tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73024650489638647172024-03-13T23:49:43.417-07:00The Sisters CaféAdele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-86899154893524625082017-01-19T18:59:00.002-08:002017-01-20T06:11:09.009-08:00We are the Family that Breaks the Christmas Candles<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Lighting
candles, singing carols, attending a service, going out as a family on Christmas eve--this all
sounded like a good idea at the time, not the kind of thing you imagine ending
in tears. Anyway, it did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">As a
parent, do you ever get the feeling that you don’t know what the hell you’re
doing? Or maybe that what you’re doing certainly isn’t the right thing? I feel
like that Every. Day. But my kids are fine. Fine enough, I think. <i>I</i> like them
most of the time...</span>But it
turned out on this particular festive occasion, that they are the kids—we are <i>that</i>
family—that breaks all the damn candles at the Christmas Eve service.</div>
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Honestly,
I knew, I KNEW, the second that lady in her school marmy dress and put-on Christmas
smile handed us those candles that they would either be returned significantly
worse for wear or we would set someone on fire. And I was right about the
lesser of those two evils. Even though my prediction should have mentally
prepared me for this little eventuality, there I was head in my hands, tears
streaming, holding three flaccid candles simultaneously in utter disbelief and
total defeated acceptance that, yes, we were indeed <i>that</i> family that could not
keep candles in tact for twenty minutes in church. My husband put his arm
around me--he’s a kind man--believing that it was the moving rendition of
Silent Night that pushed me over the edge, made me wistful about my dear old
deceased mother. Maybe there was a bit of that, but mostly, it was those damn
candles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">‘Why? Why? What
grave error in judgement? What offense against the universe led us down this
path of destruction? How did our kids lack such basic respect for property? They
were probably going to be vandals one day, paying fines or worse for their
participation in the defacing of some historic relic.’ I lamented all of this
to my husband as we were driving away. He laughed and said they were really
brittle and probably lots of them were broken. But I knew the truth...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Not a
single one of those angelic boys or sweet little girls in their velveteen
Christmas dresses with bows in their hair (with their skinny, successful,
put-together mommies who never raised their voice) had so much as harmed a wick
on any other candle at that service that night. They were doing it right, you
see. Those parents would be attending university convocations and professional
speed-skating meets while I bore the humiliation I deserved for being a total crap
parent at my son’s parole hearing. We were <i>that</i> family, and my screw-ups made
us that way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">We all have those days, but, today
is a better day and though I still have no idea what I’m doing, I hold onto
hope—hope that every family is<i> that</i>
family for some reason or other. Maybe they are not the family that trashes the
candles at the Christmas eve service, I think we own the honour for that one—but
maybe they are the family that arrives 5 minutes too late for their daughter’s dance
recital, or maybe they are the family that can’t exit any social situation
without MAJOR meltdown. Maybe they are the family that drags their daughter
kicking and screaming into daycare wearing only a diaper on the coldest day of
winter. Or maybe they are the family who’s son, on his tester Kindergarten day,
decides it’s a good idea to have a quick pee outside in a corner near a window in plain site of
an active classroom—no, wait, that’s us again--but I digress, I AM hopeful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">I am
hopeful that regardless of how badly I screw up, my kids will know I love them
something fierce and that has to count for something. This evening as I was
leaving to go out with a friend, my 8 year-old son somewhat
uncharacteristically called out, ‘BEST MOM EVER!’ and, though my knee jerk internal
dialogue was <i>What evidence would lead you to such an erroneous conclusion, poor child?</i> I
know with every fiber of my being that he believed it. We are his family, the
best he will ever know... the best <i>I</i> have ever known. And, even though we break
candles at Christmas eve services, I wouldn’t trade us for the world. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-54054405110275570352016-12-18T12:06:00.000-08:002016-12-18T12:11:21.493-08:00They Don't Make Them Like They Used To...<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I was born to a farming family in small
town Saskatchewan. I grew up in a 'traditional' home...My mom stayed
at home, my Dad was happily married to her <i>and</i> his farming
business, but probably the farm got more of his time. Us kids had a
good life, there was everything we needed, enough of the basics to go
around and bit more, there was love, and a gigantic ice rink every
winter.
<br />
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For better or worse, this was the life
I left behind when I moved to the city to attend university. As one
does, I met people, I traveled the world for a few years, and
eventually married a good man. During this time, I often thought fondly
of my parents—of how hard they worked, how generous they were, and
of what an amazing family they built. More often than not, I came to
the conclusion that 'they just didn't make people like that anymore.'
Now, you should know that my parents not only had 16 children and a
farm but they also worked tirelessly to better the community we lived
in. To this day, what they accomplished in their lives seems impossible to me. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My mom passed away when I was twelve,
and I have never thought of her more often than I do now that I have
my own children. I remember her to be calm, wise, and unfailingly
kind. Perhaps those are memories tinted with rose-coloured glasses
and god knows she's not here to set the record straight, but I'm sure
I'm not entirely wrong. Recently, I was describing her to a friend
who'd never had the chance to meet her and in my description I chose
the word 'tireless' and again used the phrase, 'they just don't make
people like that anymore.' Time and again, especially as a mom, I
find myself wondering what Mom would have to say about this or that,
but if she'd heard me utter those words—tireless, they don't make
people like that anymore—I have a pretty good idea what she would
say...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She would probably call me a
'Dummkopf,' and say something like... Of course they make em like
they used to! Do you think you're any different than me? You think I
was 'tireless' raising 16 kids? There's a better word for
that....Tiresome. Bleeding tiresome. (except she wouldn't swear, because she never swore, But maybe she did when we were out of earshot). She'd probably
tell me she got frustrated with needy kids at her legs during the
supper hour, insurmountable laundry, people in the community that
were difficult to work with, a marriage that required energy she
lacked, and exhausted of working a thankless job.<br />
<br />
Except of course,
she wouldn't have said any of that because she knew I would figure it out.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After all, when she was a young lady,
she probably thought fondly of her own parents who raised their own
brood before there were even hospitals or electricity. Perhaps she
counted herself lucky for the modern world in which she lived that
offered her opportunities and luxuries not afforded to her own
mother, and marveled that they just didn't make people like that
anymore. But they did—they made her—and maybe they still do.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Perhaps after years of seeing a world
my mother never got to see, getting an education that she could only
have dreamed of, of working jobs that wouldn't have been available to
her, knowing comforts beyond her wildest dreams, its been easy to
write her off as a woman of a different time, a legend, a dying
breed, the likes of which they don't make anymore. But I can see
that for the cop out that it is. I'm sure if I could ask her the
question that I have always wanted to ask—How did you do it,
Mom?—she would just say she did her best with what time and fate
dealt her. And of course, no less should be expected me. After all, when I take a step back from my own life of managing our busy family schedule, sharing my wonderful husband and marriage with a business he created, and even as I look out onto my backyard ice rink, I know we are not that different.<br />
<br />
We will never be our parents, for better or worse, but surely they have all taught us something--whether that be lessons of unfailing patience and love or that we want to be nothing like them or anything in between. Whatever those lessons, it seems as you age, you realize just how much you share in the same humanity. </div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-8473833859355019932016-12-12T14:42:00.001-08:002016-12-12T14:42:21.813-08:00Christmas--Are Too Many Good Ideas Getting in the Way of the Main Idea?<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-CA">A bake sale
for charity is a good idea. Parents being more involved at school is a good
idea. Sponsoring a child through World Vision is a great idea. Christmas
parties are good—the work party, the kids party, the work-kids party, the
neighbor’s party—they are all great fun. Attending a steak night to raise money
for Sally’s volunteer visit to an orphanage is a Peru, well, who can say no to
that? Buying poinsettia’s from a school fundraiser only makes sense. Putting up
Christmas decorations is a must. Getting a gift card for that helpful neighbor
is the least you can do. Volunteering to help with the church Christmas concert
seemed like a good idea at the time. A Tim Horton’s gift certificate for
hard-working teachers, bus drivers, dance instructors, and sitters is a simple
way to show your appreciation for the work they do all year. Setting a puzzle
with your kids is a good idea. Reading EVERYDAY with them is a sure way to
ensure their lifelong success--so is getting outdoors, remembering to take
Vitamin D, and getting enough exercise. Hitting up an AWESOME Christmas sale is
a smart way to save a bit of dough at a spendy time of year. Attending work
everyday is a good idea, and while you’re there, why not organize a secret
Santa exchange?! Not missing the kids’ dance classes, gymnastics, or piano
recitals is a good idea. Attending my yoga class is a lifeline. Organizing the
house makes everything else run a little smoother. Cooking a healthy meal is a
good idea. So is sitting down and eating it while finding out about your kids’
day. A Christmas baking exchange is a good idea. Little O’s special school
holiday charity event is so thoughtful! Delivering presents as a family to the
local food bank is good idea. Cuddling up with a Christmas movie is a great
idea. Writing Christmas cards is a great idea… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">But you
know what? Doing all of these things in one month? That is a BAD idea. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">You know
what the problem is with this world sometimes? TOO MANY GOOD IDEAS. With so
many things to do that are helpful, philanthropic, fun, progressive, practical,
healthy, kind, you name it—it is SO hard to say ‘No!’ Am I mistaken or is the
whole point of the Christmas season not to spend some time connecting with
dearest of loved ones? Because all these damn ‘good ideas’ are starting to get
in the way of that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">The other
day my 8 year old son and toddler daughter were crafting together at the
kitchen table while I made supper. I was happy for the welcome time to zone out
and get some work done while they entertained each other. After about 15
minutes, my son comes running into the room saying, “Mom, Mom, look what I made
for Melea!” and he showed me his creation…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-CA">10 pages of
paper stapled together each with a picture of a different mermaid/princess
character of my toddler daughter’s request (ahem, demand) drawn on them in marker.
Now this seems like a good enough idea, sweet of him to draw for her, but,
honestly, he couldn’t have spent more than a minute on any of those drawings--a book full of half-assed ‘good ideas’ that would hit the recycling bin within a
week. I kept this to myself, but I couldn’t help but wish he’d saved the paper
and condensed his efforts into a more meaningful, singular creation into which
he’d put more time and care! Something worth treasuring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Poor kid, he
comes by it honestly. His quantity over quality efforts are so reflective of my
own, especially those I find myself making during the busy lead up to
Christmas. Perhaps a singular charitable effort made as a family or community
is just as effective (and perhaps more meaningful) than spreading ourselves
thin over the 20 charitable opportunities that might present themselves in
December. Maybe we need to let someone else have a turn running the Christmas
concert or consider the worst case scenario if there is a hiatus with the office
secret Santa exchange. Maybe we all need to just spare ourselves the efforts
that inevitably end up in our energetic recycle bin, find a place to draw a
line and say 'No' to rest of the ‘good ideas’ that come our way. Because it seems
to me that if we cram too much into the season, we miss the chance to create much worth treasuring—namely time with the ones we love. Perhaps, all of these good
ideas are getting in the way of the main idea?!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0Saskatoon, SK, Canada52.1332144 -106.6700458000000351.9772884 -106.99276930000002 52.2891404 -106.34732230000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-73797646599129747972016-11-26T13:00:00.000-08:002016-11-26T13:05:10.589-08:00Dear Husbands, Here is a List of Things Your Wife Wants for Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Dear Husbands,</div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Guys, some days I'd
just love to be among your ranks, if only because, seriously, women
are SO easy to please! Maybe that sounds like the world's biggest fib
to you, and you're probably not alone if that's what you feel, but I
can assure you it's the truth. Anyway, I'm writing this letter to
help you out a little during the Christmas season. At my house, as the
month of December wears on, I inevitably start to sense my husband's
stress level increase as each day passes and he realizes he is one
day closer to Christmas with no present for me and, worse, no idea
where to start! This is really all an unnecessary process, and I hope
today to spare as many well-meaning men out this unnecessary unpleasantness. It's not rocket science, guys, here's what you do...<b>just be thoughtful and get your wife a Christmas present she will like</b>.
(Cue eyeroll) I can hear you thinking...<i>Easier said than done. I
don't know what she wants. Or she already has everything</i>. Well,
it can be done, yes you do know, and no she doesn't have everything. I can hear how
complicated that sounds, so I'm just going to lay this right out for
you...Husbands, here's a list of things your wife wants for
Christmas....</div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>She wants to be
pampered</b> – It's tough being a lady, a mom, a wife, and women love
to be pampered! They love (NEED) time to nurture themselves or be
nurtured by others. Here's the trick though--pampering will look different for every woman. Ask yourself, what does your wife love to
do for herself? Does she love a pedicure? Does she love time alone?
Does she do yoga? Does she feel fantastic after kick-boxing class?
How does she re-energize? What makes her feel like her needs matter?
Gift her that. For me, this gift would be a gift certificate to a
spa, but maybe, for your wife it would be a yoga retreat, or a
cooking class (be careful with that one!) or a massage. And if you
REALLY want to please her, book the thing and arrange childcare so
all she has do is show up and feel awesome!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>She wants a date</b> –
For the woman who 'has everything,' why not book her a date!? If
you're married with young kids, maybe arrange a date for the two of
you. If you're free as birds and get enough of each other, arrange a
date with her besties to do something they love to do. The key word
being 'arrange'--she will feel so much more thought of, so relieved
of the stress of doing the 'arranging', if you go this extra mile!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>She wants an
oil-diffuser</b> – Whoa, DO NOT go buy your wife an oil-diffuser.
