making connections

Its May 28!

2010-05-28T07:53:00.000-07:00

Yup! this is what we woke up to today in Edgemont. Of course just down the hill there is no snow. Please note the flowers on the Mayday and crabapple tree. Not sure if you can see the geraniums in our neighbours flowers boxes. Anne thinks Calgary is the pits. And to think that on Tuesday I got hot playing tennis! Apparently it was 40 with humidex in Ottawa on Thursday. Not sure where I'd rather be.

Memories of Primary

2010-05-10T21:20:00.001-07:00

Yesterday at the Stake Relief Society Spring Women’s Conference the Stake Primary President gave a talk about the Articles of Faith and the importance of learning them to help children. Her words brought back wonderful memories of Primary. The first memories I have was of “release time” Primary in grade one in Cardston. I remember holding hands in pairs and walking from the school to the church. It felt like a special outing every week. Singing time was the best! The Chorister taught us “ the Golden Plates” and had the real gold plates there to show us. Of course it was just a homemade replica but I think that I really thought they were genuine. It certainly made an impact on me and I loved that song. “ Tell Me the Stories of Jesus” and “I have Two Little Hands” also made a big impact. It felt so good to be in Primary.

When we moved to Lethbridge when I was seven, we were in Third Ward and met in the 10th Ave Chapel. Primary was on Saturday morning and I would sometime ride my bike there. We lived at 1011-32nd street and I am surprised to see how far it was from the church. I remember being a “Co-Pilot” when I was seven and then being a “Top-Pilot” when I turned eight. That was before CTR’s. I can’t think of the justification of those class names. I think Sunbeams is the only name that survived from that time.

I was very conscious of preparing for baptism and remember learning about Jesus and the many miracles that he performed. I remember learning the names of his disciples and making a play dough replica of a real Jewish house. I still remember the design – how there were flat roofs where laundry was hung and where people could look down on the street. I had never had home made play dough like that and I was excited when my mother made it from a recipe that the Primary teacher had sent home. It seemed magical to watch the flour, salt and water turn into clay. Making the house was a homework assignment and it was fun watching it turn hard like a real clay house.

When we moved to Scandia in the spring of grade 3, my Primary experience was much different. We became members of the Rainier Branch and we met in Alcoma School. There were only about 30 people and I could probably name most of them still. The branch was like a big family. There were only a few young people and so I was so lucky to have a girl my own age, Merle Caldwell. She was the youngest of a big family like me and it was great to go to her house for sleepovers. Her Dad wasn’t a member but her Mom was and it felt like being at home at the Caldwells. I know now that it was likely the Spirit that I felt.

The sisters in the Relief Society were all like other mothers. They had strong testimonies and did what was right. They managed and organized everything and took care of each other and everyone else. They all had lots of responsibilities in the Branch and they never turned down callings. When people were sick we all fasted and prayed. I knew that they were special and real and could be depended on. My mother and my sister Marion were like that and for me, being a woman meant being those things – kind, responsible, dependable, and active in Relief Society. Being a member of the church was really important because other people in the community were different. They excluded us from things and my parents, especially my mother who was shy, didn’t have much to do with them.

Because we were a branch, our meetings were in a block on Sunday. We had Sacrament meeting, Sunday School and then Priesthood/Relief Society and Primary opening exercises. I remember having to wait after the Primary part of over and having fun running around the halls in the school. It was an old style school. You came in the front doors and if you were a teacher or an adult you went up the front stairs. Boys and girls had separate stair ways that went to the coatrooms and bathrooms. If you had a classroom on the boy’s side you couldn’t go down those stairs, you could only go through a door in the hallway down stairs.

I loved Primary music and spent hours practicing the new music that came out as sheet music. We were still using the old turquoise “Children’s Sing” book and the new cool music came out in sheets. Marion was the Primary President and so I got to have all the music. Songs like “I wonder when He comes again” and “When ever I hear the song of a bird” were all new ones. I was the Primary pianist when I was eleven and I remember making so many mistakes because I couldn’t play everything that they would ask for at the last minute. Janice was the pianist in Sacrament Meeting and I was the chorister from the time I was ten. I still have bad habits that I developed from teaching myself how to lead.

One of the best experiences I had in Primary was singing in Stake Conference in a Primary Chorus. We learned and sang the Light Divine. I am sure we sang something else too but I can’t remember what it was. I still love that song because it reminds me of that experience. Linda Tanner Layton’s mother Hazel Tanner was the chorister and I will never forget her. She made it so fun and spiritual. Her enthusiasm and amazingly expressive face kept my attention and held me spell bound. I loved Stake Conference because the talks were so interesting. Those were the days of two sessions – morning and afternoon that everyone went to. We would take a lunch and wait the two hours in between to attend the second session.

The last three years in Primary the boys were separate from the girls. We were called Lihomas that was short for Little Homemakers. Nine year olds were Gaynotes and our symbol was a musical note. Ten year olds were Firelights and our symbol was ….. you guessed it a fire in a fireplace. Eleven year olds were Merryhands….. and yup symbol was a pair of hands holding the New Testament. Our motto was I will bring the light of the gospel into my home by greeting the day with a song, giving joy to others and by serving gladly. In Gaynotes we learned to do cross stitch and did a sampler of the motto. In Firelights we learned to crochet and I made a lace border around a handkerchief. In Merry Hands we were supposed to learn to knit but my Mom could teach me how to cross stitch and crochet but she didn’t know how to knit. Sister Link taught me how but I didn’t learn very well and still can’t do it.

We had a bandlo to put our awards on. A bandlo was a piece of felt (turquoise in colour in this case) that was in the shape of a V that you could hang around your neck. There were requirements of things to learn and when you passed your requirements you got “stuff” to put on your bandlo. There was a pretty round glass picture for each year. There were twelve scriptures to learn each year and for each scripture you got a little rhinestone. There were other requirements that also had glass pictures and rhinestones. I, of course, did all the requirements and I still have my bandlo. I made a cute little pink felt bag for my New Testament and I still have it too.

In our Branch, our Primary lessons were taught by our mothers and of course my mother was my teacher. We never missed our lessons. She would come up to my room and sit on the end of my bed. My room was a gable room that had only enough space to have a dresser and a bed. The closet was so small that the Ella’s and Alice’s would look huge in comparison. I am really grateful for my mother being my teacher. She was shy and didn’t talk about a lot of things, especially personal things like her testimony. In fact I can never remember hearing her bear her testimony. She was not demonstrative or made a big deal out of teaching the gospel. She just lived it really. Being my teacher gave us the opportunity to have teaching moments that we were not likely to have had any other way. She taught me to pray, to use the scriptures and all of the other things about the gospel that you learn in Primary because she was my teacher. She helped me learn scriptures, the Articles of Faith and I got to answer every question. I appreciate her so much for what she did for me.

It was very much because of the experiences that I had in the branch in Rainier and later in Vauxhall that gave me a strong testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It is this testimony that I attribute all of my blessing to and the joy that life has brought to me.

This is what I found on the internet about the bandlo. I had wanted to post a picture but alas there wasn’t one. I wanted to include it so that I would have a record of it.

