In social media these days, the #TheTellMeChallengeasks people to reveal something about themselves without directly mentioning the subject.
For example, “Tell me you’re a baby boomer without telling me you’re a baby boomer.”
In that spirit, I took this picture in the woods near my house. There are three paths trodden through the snow: two for friends to walk side by side and a third for social distancing while greeting fellow walkers.
Tell me you are a friend without telling me you are a friend.
The book provides solace to the soul, and that is something we citizens of Ottawa, Canada need in our difficult times.
Katherine May writes about how we think of life as linear, a slow march from birth to death. That is true, but May reminds us that the pattern of life is also cyclical, or seasonal. We circle through periods of beginnings and endings, storing up and shedding, and wakefulness and sleeping throughout our lives.
At the beginning of a day, or a project, or a course of study, we are similar to trees with green leaves full of chlorophyll. The leaves absorb sunlight and convert carbon dioxide and water into tree food, and we absorb information and convert physical supplies into some sort of product that serves to advance our lives. Spring and summer cycles are about gathering and growing.
At the end of a day, or fiscal year, or a career, we prepare for change in the way of a tree. The chlorophyll in leaves breaks down in fall. The green disappears and exposes other beautiful colours that were always there but hidden. In a process called abscission, the cells between the stem and the branch weaken until supply to the leaf is cut off and the leaf falls. In our lives, this is when we pass on clothes we no longer need, or clear out university textbooks, or pack up personal belongings from the office and walk out the door.
Abscission, the process required for shedding of leaves, is “part of an arc of growth, maturity, and renewal.” In other words, to protect ourselves and stay strong, sometimes we need to rid ourselves of that which no longer feeds us.
BUT—and this is important —even on the coldest, darkest days of winter, when deciduous trees appear fully dead, there are buds. They are small and protected by thick scales, but they are there.
“We rarely notice them because we think we’re seeing the skeleton of the tree, a dead thing until the sun returns. But look closely, and every single tree is in bud . . .”
On this cold winter day in Ottawa, it helps me to know that buds are in place. It allows me to believe that the events taking place in downtown Ottawa had a spring, summer, and fall season and that the time of shedding approaches.
Soon we will be rid of that which does not feed us.
I haven’t written for a while. It’s been hard to think straight. I live in Ottawa, you see. The city occupied.
People who don’t live here probably find it difficult to understand how this came to be. How could we let the truckers just waltz into our nation’s capital and occupy? Well here’s why.
Pretty much every day there is a “pro-test” on Parliament Hill. [Pro-test: to testify FOR something.] In the BEFORE times when I strolled around downtown on my lunch breaks, I passed people marching and hollering about something every day. We are so accustomed to people saying to themselves, “Why, I’m mad as heck about _____. I’m stomping off to Ottawa to shout about it!” We really didn’t pay much mind to an incoming convoy.
Of course, we did expect them to leave again, politely. We are still waiting for both the leaving and the politeness.
Many, many of the comments by supporters of this movement are full of obscenities or incomprehensible ravings. Lots of ranting about MSM [Mainstream media] [That is, media where information is fact-checked and sources verified.] Or, here are other popular options:
Does this mean Heil Hitler?
It’s a struggle to stay positive in the midst of this. The negativity and hate spread like a virus.
Hey, wait a minute. There’s a solution to the spread of a virus. A vaccine! That’s it!
But what is the vaccine for hate? I must find it and inject myself so that when someone replies “Honk honk” to my comment I don’t reply with, “Pithy.” Or when they reply with a string of trucks, I don’t answer with, “That’s great! Maybe someday when you grow up, you’ll learn to spell.”
No those wouldn’t be kind responses. I’d be allowing myself to be infected by the hate virus. I must build immunity. I must inoculate myself with an injection of kindness.
Ah yes, I feel better already.
On the first weekend of the occupation, I skated on the Rideau Canal. A gorgeous, sunny day. Perfect ice conditions. But when I reached the end of the canal downtown, this was the sound.
Horns blare in downtown Ottawa, Sunday, January 30, 2022
That was what residents in downtown Ottawa listened to, ALL DAY and ALL NIGHT, for 10 DAYS. An injunction means the truckers can no longer sound their horns at night, but the days are still mayhem.
Supporters of this movement repeat that this is a “peaceful” protest. If you think so, please, let me know where you live.
I will bring some friends and block access to your street so that you cannot come or go. We will blare our horns outside your home 24 hours a day. When challenged, I’ll say, “But I’m being peaceful!” And because I said so, it will be true. If you don’t believe me, I’ll blame MSM for making me look bad.
Oh, there I go. I can feel the hate virus building strength again. Time for a kindness booster.
Oh, yes. Kindness. I recommend the shot for everyone.
My word for 2022 came to me in December as I was reading a post on The Spectacled Bean.
What would my word for 2022 be, I wondered . . . Oh wait, the laundry needed to be changed.
. . .
Right. A word. 2022. That was what I was thinking about. What should . . . Oh, but then my husband was going to the grocery store. I just needed to tell him we need milk.
. . .
Back again. Think, think, think. What would . . . Sorry. A notification popped into my computer screen. I needed to respond to that.
. . .
If only I could focus, I thought.
That’s it!
FOCUS.
One thing at a time. Multi-tasking is a myth. I aim for a more productive 2022 as a result.
I began the solstice morning with a sun salutation, “a humble adoration of the light and insight of the self,” as it says in Yoga Journal.
[I have been practising yoga via Zoom through the pandemic with the amazing Andrea Robertson of bodyandbalance. No matter where you live in the world, you too could improve strength, flexibility and balance.]
On the darkest and longest day of the year, we salute the sun. It is returning to us here in the northern hemisphere—but not for a while. We have months of darkness first.
Darkness is a scary place of uncertainty, but it’s full of possibilities too. Darkness makes dreams came true.
“For the first time, Chris [Hadfield] could see the power and mystery and velvety black beauty of the dark. And, he realized, you’re never really alone there. Your dreams are always with you, just waiting. Big dreams, about the kind of person you want to be.”
The darkness of a movie theatre makes enjoying a movie possible. The images are clear. Any light—from a cell phone, for example—is unwelcome.
Darkness makes us uncomfortable, but it also forces us to focus. If we carry a flashlight out into a black night, we must choose where to shine the beam. We narrow our outlook to what’s important in the moment.
I salute the sun. And I appreciate that, at a time of year when it is less present in my life, I must narrow focus and choose where to shine my beam.
Darkness allows me to enjoy my Christmas tree lights.
Somerton Smith 