That's what <i>I want,</i> and I have told my husband this on a number
of occasions. What has your wife told you? Listen to her words, all
throughout the year. Look at items she picks up and leaves behind
with a bit of longing in her eyes. Make notes of these things. Not
mental notes, those things go missing like nuts at a squirrel
party... Put them in your phone or something, and when a special
occasion comes along, you're covered!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>She wants</b> t<b>ickets</b> – What's
you're wife into? Music? Theatre? Jamaica (if you have the $$)? A
certain band? Does she keep saying she wouldn't mind seeing the
opera? Buy her tickets for something that would interest her. This
shows some thought and possibly the intention that you intend to
spend this time with her! Double win.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>She wants
something from that store she loves</b> – Are you tired of finding bags
and receipts from a certain store at your house? It's because your
wife likes that store (no, NOT Toys R Us, dummy)! Take a hint, buy
something for her there and if worse comes to worse, she can return
it and get something she does like!</div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>She wants
something _________ </b>. Pretty? Useful? Fun? Relaxing? What's a
thoughtful word to describe your wife? For me, the word that best
fills that blank is 'useful.' I LOVE useful presents, and you know
what's useful? Gin. Gin is useful for me, and quite honestly I would
be happy with a special bottle of that. Not every wife would. Maybe
your wife likes pretty things. Get her something pretty. Maybe she's
fun! Send her on an adventure or gift her some activity she's never
tried before like paint-balling or an escape room. Give it some
thought. I promise it will not go unnoticed!</div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><br />
</b></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>She wants your
heart –</b> Forget Christmas, this is what your wife wants 365 days a
year! And when I said women were easy to please, this is EXACTLY what
I was talking about. She wants your heart more than any gift you
could give her. (No, that does NOT mean you shouldn't get her a
Christmas present). For Christmas, she wants a thoughtful present <i>and
</i>your heart. Easier said than done? Bullshit, husbands. Spend some
of the season playing a game or doing a puzzle with her. Put down
your guilty distraction and see what happens. Ask her about her day.
Talk about yours. Express concern about something that has been
difficult for her. Cuddle up and watch a favourite movie—<i>you</i>
make the hot chocolate and popcorn. Write her a love note. Do it
again tomorrow, and next week, and on February 3<sup>rd</sup> and
Easter Monday and on Tahitian Independence Day. Give her encouraging
words, EVERYDAY. If you do that, I promise you'll be well on your way to
understanding just how easy women are to please!</div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Merry Christmas,
husbands! And best of luck!</div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Signed,</div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: d%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A Hopeful Wife</div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-24861060872184052062016-11-15T18:25:00.001-08:002016-11-16T14:27:07.953-08:00Donald Trump - How the Same Thing is Going to Go Down in Canada<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You've probably heard the remarks and rumours of
Democrat-Americans coming to take refuge in Canada post-election, fleeing from
the anarchy that will imminently ensue. Maybe this has made you cringe for your friends to the south or maybe you inwardly giggle or feel a little proud to
be from a country that in so many ways stands for freedom, compassion, and
equality. But from where I sit, I think those Americans might want to think
twice about where they are fleeing to. And where do I sit, you ask...Well, I
would <i>like</i> to sit somewhere where political
discussion is vibrant, progressive, and productive. I would <i>like</i> sit somewhere where people can see
through left and right ideologies to the common goals they hold—security,
family, economy, and justice. But instead I find I am sitting smack dab in the middle of an ever-expanding no-mans-land between the political left and right in this
country. <i>The left is blind to the indignation of those around them and
self-righteous to the point that they freely sling hateful comments like racist,
bigot, and misogynist at every hint of disagreement, and the right feels taken
advantage of, abused, unheard, and under-represented</i><i> and eventually lashes out.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Wait a minute! Aren't these the exact same conditions that
led to the rise of an (IMO) extremist for president?<o:p></o:p></div>
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When the dust settled after the recent American election and
the votes were all counted, what became clear was that the divide between
Republican and Democrat voters largely came down to one divide—rural and urban.
And in this case, I'm going to surmise that rural Americans <i>were tired of
being left out of the political equation, they were angry at a leftist media that
both misrepresented and under-represented them (those results sure did come as
a surprise!), their social and economic situations were increasingly stressed,
they favoured a less-talk-more-action approach, so to speak, and they wanted to
be heard.</i><i> <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Canada, is this ringing any bells? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Trump didn't happen overnight, not even close. And he didn't
happen because the people who voted for him were all racist, hater,
hill-billies and, if you that’s what you think, you'd best take a careful look
at your own biases. No. He happened because good people were not heard and
cared for by the institution for many years, and people felt abused, and others
felt righteous and wouldn't listen. Then both sides got angry and the political
divide grew until conversation stopped and the divide was so great that only a
revolution would change the situation. From that was born Donald Trump. The
left in America bears as much responsibility for the unfortunate goings-on of
this election as the right. And if we Canadians think we are in some way immune
to this, we'd better wake up and smell the Tim Horton’s, because here's a few
things happening right here at home...<o:p></o:p></div>
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Conservative voters and even the former prime minister
endure all manners of hateful comments-- racist, hater, bigot, etc.--during the
2015 election campaign. <i>The right feels abused</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Conversations regarding legislation, immigration,
foreign policy, and military intervention degrade quickly to accusations of
fear-mongering and racism. <i>The right feels misunderstood</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The West resents years of crippling, liberal-dictated economic
policies that see profits shipped eastwards while receiving little in return. <i>The
right feels taken advantage of</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The West feels angry when, finally in their hour of need,
the once again left-dominated institution responds with a slap-in-the-face
carbon tax tempered by a petulant pat on the head of meager assistance
provided to their crippled economy. <i>The West feels abandoned and further disenfranchised.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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The leftist media... Well, where does one even start with
that? Our major political parties completely at odds with it for obvious
reasons, a shameless eastern and liberal bias that the west and conservatives are
forced to not only endure but pay for. <i>The left doesn't even see it. The
right feel misrepresented</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The electoral system is set to perform at Ontario's whim
time and time again while the rest of the country just hopes for the best. <i>People
feel powerless and voiceless</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Our newly elected prime minister touts his victory as 'hope' triumphing over 'fear'. Canadians applaud at this grossly over-simplified
statement which glorifies political extremes and shames conservative voters in
the process. <i>The divide grows</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The right, tired of being on the wrong end of insults,
policy, and government lashes out. <i>The right moves further right. </i>The
left feels offended, righteous and sees this as further justification of their
position and efforts.<i> The left moves further left</i>.<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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One might argue that
these are just perceptions, biases, pieces of the picture—of course they
are--but these feelings of resentment and righteousness are real and they are an
ever-growing source of political polarity and discourse in this country. This divisive
reality persists and grows, little different from what happened in the United
States. <b>Canada’s disgruntled right feels angry and voiceless, and our
left feels righteous. Conversation stops. Our own revolution is imminent. </b>Wake
up, Canada. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Here in Canada we have two choices, we can either
learn from the events that have transpired in the US or we can imminently
repeat history. We can drop the insults, the regional discrimination, the political
extremism on both sides, we can consider the follies of our electoral system
and revise them, we can address the biases of our media, or we can damn well
swallow whatever form of a bitter pill our own revolution will take because it
will be no one's fault but our own. We can sling insults back and forth over the political fence
while we nurse wounded egos and hurt feelings or we can have a damn
conversation. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-43117256583145138092016-11-04T20:03:00.000-07:002016-11-04T20:10:11.205-07:00Small Towns, Small Minds--Lessons Learned Growing Up in Rural Saskatchewan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have lived a number of places in my
life. I grew up in the farming community of Nowheresville,
Saskatchewan. Like many, I left that small town and moved to 'the
city' where I went to University. After that, I traveled around a
bit and lived in a few places varying in population from 7000 to 2
million until I returned to Saskatoon with my husband to start a
family. We've been here for 10 years now, and I'm proud call home it
home and thrilled to be raising my family here. I have nothing to but
the winters to complain about, but one thing is clear to me after
years of living here and there...This whole small towns-small minds
thing?...It's a load of crap.
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During the first number of years when
we were back here in Saskatoon, of course we were eager to establish
a network of friends. We met lots of people, dabbled in different
hobbies and friendships and capitalized on lots of the opportunities
living in this city affords us. There was lots of flux and change and
new experiences during this time until we had our three children and
life “slowed down” a little. After that, some friendships came
and went while others stuck and stayed and became a lifeline—people
we hope to know and love forever. But I have to be honest, when I
reflect on the circle of people I have accumulated in the big city of
Saskatoon... <i>I have never been part of a more homogeneous group.</i>
I am saying nothing bad of these wonderful friends of mine, but we do
all come from the same income bracket (-ish), we live in the same
type of neighborhoods, we come from similar backgrounds, and, I would
even go as far as to say, we share to same values. Perhaps it is
natural that things have played out this way, but I guess the irony
of the whole situation strikes me. Here I am settled in metropolis of
Saskatoon—by all counts a very diverse community where I brush
shoulders every single day with different people of varying races,
religions, values, incomes, backgrounds—yet I maintain a more
singular circle of people than I ever did in Nowheresville!
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Diversity is here in Saskatoon--there's
no doubt about that. It's right at our fingertips everyday in this
city, but the reality is that the people inside <i>our house</i> that
share <i>our lives</i> with <i>our family </i>would
all fit pretty nicely into any type of box you'd like to put us
into. Living in the city, I think many of us take comfort, not only
in surrounding ourselves with like-minded (I've always hated that
term) people, but also in anonymity. I certainly do. We value closing
our doors at night to what is going on in our community—living in
our own bubble, as they say. You know, I used to have this neighbour
here in Saskatoon who was a loony as a one dollar coin. She was
opinionated, rude, and occasionally a bit nasty to my kids so I as
much as I could I avoided her. If she was out front when I pulled up
with the van, I took my time parking or rushed the kids into the
house and closed the door. It was just easier to pre-empt any
unpleasantness that any
encounter might bring.</div>
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All of
this is markedly different than my experience growing up in
Nowheresville. There was no 'closing the door.' There we truly lived
in community. We all went to the same church, we played on the same
hockey teams, we bumped carts at the grocery store, we stole
back and forth to each others' houses freely. For better or worse, we
built community together. We lived side by side in a way that is
different from 'the city.' Rich or poor, culture by culture,
different values by different values, we made it work. We didn't have
the comfort of 'closing the door' because these people were inside
<i>our homes</i> sharing <i>our
lives</i> with
<i>our family</i> every
single day. There was no escape short of being a hermit. We didn't
have the luxury of falling out of friendship with another
because we knew it would be SO awkward when you had to see that
person face-to-face at the hockey rink for the next 10 years. You
knew Suzie and Sammy Gossip and kept your mouth shut when your were
with them, but you forgave them for the tireless efforts they made
for local charities. If experiences like that don't make an open
mind, I don't know what does.
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I say
this because I don't think the size our mind is in any way directly
proportional to the size of our town. There are small minds wherever
you go, and, believe me when I say Nowheresville has a special way of
forcing a small mind wide open! Here's the thing, I don't come from
Nowheresville, SK where minds are small and diversity is a nuisance. That place doesn't exist. I come from Macklin, Saskatchewan. And in
Macklin Saskatchewan when you have a loony neighbour that's
crochety and opinionated, maybe you know that she had a daughter
that died at the age of two. Or you forgive her when she's been a bit crappy to your kids because you suspect it's been difficult for
her coming from a long line of abusive alcoholics. Maybe you end up
sitting next to her at the church social and find you have a few
things in common after all. Maybe you see first hand how her
fortuitousness serves the community well. In Macklin, you
learn about her, from her, and she opens your mind.</div>
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In
Saskatoon, I just closed the door.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>For all the fabulous people who make Macklin, SK a fantastic place to grow up...</i></span></div>
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Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0Saskatchewan, Canada52.9399159 -106.450863933.773538900000005 -147.7594579 72.1062929 -65.1422699tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-59318437104799281912016-11-02T13:58:00.002-07:002016-11-02T13:58:19.853-07:00When the One You're Married to isn't 'the One'...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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10 odd years ago when I married my
husband, I was convinced he was 'the One'. He was the One I felt
utterly safe to be my quirky self with. He was the One who seemed to
always have the answer to questions like, 'Where did I put my keys?'
Later, he was the One who held my hand during the births of our
children and also the One whose simple calming presence gave me
something strong to hold onto during some really tough times. He is
the One I want to call when one of the kids does something amazing and the One who has helped me put my day to bed for nigh on 15 years.
He is still all of those things, and I can't be thankful enough for
the person he is. But as the years of our relationship have worn on, I have noticed holes in the whole 'he's the one' theory. Quite early on in
our relationship, for instance, it became clear that he was not the
One who wanted to share riveting conversation with me at any given
hour of the day, nor was he the One who would share some of my
greatest passions--long walks, fancy food, and politics. Later on, I
learned (with considerable frustration) that he was <i>not</i> the
One to call when I needed an sympathetic ear about how long the baby
did or didn't sleep that day nor was he the One showing up with a cup
of coffee or a ready-made meal when I was at the end of my rope. And,
still he wasn't the One interested in riveting conversation, no
matter how my topics varied and changed over the years. But I'm here
today to tell you that he is not the One, but that is okay... And it is not only okay, it is
GREAT actually.</div>
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Because if he had been the One, I never
would have met some of the finest people I've ever had the pleasure
of knowing—people who LOVE to converse about everything from
politics to diapers. I would never have needed to find someone to
share my Tuesday walk-night with, a hobby that has become nothing
short of a life-line over the past few years. I never would have had
to challenge myself to sit with own thoughts sometimes rather than
succumbing to the verbal diarrhea that I am so prone to. I never
would have experienced the humility and honour of accepting those
ready-made meals and cups of coffee from people who were not bound by
a marriage contract to love and support me. AWESOME. It would never
have been necessary for me to re-frame my familial relationships into
the adult realm—a valuable and rewarding experience to say the
least. Not finding everything I need from the man within the four
walls of my home has pushed me to seek new experiences, new people,
and new direction. I am immeasurably thankful for all the ways in
which he is not the One.</div>
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I'm guessing he is pretty thankful for
this little revelation of mine too. It is a pretty ridiculous notion
after-all to expect one person to be all-things to you. In fact, I'm
sure I have seen the look of utter relief on his face when my phone
rings just as I am getting fired up for a political rant about
something or other. And on the flip side, I am sure I'm not 'the One'
for him either. I'm sure he's thrilled to have Tuesday nights by
himself to watch all those scary shows I never let him watch. I'm
sure as sugar not the One who shares his passion for sailing and who wants to
accompany him when he want gets his blood pumping on a windy-day. I'm
guessing I'm not the One who he most enjoys conversing with about the
ins and outs of his job and, sadly, I KNOW that I'm not the one who
gives him the quiet head-space he needs to put his own day to bed. But I
am hopeful that this is all as it should be...</div>
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So to those of you out there who have found 'the One' that just keeps falling short... Take heart and know that no One person ever needs to be everything to you. There is so much more in this world than what One person can offer. My wish for anybody out there struggling to make their relationship with the One work is this...I hope you find two, three, or thirty people to share your life
with—friends who will embrace the all the different aspects of your person-hood.