The bandlos of the 1960s were similar in spirit but somewhat different in design from earlier versions. Of pale green felt, they bore a more modern house near the point. Class symbols appropriate to the new names of classes were awarded at the beginning of each year. Round photographs a little smaller than an American nickle and covered with glass depicted a girl praying (earned when a girl learned to open and close a meeting using an appropriate prayer format and prayer language), a girl reading the New Testament (earned when a girl could meet requirements for locating scripture verses in the New Testament), wheat (symbolizing the Word of Wisdom) and the priesthood monument on Temple Square (representing the priesthood), after the girl met requirements related to those subjects. Plastic numbers 1-4, 5-9, and 10-13 represented memorization of the Articles of Faith. Rows of rhinestones represented attendance at Primary and memorization of scripture verses. Jewels attached to each class symbol indicated the girl had attended Primary at least 40 times during the year. Jewels glued to the windows of the house represented completion of an article of cross stitch, knitting, and crocheting. Jewels descending from the house represented memorization of the books of the New Testament; recitation of facts about the eight men who wrote the books of the New Testament; and recitation of a story in a girl’s own words about someone in the New Testament who “served gladly.” A white plastic scroll symbolized graduation from Primary.

Crocuses

2010-04-17T11:56:00.000-07:00

Ahhhhhh! Spring at last has come to Calgary with 19 degree weather. The crocuses are out in full bloom . They are the first of the flowers on the hill of course. Running this morning I realized there is much to learn from the humble crocus.
1. Crocuses are the first flowers every spring. Taking the risk and setting the trend can be be scary but rewarding too - less competition and more recognition and appreciation.
2. Crocuses seem to love growing together. Hanging together is great. Life is easier when we share the struggles.
3. Crocuses grow up through grass but not crazy thick grass. Being tough is great but there is no point it carrying it to extremes.
4. Crocuses grow best on the sunniest side of the hill. We all should pay attention to staying in the light.
5. Sometimes there are white crocuses in a clump of purple. Even in a family we can afford to be really different from one another.

Memories of Baby Calves

2010-04-04T18:35:00.000-07:00

Today during Brother Nelson’s talk on Family History, I began thinking about a blog and what I could write next. I immediately thought of how much I had enjoyed driving through Montana this week and seeing brand new calves with their mothers. I immediately went and down loaded pictures that I have used in this blog. On my return to listen to more of conference, the next speaker related a story about cows and calves.

I really think that humans become more attractive as they grow from babyhood. Cattle are quite the opposite. There is nothing more perfectly adorable than a brand new baby calf. Their coat is soft and clean and wonderful to touch. They are playful and curious and just like human babies, they have a lot to learn. Here are some pictures to show how sweet they can be.

When I was eleven years old my parents had 12 milk cows. Janice and I would take turns going out in the field to bring the cows in for milking. We would sometime walk but I mostly remember riding bareback to bring them to the barn. Sometimes the cows would come into the barn on their own, especially if we were late milking them. The cows liked to be milked to relieve the pressure of full udders. A good dairy cow makes much too much milk to feed her calf. If they were to keep their calves, the calves would get sick with scours and die from too much milk. Scours was kind of like really bad diarrhea.

My mother separated the milk using a cream separator. It was a cool machine that spun the milk around inside a bunch of disks and somehow – magically, the cream came out one spout and the milk the other. Here is a picture. This was a hand one which I remember having but the but the one we used was burgundy coloured and was electric. Mom saved the cream in big buckets in the fridge and sold it in big cans on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. The dairy in Brooks bought it and picked it up at the Post Office in Scandia. I have never seen cream to buy like this cream. It was yellow and so thick you could almost slice it. The milk came out fast from the separated and made thick foam. Our barn cats liked to eat the foam. I thought it was like candy to them.

We bought more calves to feed the extra milk to and so we had to teach the calves how to drink from a bucket. To do this I learned to stand with the calf between my legs and got the calf to suck two of my fingers. Then I would push the calf’s head down into the milk. While still sucking my finger, the calf would drink. Gradually I would take out my fingers. At first the calf would immediately throw its head up looking for my fingers but soon it wouldn’t need fingers and would learn to just drink the milk. The calves never got used to not sucking though. They were like babies and needed to suck. After I fed them I would let them have turns sucking my fingers for a soother. They also would suck each others ears and other parts too yucky to talk about.

Each of the calves had a name. I especially remember Ferdinand . He was a tall lanky Holstein who was especially smart and friendly. When he grew up and became a very tall, large steer, he still remembered being a calf and recognized my mother. He wanted her to pet him and followed her, much to her chagrin. I can still remember my easily frightened mother walking quickly away, waving her hand behind her and yelling, “Ferdinand, GO AWAY!” Here are some pictures of Holstein calves like the ones I fed on a bucket.

In the spring, we would also have to round up the cows and calves on the lease (you can see a picture of the lease on our family room wall) and bring them home for branding and castrating. Cows with calves are very frustrating to drive. The calves are little and get tired and soon fall behind, getting lost from their mothers. The cows would then become upset that they didn’t have their calves and would turn around and come back to find them, smelling each stray calf until they found their own. If a calf got frightened by the horse on the lease, and ran away, it was almost impossible to get them back into the herd. They seemed to have no natural herd instinct and would just keep galloping away. The trick was to get them to stop running.

Our lease was on the west side of the Bow River at Scandia and our farm was about 3 miles away. Part of the way home was along highway 36. The last mile was up a coutry road past a lot of farms and driveways. The first challenge was to get the cows to go onto the bridge. Cows were easier than yearlings. They were like teenagers, with a lot of energy. They were kind of crazy and often just got running, sometimes I thought, just for the fun of it. My Dad would get pretty mad if this happened since they ran off fat and beef on the hoof is sold by the pound.

I had a cow that had been my special calf. I had gone to an auction with my Dad and bought her for $35. I named her Mitzi. She was a Holstein cow but didn’t give very much milk so she got to keep her calves like the beef cows. She was kind of an adventurer cow and an athlete. She liked to crawl through fences and was all in all a free spirit. She was great to have in the herd however because she knew exactly where to go and was always at the front of the herd. She never worried about her calf. Her calves just had to keep up. As soon as we let the gate open she would head right for the bridge and straight on home. She made all the right turns, never turning into the wrong gate. All the other cows just followed. My Dad sold one of her calves to pay for our wedding - $600.

Here are some pictures of a roundup that looked very much like our herd of cattle. We had mostly Herefords ( brown with white faces) and a very few Holstein/Hereford crosses that were black with white faces. There are a few other breeds black Angus cattle for example, in this picture. We didn’t have any of those. I am not sure why.

WE SEE OURSELVES IN OTHERS ……UNFORTUNATELY

2010-03-24T18:40:00.000-07:00

I am delivering a nine day leadership course to two groups in an Alberta Municipality. One group is great (read that easy for me to work with). The other group is not. Five of the difficult group were told that they had to come. They are busy and giving up 9 days of working time to learn what you don’t want to know does not make a happy learner. It would be easy to blame the group for my difficulties but it is a more complex than that.

In the last two years, I have been experiencing a lot of success in the workshops that I do. I get really positive evaluations and people even give me presents thanking me for the difference I have made to them. A sweet woman, a native from Malaysia, took time today to tell me how she has completely changed her thinking because of a two day leadership course she took from me. She understands the culture here now and can now can say with confidence what she needs to say to senior leaders. She realizes that she is important and has a right to share her expertise with others. As a result of feedback like that I feel like I am pretty good at facilitating learning.

This difficult group is a whole other experience. What I do that works so well for other groups just doesn’t for them. They don’t like open-ended questions, will not discuss anything in a large group and like playing games more than thinking and making applications. So different from me. The last workshop, our 5th day together was arduous for me and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. On the drive home I thought about all the things that I am usually sure about and how with them I am not sure about anything. I thought about how I probably come off as a know it all – like I have all the answers. These people are not interested in my answers and really why should they be?

I was still in this fairly negative headspace when I arrived at a “leadership” meeting with the Stake President and all the leaders in our ward. I am convinced this man is a ESTJ. He always, and unfortunately can say always, offends me when he speaks in meetings. He is fond of rules and checklists about personal righteousness and uses stories about how people “it” ( pray, serve, teach etc.) the wrong to teach. Anne is quite right when she says that this is poor way of teaching. His questions have right answers and I always feel like he is the parent and I am the child. As a result I feel hostile, distrustful and judged. My spirituality plummets and my testimony is challenged.

