walking, I reveled in the symphonic bird song all around me, and stopped frequently to take in the views of lake, shadowed trees, and snow capped peaks. I am no stranger to pain, though. I've been 'carrying on' through bouts of back and neck pain since I was in my twenties. I know, with gentle movement and treatment, my pain will go away eventually, which makes it a bit easier to endure. Physical pain is just a part of life for so many of us. 

Emotional pain is a little harder to get past. Especially grief. I liken it to the ever-presence of pebbles in the shoes of my heart. We all experience various degrees of painful loss in this life. The death of a loved one, a rift in the family, a decline of health and a pining for the healthier version of ourselves (or a loved one), an overwhelming sense of despair at the state of the war-torn world and the health of the planet. We limp along, despite the pebbles, and try to move forward. Every morning is a chance to start again, to see our world in a new light. Every day we get to choose how to navigate through the rough stuff with a sense of balance. We can entertain our grief and sadness and not shove it under the rug, but we can also make the effort to find the joy in getting to live another day in what is really a beautiful world in so many ways. 

(*I speak only of personal experience. I am aware that sadness and despair are not always a choice, that some people's mental states are more prone to them than other's. So, please, see a health care provider if you simply cannot find an ounce of joy. You, and your mental health, are so worth it.)

'til next time, 

Rebecca

Oh, Canada!

In college I flew with my French class to Quebec. After exploring beautiful, bright, and historically rich Quebec City, we drove in a rented bus to our destination of Sept Iles on the Gulf of St. Lawrence. I distinctly remember a day at a cabin further up the gulf. The cabin belonged to the family of one of our  student exchange partners, and we had been invited there to celebrate all things maple syrup, it being March and the time of the running of the sap. We ate fried ham and eggs smothered in syrup, and curled golden ribbons of maple taffy around sticks in the snow. The day was radiant with early spring sunshine which bounced off the snow on the shore and lit up the blue water, beckoning me outside. I trudged by myself to the shore and put my hand into the Gulf, thrilled to have finally reached the Atlantic.  I stood by the water for a while wishing I could sail across to New Brunswick and tour the Maritimes as well (something I have yet to do). I thought of the four large provinces I had crossed to get to where I was standing. I felt a connection to the vastness and variety of my country right then and there, and I think that is the moment I truly fell in love with Canada. I have been a proud Canadian every since. I care deeply about what happens in this country.

Canada recently lost our 18th Prime Minister, Brian Mulroney. He is an important figure in my memory because I had just started to pay attention to politics when he was running for election in 1984. I was fifteen at the time, and had become friends with a girl whose parents were Progressive Conservatives and fans of Mulroney. To say my parents were not was a bit of an understatement. They had been Pierre Eliot Trudeau fans and fairly staunch Liberals up to that point. I remember coming home from my friend's house and saying I liked this new Mulroney candidate and hoped he would win. This caused a few raised eyebrows. Meech Lake and Free Trade were the buzzwords in Canada at the time. When I started to pay real attention to what was at stake I changed my mind about Mulroney's policies, but that does not mean I decided he was a terrible man. He had won the right to be Prime Minister by our democratic process, and was serving his country in the way he thought right and good. Not only that, but he gained the respect of his colleagues, whatever political side they were on, simply for his intelligence, his passion for his country, his sense of fair play and respectful discourse.

These days, we can be incredibly vicious when it comes to the members of the opposing political 'teams'. It is not enough to disagree with another party's policies. We have to hate them for them. Growing up, this approach seemed to me unique to the US or Britain, not to Canada where we have a reputation for politeness and mutual respect, even in politics. Politicians who would shout opinion from opposite sides of Parliament could often be friends outside of it. That is not so true anymore; I cannot imagine Pierre Pollievre, right wing leader of the Opposition and PM Justin Trudeau having enough in common to be friends. The pandemic exposed the nasty underbelly of political opinion in this country. We have seen some ugly scenes play out here in the last few years, scenes I never thought possible before now. Even though I am in favour of political satire to keep the powers in check, the vitriol aimed at Trudeau these days is shocking to me. Is our Prime Minister my favourite person? No, but he doesn't need to be. Do I think people are justified to slap "Fuck Trudeau" bumper stickers on their vehicles for everyone, including children of reading age, to see? Hell no. What kind of example does that set to the younger generations?  I'm ashamed every time I see one of those stickers or flags. We can do better than that. We can disagree with our current Prime Minister on his policies, even lack respect for him personally, but the office of Prime Minister demands our respect, and for now, Justin Trudeau inhabits that office. He serves his country, just as Brian Mulroney did. Holding office is not for the faint of heart. In fact, it seems one needs an inflated ego to hold that office in this toxic climate we have created, which is a real shame. An election is looming and we all have some soul searching to do regarding what we want our leaders in Canada to be and not to be. That really is the question.

I love my vast mosaic of a country. I love Canadians for our self-deprecating humour, our official bilingualism, our concern for others globally and at home, and our devotion to both education and democracy. We only have to look south of the border - where the two options for leader are an 81 year old who should be living out his retirement in peace and tranquility, and a megalomaniac who, on one hand threatens violence if he loses the election, and on the other, sells Nationalistic Bibles to try to pay off his huge legal fines - to see what not to do. As Robin Williams said, "Canada is like a really nice apartment over a meth lab." We need to do everything in our power not to get sucked into dealing that meth here. 

'Til next time, 

Rebecca