I hope there are gaps in all of those relationships, and I hope no
One ever completes you or makes you entirely satisfied. I wish you
all the challenges and change that come with finding out that 'the One' is never enough. <br />
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Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-2236401255095958632016-10-28T17:47:00.000-07:002016-10-28T19:38:18.494-07:00There's No Such Thing as a 'Dance-Mom' (Or a 'Trump-Voter')<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>
<span lang="en-CA">I’ve recently become a ‘dance-mom’. Whatever
that means. In the past, this expression for me drummed up visions of
a frantic, well-kept, uber-competitive woman wrapped up in living (or
reliving) her dreams of being a prima ballerina through </span><span lang="en-CA">her</span><span lang="en-CA">
daughter who grew up to have a corporate job, an eating disorder and
OCD. Nonetheless, last September when I was preparing my daughter for
her first dance class, I made sure to do an extra mid-day hairbrush
(for BOTH of us), I bought ever</span><span lang="en-CA">y</span><span lang="en-CA">
last item on the suggested rehearsal gear list, and I may even have
run back into the house to exchange my sneakers for my spankiest pair
of boots before we headed out. We arrived early (a feat in itself),
and I’m embarrassed to say that I’m sure my daughter could sense
my nerves even through her own excitement. I hustled her into the
class, gave her my winning go-get-em smile and sat down to wait. I
sat next to woman (who I noted was wearing sluppy, athletic pants and
a pony tail) and we exchanged pleasantries and eventually got to
talking about our mutual interest in the Bachelor series. She was
nice enough, certainly not the embodiment of the stereotypical 'dance
mom' I'd had in mind, but I remained convinced that, come recital day,
her finely honed hair and makeup skills would make an appearance and
her daughter would look just the part while my poor daughter would
resemble a street performing clown. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<span lang="en-CA">Fast
forward a few months, I'd made a few connections with other women
outside the dance studio. One woman was a professor, another worked
in retail. Several women stayed at home with their children, and others
seemed to be making the mad dash every week to dance class from
somewhere requiring a suit. Some wore make-up, others, like me,
didn't. Some arrived at class looking like they'd rolled out of bed,
others seemed pretty 'put-together'. It varied week-to-week. On
several occasions, several of us commiserated about our fears about
the dreaded 'recital makeup.' Some of us got along better than
others, </span><span lang="en-CA">a</span><span lang="en-CA">nd, come
recital day, I fudged my way through the hair and makeup component
like everyone else and watched for two of the most heavenly minutes
of my life while my daughter danced her first dance on stage in a
ridiculous bee costume. I noted that I was not the only crying. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<span lang="en-CA">I
learned something that day--a valuable secret that shouldn't be
kept...</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<span lang="en-CA">There's
no such thing as a 'dance mom.' At least not the one I'd imagined. As
far as I can tell, the only thing we really had in common was that we
really loved our kids and wanted to see them do well. That's it. What
a wonderful relief!</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<span lang="en-CA">Perhaps you buy </span><span lang="en-CA">my premise</span><span lang="en-CA">...
So what if I told you, there was no such thing as a 'Trump-voter'? At
least not the image of the racist, bigoted, xenophobic jerk you hold
in your head. Would you believe me? Because a few things have come
to my attention recently. One is that a lot people are not shy to
call conservative voters of America all manners of strong
adjectives—racist, sexist, haters—I'm sure you could add a few to
that list. Another is that people I would never in my wildest dreams
have thought to back a man like that have come out in favour of him
in one way or another. To say hearing these people come out in
support of Donald Trump was a surprise to me is the understatement of
the century. These people were compassionate, kind, and
forward-thinking. They were people I believed to share the same
values as me. How could they be 'Trump supporters'? This bothered me.
Very much actually.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<span lang="en-CA">Now,
I am very glad that I will not be casting a vote in the American
election come November, not the least of which is that I can't stand
the polarization of a two-party system. But I have realized
something...if I did have to vote in that election, I would have to
put a check mark beside Hillary Clinton's name. Would making that
check mark make me a 'Hilliary-voter'? I suppose it would. But would
it mean that mean I supported her position on partial-birth
abortion? No, it would not. Would it mean I consider her political
position and actions to be entirely cohesive? Nope. Would it mean I
thought she was the best person to lead one of the most powerful
countries in the western world? Again no. Being a 'Hilliary-voter'
would tell you next to nothing about me </span><span lang="en-CA">or
anything I stand for</span><span lang="en-CA">. It would not tell you
anything about my values, my person-hood, or </span><span lang="en-CA">my
ability to be compassionate</span><span lang="en-CA">. So, how wrong
I have been to make these assumptions about 'Trump-supporters'!? What
do I know about them and their values? </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<span lang="en-CA">I
think we would be fooling ourselves to think we are any different
here in the great white north. Now this is going back a year or so,
but </span><span lang="en-CA">it could be said</span><span lang="en-CA">
that those who came out in support of Stephen Harper's government
during the run up to 2015 election were </span><span lang="en-CA">on
the receiving end of many of same nasty adjectives and </span><span lang="en-CA">assumptions
as Trump</span><span lang="en-CA">'s </span><span lang="en-CA">supporters.
</span><span lang="en-CA">There were plenty hell-bent on demonizing
the person-hood and values of those who dared to vote differently from
them. </span><span lang="en-CA">It bothered me at the time </span><span lang="en-CA">and
it bothers me now</span><span lang="en-CA"> because I was of the
belief that we were somehow immune to such extreme political
polarization </span><span lang="en-CA">here </span><span lang="en-CA">in
Canada, </span><span lang="en-CA">b</span><span lang="en-CA">ut we
are not. Sadly we are not.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<span lang="en-CA">I
remain passionately against polarization—</span><span lang="en-CA">whether
it be political, ideological, social, or otherwise--</span><span lang="en-CA">
</span><span lang="en-CA">particularly when it is used as tool
demonize one's opposition, </span><span lang="en-CA">and I have often
wondered why we as a society gravitate so easily towards it. I was
discussing this issue with a friend recently, and she put it this way,
'People like someone to blame, someone </span><span lang="en-CA">'</span><span lang="en-CA">bad</span><span lang="en-CA">'</span><span lang="en-CA">,
so they feel like the problem is not with them.' </span><span lang="en-CA">I
thought that was quite profound, and </span><span lang="en-CA">I have
to </span><span lang="en-CA">say that I </span><span lang="en-CA">agree
with her. Some people want to people want to blame ISIS. Others want
to blame greedy corporations. People will call out 'Trump-supporters'
for this, that, or the other thing. They will blame the government.
</span><span lang="en-CA">They will blame the political left for
their idealism or tarnish the political right with accusations of
profit-over-people. People like someone to name, blame, and polarize
as their opposition. </span>
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.28cm;">
<span lang="en-CA">But
I would like to put forth the challenge that whatever your notion of
the opposition, </span><span lang="en-CA">whoever you like to
blame</span><span lang="en-CA">—the evil corporations, the Big Bad
Middle East, the Idealistic Left, the bigoted Trump supporter—these
notions are not real. Or at least they are no more real than my
ridiculous, narrow vision of a 'dance-mom.' And more than not being
real, these notions are actually harmful. Just as I (ridiculously)
pulled on my spanky boots to drop off my daughter for dance class, </span><span lang="en-CA">so
others actually play up to these stereotypes which tend to be narrow,
extremist, and baseless—not desirable qualities in the least. The problem is absolutely within ourselves and these notions we hold of our 'opponents.'</span><span lang="en-CA"> </span><span lang="en-CA">If
we could all just s</span><span lang="en-CA">it</span><span lang="en-CA">
down outside a dance studio once a week for a year, we'd probably
find we weren't </span><span lang="en-CA">in opposition at all--t</span><span lang="en-CA">hat
we all valued family, </span><span lang="en-CA">health</span><span lang="en-CA">,
</span><span lang="en-CA">security, and compassion much the same.</span><span lang="en-CA">
What a wonderful relief that would be!</span><br />
<span lang="en-CA"><br /></span>
<span lang="en-CA" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>For Charlotte--A true moderate. Just one of your many amazing qualities. Love you.</i></span></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-88512451441162289762016-09-15T13:59:00.000-07:002016-09-15T14:08:00.142-07:00Grounders--I don't get it!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YiEgZQzF-Ys/V9sLM6omsMI/AAAAAAAAAR0/2MuN8rlJKkQfzn60lBH6P3RzkwfrxZR9wCLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_115555296_WM.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YiEgZQzF-Ys/V9sLM6omsMI/AAAAAAAAAR0/2MuN8rlJKkQfzn60lBH6P3RzkwfrxZR9wCLcB/s320/AdobeStock_115555296_WM.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Parents, do your kids come home talking
about 'Grounders'? Mine do. Wtf? I first heard the term 'Grounders'
about 8 years ago when I was working in a daycare. I had come to pick
up some kids at an elementary school and, when I asked what they were
playing, they gave me the rundown... According to them, 'Grounders'
was a tag game played on playground equipment, and the person who was
'It' had to close their eyes while trying to tag other people also on
the playground equipment. Anyone on the ground was 'T' (formerly
'time-out,' apparently this phrase has negative connotations for the
wuss- generation) and couldn't be tagged. My first thought was 'Awww!
Kids are so stupid!' and my second thought, naïve as I was, was that
Grounders was just a flavour week and they would move onto something
else next week. Well, stupid me, they did persist in playing it quite
regularly until the end of that school year at which point I went on
mat leave and largely forgot all about it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Grounders continued to pop into my
awareness over the years--I'd overhear it on the playground or a
neighbor kid would mention it--and eventually I accepted it was
actually a 'thing.' I went on the assumption that the kids on the
playground had relayed the rules incorrectly or that I'd remembered
incorrectly until one day a few months ago...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Me</b>: Hey Bud! What did you do at recess
today?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Him</b>: Played Grounders.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Me</b>: Hmmm. Grounders? How do you play
that?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Him</b>: Well, it's like tag and the person
who is 'It' has to close their eyes and try to tag people on the
playground equipment. But if you're touching the ground, you're T.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Me</b>: Huh.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Part of me is a big fan of logic. And
that part of me, just really wants to say...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Kids, I take issue with your stupid
Grounders game. You've heard the phrase, “The blind leading the
blind...” No? Whatever. Surely this is a case of 'the blind chasing
the way-fucking-faster,' because, seriously, I just had a go with
this whole running-around-with-my-eyes-closed thing and, I'm not
going to lie, I've had more graceful walks home from the bar at 2AM.
Respectfully I ask, how (the fuck) is someone with their eyes closed
supposed to chase a seeing target down on a play structure?
Seriously, you guys have had some stupid-ass ideas over the years,
but running with your eyes closed on a play structure makes the
top-five. As far as I can tell, kids, this game leaves you only two
choices...Cheat or endanger yourself by actually running around with
your eyes closed. Can you spell STUPID? Actually there is a third
choice, and let me tell you, if adults played this game this is
totally what they would do...You can sit your ass down on the grass,
declare yourself 'T,' drink a glass of something fruity, and watch
sir-it-alot stumble around blindly on the equipment. Score! …</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VhENJRkqG3w/V9sLYIP0VmI/AAAAAAAAAR4/THbKbI8eMno8buCPwPOXiQ-p3DxpFs8vACLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_114237432_WM.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VhENJRkqG3w/V9sLYIP0VmI/AAAAAAAAAR4/THbKbI8eMno8buCPwPOXiQ-p3DxpFs8vACLcB/s320/AdobeStock_114237432_WM.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
...but, I'm a classy mom and, as such,
I have kept those words to myself for the time being. However, I did
decide to pay a little extra attention the next time I was on the
playground. Sure enough, the kids were playing Grounders, and, as
predicted, the sad little kid who was 'It' squinted shamelessly
through her half-closed eyes while chasing the other kids around.
Stupid.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sv52pB81Nok/V9sLhi0QBCI/AAAAAAAAAR8/r0kWrzjUGLAN9gzl0JNjjg4sSWLiCODDACLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_72073248_WM.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sv52pB81Nok/V9sLhi0QBCI/AAAAAAAAAR8/r0kWrzjUGLAN9gzl0JNjjg4sSWLiCODDACLcB/s320/AdobeStock_72073248_WM.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So here I sit, blogging angrily about
my pointless little gripe, and remembering how when I was kid I used
to look at adults sitting (literally and metaphorically) at the sides
of some AWESOME game I was playing and vow that I would never be so
STUPID and grumpy as them.</div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-30613987310951941172016-08-31T13:24:00.003-07:002016-08-31T13:24:32.357-07:00Chronic Fatigue Syndrome--Worst. Name. Ever<div class="MsoNormal">
Imagine the following conversation...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry</b>: Heard you weren't feeling well lately.?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> You could say that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry: </b>So you're just tired all the time?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> Yeah, and a few other things...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry:</b> Girl, I hear ya. When I got back from Hawaii in
January, it took me a week to turn around and then I made the mistake of going
on a bender the weekend after. You know how that goes, and then last week I
ended up with a flu and it feels like it's been a month since I felt normal,
you know?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> I can relate to that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry: </b>I remember last year there was like this 3 week
period where I couldn't sleep past 5 AM.