In one of the courses I teach, I have people select behaviours from a list that are hot buttons for them. Then I ask them why these behaviours of others bother them so much. Is it because they offend deeply held values or is it because of a fear of some kind that these behaviour engender? Or, perhaps, is it both. I have determined that the Stake President that bothers me so much does so because his behaviour does offend deeply held values. I don’t think that anyone has the right to tell me or any other adult how to live their life. We are all so different. I also value humility, the openness to learning a great deal. He never sounds as if he has anything to learn. I am know I am intelligent and thoughtful and opinionated. I am an extravert that processes thinking out loud. As a result I am constantly afraid of being perceived as arrogant, thinking that my way is the only way and that I have all the answers.

I don’t know of anyone who feels about the stake president as I do. I must admit therefore that my perception of his behaviour says way more about me than him. How is it that I turn this around. I don’t like feeling as I do. I go to church to be spiritually fed not drained. The answer of course is to work through my own concerns and focus on my own behaviour. I need to remain aware of how my perception is being shaped by my values and fears while I listen and then try to see him in a different way. Not an easy task to be sure. One that I am not always up for unfortunately.

Success to the Successful

2010-03-05T08:57:00.001-08:00

I teach Systems Thinking. This course uses the pragmatic approach developed by Marilyn Herasymowych and Henry Senko to Peter Senge’s seminal theory found in the “Fifth Discipline”. This particular approach to formerly incomprehensible theory, enables anyone to use 10 system archetypes to understand complex patterns of behaviour in systems of any size. The world is a system, organizations are systems, groups are systems and we, as individuals are systems. Working with these concepts over the last ten years has heightened my awareness of repeating patterns of dysfunction. This is not always a good thing since I am prone more to analysis than action in most situations where I perceive little influence. I rarely take action on situations that should and could change. This blog is about high school basketball.

One of the most common and easily recognized archetype in systems thinking is “Success to the Successful”. In this pattern, an individual, group or organization is identified as having great potential. This high potential target is given access to resources that enable them to reach their assigned potential. They are given these resources because of course it “makes sense”. It is a “wise investment”. They are “talented” and the return on investment will be high. For people or groups in organizations this means that “high potential” individuals or groups are given more money, training, visibility and performance opportunities. And not surprisingly, they become even more successful. Others who are not deemed successful in the beginning do not have the same access to the resources and again not too surprisingly, do not become more successful. In fact, they often become less successful or poor performers.

I don’t think it is my knowledge of this archetype is to blame for my perception that this is one of the most powerful dysfunctions in our society. Children born in poverty become poor students eventually dropping out, become unemployed adults and often homeless. It is a cycle of poverty. Others born with money and advantage go to good schools, marry well, acquire great jobs and too often pat themselves on the back attributing their success to their own effort and determination. This archetype is in fact the reason I am a socialist and why I believe that Mormons among all people should be… “Unto whom much is given much is required” (D&C 82:3) “Are we not all beggars”(Mosiah 4:19) “ the poor have ye always” ( Mark 14:7, Luke 12:48). “And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them” (Moses 7:18).

Organized sports seems to be a haven for this archetype. There were only a couple of blacks on Canada’s winter Olympic team because winter sports more than others are expensive and socio economically there are not as many rich blacks in Canada. We won a lot of medals because Canada funneled a lot of money into our athletes over the last 4 years. It was great to share the success of these dedicated, perhaps obsessive people. I only experienced the positive results of this archetype in the Winter Olympics – i.e national pride, excitement etc.

High school basketball however does touch me and the application of this archetype is driving me crazy. Both the junior team and senior team coaches are caught in this negative pattern. The coaches have chosen their “best players”. These girls have more game time, and hence more experience and opportunities for feedback and learning. No surprise that their skills have increased and they score a lot of points. This “A” team can make a lot of mistakes and stay on the floor. Members of the “B” team can make only one mistake and are instantly subbed. These girls who are not as good, play less and remain of course, not as skillful. The coaches would say that this is a competitive level of play and that they are playing to win. I think this is a fallacy, that is compromising both team effectiveness and is hurting young women at a critical time of their lives.

The problem is that the “winners” continue to play when there is no possibility of losing i.e. the team is winning by 20 or 30 points. This pattern is unjustifiable and has the impact of lowering the capability and winning potential of the entire team. As a wise and successful coach said to me years ago, “a team is only as strong as its weakest member”, this “Success to the Successful” pattern works against team capability and potential. By creating winners and losers ON a team, the potential and capacity of the team is compromised. A team using this strategy will always lose to a team that has 3 strong lines not just one. Raymond’s senior girls team last year was a case in point. There were no weak players. Every line was unbelievably well conditioned, expert and high scoring and that team won the provincials.

What is more upsetting to me is to see the impact of this archetype on individual girls. I watched a girl who has never been a star, be a star for a month or so when she was chosen to be a “starter”. She had never played so well. Now for some reason, she has fallen from grace and her floor time is greatly reduced. This fall from grace was a gradual but a predictable downward spiral. Now when, she plays, it is frequently poorly and she is too often immediately removed when she makes a mistake. This is especially true if the score is close. It is obvious that her confidence has been compromised and her performance has decreased.
Anne and I have talked about this problem. Her strategy is to focus on believing that she is one of the best player every time she is on the floor. Without knowing it, she is using the reverse archetype or the positive manifestation of “Success to the Successful”, entitled “Strut Your Stuff”. This archetype leads us to be clear about our own particular strengths and abilities and has us look for opportunities to communicate and capitalize on these strengths.

I am sad that I will not be able to see the finals. Anne’s team will be playing Andrews team in the quarter finals. Andrew works on the “Strut Your Stuff” coaching philosophy and analyzes what every girl is best at. He develops team and coaching strategies based upon these strengths. His girls have much less experience and training than Anne’s team. What will happen? Who will win? Who will have increased their capability the most? For our family, Monday’s game will be both win/win ( one team will progress) and lose/lose ( one won’t) whatever the result will be. Anne only wishes that Andrew was her coach.

2010-02-20T12:28:00.000-08:00

PERSONAL IDENTITY

One Sunday, not long ago my grand daughter Audrey, just a month short of 3 years old, wanted to change her clothes and wear a dress. Obliging her request I found a costume Cinderella dress that her cousin Dotty had worn extensively at Christmas time. We thought it was perfect and that she would be happy. “I look like Dotty!” she said. We quickly and positively replied, “Yes you do!” thinking that this was a positive reason to wear the dress. Audrey didn’t look happy however and after a couple more encouraging remarks from us and her thrice repeated comment, “But I Audrey!” we understood. As nice as the dress was it made her be Dotty not Audrey. We quickly found another solution to the dress dilemma, a much too small jumper that had been Anne’s. In spite of it looking more like a shirt than a dress, Audrey was happy, secure in the knowledge that there was no confusion about who she was.

I have been thinking a great deal about this concept of personal identity. Who are we really and how do we develop and act on our personal identity? Over the past couple months I have been somewhat surprised by feedback from clients and associates about who I am to them. Recently for example, I attended a short session led by a colleague / client and program manager at UoC. She told me after the workshop that when I walked in the room, her nervousness vanished. I am always so calm and positive and she feels so good around me that with me there, she knew the session was going to go well. As the “motivator/ high school spirit speaker” or “missionary:” as another colleague described me after observing a workshop and the high energy person I have often seen myself as being, this comment was surprising.