Man, I was SO BAGGED at work. You don't even know...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> Yeah, that sucks, but it's a bit different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry: </b>How so?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> Dude, I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry:</b> You know, I wondered if I had that and then I had
some bloodwork and turned out my hemo-something was low. Took some iron and I
was good as new! Have you ever had your blood tested?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> Yes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry:</b> Hmmm. I hear lots of people have luck with acupuncture
for fatigue. I've never tried but I keep meaning to. Why don't you try that?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> I'll keep that in mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry: </b>You're not like (whispering) <i>depressed</i> or
something?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: </b>(Forehead slap)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xji-cMhjYe4/V8c6NadnoNI/AAAAAAAAARc/5aTdFJbeFf0SBocfK9IDX9v8nDucB77ygCLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_47896049.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xji-cMhjYe4/V8c6NadnoNI/AAAAAAAAARc/5aTdFJbeFf0SBocfK9IDX9v8nDucB77ygCLcB/s320/AdobeStock_47896049.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let's clear the air about a few things here... For one
thing, I love Jerry. He's a kind and well-meaning friend, and I'm not being
ironic. For another, I am not running down depression or any other mental
illness as a diagnosis. And lastly, as irritating as it may be, I TOTALLY
understand why conversations like this are inevitable... and do you know what
it is? It's the DAMN NAME—Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Worst. Name. Ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why? Because upon hearing these words, everyone and their
dog feels compelled to:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>a. Commiserate with their stories of tiredness</b>—I get
it, and I'm not belittling anyone's experience. It's true we have ALL been
tired at times, some extremely so and some for long periods of time. It sucks.
I understand. I guess why I find this slightly irritating is that Jerry's
friend, Bill, with lung cancer would never have to endure a lengthy
commiseration about Jerry's going cough. He wouldn't dream of it, because it's
not the same thing. I can only blame the illness' name for Jerry's lapse in
judgement here, and he probably <i>would</i> do the same to Bill if lung cancer
was called 'chronic coughing syndrome.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>b. Offer an alternative diagnosis</b>—everyone with a smartphone is a doctor these days! Maybe you're pregnant? Have you ever thought
you might have MS? Lupus? Lyme disease? Thyroid disorder? Iron deficiency? I've
heard them all. I can only assume that Jerry and other friends do this because
the name CFS is somehow not convincing or weighty enough for the multi-faceted
illness that it is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>c. Offer medical advice</b>—I'm sure offering unsolicited
medical advice is not limited to CFS. The reason this irritates me slightly is
that after 4 years of living with this illness, does Jerry really think I have
never had a blood test? Or considered an alternative treatment? Or given any
thought to what might be causing this? Does he REALLY think he has a better
idea about managing CFS than I do? I'm being too hard on the guy... He probably
wouldn't be so inclined to offer advice if the illness was more frequently
referred to Systemic Extertional Intolerance Disease (it is).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>d.</b> <b>Make awkward references to mental illness</b>—Jerry is
a good guy, but sometimes I'm not sure what century he lives in... '<i>Whisper,
whisper, depression. Ahem, anxiety. Ppppsst, anti-depressants. Have you ever
thought about talking to a counsellor? No one has to know.</i>' For Jerry and
anyone else out there, I'm just going to put this out there loud and clear...I
do not suffer with depression. I have experienced anxiety unrelated to CFS. It
sucks BIG TIME. I have talked to counselor who I would see more frequently if I
had unlimited time, funds, and babysitters, and there are no commonly
prescribed meds for CFS. Oh, and the words 'depression, anxiety, anti-depressant, counsellor,' are not swears and they do not need to whispered for any reason. ALL CLEAR?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the record, there are a number of alternative names for
Chronic Fatigue Syndrome that I occasionally offer as an alternative, but, to
be honest, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis is REALLY hard to say and confuses people. As for Systemic Extertional Intolerance Disease, well, it's neither catchy nor memorable nor
currently accepted as a clinical diagnosis in this country, and conversations
where I do offer these names inevitably go down something like this...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry: </b>Huh?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry:</b> The who said the what now?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: </b>MY-AL-GIC. ENCEPH...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jerry: </b>I thought you had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: </b>(Forehead slap. Cue annoying conversation)</div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-74755747184071999992016-08-27T13:39:00.003-07:002016-08-29T13:55:30.278-07:00Science Shamers--It's time to Take it Down a Notch<div class="MsoNormal">
The scientific method is not perfect. Any good scientist
will tell you that. It's subject to flawed methods, imperfect experiments,
societal pressures, at times it sells itself to the highest bidder, and it is
planned and executed by fallible humans on dynamic situations—just like
everything else. It is for these reasons, and for many others that I haven't
touched on, that I respectfully ask the science-shamers (that is, those who use science to shame others) of this generation to
take it down a notch.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S2UbioNdeU4/V8SdO1Qau2I/AAAAAAAAARA/WZh5rsP3TbgvgFm7DhVkxPemOaAN-n-qgCLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_36880196.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S2UbioNdeU4/V8SdO1Qau2I/AAAAAAAAARA/WZh5rsP3TbgvgFm7DhVkxPemOaAN-n-qgCLcB/s320/AdobeStock_36880196.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Science-shamers? You know who you are.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You litter my newsfeed with things like, “The good thing
about science is that it's true whether you believe it or not.” You are the
mommy-gangs that constantly deride the 'anti-vaxxers' (oooo…two X's!) with
facts and studies in support of your position.
You are the jerk who during a conversation last week laughed in the face
of a woman who said she thought the whole 'carbon-thing' was a bit of a
cash-grab. You make no pretenses about shaming those who access 'alternative'
health-care services. You roll your eyes at anyone whose ideas or practices
appear to contradict the going scientific trend. Need I go on?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I go any further, let me set the record straight…I am
a self-professed 'science-person.' It is my university major, my kids are
vaccinated, I believe in evolution, I utilize the best of modern medicine. I think
what science has done for mankind in terms of quality of life is nothing short
of miraculous. I am not anti-science, and I believe that it is a fine, even
exceptional, tool for humanity. Science is what we use to make our best guess
at any point in time, but I think it is important to remember that our 'best
guess' today is not what it was 50 years ago nor is it what will be 50 years
from now. To give you an example, consider the evolution of health care, specifically child-birthing practices, since the 1970's... If you're a
thirty-something woman like myself, your birthing experiences were probably
quite different from your mother's, and I'm going to go out on a limb and say
that your experiences will probably be very different from those your daughter
will have. Science probably had a lot to do with that. In the area of health care specifically, science uses information
to inform best-practice as it always has, but <b>science is not complete</b>. ‘Best-practices’ in health care are not fact in themselves. They are merely guesses based on the <i>pieces</i> of fact we currently have at our disposal and they will
continue to change. Perhaps that is something the science-shamers among us need
to keep in mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I say science is not complete, I say that for a few
reasons…One is that the inherent nature of the scientific method is to study variables
in isolation. Of course this has its purposes, but as we know, NOTHING on this
planet happens in isolation. Every tidbit of discoverable scientific fact is
just a piece of a much larger picture. I do not think it is uncommon for the public or even prominent members of the scientific community to draw incorrect or overly broad conclusions based on a scientific study or two. Remember in the 1980's when cholesterol
was the metaphorical anti-christ? There were some convincing studies linking
blood cholesterol to heart disease, and suddenly everyone and their dog stopped
eating eggs and minded their cholesterol and the food industry jumped on the
opportunity to sell low-cholesterol-this and no-cholesterol-that. Of course
science has gone on to create a more complete picture of the function of
cholesterol in our diets and bodies, and, of course, everyone's eating eggs again,
but the lesson for science-shamers here is:
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
blood cholesterol linked to heart disease ≠ eggs are bad for you<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can just imagine the science-shamers of the 1980's in
their acid-wash jeans citing all kinds of evidence to their egg-eating friends
about what a poor dietary choice they were making.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
Perhaps this type of shaming
is not unlike those who recently turned their noses up at me when I opted not
to take a course of antibiotics for a throat infection. (Antibiotics! Ha! If
there is a better example of science being incomplete, I can't think of one!)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Finally, science is incomplete
for another reason. Mockers, mock if you may. Haters, hate if you will, but in
the words of Shakespeare, 'There are more things on heaven and earth than are
dreamt of in your philosophy.' There are countless items which have yet to be studied, whether that be because science hasn't gotten to them yet or because there are matters in this universe that are simply un-study-able. There are factors that we may never be able to observe through the scientific method--love,
hope, reason, and spirit, to name a few—if these un-quantifiable forces don't have
an impact on the physical, then I am a monkey's uncle! </span>There are
forces at play in this universe yet undiscovered and perhaps never measurable…even
a scientist will tell you that.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Science-shamers,
I get it. Sometimes the actions and choices of others are utterly baffling. They may counter your instincts, challenge your sense of reason and everything you think science has ever told you. I have certainly been among your ranks from time to time, but
please, the next time someone’s ideas offend yours sense of scientific
decency, consider that they may not be denying the facts. They may simply have used them to reach a different conclusion, or perhaps they are accessing a different set of facts entirely. Who knows? Or maybe, just maybe, they have not based their ideas on science at all (gasp!) They are allowed to that.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-68527818474600090452016-08-02T12:45:00.001-07:002016-08-02T12:45:12.083-07:00Dad--Man, Myth, and Legend...<div class="MsoNormal">
With Dad's 80<sup>th</sup> birthday this year, I knew I
wanted to write a tribute of some sort for him, so I made a simple prayer
asking God to send me the words. As many of you will know, I have spent a lot
of time writing the last few years, and as has often been the case many times
in the past, God delivered the words… but for this occasion, he gave me just
three—Man, Myth, and Legend.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dad—The Man<o:p></o:p></div>
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I would like to tell you a little bit about Dad who was born
the fifth child in large homesteading family in 1936. I would like to tell you
that, as a boy, he was the same mischievous, hard-working person we know him to
be today, but, let's face it, I have no idea because that stuff all happened
before I was born. And, I'm sure any of his siblings would more equipped to
provide information of that sort, So I’ll leave that to them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway, as Dad is fond of saying, “Your parents don't raise
you, your kids do.” so, instead, I'll tell you a little bit about “The Man”<i>
I </i>had a hand in raising. And Dad, “The Man” I have known for the last 35
years, I can only think to sum up in three simple values…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1. Hard work – I remember going for a run one day down
correction line road, as I did many times. Dad was already living in town by
this point, and I see the old Brown Ford dusting down the road, and I know I'm
in trouble. Now some parents, other parents, might have been proud to see their
daughter taking an interest in her health, getting out for some fresh air and
exercise, but not MY Dad. The truck pulls up, “Get in,” he says, “there's
strawberries that need picking.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyone who has known Dad for longer than 10 minutes can
attest to his tireless work ethic, if that's what one calls 80 years of
devotion and long hours of farming, gardening, fixing, finishing, building, and
raising a family, community, church, and so on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, to this day, Dad has not actually succeeded in
thwarting mine or any of his kid’s obsessions with physical exercise, but as
I've grown older, I have really come to appreciate Dad's dedication to hard
work. Which brings me to the second value that Dad, the 'Man' embodies...and
that is<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2. Generosity – All of Dad's hard work is not for naught.
The fruits of 80 years worth of labour are rich and plentiful. You may ask what
one does with such abundance… Well, they share it of course! Whether you’re his
daughter receiving a trunk full of produce, or the Friendship Inn intaking
enough garden potatoes to feed a small army, or whether you are the church
basket or the new guy in town, or a stranger needing a hand with some household
task, or a community member or one of the many others that I suspect no one
will ever know about, we have all been on the receiving end of Dad's
generousity and selflessness—A truly 'divine' quality.<o:p></o:p></div>
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3. Faith – What does my humble Dad or any of us for that
matter know of faith? Well, have 16 children who you intend to raise on a
farming income, and you will know faith--Faith in God's providence, Faith in
the goodness of family and love, And Faith in sacrificing for others. I think I
speak for all of Dad's children when I say that the gift of faith in a God that
loves his children through anything this life has to throw at us and no matter
where we roam or stray is the greatest gift anyone of us could hope to receive.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dad- The Myth<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well, if you’ve lived 80 years and there isn’t a myth or two
circulating about you, you’re probably doing something wrong, so I’m here to
dispel a few.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Myth: With all those kids and a big farm to run, Dad didn’t
have time for much else.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Fact: This is simply not true, and if you don’t believe me,
just ask the Knights of Columbus, the Pro-Life Association, the local priest,
or any newcomer to town if Dad doesn’t have time…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Myth: Dad was once caught throwing out a piece of rotting
fruit at the Eastgate mall<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Fact: The local Co-op stocks ‘cooking bananas’ just for Dad
and in his 80 years not a single piece of fruit, ripe or otherwise, has gone to
waste under his vigilant watch. Just as a side story, I remember walking in
front of Grandma’s one day, and stepping over a little package or saran wrapped
watermelon, complete with ants and such. Later, I was at Dad’s and he brings
out a little plate of watermelon which I am eagerly tucking into, when he says,
“Do you know where I got that?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Myth: Years of hard-work, farming struggles, and difficult
trials have left Dad a hardened man--stoic, and with opinions that are stuck in
stone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fact: Dad unfailingly treats anyone he meets with kindness
and compassion. When new people come into his life, Dad embodies the most true
and pure definition of ‘acceptance’ I have ever witnessed—acceptance of
different faiths, different nationalities, different walks of life, and
different values. For me personally, this is one his most unique and proudest
characteristics.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dad—The Legend<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dad is a legend for two reasons:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal">I’ve never met anyone like
him – The world over, I’ve truly never met anyone like my Dad. Dad does
not wait for good to happen. He doesn’t cast his vote and wait for
politics to achieve some distant goal. He doesn’t utter things like,
“Someone needs to cut those ditches,” and then wait for Ted Gartner to do
it. I’ll bet the shirt on my back that he isn’t active in ‘awareness’
campaigns or frequenting benefit banquets for newcomers to Canada. No. The
banquet is in his home, THEIR home, literally. If he is ‘aware’ of some
problem, some good that needs doing, Dad does it himself. He cuts the
ditches, he and Rita grow food, prepare it, and share it on a near daily
basis. He changes the church light bulb himself, addresses the golf-course
litter problem personally, and he lends his tools, his time, even his cars
without blinking an eye, even when those items occasionally return from,
say, Edmonton a little worse for wear. It may seem a simple quality, but
can you imagine how different the world would be if more people approached
things this way?<o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">He is an inspiration – For
all the reasons I’ve talked about—generousity, hard-work, faithfulness,
compassion, acceptance, and for any other reasons anyone else has in their
hearts, I’m sure we can all agree Dad has inspired each of us in our own
ways. I see little pieces of you, Dad, in all of us. Like Jesus, you are
and will be a gift that keeps giving. Happy birthday and more to come.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ol>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-66675885073045896132016-07-29T13:44:00.001-07:002016-07-29T13:44:00.670-07:00A Letter to Friends Who Didn't Know Me Before Chronic Fatigue Syndrome<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<br />
Dear Friend,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm writing you this because our
friendship our has grown into something beautiful over the past few
years, and I'm also writing this because friends should be honest
with each other. And if I'm really honest, I'd have to tell you that
there are two things I have been dying to tell you...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The first is that <b>I wasn't always
like this</b>. If you knew how often I have I wanted to say that, you'd think me a lunatic. I want to tell you that I looked different, maybe more youthful, certainly
more athletic. I had interests. I went out in the evening. I spent
more time with friends and held a full-time job. I liked dancing and
running and biking and going out on the town, but most of all, I felt
different. I was happier, more energetic, sillier, more fun. I saw
brighter futures, potential and opportunity. I was lighter and busier
and just <i>more</i>. In fact sometimes I'm so desperate to tell you
this that I want to scream it out loud. I WASN'T ALWAYS LIKE THIS...
</div>
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<br /></div>
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But then I want to say--what I REALLY
want to say--is simply... <b>Thank You</b>.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Thank you because you never demanded
this explanation of me. So often I see myself as two people—the
person before this illness and the person after it. I know it's silly
and despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I can't help
sometimes but think that my old friends stuck by the 'new me' out of
some sense of loyalty or duty. But for you, there is no 'new me' or
'old me' or anything else. There is just 'me'--Good enough as I am to
find an awesome friend like you! You see, the greatest struggle with
this illness outside of the everyday physical stuff is believing
that, in spite of everything I have lost, I am still enough. And the
knowledge that the me-after-Chronic-Fatigue is enough to befriend
your awesome-ass is incredibly affirming, more than you know. So,
thank you for that.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You know, I'm not sure I'll ever be
able to see myself outside the parameters of 'before' and 'after'
this illness or if I'll ever really let go of the notion that I was
somehow 'more' of person before Chronic Fatigue wreaked havoc on my
life. But on days when thoughts like that get me down, I will try to
see myself through your eyes.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lots of love,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Adele</div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-79137010530680134192016-07-07T14:28:00.001-07:002016-07-28T13:27:58.234-07:00The One 'Must-do' Summer Activity for 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P02glSM0AkY/V37IoCbPlAI/AAAAAAAAAP4/6Ltk0GPfTywJUTVK_QajpLRryekHfVh6gCLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_27336883.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P02glSM0AkY/V37IoCbPlAI/AAAAAAAAAP4/6Ltk0GPfTywJUTVK_QajpLRryekHfVh6gCLcB/s320/AdobeStock_27336883.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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School's out for summer! If you're
anything like me, those words fill you with one part 'Sa-weet!' and
three parts 'OMG! What am going to do with them for all that
time?' Well, I'm sure you've already come across your fair share of
lists of must-do summer activities, you've enrolled your kids in
swimming lessons, and concocted grand plans for day trips and week-long
holidays at the lake. You're mentally compiling a list of craft ideas
and outdoor activities for play-dates with friends and you've spent a small fortune on gadgets, water guns, and slip and slides, all to
ensure that neither their boundless energy nor a day of the precious
summer season is wasted. But, you're forgetting something... In fact, you're
forgetting the <i>best</i> thing about the season--something we just
don't get enough of the rest of year--an activity that is both
timeless and revolutionary at the same. And that is this...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Nothing.</div>
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Sweet nothing.
</div>
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If you're anything like me, the thought
of doing or planning <i>nothing</i> makes you uneasy. It conjures up
visions of your household positively erupting in mess with bored kids
fighting and screaming while you pull your hair out until such a time
that you become adequately defeated enough to enlist the services of
Captain TV and Nanny Smartphone to rescue you from imminent disaster.
Now, I'm not guaranteeing that won't happen, but I will
guarantee that it wouldn't be the end of the world. I guess I'm just
suggesting that kids, like us, need a little more of, well,
nothing—time and space to be creative, relax, and to just let
things happen (or not happen).</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Occasionally the shift that occurs from
one generation and the next is quite surprising to me, and this is
one of those times. Do you know what my mom planned for me
every summer? Nothing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Do you remember what your Auntie Martha
used to do when you came over to play with your cousins? Well, if she
was like mine, she watched All My Children and brought out some
orange Kool-Aid around 3 o'clock. Your grandma? Mine made me pull
weeds and pick raspberries and paid us in lemon drops and rosebuds.
From memory, NO ONE in my neighborhood really planned anything for
their kids, and, do you know what? IT WAS THE BEST TIME OF THE
YEAR!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In my neighborhood, we used to get up
to all sorts of things...tree houses, swimming (no one drowned in my
memory), we played in the sprinklers, we let our imaginations run
wild, we camped in tents made out of nets and blankets, we collected
sticks and rocks and bugs and bottle caps, we got dirty, we ran in
the rain, we jumped, we climbed, we ran, we hid, we had so much fun
we forgot to hydrate or put on sunscreen. We even found other kids to play with and we
adventured in pastures and groves of trees, we kicked balls and
played 500 (does anyone else call it that?), we learned to catch and
shoot hoops without drills or instruction, and unless our parents
commandeered us into some house or yard work, WE JUST PLAYED, and
I'll say it again, it was the BEST!</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When my mind runs away with thoughts
like these, of childhood summers that were easy and carefree, I worry
that I just might be doing a disservice to my kids with all of this
planning and structure. My guess is that there might be a hiccup or
two and maybe an adjustment period while we learn to slow down, but
my pledge this summer for my family is to do a little less of
something and a LOT more nothing! Join me if you dare!</div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-30284863699445210082016-06-30T13:15:00.000-07:002016-07-04T13:52:40.313-07:00Fear--The new F-word<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
You can’t turn your head these days without hearing some
expression with the word ‘fear’ in it--fear-mongering, ‘the politics of fear’ or,
my personal favorite, ‘hope over fear.’ Or failing that you hear someone accusing
someone else of having the latest ‘phobia’-du-jour—Islamophobia, xenophobia,
homophobia, you name it. If these expressions and accusations are to be
believed, it would seem Canadian society is hopelessly plagued by spineless,
ignorant, and hateful people only capable of making decisions based on these
less-desirable characteristics. But you know what? I beg to differ. I don’t
think that this the case at all. I think most Canadians are empathetic human
beings capable of drawing rational conclusions, even if one doesn’t entirely agree
with them. If there is one thing on this planet that I can’t stand, it is when
people <b>demonize their opposition</b>.
I’m not joking when I say <b>this</b>, not
fear, is the thing wars are made of, and, in my humble opinion, that is exactly
what the use of these fear-phrases intends. I’m talking about things like, ‘Oh,
you don’t agree with my stance on immigration? You must be xenophobic’ or how voters
in our past federal election who favored a more proactive approach to ISIS were
labelled ‘fearful’ or (my favorite) blaming religion for using scare tactics to
encourage bigotry, misogyny, homophobia and every other world problem. Oh, and
if my facebook newsfeed is to be believed, this whole fear-slinging phenomenon
is not limited to North America as I recently had the pleasure of hearing
similar garb from British friends accusing their Brexit opposition of spreading
propaganda and fear-mongering for this, that, or the other thing. Quite
frankly, I’m sick of it for a few reasons…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>#1 Information that
does not support your position does not equate to fear-mongering </b>(necessarily).
Before I get into a rant, let me give some credit to the whole ‘fear’ thing. I
don’t think it is disputable that people occasionally employ fear-tactics to sell
things, sway votes, or otherwise push their agenda. It happens. I am just of
the opinion that the phrase ‘fear-mongering’ is now a grossly overused default
for anyone who wants to discredit information or people they disagree with.
Sometimes information is just information, and, what’s more, I think the vast
majority of the Canadian public is intelligent enough to know the difference.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>#2 People make
decisions out of fear all the time</b>. Do you have a lock on your house? How
about your car? You act out of fear. Do you avoid certain things, say delicious
foods, because they might harm your health? You act out of fear. Maybe you live in
a certain area of your city that you feel is ‘safer’ for your family. You act
in fear. Why else would you spend a hundred thousand dollars more to live in
the exact same house you could choose in a different area of town? Do you avoid
tall grass for fear of ticks? Have you ever avoided a bad area of town at night
or maybe chosen a less treacherous route over a shorter one? You act in fear. Do
you look both ways when you cross the street or salt your steps when they get icy?
You live in fear… I’m being ridiculous now? I can hear you thinking…that is
just exercising reasonable caution to avoid catastrophe. Couldn’t agree with
you more! People exercise reasonable caution when it comes the protection of
their jobs, homes, property, children, communities, and countries ALL. THE.
TIME. This does not make them fearful, ignorant or spineless or anything else.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>#3 The surest way to spread fear is by talking about fear all the time.</b>
So if you really buy into all this fear business (which <i>I</i> don’t) and you actually desire to stop it…Stop talking about fear
all the damn time! Is it too much to ask for you to inspire the masses with
your fearless, hopeful ways without calling others down?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>#4 The strongest fear operating in this country right now is the fear
of being called fearful</b>. Let’s be honest…the last thing anyone wants to be
called is a coward. Nobody in their right mind wants to be called a racist, a
bigot, or a ‘phobic’ of any kind, and ironically this unique brand fear is
being spread by the fear-phobes themselves. People walk on eggshells, they
skirt around vital issues, they turn blind eyes, they don’t say what they mean,
they agree for the sake of keeping the peace, politicians are backed into
corners, our society doesn’t act when it most needs to…all for what? To avoid
being called fearful. That’s not something to be proud of. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last but not least…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>#5 The mentality that ‘if you’re not with me, you’re fearful’</b> (AKA
against me) <b>is absolute crap</b>. Again,
if you want to start a war, divide people into friends and enemies…this is
absolutely the way to go about it. This is the roots of extremism--My way or
the highway. With me or against me. Hope or fear, which do you choose? DON’T DO
THIS STUFF. Between your way and my way—between hope and fear—are a million
wonderful shades of grey where real conversation, compromise, and growth will
thrive. Of course there are people out there that you will think are pretty
crappy but, hey, they probably think you are pretty crappy too, and guess what,
we are ALL invited to the conversation. There are even those that are worthy of
some of the awful titles I’ve mentioned earlier, but, the majority of Canadians,
in my opinion, tread with decency and compassion in the grey areas, and that is
a good good thing. Don’t mess with it. Don’t back people into corners with this
fear propaganda. Hope or fear? It is not one or the other. Stop talking like it
is.<o:p></o:p></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-84103525450789605882016-06-21T13:30:00.001-07:002016-06-21T13:36:12.648-07:00To Anyone's who's ever asked what Chronic Fatigue Feels Like<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don't get many questions about my illness—it's a pretty
boring subject, after all—but one I've had one a few times is this... What does
it feel like? I really get the sense that people have asked this out of genuine
concern and curiosity, but, in the moment, I've probably offered a short and
not particularly informative answer. It's not that I don't appreciate the
concern, it's more that the answer is more lengthy than the social rules of
conversation permit. At any rate, today I will do best to answer it, and I will
venture to do that without the use of confusing metaphors or in the spirit of a
pity party. So, keeping in mind that my experience is just one of many…Chronic
Fatigue Syndrome--what does it feel like? Well...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It feels tired</b>. I know this is a bit vague because
everyone feels tired sometimes, even a lot of the time, but, trust me, it is
different. If you have ever been pregnant and yearning to end your day at 1
pm—it's kind of like that. Or maybe if you've flown to the other side of the
world and spent a day or two feeling incapacitated by jet lag—yea, that
feeling. Or maybe you're familiar with that sickly tired you get at about 330
on a night shift—similar to that, just ALL day, even at 8 am after a 10 hour
sleep. It is the kind of tired that isn't a side show, but the main act in your
day. Add to that...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It feels heavy</b>. To me the heaviness is most
pronounced when I am grocery shopping, so I'll use that as an example. Imagine
pushing a loaded refrigerator around instead of a shopping cart—that's what it
feels like. Or maybe wearing lead suit while you climb the stairs or chase your
toddler around. Not always, but sometimes it so heavy that I can't lift my
limbs off the bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It cycles like a binge-drinking alcoholic</b>. (That's a
simile not a metaphor!) One of the most universal components of CFS is a
something called <i>post-exertional malaise </i>which basically means symptoms of fatigue and malaise surface 24 to 48
hours <i>after</i> some kind of exertion. This aspect also likely
confuses people because it is not uncommon to see a person with CFS out and
about, seemingly living an ordinary life. The best way I can think to explain
it is this...When you see someone with this illness engaging in normal to
strenuous activity, essentially what you are seeing is an episode of
binge-drinking—all fun and games...<i>until hangover time tomorrow</i>. So,
say, from time to time, you might find me out gardening or staying out late
with my girlfriends. Well, post-exertional malaise will ensure that I feel all
kinds of shit for doing that tomorrow. That's just how it works.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also like an alcoholic, a sufferer of CFS can have periods
of sobriety (or remission) where symptoms fade and he/she may be able to
increase their level of activity for a while. I had a lengthy (over 6 months!)
remission recently—an awesome time of which I relished every waking second of
that feeling of wellness. Unfortunately, like alcoholism, it is a disease that
lingers and a 'fall off the wagon' can be triggered by the smallest of things,
as was the case for me when I got simple case of strep throat. Speaking of
which...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It feels like sick</b>. The science behind CFS isn't
entirely complete, but it is known to leave sufferers immuno-compromised. I
find that when a run of the mill virus runs hits our household, I am the first
to get it, the last to shake it, and the most miserable in between. Comprendez?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It feels like I've been robbed</b>—mostly of time and
quality. Managing this illness, for me, means consistently early bedtimes and
rest periods during the day. If I were to quantify it, I would say that it
feels like I operate with 2 less hours a day than everyone else, and the hours
that I do have are not always that great. For me, this has meant the loss of
'extras' like hobbies, evenings in with my husband, and time with friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It feels a bit like I have become my 90 year-old neighbor</b>.