Another client had recently told me that she thinks I know everything. She was talking about organizational/interpersonal behaviour theory. Oh how I wish that were true!!! I read so many books,she said, the same ones that she does, but I remember more. She says that she feels like she needs to take out the dictionary when I leave. I feel so lacking when I compare myself to Marilyn Herasymowych.

She also says that she really appreciates that she can say anything to me, and it is never a problem. Consequently I am easy to work with. My bookkeeper, on the other hand said yesterday that when she began to work with me, I terrified her. When I asked her why, she said that it is because I am so confident and competent. She was also surprised when later in the discussion, I told her that I dislike being a project manager because I don’t like telling people what to do and holding them to agreements when situations change. She thought that I would be very good at that. So…. calm, accepting or hard to please?

I recently had the occasion to spend time with a colleague who in my perception is extremely hard driving. Whenever we work on a project together, I have felt challenged to work as hard as she does and turn work around as quickly as she expects. She is both conceptual and extremely detailed. I have to work to keep positive about my capabilities when I am with her. It was interesting to note little inconsistencies in this perception that I noted in our time driving together and conversations at home, which illuminated some things about me.

For example, she never goes to self serve gas lanes if she has the choice. She likes to be served. I never, yes never, go to these lanes and even avoid gas stations that do not have pay at the pump. I am impatient with being served. I dislike waiting for people to do for me what I can do for myself more quickly. She also, never does any housework and her husband takes his shirts out for cleaning. I do all my own housework and likely always will. She was surprised at the canning I had done. It turns out that in many ways I realized that I am has hard driving and likely hard working as she is, only in different areas.

Another reality about our identity is that our behaviour changes in different situations and that we are the composite of all of those moments and identities. Who we are, at least on the behavioural level, changes in different contexts. Our identity to some extent is a reflection of what others see us as being. They interpret our behaviour through the lens of their own hopes, fears, anxieties and values. Their expectations, whether positive or negative, influence our behaviour as they act on their interpretations, creating a dynamic that changes our own reactions. My children see me differently than my husband, my friends, clients, colleagues and workshop participants. Men see me differently than women and church members see me in ways that non members don’t.

I was amazed when at my sister’s funeral each of her daughters gave a eulogy of their mother from their own experience and perspective. Marion was a different Mother and person to and with each of them. In her perfect acceptance, she affirmed and shared the interests of each and developed and showed parts of herself differently with each. I realized that as rich as my understanding was of her because of the many hours of personal dialogue, there was so much I did not know about her. I wondered what I could have done or should have done to allow her to share even more of herself and her loves with me. It is my intention, what is in my heart, as a parent and grandparent to be perfectly like that, like she was, in this regard.

Perhaps the most frustrating and painful experiences in my life have been those times when the judgments of others, close to me, were negatively at odds with my knowledge of my own intentions. The result of these judgments and negative beliefs and assumptions, has been misinterpretations of my behaviours. I have felt at those times confused and somewhat powerless to be myself. Was I as terrible as they said? Did I need to drastically change who I was and what I did? What could I do to have them understand me better? Or was there little that I could do and their comments said more about their own fears and assumptions than about me? I have learned that just accepting and loving the other person frequently works in the long term and that there seems to be little that can be done in the short term. I have at those times just wanted to be understood, accepted and loved and like Audrey, I just wanted to be able to be affirmed to be the person that I was inside.

Another piece of this complex idea of identity is that who we are, both to ourselves and others, changes based on the context of the situation. Our roles, the requirements of the situation, the stresses we are experiencing, and our lack of skill and experience are just some of the factors that impact our behaviour. These serve to create beliefs in ourselves and others about who we are. In reality we frequently fall short on the behaviour side of the identity equation, how we are able to act on what we want and intend to do and be.

Perhaps the most powerful concept that I have learned in my work and what I try to teach others about, is the power of holding a basic assumption that people come from the best of intentions. I believe this concept to my core. No one purposely tries to do badly in this life. No one tries to be a bad parent, a poor employee, an insensitive friend, or a selfish citizen yet evidence may be easily gathered to affirm those judgments at one time or another. We are told in the scriptures for our good and the good of others, not to judge. Wise advice, since we all have these gaps and shortfalls.

What is the answer to the challenges of who I am? Am I who I am in my own head, a collection of all my best intentions? Am I collection of all of the behaviours and actions good and bad, ineffective and effective that I have demonstrated throughout my life? Am I who others think I am? I am grateful that for our heavenly parents and Jesus Christ, the answers are clear. The scriptures say that Heavenly Father judges me not by what I do but by what is in my heart. I believe and want to know this reality continuously. He alone knows perfectly who I am and what my intentions are. He knows the struggles of my heart, the pains that I experience and challenges I face in bringing my actions more closely in line with the example of the Saviour. I am thankful that he is patient as I seek to bring my behaviour and intentions closer and to figure out how best to act on the love and acceptance that I feel in my heart for others.

Piano memories

2008-12-01T08:32:00.000-08:00

Instead of running or weightlifting while Anne is in seminary, I practiced the piano this morning instead. Erica Burt, a young woman at church asked me to play Sleigh Ride as a duet with her at the Relief Society Christmas party and accompany her when she and also the young women sang. I had been thinking about how much I was missing singing in a choir and musical groups, only to be asked to do this and sing a duet in sacrament meeting just a few days after. The piano duet is challenging and I have been practicing a lot. This morning, it started to be easy and so I am confident that by Thursday I will not embarrass my self or my partner.

Being able to play the piano has been one of the greatest blessings in my life. I remember playing on the piano as a preschooler wishing I knew how to play real songs. When we moved to Lethbridge, Julie, Janice and I took lessons from a Mrs. Baines, a very old, immobile, but pleasant lady. I never minded practicing, that I can remember, but I was annoyed at the simpleness of the music. "Here we go up the hill to a birthday party" will be forever in my mind. When we moved to Scandia there was not teacher and lessons stopped until the schools in Bow City, Rainer and Scandia were centralized and I went to Rainer. Before that Scandia, Jenny Lind, had been a four room school with grades 1-12.

Arthur Belcher, a piano teacher, was going to give lessons during school in the old Quonset next to the school. Anyone who wanted would have 30 minute lessons during the school day. Mr Belchur drove from Calgary to Rainier and other schools in the County of Newell. Snow storms never stopped him and for $8.00 a month I had lessons until I got too busy to practice in high school. He was short, with grey hair dyed red and chain smoked through the lessons. He had been a concert pianist and now had dedicated his life to teaching farm students to play any instrument that they wanted - mandolin, violin, guitar. He could play jazz, Chopin and what I especially liked was that he taught me how to chord with popular songs that he printed out. Along with the classical pieces, these were fun and, even when they were simple, made me feel like I was a great pianist.

I practiced about four days a week and soon learned to play hymns and primary songs. I was called as the chorister in Sacrament meeting when I was 10, Janice was the organist and as the primary pianist when I was 11. I loved playing and many hours were spent in Mom and Dad's bedroom where the piano was. Mr Belchur thought I was wonderfully talented and was so encouraging, kind of embarrassing me with praise at recitals. Alas, practicing scales and paying attention to the detail of getting every note right, was not my forte and I have always felt that my potential was not realized.

Now it is Christmas and I am looking forward to playing for our Christmas Carolling party. I sort of feel like this event is selfish because I don't think anyone enjoys singing as much as I enjoy playing. I do so love it. One of the fears of my life is that I will get arthritis in my hands and won't be able to play. I would so love to be like Elsa Myers, still playing in Relief Society in her 90'sa. Perhaps by then, Alice,Elise, Ella or Dotty will also be able to entertain me. Then again it might be a rockstart Audry. She is getting an early start in this picture.