Whenever I enter a conversation with old Gladys next door, she inevitably tells
me about how her health has deteriorated such that she can't grocery shop or
vacuum or keep her flower beds or walk to the end of the block, etc. And then
she'll get into how she really should get a cleaner or downsize and how she
just can’t manage anymore...All the while, I'm thinking, 'Yes, Gladys, don't I
know it!'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It feels up and down</b>. On any given day if you ask
someone with CFS how they are doing, the answer will heavily depend on if they
are having a 'good day' or a 'bad day.' I have heard those expressions SO often
from other sufferers of this illness. And whether or not you are having a 'bad
day' largely depends on if you overdid activity the previous day by, say,
attempting physical exercise (BIG no-no) or going to bed late, etc. On the flip
side, if you behaved like a proper lazy ass <i>and</i> had a good sleep, you
might actually feel quite well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It feels like paranoia</b>. One of the less-than-awesome
side stories to this illness is that I have become totally self-obsessed with
my health. I can't help but forever sizing up how I am feeling today and what
caused me to feel that way and what I might avoid in the future to prevent
episodes of fatigue. Even when I am feeling well, I am always wondering what
tomorrow will look like and carefully choosing whether or not to engage in A,
B, or C in case I inflict the wrath of the illness. Add to that the anxiety
about career prospects, my abilities as a mother, and whether or not I will
ever enjoy life like used to and so on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hope this answers the question for anyone who’s ever
wondered. I realize my illness is not the most exciting of topics, but, I do
appreciate the concern and the opportunity to vent a little sometimes. Thanks
for listening and Happy Tuesday.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-1629142018209770722016-06-14T13:26:00.001-07:002016-06-14T15:29:29.137-07:00Are you really OK with difference?<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
An acquaintance of mine was telling a
story about how, as a member of a recent-immigrant resettlement
group, she volunteered to meet some newcomers at the airport as part
of a team that would assist with the details of their immediate
resettlement. She was surprised, and I would say unpleasantly so,
when the men in the newcomer group refused to shake hands with any of
the women who had come to greet them. There was a number of people
present at the time she was relaying this story, and the variety of
reactions that it elicited was quite fascinating...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One female quite strongly stated, “Well
they can turn around and get right back on that plane then.”
Another mused, “Maybe it is their custom not to shake hands with
members of the opposite sex?” Quite likely IMO, so I added,
“Surely, you don't expect people to leave their customs and culture
at the immigration desk.” Another suggested that perhaps the men
would react differently in a few years when they were more familiar
with Canadian customs. Interesting. What was clear to me anyway is
that a random sampling of assholes didn't get off a plane from
somewhere and decide to flex their misogynous muscles by not shaking
hands with women. No. There is some story of deeper culture here.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm happy to report that I have no
recollection of where these immigrants were coming from because it is
not my intention to encourage discourse or spread hate against any
group of people. The reason I share this story is to pose the same
question to you as has circled round and round in my head with
regards to this story...<i>Are you really okay with difference</i>?
Or otherwise stated, <i>are you okay with real difference?</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I ask this because I think often
culture, from an outsider's perspective, is characterized by surface
expressions such as food, language, or dress—all important aspects,
but, let's be honest, these are no-brainers in terms of acceptance.
You eat different food than me? Great, can I try some. I can observe
that you are dressed differently than me. Fine. You view gender roles
differently than me? Um... Your disciplinarian practices with your
children greatly differ from mine? Uh...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The following illustration captures so
poignantly what I am getting at:</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y6Jpe6iXLxc/V2BoW2P9-_I/AAAAAAAAAO4/YUOIv4eQASoQFjE8yGo4J3x8yZP0_xZxQCLcB/s1600/13239327_10154068658296291_5892293738461315849_n.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y6Jpe6iXLxc/V2BoW2P9-_I/AAAAAAAAAO4/YUOIv4eQASoQFjE8yGo4J3x8yZP0_xZxQCLcB/s320/13239327_10154068658296291_5892293738461315849_n.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Culture is SO much deeper than what we
eat or wear or even what language we speak. Real differences in
culture—stuff that might make you uncomfortable—is unlikely
relegated to extremist groups, and the devil's advocate in me, when
topics like this come up, wants to ask questions like...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Are you okay with men greeting women
differently than women?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Do you think that the ideology behind
such a practice might be further reaching? Are you okay if, say,
daily relations relations with wives and daughters are enacted
differently than you have come to expect in greater Canadian society?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What might an extension of the whole
not shaking hands thing look like in a workplace? Are you okay with
that?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
How would it make you feel to know
other women condoned, expected, even celebrated these types of gender
relations?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
How would you feel if similar
behaviors were expressed or encouraged in schools?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If 10 or 20 years down the road, these
types of cultural variations thrive (and I expect they will), how
would you feel about them entering the political arena, say if male
MP's refused to shake hands with female MP's? Or perhaps if Canadian
law began to reflect these types of practices?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
An answer I get often when I ask these
sorts of questions is, “I'm okay with anything so long as it
doesn't affect me.” But to me if the whole no-hand-shaking story
tells us anything, it is that 'real differences' can, will, and DO
affect you. Are you okay with it???</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-82901513129348770972016-06-12T13:35:00.003-07:002016-06-12T13:41:07.044-07:00What's so Great about Garth Brooks?<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Along with 90 000 other people from far
and wide, I experienced a Garth Brooks concert this weekend in
Saskatoon. I use the word 'experienced' because anyone who attended
will tell you the same thing—the concert was an experience of joy,
music, heart, and pure electrifying energy. I could go on and on, and
I couldn't overstate the awesomeness of being in that building. Last
night after it was over and I started to come down from what I can
only describe as the high I was feeling, the word that came back to
me over and over again was 'generous.' Garth Brooks is truly the most
generous performer I have ever seen, from the jump from one show to 6
shows in our humble prairie city, to the affordable ticket prices, to
the testimonies of those that encountered him personally, and, most
of all, to his performance on that stage, he just kept giving and
giving. In fact he gave so much of his 54-year old self vocally,
physically, spiritually and in all other ways on that stage that in
my head I couldn't stop thinking, 'How can one man do this? How will
he do this again in three hours? It's impossible.' Truly, what I
witnessed can only be described as a <i>generosity that defies all
reason</i>. And it was incredible.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No doubt, that was best concert
experience of my life, but to say 'I have never seen anything like
it' would be a lie. Because I have. I have witnessed that kind of
generosity nearly everyday of my life. A 'generosity that defies
all reason'??? Sure, I've seen it over and over again. I saw it in my
own mother who raised 16 children with the patience of a saint. I see
it in my friend who works long hours at a grueling job to support her
husband and children. I see it in my son who's energy is boundless
and my daughter who is the most wonderful combination of toughness
and sensitivity you can imagine. I see it in my own husband who
unfailingly puts the needs of four other people before his own. I see
in people who are called to impossible tasks as parents or caregivers
or teachers. I see it in mothers, friends, sisters, and brothers
every single day, and, if you have been a loved of mine for some
time, I have seen it in you.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What was clear to me last night was
that Garth Brooks has a 'gift' for performance—that is to say he
was able to give and give to a crowd who he absolutely electrified
with his presence. You will not hear me say this often, but the sheer
volume and quality with which he gave that performance can only be
described as 'divine.' But what is also clear to me is that he is in
good company in his 'gifts'. Of course, we do not all have the same
'gift of performance' as the great Garth Brooks, but we do certainly
all possess those 'divine gifts.' The things we give which are
limitless, inexplicable, and seemingly without tire. Every time you
ask yourself with genuine wonder things like 'How does Mom do it?' or
'Where does Jill find the energy?' or when you think things like,
'Jane's artistic talent—I have never seen anything like it' or
'There aren't enough hours in the day to accomplish the things Tom
does'...really, what you are identifying is a person's divine gifts,
generosity that defies reason. It's everywhere. Incredible.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You know, I wouldn't exactly describe
myself as a country music fan though I did know a decent handful of
songs last night, but my take-home from that experience has been far
richer than the $80 I paid for my ticket and certainly more than what
I ever bargained for from a country music concert. The buzz will
inevitably wear off, I know. This kind of stuff always does, but, for
today I am so thankful for an amazing concert experience and the
reminder of the electrifying generosity that surrounds me everyday.
Awesome.</div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-53008727619804232492016-06-04T13:40:00.001-07:002016-06-04T13:40:08.736-07:00CFS, Acceptance, and Getting Hit by Trucks<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DTz95LPuH3M/V1M8l613ObI/AAAAAAAAAOY/UQdCk8H_-ekBEMI_eTJhCsl4gprMzZF5gCLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_69715995.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DTz95LPuH3M/V1M8l613ObI/AAAAAAAAAOY/UQdCk8H_-ekBEMI_eTJhCsl4gprMzZF5gCLcB/s320/AdobeStock_69715995.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
Imagine you are going on your merry way in the metaphorical
walk of life when suddenly, on a day like any other, you are hit by a
truck. KABOOM! You lay bruised, shocked,
and cursing your bad luck until you feel you are able to slowly start to
picking yourself up off the road, and just as you have reached your feet and
dusted yourself off…KABOOM! Again. Wtf? You ask yourself. Did that really just
happen? You take extra care of yourself this time, have a GOOD look for trucks
before getting to your feet again, and, sure that it's clear, you gingerly
start to limp along. After a while, you lose the limp, relish the feeling of
your feet moving smoothly under you and, satisfied, decide to attempt picking
up the pace a little. You start into a trot, and you're thinking you've left
all things truck in the past, when KABOOM! F-bomb. You are kidding me. Again?
Is this some kind of sick joke? Your head is spinning this time. 'Bad things
happen in threes', you console yourself as you pick up the pieces one last
time. But it won't be the last time. In fact, these are just the first of <i>countless</i>
hit-and-runs that you will endure and which will eventually become the norm in
your life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I lose you or confuse you...let me explain that this
little narrative is a simple metaphor for what it was like to live with Chronic
Fatigue Syndrome in the early days. As is the story for so many others, my
first collision with the 'truck' was random and sudden and appeared to be some
sort of virus. My second, third, and fourth 'collisions' came in rapid
succession as I tried to resume normal activity 'post-virus.' At this time, I
had no name or explanation for what was happening to me so I saw a few doctors
and had a few tests which confirmed that all was 'well'. We settled on the notion
that my body was just taking its time recovering from a virus so I waited. I
waited and waited for good health to resume. From time to time I would try to
resume 'normal activity' but then the fifth truck came and mowed me down.
KABOOM! Then the sixth. Then the tenth. And the fourteenth. KABOOM! KABOOM!
KABOOM! And at some point, I just accepted that I was just an unlucky person
who happens to get hit by trucks. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The name Chronic Fatigue Syndrome can be misleading. The
word ‘chronic’ seems to imply that the disease is somehow steady or unmoving,
and the word ‘fatigue’, one that any layperson can relate to, doesn’t quite
cover the scope, severity or range of symptoms any sufferer might experience.
It is for this reason that I choose the image of getting hit by a truck. An
episode of the illness, known as a relapse, is often dramatic, begins with a
discernable trigger, and is followed by a slow uncertain road to recovery. The
‘chronic’ part is not untrue—the trucks keep coming—it’s just that one learns to
avoid them from time to time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aside from the obvious annoyance of getting hit by trucks
all the time, this illness has some other not-so-awesome side-effects…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For one, there's the implications from well-meaning friends
that over the years one must have <i>gotten used to</i> getting hit by trucks.
Well, let me the record straight...the 39<sup>th</sup> time you get hit by a
truck, the injuries are no less painful nor the recovery any less grueling than
the first time. In fact, the repeated impacts drain your psyche as you lose
hope of ever being a person who will walk the road of life without fear of
imminent disaster. Which brings me to…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The <i>paranoia</i>... Imagine, if you will, how gingerly
and strategically you might plan your moves or the paranoid thoughts that would
plague your mind if you lived in perpetual fear of being hit by a truck—a
paranoia that is only made worse when you start to notice patterns in your
illness. You notice, for example, that the trucks will almost always get you
when you happen to be out at night or perhaps when you do some gardening or
have a stressful day at work. You start to fear and avoid these activities as you
obsess about every little effort, weighing up the risks and wondering if this
will be the one to inflict the wrath of your illness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there's the <i>sadness</i>... As one comes to accept their
fate as a person who gets hit by trucks, there is certainly a period of
mourning for all the things this type of illness steals from you. For me, the
most notable of these were physical exercise, the capacity to work at much of
anything, and that wonderful time of day known as ‘evening.’ Though I am
certainly luckier than some, I still miss the person I was (and could have been)
before the trucks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And how could I ever forget <i>anxiety's</i> running
dialogue in my head...how long will the recovery take this time? Will I ever
work again? How will I ever X, Y, and Z if I keep getting hit by trucks all the
time? Will the trucks ever just leave me alone? Will there I ever enjoy my kids
like I used to? And on and on and on...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are just some of the things that one just comes to accept
in a life fated with this strange calamity, but <i>acceptance </i>is a funny thing…So often, it is seen to be a final step
on a long psychological/spiritual journey, as if one as reached some sort of
ending, but, I’ve learned that acceptance is a very active process that happens
over and over again each day I wake up and still have this illness. Acceptance
does not mean I will stop getting hit by trucks, just that I am less surprised when
it happens and ever-willing to keep getting up.<o:p></o:p></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-75348105811765383552016-05-28T13:15:00.000-07:002016-05-28T13:15:47.009-07:00Advice to my 20-something Self<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-drlLJ0TwXZY/V0n6_dcmT9I/AAAAAAAAAOI/Tmx2BHTJzasXmhMk0wBJWIOC5DIaSJmvQCLcB/s1600/advice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-drlLJ0TwXZY/V0n6_dcmT9I/AAAAAAAAAOI/Tmx2BHTJzasXmhMk0wBJWIOC5DIaSJmvQCLcB/s320/advice.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So often you hear things like, “If I only knew then, what I
know now...” Well, I know I would have made some different choices in my 20's
if I'd been privy to some of the tidbits of wisdom I've gained over the last 15
years or so, and, as I watch a generation of family entering that phase in
their life, I can't help but reflect on what I would tell myself when I was 'in
their shoes' so-to-speak. Well, a few things come to mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>You can do anything! But not everything</b>. That first
part they will tell you in high school motivational talks or career education
or whatever it is called these days, but that second part I had to learn for
myself. You know, being 20 is pretty great. You are grown-up enough to make
your own decisions, but, as a generalization, you are not yet responsible for
anyone else. Those two things set the stage for the very unique time in life
where you can dabble in lots of hobbies, be (personally and professionally)
whatever you would like to be, form relationships with all kinds of people, and
just generally spend time growing yourself outside of your childhood
parameters. From what I remember, that stuff is all pretty damn cool (is that a
word anymore?). I just wish I had enjoyed it more and known how quickly it
would all pass. I have no idea where I got the notion that I had 'all the time
in world' to dabble in all the unique opportunities of 20-somethings whilst
simultaneously getting my shit together, that I would eventually get to all
those things on my “bucket-list.” But, that is simply not the case. Priorities,
responsibility, age, dependents, and love will creep up on you one by one until
one day you realize, 'Hey, I don't think I will be backpacking through Europe
anytime soon.' or 'I'm not sure what happened to that grand idea of getting my
degree in social work. I just don't know how I'll ever find time now that I'm a
business-owner.' Having said that...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Invest in what you <i>are</i> doing, and forget about
what you're not.</b> I spent a lot of my 20's with the following dialogue
running through my head...<i>I need to get a better part-time job. I really
want to learn to kayak, but I can't find the time.</i> <i>So-and-so is already
making good money at X...I need to get my shit together like her. People say
you have to travel, but I can never seem to afford it. Will I ever find the
right guy for me? I've always wanted to do a road trip across country, but I
really need to save money.</i>.<i>.</i>
And so on. Of course, this dialogue is completely understandable with the world
of choices at your fingertips, but, as I've said, you can't do everything so
don't beat yourself up for it. My advice
is to put your blinders on as to what everyone else is doing, make good choices
for yourself, and enjoy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Break-ups are the worst. </b>No, seriously, the worst. Just
as I've always thought it strange that our society expects life to go on as
normal in the first three grueling months of pregnancy so I also feel the same sentiment
applies to 20 somethings after a serious break-up. I’m not talking
about someone you met at the bar last week, and you will know the feeling if
you've been through it—the absolute burning devastation and loss that
accompanies the realization that ending your intimate relationship is the best
way forward, a way forward that is uncertain and SO difficult to see through
the blinding pain of break-up. Truly, there is nothing in this world quite like
choosing to end love or having that chosen for you. I don't have much in the
way of comforting words, just the hindsight to tell you that it gets better and
that I’ve never met a break-up that wasn’t for the best. <b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Transitions are hard, but worth it. </b>Moving, new
schools, new jobs, losing friendships, forging new ones, changing
relationships, navigating your changing self through a changing world...All of
those things are difficult, and there is some element of loss every time you
close a chapter in your life, no doubt. For me, the most bittersweet pill I
have had to swallow as a thirty something is this—truly, in life you can never
go back, and, what’s more, the reason for that is <i>you</i>. Sure you can go and
visit places, you can hold loved ones dears, you can cling to ideals and
dreams, but <i>you</i> will never be the same. Luckily, I have found (and hope
you will too) that to be a good thing. A good look at who I am now, the places
I've been along the way, and the amazing people I have collected over the years
are all the proof I need to know that I wouldn't even go back if you let me. So
while there is an element of loss in leaving things behind, there is ALWAYS
something necessary and wonderful gained moving forward.<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>There are no happy endings, </b>not because there is no
happy, but because there is no ending. There is plenty of 'happy', say, when
you meet the love of your life or get the keys for your first new house, or
maybe when find yourself in the job of your dreams or summit Everest if that's
your cup of tea. There was definitely 'happy' for me when I held a baby in my
arms for the first time, but, to date, none of those things have proven to be
any kind of 'ending.' I am still growing as a person, I know shockingly little
about how to raise little people, I've changed houses a few times and might do
again sometime, I'm still searching for that dream career, I have the man of
dreams but it is a relationship that requires work every single day. Don't fool
yourself into thinking any one relationship or goal or achievement will somehow
complete you or 'be your happy ending.' There is no ending, just a journey on
which I wish you plenty of 'happy'.<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
But especially<b>...Don't take advice from 30-somethings</b>.
Well, don't NOT take advice, but understand that you are not me. Also, you are
not and never will be your mother or your father or your brother or anyone else
that you loathe or look up to. Truly, you are own unique person living in your
own unique time. And though I have bothered to go on and create this exhaustive
list, I am under no delusions that the whole point isn't for you to go figure
this stuff all out on your own…As for the whole, 'if I'd only known then what I
know now' idea, well, I'm glad I didn't know because I wouldn't change this
journey for the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-42903634994894507222016-05-25T14:00:00.000-07:002016-05-25T14:00:56.699-07:00Dear Ladies, Stop Apologizing!<div class="MsoNormal">
Has your son ever asked you the question, ‘Do I look fat in
these soccer shorts?’ What about your husband…does he, after a long look in the
mirror, confess to you that he hates his short legs? Or does your daughter
offer apologies when her friends come over to play Shopkins, ‘Oh, sorry about
the mess.’ No? Not very often? And why not? Because to do so is blinking
ridiculous! Yet I see women (myself included) do stuff like this all the time!
Sure, you can blame your mother--maybe she did the 1970's equivalent. You can
blame the media—they put some pretty messed up feminine ideals out there.
Certainly you can blame yourself for eating too much, not being on top of
things, over-stretching yourself, or for falling short of Sally So-and-So down
the street, OR you can JUST STOP. Stop apologizing for stuff that isn't hurting
anyone. Stop justifying your choices. Stop explaining things that do not require
explanation, and most of all stop comparing yourself to Sally. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w95oMyPPowU/V0YRxJwtCDI/AAAAAAAAAN4/Y4DWbkUtwL4CiJ3rfdm332BUVjPK2ggWwCKgB/s1600/AdobeStock_100210400.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w95oMyPPowU/V0YRxJwtCDI/AAAAAAAAAN4/Y4DWbkUtwL4CiJ3rfdm332BUVjPK2ggWwCKgB/s320/AdobeStock_100210400.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m talking stuff like, ‘I can’t wear my swimsuit, I have
such a hairy bikini line’—<i>seriously? Like</i>
<i>2 billion other women on this planet</i>.
Or ‘I keep meaning to re-vamp my wardrobe
a little. Jenny always looks put-together’—<i>Go
for it, if that is the best fit for your time and money</i>. Even the dialogue
in your head like, ‘I really need to get out and travel the world. I am so ‘provincial’,
but I can never seem to afford it, and I’m scared of…”—<i>Do it or don’t do it, but don’t beat yourself up for it. </i>Ladies,
this kind of stuff can consume you, and it really is a demon of your own
fabrication. So just STOP.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know, I have this friend who's (I can't think of any more
fitting word) <i>beauty </i>has always struck me. There's just <i>something</i> about her...Anyway, this
friend, she certainly doesn't put hours into grooming herself. She is kind
enough but not to a fault. She drinks. She swears. She’s a kick-ass musician. She
is opinionated and occasionally more outspoken than I am comfortable with. We
do not share common political views, parenting philosophies or even many common
interests. Her house is a mess. She is not meticulous about diet or exercise.
She doesn't hold a particularly impressive job, though I certainly enjoy her
sense of decency and humour. If I itemize her qualities this way, it's not a
particularly exceptional description of beauty, so I've asked myself, what is
it about this woman I find so compelling? Well, the answer is quite
simple...She NEVER apologizes. I've never heard her utter anything silly like,
'Excuse the toys all over the lawn,' or 'I just didn't get around to shaving
this week' or 'I feel so bad for leaving the kids at daycare all week'. Nope.
Why would she? The toys aren't hurting anything anymore than her leg hair is.
And her kids are a daycare because they require care while she works. End of
story. From what I can see, she just goes about her very ordinary life owning
her humanity minus apologies, justifications, and explanations—a quality which
I find as appealing as it is rare.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would also put forward that all of this 'apologizing' we
do, whether it be for the store-bought snacks we are feeding our kids or for
the lackluster state of our social life, is far from harmless. Quite the
opposite actually. I think it actively brings other women down...Take stretch
marks, for example…if yours are not okay and need to be hidden, then I guess so
do mine. And if Sally is complaining about her chunky thighs, what does she
think of mine which are surely 2 sizes bigger? And if Jane apologizes for the
cookie crumbs on her table, what must she think of my less-than-perfect
housekeeping skills? Or if Katie is forever going on about how she HAS to work,
that they NEED the money, even though she'd rather be home with her little one,
what is the implication to her other working mommy friends? The list is
endless. Someone once even apologized to me for serving soup straight out of a
pot! Until that apology, I had no idea such an action could even be offensive--in
fact, I still struggle to understand why... but perhaps this notion is no more
ridiculous than, say, bemoaning the length of arms you were born with or making
explanations for the 20 lbs you just can't seem to lose. All of this stuff—it
just casts doubt and shadow over the beauty you were born with and takes others
down with you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, maybe my fascination with the <i>beauty</i> of this friend of mine is self-serving as much as anything
else. Because, maybe if others apologies and justifications have the power to
bring us down, maybe the opposite is also true. Maybe her <i>lack</i> of apology and justification for these types of things
actually has the power to <i>bring me up</i>.
So, for example, if she feels comfortable having a house full of people over
with haphazard food offerings and this morning’s cheerios crunching under my
socks, maybe I won’t think twice about having a playdate with Sally without first
ensuring all household condition are favourable to guests. Or maybe her
confidence in pursuing her career sans apology for the childcare she requires
will inspire me to do the same. Or her unique way of owning her natural
physicality and everyday foibles is just the evidence I need to know that my beauty
is not, and will never be, found in some list of desirable qualities. Rather,
my beauty is already here…All that’s left for me to do is drop the apologies
and own it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-50985731705256083172016-05-19T13:04:00.000-07:002016-05-19T13:44:50.145-07:00The Parliamentary Dust-up--It's not funny. But it is!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vYPGxZLQHi8/Vz4cEyZtaoI/AAAAAAAAANo/WAf6nSsfAzYmldJJD_MfORohmVJdJeT_gCLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_702221.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vYPGxZLQHi8/Vz4cEyZtaoI/AAAAAAAAANo/WAf6nSsfAzYmldJJD_MfORohmVJdJeT_gCLcB/s320/AdobeStock_702221.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Hey, I take government as seriously as
the next person. They make our laws, they represent our country on an
international stage, and their decisions have gravitas that ripple
throughout our lives and the lives of our children. None of those
small things. They have power to divide or unite people and entire
nations, and their actions can even impact the entire planet.
Government members are elected to be our individual voices as we
navigate this country forward. Having said that...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
With regards to yesterday's 'dust-up'
in the House of Commons...
<i>Bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahhahahahahahahahahahaa!
</i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I cannot stop laughing! The silly
antics of 'blocking' the conservative whip from taking his position
so generously funded by our tax dollars...<i>You're kidding, right?</i>
Our Prime Minister's patented I'm-going-to-solve-this-myself stride
across the house...<i>Tee hee!</i> Matching father-son prime-ministerial F-bombs...Cute and classy! Our highest elected official
manhandling another member of parliament...<i>Shocking.</i> The
'elbowing' of Ruth-Ellen Brousseau and the cries of 'molestation' and
'assault' from the NDP...<i>So predictable.</i> Tom Mulcair's
face...<i>Classic. </i>The 'clearing of the benches' hockey-brawl
style...<i>Is this for real?</i> The CBC floundering desperately and
with futility to stand behind their man or, at the very least, sweep
the whole thing under the rug. <i>Oh CBC, what do I pay you for?