Dream Girls

2008-08-29T11:35:00.000-07:00

I couldn't resist posting these pictures of Elise, Sam's daughter. When Elise comes to visit she loves to watch videos where there is singing and dancing. She loved the CATS DVD and she also loves Dream Girls. Here she is being a Dream Girl. It makes me remember what it was like to be so completely in the pretend world and really feeling it. When I was her age I was obsessed with being a ballet dancer and and would dance around with plastic glasses on my feet. They made me feel like I was dancing on my toes and a beautiful graceful ballerina. I so wanted a tutu. I was also fascinated with being grown up, not surprising for the youngest child. Make-up was a must. My grandmother thought I was very spoiled when my mother let me wear bright red lipstick and ear rings to church when I was four. I hope Elise never forgets this wonderful feeling of truly being what you "dream".

Holidays and Balance

2008-08-08T13:18:00.001-07:00

This week we went to a meeting of a bunch of church members about a vacation opportunity. It is actually a great idea that several of the couples have. In short it is this. 20 or so couples all each put in $200,000.00 to buy 5 high end vacation properties in places like Las Vegas, Florida, Hawaii, California and then share the upkeep cost which would be about $500 a month and have the opportunity of 12 weeks vacation a year in the fanciest resorts possible. They all seemed to be in hot, beach places. A very reasonable idea but we realized that of all the types of vacations that exist, that kind is the least interesting to us. Being in a high consumerism, hot and beach type vacation is not what we enjoy. I like adventure, exercise, learning, exploring and family. Holidays are supposed to create balance in our lives. It got me really thinking about holidays and assessing this summer and its holidays.

This year we are having so many holidays. It has somehow just happened, but has also been fueled by my obsession for fun and balance to my perception that I always work. For me it started in June with a two week visit from Erin and her three kids. We had two weeks of intensive kid oriented fun i.e. swimming, hikes, zoo, Heritage Park, parties etc. So wonderful and great!! We then went to the Shuswap Lake where exhaustion set in and I was forced against my will to spend 2 days doing nothing but preparing a few meals and reading a novel. That was a very hard for me but useful learning. It gave my mind and body the rest it needed to fend off Alzheimer’s for a bit longer. I also had the best ski I have every had. It was super long almost to the point, then down, then up again with a deep water slalom start. I felt strong like I haven’t for years.

The trip to Utah was another marathon of activities – shopping, hiking, hanging out, cooking and of course the drive there and back. Every time I drive through Idaho and Montana through those beautiful prairies hills I long for my youth, horses and long rides. So, on the August long week-end I organized an overnight camping trip with a ride included. It was great. We tented at Buffalo Plains Campground. It was an oasis of a few trees in the middle of the prairie by Fort Macleod. We got their early, cooked on a camp stove, read our books and sat around a campfire. Of course we slept on the ground which is the least fun thing. Yoga in the sunshine, scripture and pancakes and real bacon topped off the morning. After an interesting morning at “Head Smashed in Buffalo Jump” to feed our brains with historical info we picnicked in the Old Man River bottom campground. Our ride at a ranch, nestled in its own valley west of Claresholm began at 2:00. The horses were great – real ones with personalities and get up and go. Our guide was an honest to goodness cowboy and outfitter. He suggested with gallop and told us great stories along the way. After two hours we were sufficiently crippled and left tired and super happy. After a Chinese supper at Ken’s Restaurant in Nanton we drove home, excited for our bath tub, beds and TV.

This week feels like a holiday of sorts as Anne is away at EFY. We are trying out the empty nest and finding it quite pleasant. We still have three holidays to go. Next week-end Andy and I are having a getaway in Waterton at Kilmory Lodge, for our anniversary. We plan on going to the temple, hiking and hanging out. On the Labour Day week-end we will go out to the cabin again to put in windows and new Tyvek covering. Then it will be to New York and Jack’s baptism. Blest we are. Balanced I am not so sure.

I am ORANGE and a Motivator

2008-08-08T12:54:00.000-07:00

I have finally got around to having my personality “colours” done using the “Discovery” tool from Insights. There is a lot of buzz about this particular instrument in organizations and I felt a bit pressured to learn what “colour” I was. I often get asked by clients and training participants. It is based on Jung like Meyers Briggs. In spite of a bit of a difficult time in doing the inventory and feeling like I didn’t answer consistently, my profile said exactly the same thing that others have. In relation to Jung I am still a strong extravert, absolutely split on thinking and feeling and also high in intuition over sensing. Apparently Meyers Briggs added the Judging Perceiving and since it was not in Jung’s original theory it is not used in this particular instrument.

I got exactly the profile that I expected and predicted. I am orange and my type is called a Motivator. The first paragraph of the two and half page description of me give you an sense of the accuracy. “Eager to add to her knowledge, Esther is passionate about researching significant new subjects that capture her interest. Hard work, busy schedules and merit based remuneration are hallmarks of the way Esther prefers to work. Fatigue and pressure from over-commitment may trigger stressful reactions in her. Often her enthusiasm and drive makes her overwork.” Man, I can’t blame anyone but myself. As Beth Stringham once said to me after I was trying to justify not getting something done because I was so busy, just then. “Esther that is just how you are, you are always too busy’.

“Esther has a real zest for living and enjoys company. Writing important facts or steps down on paper helps her keep from getting side-tracked, but she may lack the discipline necessary discipline to do this well.” Hello – time management workshop..... I know it works I just don’t do it all the time.

“She prefers to deal with a variety of situations, people and events, all at the same time. She may find it hard to prepare as thoroughly as she should.” Heh and all of my children benefited from early instruction on how to prepare talks for primary during sacrament meeting. Is this so bad --- yes we all know it is often not a great way to be.

Some other insightful comments.... “She does not appreciate critical comments about her personal qualities as she sees these comments as personal attacks on her integrity.” True unfortunately. Accepting criticism is something that has been a challenge to learn from because of this emotional component. I hope I am getting better at it after a lifetime of teaching paraphrasing, perception checking and how to give and receive feedback using the Awareness Wheel. A career filled with constant evaluation sheets after every workshop should have helped too.

“She is noted for her innate ability to inspire and encourage others around her and exhibits excellent interpersonal skills.” Oh my gosh, this makes me think of the “school spirit” speeches I had to make too many times in assemblies in high school. I hated doing those speeches – besides the fact that they just weren’t cool. I was in the “drama group”. I also never felt like I was very good at it – i.e. did anyone every come just because of my speech????? I don’t think so. I got asked to do it so often I think because I was just so enthusiastic myself about every sport event and school activity. When I was “Stony” house leader in intramurals, our house won the Participation Award Trophy because we had the most people participating in events. That’s because every day at lunch I would go and drag people to play badminton, basketball, bridge, tiddlywonks (gym sized playing of tiddlywinks) etc. Intramurals were huge in our school – we had tons of big trophies for them. I also won the Individual Participant Award because I was in the most activities myself. Imagine that. Of the 250 people in the school I was the most enthusiastic participator. Oh my goodness, it makes me tired to think of it. Lately I was reminded how much I loved talking in church about the Church city wide food drive – getting people fired up, and how much I hated actually organizing and doing the work.

“She may sometimes experience a loss of enthusiasm and energy and also may become uncharacteristically pensive under stress.” No kidding, that is my life in the last year or two. “

A born entrepreneur, she is alert to all the possibilities and is fascinated by new ideas.” That’s how I got involved with Marilyn Herasymowych – such interesting ideas. That is also why I advertise so many services on my website – so many things are possibilities.

“She shows strong initiative and operates through creative impulses. She may constantly test the limits of a situation and she considers that most rules and regulations are there to be bent if not broken.” Read this as “she likes to do what she likes to do and what she has thought of and doesn’t like to be told what to do.” This summer our bishop, the sweetest man ever, challenged us all to read the Book of Mormon in 85 days – the amount of time that it took Joseph Smith to translate it as a 25 year old uneducated man. I really felt rebellious about it and refused to get started for two weeks. Then I decided that I would burn through it and read not 6 pages a day (what was suggested) but 20 so that I could get it done and over with. As a result of this reluctant obedience I don’t expect any personal miracles – I am bending the rules to much, but I can say I’m doing it. So characteristic.

“Esther is logical and analytical, an ingenious thinker and long-range planner, and good at anything that requires rapid reasoning. Routine, detail and close supervision are anathema to her. She wants to make an impact and accomplish something in life that she will long be remembered by. She may fear failure lack of responsibility and failure.” What can I say about that – its all true – unfortunate, dysfunctional and constraining but very much the internal me.

“Esther’s accomplishments are achieved mainly through determinations and perseverance in reaching or exceeding her high standards.” My Dad once said about me – ‘Esther is not more talented than the other kids (boy, that is true) but she is stupid enough to try anything.’ Unfortunately also true.

“Internally motivated to achieve, Esther is a hard worker, who whilst being prepared to listen to, and be aware of others, will invariably go it alone if all else fails.” The next time I whine about having to do things myself, somebody remind me that it is my choice.

Anyhow, now you know why my wedding colours were orange, it is still my favourite colour and the background to this blog is orange. I am Orange.

Pushing Myself

2008-08-08T12:21:00.000-07:00

I am obsessed this summer with exercise. When we came back from a holiday in Utah and Shuswap Lake, I just really wanted to keep playing and playing for me is about sports – anything athletic. I was pretty depressed at first because, Anne is no longer interested in going swimming, in line skating, riding bicycles and so I was left to do things on my own. Now I am just all about getting fit so I am doing a bunch of things to fun. I swim a couple of times a week managing between 20 and 30 lengths, 1/3 are breaststroke the rest crawl. I ride down to Kensington to meet my husband and then ride back with him about 3 times a week. It takes about 35 minutes to get there and 45 time ride back to Dalhousie. I lift weights and will be adding some ball exercises. I try to do my yoga stuff about twice a week and I run on the hill at least once or twice a week.

My problem with it all is I never feel like it get really good at any of it – you know, really fit. It could be that I am 56 years old, not consistent enough, don’t really have good technique at anything or what I really believe - I am not pushing myself enough. How do you tell? Weight watchers uses sweat as a barometer. If you sweat within a certain amount of time it’s worth a certain amount of points. That’s crazy. Sometimes walking can make you sweat if it’s hot and I never sweat when I am swimming. The skipping book said that if you get nauseated then you have pushed yourself too hard. I sometimes stop and do the heart rate thing but finding my heart beat is hard when you are puffing.

How hard I work seems to vary with the activity. I know I can really work hard on a tread mill and when I am climbing a hill on a bike – really sweat, puff, get weak.... I can’t ever seem to make myself winded when I swim – maybe it’s the drowning thing and the convenient end of the pool to stop and rest. I can only tell if I have worked hard weightlifting the next day – did I get really stiff or not? I don’t think I know how to work hard doing yoga.

Anyhow this all begs the larger question about the whole self assessment thing. It doesn’t seem like it would ever be valid. Just yesterday I was thinking about this pushing myself thing and running. I had done pretty well – gone farther than usual around the hill and only walked twice briefly. I wanted to finish the distance – you know run up the last very long hill. I was sweating and not really weak but then I realized that I was starting to feel nauseated – a sure sign. I stopped and took my heart rate and it was 165. Well I guess I had pushed myself since my maximum is supposed to be 144. I should have known, but actually I had not idea. Before the nausea I just felt lazy.

Anyhow, so if I can’t even tell about whether I am pushing myself running up a hill. How can I ever self assess anything accurately, for example, whether I am truly working hard in my consulting business? I am signing up for a new doctorate program that requires a lot of self evaluation. That really worries me. Will I be too hard or too arrogant and lenient? Perhaps the most important question is, how can I judge my own personal righteousness and determine whether I am ready or will ever be able to stand before the Lord and report with any degree of confidence that I did all I could do. I can’t help thinking, like my current fitness level, my effort is really paltry. It’s a good thing that in relation to personal righteousness, Christ makes up the difference because I know that I will be as pathetic assessing my whole life as I am at calibrating my personal sweat index.

General Conference

2008-04-14T11:21:00.000-07:00

Last week-end was general conference and we were able to sit and watch every session. It was amazing and inspiring. The most moving and spiritual talk for me was Sister Tanners. Here is the conclusion to her talk. She expresses so well my feelings and testimony.
"I delight in the Lord’s mercies and miracles (see “Bless Our Fast, We Pray,” Hymns, no. 138). I know that His tender mercies and His miracles, large and small, are real. They come in His way and on His timetable. Sometimes it is not until we have reached our extremity. Jesus’s disciples on the Sea of Galilee had to toil in rowing against a contrary wind all through the night before Jesus finally came to their aid. He did not come until the “fourth watch,” meaning near dawn. Yet He did come. (See Mark 6:45–51.) My testimony is that miracles do come, though sometimes not until the fourth watch.

Right now I am exerting my faith and prayers and watching for miracles in behalf of loved ones who are physically sick, emotionally bereft, and spiritually astray. I delight in the Lord’s love for each of His children and in His wisdom to allow us individually tailored earthly experiences.

Finally, I delight in, more than I can express, the eternal love and constant help of my husband and the prayers and support of my children and parents during these years of my service as Young Women general president.

“My soul delighteth in the things of the Lord” (2 Nephi 4:16)—His law, His life, His love. To delight in Him is to acknowledge His hand in our lives. Our gospel duty is to do what is right and to love and delight in what is right. When we delight to serve Him, our Father in Heaven delights to bless us. “I, the Lord, . . . delight to honor those who serve me in righteousness and in truth unto the end” (D&C 76:5). I want to be worthy always of His delight. “I love the Lord, in Him my soul delights” (“I Love the Lord,” Jackman Music Corporation). In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

For those of you interested in reading more of this talk and other General Conference addresses go to www.lds.org and follow the link on the first item - General COnference. These can be be viewed on streaming video or downloaded as a document.

Road show memories

2008-04-14T10:48:00.001-07:00

Saturday was the road show performance in the West Stake. Apparantly it was the first ones in about 30 years. I was the director for our ward’s production and Andy wrote the script - sort of - the ideas and major structure. There were others who did choregraphy and scripting too. It was really great to not have to worry about getting it all done in a very short time because there were other very responsible and talented people working on it too. We only had 4 rehearsals which is extremely short. Ours won the “most creative” award. Anne said our script reminded her of a group project where people have crazy ideas that they won’t let go of and so have to be included in the script. She was right. We had to include a “living fountain” where statues move and actually spit/spew out streams of water and the bishopric dressed up like a motorcycle gang and riding kids miniature motor bikes. Andy came up with the idea of Family Idol and I had kids improvise comments about immature parent behaviour. Yup – pretty random. We got a lot of laughs – especially the fountain. It made Andy and I remember another road show – 36 years ago where he and I won the best actor and best actress award and he surprised me with a kiss on stage in the final scene of our ward’s production. Who would know that a roadshow could be a life changing event.

I tried to download/upload? an example for you to see but couldn't figure out how to do it. One to give you an idea is CNU TONiGHT's living fountain from gooselaugh 007. We used the same ENYA song and the same togas and pitchers. I used living fountain + cruise to get it.