</i>Trudeau's initial bumbling attempts at apologizing sounding
suspiciously like justifications for his actions. <i>Giggle, giggle.</i>
The applause of his shocked liberal MP's, who would surely have
crucified anyone else for the same actions, in response to those
apologies...<i>Chalk it up to mob mentality?</i> The day-after sober
apology delivered with all the contrived seriousness and bravado one
would expect from our drama-teacher of a Prime Minister...<i>I'm
busting a gut.</i> The cries of 'I told you so' and 'true colours'
from Trudeau's critics who have been <i><b>waiting</b></i> for this
opportunity which he so-very-generously
served them on a silver platter with caviar <i>and</i> champagne...<i>I
couldn't script this stuff! </i><i> </i>The
irony<i> </i>of Trudeau's
government withdrawing M-6 after a time-wasting debacle that can only
be blamed on the Prime Minister himself...<i>Poetic justice</i>.
This.
The culmination of what has
been a rocky road paved by
amateurs in the House of Commons these past 7 months...<i>Hilarious!
Droll! Are there any other words for 'funny?' </i>Ahem.
I will collect myself now.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Seriously,
ahem, no seriously....</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Nope,
can't do it...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Bahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!</i></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-15414421676813995132016-05-18T12:20:00.000-07:002016-05-18T12:33:43.501-07:00Why I Lie about my Chronic Fatigue Syndrome<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8E-dcuo0Joc/VzuIMH5QO3I/AAAAAAAAANY/b8du_lcvdgYXVFUcB9y447XZy8ckXKexACLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_106864732.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8E-dcuo0Joc/VzuIMH5QO3I/AAAAAAAAANY/b8du_lcvdgYXVFUcB9y447XZy8ckXKexACLcB/s320/AdobeStock_106864732.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it comes to my Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, I have been known to tell a tall tale now and then or simply omit the truth completely. The reasons for this may not be what think—I'm in no doubt of the existence of my illness nor am I unsure of the diagnosis. Nope, those things are as sure as sugar, and the lies are mostly simple things like answering 'Fine' to a question about my health or making up alternate reasons for not being able to attend this or do that. I certainly don't mean any harm...I just think the lies are easier sometimes. Why, you ask? Well, a few reasons...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>There's a few things I only needed to hear once</b>—I have this family friend, close enough to know how drastically my life's path has been altered in the past three years, who several times when the subject of my illness came up said, “Honey, we were all that tired when our kids were young!” Well, no you weren't. You know, I'm not entirely sure how I came to have this illness, but here's what <i>didn't </i>happen...I didn't wake up one day four years into my parenting career and decide that the 'tiredness' I had been experiencing was now sufficient enough to qualify as an illness. No. CFS is a multi-faceted illness with a specific pattern of fatigue that accompanies a whole host of other symptoms infinitely more debilitating than the 'tired' one feels in the early days of parenting. I know this because I have experienced BOTH, and they are NOT the same thing. Maybe you can appreciate that statements like these can be annoying and hurtful, so I hope you'd excuse any lies I may offer to avoid these types of interactions entirely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another baffling doozy that has come up a few times... ‘Have you ever thought you might have [insert random illness]?' The answer is quite simply 'No.' Why would I think I have that I have MS, Lupus, Depression or Addison’s disease? My symptoms and diagnosis are as familiar to me as the back of my hand. My question is why would YOU think that? For me, these statements are not only confusing but they make me feel as though my integrity is being called into question, as if I don't know my own illness or have just blindly accepted the first diagnosis that came knocking on my door. For this reason, I make no apologies for omitting any discussion of my illness from future conversations with these people.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sickness is boring--</b>If on any of the following days of my illness, you had asked me the question, 'How are you doing today?' These would have been my honest answers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day 1: Feeling terrible, probably a flu.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day 7: Feeling terrible, quite the flu!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day 14: Feeling terrible. Doctor says it's nothing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Month 6: Feeling terrible. WTF is wrong with me?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Year 2: Still feeling terrible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Year 3 and 4 months: You guessed it! Terrible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like who wants to hear that sh*t? Who wants to <i>say</i> it? Boring and yyyyyiiuuuck, so I figure there’s no harm in offering more creative answers from time to time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I don't want people to give up on me</b>—I’ve had this running weekly date with a girlfriend of mine for years, and quite frankly, I love it! But, aside from that, this weekly date has, for me, become a barometer for the state of my health at any given point in time. Basically, if I don’t go, it is because I am not well enough to do so, and that isn’t always the easiest thing to admit to her or to myself. Occasionally, say if I have had to cancel for the fourth time in as many weeks, I come up with some other excuse like a scheduling conflict or something. The reason is simply that I don’t want her to give up on me. My fear is that she will think things like ‘Maybe she is just too sick. Maybe it is hard for her to say ‘no’. Maybe I should stop asking. Maybe she doesn’t want to come.’ When the reality is that I DO. I really do. The other reality is that these thoughts are in <i>my</i> head, not hers, because, for the record, she has never stopped asking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I don’t want to give up on me</b>—Sufferers of Chronic Fatigue know that it is very much an illness full of up and downs, so sometimes with the slightest improvement, I just want to feel optimistic that maybe today’s ‘good day’ is telling of an imminent remission of the illness. Or on the flip side, I don’t want to believe today’s ‘bad day’ is the first of more of the same, so often answers to questions<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
about the status of illness are as much reflections of where I desire to be than of where I actually am. Maybe if I say I’m fine or getting better or that today’s fatigue was just a blip, I can avoid that sinking feeling that illness has set in for good.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Occasionally, I feel bad for the little lies I tell with regards to my CFS, as though I am contributing the fart cloud of uncertainty and disbelief that already plague sufferers of the illness, but I also know that I am just doing what I need to do to get through this thing, day by day. </div>
</div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-81309970061005310472016-05-16T13:12:00.000-07:002016-05-16T13:12:11.783-07:00Expect More than 'Ordinary' from your Prime Minister<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you want to hear something boring? Probably not, but hear
me out. I am an ordinary person. I work a job lots of other people work. I fit
it around our young family, I don't make gobs of money, and I am mostly ok with
that. I occasionally kill time on my phone, putter around the yard on the
weekend, frequent breakfast places with my besties, and I rarely miss my kids'
dance classes, soccer practices, or show-and-tell days. Pretty ordinary and
boring, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, what if I told you I was the top ranking official in a
country of 30 million people? What if I told you I was elected to be in that
position? What if I said I had invitations to attend the United Nations Climate
Change Conference, the World Economic Forum, or the G7 Summit, just to name a
few? What would you think if I told you my influence was paramount in making
laws that affect millions of people's lives? That my voice is heard in
everything from hostage negotiations to vital military operations to world
trade agreements and international aid? Would you think that those things were
a little out of the ordinary? Perhaps, you'd agree that a position such as mine
was actually quite an <i>extra</i>ordinary
opportunity and responsibility.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yuO6OWHW_5s/VzY7o5N_QDI/AAAAAAAAANI/0nyNqBNoZ94W-Kw182x3Ah954y7nqLYZACLcB/s1600/AdobeStock_65686642.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yuO6OWHW_5s/VzY7o5N_QDI/AAAAAAAAANI/0nyNqBNoZ94W-Kw182x3Ah954y7nqLYZACLcB/s320/AdobeStock_65686642.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is for this reason I have to beg to differ with those who
swoon at the 'ordinariness' of young Prime Minister Trudeau. In the 6 months
since he became Prime Minister, I have heard his title intermingled repeatedly
with the word 'selfies', endured hoards swooning over nothing-much-political to
do with a certain State visit. I've heard the words 'dreamy, hot, pilf,
dreamboat, sexy' and others associated with his name. I've listened to people
praise Trudeau for not being 'an economic robot' and giving him 'kudos for
maintaining his personal interests' outside of his position. I've tried in vain
to block out Star Wars jokes, phrases like 'engage' (code for lip-service) and
'sunny ways' (code for ???), comments on Sophie’s fashion sense, and countless
pictures of our prime minister hugging people. Over and over again, and in ways
that baffle, I hear Justin Trudeau being praised for being ‘ordinary.’ While this
may or may not be the doing of the PM himself, the media and public fascination
with what is, in my humble opinion, as much <i>celebrity</i> as ordinary is deeply
concerning. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My plea to the Canadian public is this…Wherever you sit on
the political spectrum, <b>expect more than
ordinary from your prime minister</b>. He is not your friend. He is not (nor <i>should </i>not) be known for his celebrity.
He is not an actor (oh wait, he kind of is). He is not a poster-child for the
cause of the week. No. He is, in significant ways, responsible for the futures
of your children. He has it within his power to harm or heal people around the
world in their hour of need. He can make or break livelihoods. His influence
exceeds any ordinary person’s by a LOT. He has the means to make this country
shine or be a laughing stock, and, as an elected official, he is <i>accountable</i> to you. <b>Hold him to a standard of extraordinary. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Consider that the time spent on
engaging in the ‘ordinary’ might be better spent brushing up on, say, human
rights issues before meeting the President of the People’s Republic of China, or
perhaps, ‘engaging’ in ANY way at all with the energy sector that has been
vital to this country’s economy for decades. Maybe one might even find it
offensive that our prime minister takes the time to pose for selfies with
fans(?) while the fate of hostages rests on his shoulders. Our prime minister
has countless extraordinary opportunities and responsibilities like these, the
likes of which are not shared by an ordinary citizen, and for that… <b>hold him to a standard of extraordinary</b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The fascination with the ‘ordinariness’ of celebrities/public
figures is by no means unique to our Prime Minister, but I respectfully ask
that, in this case, that fascination not be allowed to overshadow the gravity
of his position. Please think twice before choosing to read or share any materials
that do not reflect our Prime Minister’s extraordinarily influential position or
any relevant policies. I would argue that this misguided hype is far from benign,
that it detracts real time from real issues, and that Canada’s position on the
world stage has already been compromised by this phenomenon. Whatever you do, don’t
expect (and don’t reflect) anything less than extraordinary from this man.<o:p></o:p></div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7302465048963864717.post-61260240284641333702016-05-10T12:49:00.001-07:002016-05-10T12:49:26.358-07:00The 'To-Don't' List for Sufferers of Chronic Fatigue<div class="MsoNormal">
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I don't know about you, but when my Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is
rearing its ugly head, my to-do list inevitably starts to grow. In these times,
it is a struggle to find a balance between my pressing energy crisis and the
equally pressing day-to-day tasks of our busy household, and the one thing this
mental to-do list is <i>not</i>... is helpful. So, I've done myself a favour
and created a more useful alternative that I'd like to share with you...<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The Chronic Fatigue Syndrome 'To-Don't' List</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Don't stress about
the To-Do list</b>—I've discovered an amazing little secret about to-do
lists...Nothing happens if you do not check off every item. The house does not
explode, the kids go on being kids, my friends still love me, and the world
keeps turning. If I don't happen to attend to this mountain of laundry or that stack of paperwork today, they are still waiting for me tomorrow. Occasionally if I hold out long enough, someone else in the house may even feel the need to help me out! No need to stress. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Don't say yes. Say
YES(!) or say no</b>—Anyone experienced in living with Chronic Fatigue is
familiar with the dangers of not pacing yourself, of taking on too many things
and leaving too little time for rest. So, here's a little nugget of a
no-brainer...Say 'no' to anything that doesn't make you want to say an enthusiastic 'Yea!' Let's practice. Would I like to host a murder-mystery party for the
in-laws? No, thank you. Attend a Tupperware party with random acquaintances? Um, NO.
Would I like to dog-sit your 3 chihuahuas while you holiday in Spain? Sorry.
Front-row tickets to Garth Brooks? Hell YEA! Of course saying no isn't always
the easiest, but I'll put forth the argument that it is <i>much</i> easier than the
alternative.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Don't write a script
for your life when you are feeling low</b>—I've been down this road a few
times. My symptoms reach crisis level, and my mind runs away with thoughts
like...<i>If I feel like this, I'll never be able to hold my dream job. I'll
never be the mom I want to be. I won't be able to manage this project or that
issue. I'll be relegated to only functional activities forever. I'll never run
again. I'll never be the woman my husband fell in love with. My kids will
wonder why their mommy never played with them. I'll miss out on everything...</i>and
on and on. But the reality is you have no idea what the future will look like
and even less control over it. For me, I have found this dialogue in my head to
be entirely false at times and certainly never helpful, so when this happens I
simply stop myself with the question, 'What can I do to help myself feel a
little better tomorrow?'<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Don't fight your
illness. Coddle it</b>—Maybe that sounds like bad advice, but I'm sure there's
some science to back it up. From experience, it seems the more I approach
Chronic Fatigue with metaphorical boxing gloves, declaring that I'm going to
beat it or do things to spite it, the more I find I suffer. The more effective
approach I've found is to approach the illness with kiddy gloves—that is, to
coddle the crap out of it. If I were speaking to my illness, I might say, 'Oh,
you want to go to bed at 8 tonight? Sure!' or 'You are blowing a shit fit about
tonight's PTA commitment? Let's stay home and watch Call the Midwife.’ or even ‘Oh, you
don’t like caffeine after 5 pm. How about wine? No? Popcorn? Nada. Fine. Avocado and quinoa salad it is.’ Perhaps that doesn't sound the most appealing sales pitch, but I promise
you the pay-off in terms of your health will be well worth it!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course your To-Don’t List will look a little different
than mine, but I do encourage you to make one. That feeling of desperately wanting to tick some tasks off your to-do list when your health is suffering is one every Chronic Fatigue sufferer is familiar with, and it is one that causes undue stress when you least need it. If you really must satisfy that 'ticking' need, at least start with list you have a fair chance at. Good Luck!</div>
Adele Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17945612748491426257noreply@blogger.com0