Crocuses and Poppies

2008-04-14T10:42:00.001-07:00

I had a great run this morning and particularly loved seeing all the crocuses in bloom. They have been out for a couple of weeks but are really all over now. That doesn't seem particularly odd today since it is a pleasant though brisk spring day. Yesterday was 22 degrees and crazy hot. What is more amazing is that just last Thursday there was 4 inches of snow on this same hill. The crocuses are unphased by it all. It made me think - which is always good when I am running - why do they come out so early. I immediately thought about them being brave and strong - weathering frost, snow and heat - whatever weather happens. Maybe on the other hand they are just afraid of insects and want to avoid that plague at any cost.

I also thought about my own interest in courage. When I was in Beehives we had what was called Bandlos - a felt banner kind of thing that you wore diagonally over one shoulder across the chest. It had symbols of awards that were won etc. We had to pick a flower that was a metaphor for the virtures that we were aspiring to. I chose the poppy because it symbolizes courage, bravery and strength. I wonder now whether in that choice I set a course for myself or I simply gave words to what already was a defining value. I have included a picture of myself at that age to give some context.

Misty

2008-03-04T18:22:00.000-08:00

I found a picture of Misty

Travesty of democracy

2008-03-04T13:11:00.000-08:00

Another election in Alberta and another sweep by the PCs. They took two of the 4 ND seats, 7 of the Liberal's 16 and even got the one Wildrose Alliance seat (the crazy right winger from Cardston). I am dismayed, discouraged and disolutioned with the political process. How and why did it happen? There was so much optimism about the need for change and that it was the time. The Liberals were poised for a breakthrough. Dad mostly, but me too, had invested time in helping out our Rhodes Scholar Liberal candidate.

Is it that Albertans really are a bunch of mindless sheep? In spite of the fact that the conservatives have been the authors of everything that is bad in this province, we vote for them anyway? By slashing and burning in the 90's this government has created the infrastructure deficit, the education and health care crisis, the housing shortage with its homelessness and exacerbated the employment issue with uncontrolled economic growth. Still with the thinking that is applied to the issues,they are the teflon government - nothing sticks. Is there no cause and effect thinking here?

Or is it that winning elections is really just about power and money. We are to be sure caught in the "success to the successful" systems archetype. The more you have the more you get. They had millions to spend on the election and they did. The liberals were a million dollars in debt and they couldn't get their story out. We know who will get the donations now. We are caught in the vicious circle and we all feed into it.

Is it about personality? Do we prefer stupid politicians? Stelmach is not like Kline. Kline advertized his lack of education. Stelmach is just steady Eddy, dull boring and can hardly put a sentence together. He is at his best, sweet and good and kind.... and not too bright. Doesn't intimidate anyone with his style. Taft is also dull and boring but brilliant intellectually and it shows. He got cudos from all of the interest groups and political scientists for the well thought out and reasonable platform. The pcs on the other hand did the, "we are going to spend and fix everything, all at once" platform. Do we like politicians who don't threaten our own shakey confidence?

Is it just about smart strategy? Stelmach moved his party to the left and so gave the Liberals and ND nowhere to go. They stole their base. Are the pc's just successful at doing what John Kenneth Galbraith said about good leaders - nothing more than able to voice what is already wanted. There are no fundamental values - just calculated shifts to stay in power. Have they retained power for so long,not be they are good or effective at taking us where we should or could go because they are just so good at giving voice to our own poorly thought out wants?

Is it about us and our need for absolute certainty in an uncertain world? Are we comfortable in this province with a one party system because it eliminates dialogue and conflict and we are conflict aversive? Is it comforting in this world of increasing diversity to be part of a group - a team that all wears the same colour and thinks just the same? I can't help it. I want a new team. We there isn't one and won't be for a long time. We have what we have and we will have it for at least another 4 years. I should be used to it. Its been the same for the last 30!

Any one who wants more info on the election go here and check out Alberta votes. Check out the faces. I couldn't figure out how to add them.

Musings on Winning

2008-03-04T13:05:00.000-08:00

It’s a fairly established idea that losing is hard for anyone to take. Setting goals, working hard, putting all you have into something, only to come up short and lose is framed as either character building or soul destroying. Our choice, the motivators of the world say. What do we make of our failures? Examples of famous perseverance are quoted - Diefenbaker who lost 4 elections and eventually became Prime Minister. Keep trying and you too will win. My cynical self wonders how many failures of the world have done then and actually never won. Should have given up at the beginning. The personal experience of losing however is not my concern in this musing. What is, is the meaning of losing to others who watch.

This week-end Anne had 3 playoff basketball games in 24 hours. These rounded out a week of 8 basketball games and practices in 6 days. Friday her school team was playing for the Division championship, have beaten their closest rival by only one point on Wednesday in a nail biter. Friday the same close game was repeated only this time to see them lose in overtime by one point. Anne was not happy with her playing and, had she made her usual number of points, likely the outcome would have been different. She is arguably one of the very best players and plays almost the whole game every game on that team.

On Saturday the losing was repeated as her community first won another close game against a bunch of giants. The final game for them in the afternoon that would have given them the bronze in the A division, saw them blow a 10 point lead and lose by, you guessed it, only a couple of points. Anne’s take on it was - no big deal, they couldn't go to the provincials anyway.

My take on it? These losses came at the end of a very long and difficult week and seemed like a metaphor for my life. Almost winning but not. I had so wanted Anne to win. Winning seemed important, almost life and death at the time. Why? Because it was someone I loved who lost. I think it was not the winning or the losing but the meaning I put on it.

I thought about my own athletic career and remembered my favourite volleyball game ever. It was in the Canadian National Junior championships. We were fortunate to be there. We were ranked 3rd in the province even though our school had only 250 students and had beaten the junior teams from UofC and UofA to get there. We had a hippy for a coach who was a visionary leader but not an athlete. The game I was thinking about was against a team from Montreal. It was so close with long rallies and hard fought points and ... we lost. And, I didn't care. It was a thrill to play so well, so hard and winning didn't matter. I just felt good and that was all it meant. It really was like the cliche, how I played the game and not about winning or losing.

On another note - cudo's to Andrew R and his basketball team. He has taken talented individuals and turned them into a wonderful and winning team. They were great to watch last night as they trounced Winston Churchill.

Random thoughts running

2008-02-29T09:14:00.001-08:00

A Calgary spring miracle. Three inches of snow gone by afternoon yesterday so today I was back on the hill. With music loud in my head - drowning out the sound of my breathing there is space for random thinking. Some thoughts I understand and some I don't. Start with the things I don't. I was thinking about horses again - why do I do that so much on the hill. Am I back at age 8 pretending I am a horse. Anyhow thoughts went to the barn and the time I cleaned the horses stalls just for the heck of it. There was almost a foot of straw and manure - gushy and smelly. I worked for several hours with pitchford, shovel and wheel barrel. It was great to find the floor and felt so good to see it. WHere did that thought come from?

Lots of random thoughts on the trails. Deep an important learning?.......Well probably not. Here are some of the observations and what I thought about on the hill. Well used trails that don't get much sun have the most ice and snow on them. High trails have less ice than low trails especially the ones that are wide and pave. They are really icy. Its important to look up from dodging dog poo and rocks to see the sun rise over the prairie. Sometimes not so well used paths get you to better place. On the other hand just going off the trail trying to find a short cut usually just gets you more lost and in more briers. Saskatoons grow the best on the less used path in the direct morning sun. The temperature must be different for me than the Chinese grandma with her toque and hat and dog. I guess when you move fast you need less help to stay warm. Sometimes when you think too much its hard to run. Sometimes when you think a lot its easier.

I figured it out

2008-02-29T09:13:00.001-08:00

I have wanted to do this for a probably about 5 years and I have finally figured it out. Its not as hard as it looks. Of course it takes some ab strength but its more about focusing on the right muscles and holding them tight than it it being amazingly strong. Its all about focus. I couldn't find a old lady like me so I chose an old strong guy. Do you think he's cute?

Last night

2008-02-29T08:49:00.000-08:00

We had Norm Nelson, our financial advisor, over last night so we could buy RRSP's. ORdinarily the 28th is the deadline. This year is leap year so we were actually a day early. He reminded us that he had come over exactly one year ago. I wonder what I will be doing the day before I die. Last minuting is such a pattern.

I am doing this bibliography - 150 annotations of things that I have read. I of course are including anything that I have every read since there is no way that I can read that many books and articles and write about them between now and June and still live my life. Anyhow, when it has been 8 years since I read this article, I couldn't exactly remember what is said. Its kind of funny to see what I have underlined. It was the right stuff but I know that it just wasn't as meaningful then as it is now. I read it, thought it was great but only now am I seeing the usefulness of the application. I am reading 2 Nephi - the Isaiah stuff. Its still not sinking in but there is no underlines either.

Missing Cleo

2008-02-28T09:22:00.000-08:00

Today I couldn't go running - the hill is covered in fluffy snow. Yesterday I cried as I was running, thinking of Cleo. I am missing her again today. I am in my office supposed to be doing my annotated bibliography for the fourth day in a row. This is truly deadly for an extrovert. I have the space heater on so I don't waste heating the whole house. I wish that Cleo was here sharing the time with me. Her company was comforting. There is a part of me that is just non-verbal and kinaesthetic. A need to express feelings without words. Animals have always been a part of and an answer to that need. Cleo was especially good about that. I also shared that closeness with Misty, my pony. She was an amazing personality. So impatient - always in a hurry to get where we were going. She had no ideas of her limitations - her size. She would race anyone and usually win. If I fell off she would stop immediately and give me a dirty look - get on board and lets finish this! I read in one of my endless articles on organizational learning that what sets us apart from animals is our ability to reflect. Don't get me wrong - I think reflecting is great but sometimes I think it gets in the way. Cleo just caught squirrels, birds whatever. Misty raced and won even though she was only 12 hands high. Red, our Arab stallion, opened gates and doors. Thunderhead rounded up cows on his own just for fun. No constraints - just did it - just for fun. Maybe I need to do more of that.

Thanks Mary et al

2008-02-28T08:21:00.000-08:00

Wow! Isn't Mary making me look good. The new redesigned look a result of her artistic and techno genius. Its wonderful to be saved by grownup children. Gillian saved me last week. We were working on a tedious and potentially time consuming project - developing assessment questions for job profiles in a succession planning process. I know I have a tendency for theoretical perfection rather than pragmatic realism. I started to get absolutely buried in detail. Jill looked at what I had done and cut right to the chase and we developed a really workable format that fit perfectly within the time frame we were being paid for. Sam's company has created beautiful business cards for my company Capability Connections and is in the process of redesigning the website. If it weren't for the terribly slow client (me) that would have been done. As I enjoy my ipod running and all the cool music on it, I have Greg to thank. Erin is my inspiration as a runner - thanks again for the cool running shirt. Anne is now my model for skiing. She is learning to swoosh turns. Maybe I can too.

Concept redesign

2008-02-26T10:28:00.001-08:00

It has been a long time since I have posted. The original purpose of my blog was to do my personal history and connect it with my thoughts. It seemed like an easy thing to do but in the end I never really got to it. I decided when I was running this morning that I need to a way to connect with people and just let people know what is happening to me. I joined Facebook today - got invited by Kathleen Nelson. I did the profile thing and then got stumped on how to post - have a page, all that stuff. The same thing happened with Linked In. I replied to Tagged another networking site when I was requested to be a friend of Vilma Roderigez. Same problem I have no idea how to use these things. So I guess a blog is perfect for my technology disabled self - one way communication.

So what has been happening - running through my head. Well the election in Alberta is one thing. We (andy, anne and I ) actually went to a meet the candidate session - the liberal in our riding. He was really great! Andy is doing some volunteering and I am going to vote liberal instead of my usual ND. Even the conservatives are saying they could lose 10 seats in Calgary and others are saying as many as 18. That would be unbelievable. Its amazing how much like sheep Albertans are - unhappy but still voting the same way. Its like this province really likes dictatorships.

On the personal front. I vacillate back and forth between loving taking this doctorate and being stressed and sick about it. The former happens when I actually get to do some reading and research which was yesterday. The latter feelings happen when I don't. It really is a matter of faith as the spirit told me when I started. Blessings come when I need them. Two of my morman consultant friends just out of the blue gave me things that will be so much help it is unbelievable - one a reference to a software program to manage references/ bibliographies and the other a key book that will be huge in terms of what I want to learn. I just have to keep going and praying and doing what I can do.

On the family front, take a look at this. Two Alenes - 54 years apart

Mother's Day

2007-05-12T12:11:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow is Mother's Day and it seems that the older I get, the more I miss my mother. My children did not have the opportunity to really know her since she died when my oldest daughter was nine and she had been very sick and not herself, for more than a decade. She was very different in temperament and personality from me, but her influence on me was profound.

Esther Johnson was the 12th child of John Peter Johnson and Solrun (Lula) Gudmundsson on November 13, 1913. Her Mother had just turned 48 years old. I was born four months before she turned 40. My Father said that it had taken him 6 months to convince her to have another baby.

She was a wonderful balance to my father. Dad said that she made him feel calm and peaceful. Quiet and gentle, she brought a feeling of safety and security to him and others. She was shy and put little or no pressure on others to be different than they were. I never felt "not okay" in her presence. There was never a negative judgment. She had the great ability to just accept people as they were. This was not overt but just the way she was. I doubt that there was ever anyone who was hurt or offended in any way by my mother.

She was sensitive and it was hard for me to see her be hurt by things that my Father would sometimes say or by her children's bad choices. Her, "Oh Esther" when I had done something I shouldn't, would cut me to the quick. When events/actions of some of my older siblings caused her to cry, I made a covenant with myself to never do those things and never be responsible for causing her that kind of pain.

She was also a great teacher to me. Again it was not in a didactic way. In a very quiet, humble and obedient way she was able to nurture my testimony. In our small rural branch of the church (in Rainier), we would have primary opening exercises on Sunday and then our mothers would teach us the lessons at home. I don't think I every missed a lesson. She would come to my bedroom - a very small attic room and sit on the end of my bed and we would have the lesson. She helped me learn all of my scriptures (12 a year) and complete all of my requirements for my bandlo. This included teaching me how to cross stitch and crochet - things that were very hard for her. This demonstrated to me the importance of consistency and obedience in attending and participating in church. From time to time we would have little Primary activities and there was never a question about whether we would make the effort and go. It was just what we did. It is important to note that all the time I was growing up, my Father was inactive. It was my mother that taught me the gospel.

She was always responsible and dedicated to the Church and always accepted the church callings she was given. She always did her visiting teaching and loved Relief Society. She read the Relief Society magazine and supported all Relief Society activities and projects - working hard, talking, laughing and showing me by her behaviour that the best, most important friends were sisters in the gospel. It showed me how to develop deep roots, not just in the gospel but in the community of the church. This has never wavered. Even when I was in times or places when I didn't feel like I was "Molly Mormon" enough and didn't really fit, I never left. I always have known that what I share with my Relief Society sisters is a bond that goes way beyond, day to day interests or external appearances. It is deeper, spiritual and eternal.

I was a difficult and challenging child for her - so different in many ways than herself. She was so patient - never came close to yelling or even raising her voice. Never any tone of voice that would compromise how I felt about myself. If I didn't do something that I was supposed to do, she would not ask me, she would just do it herself. Whatever I wanted to do, she supported and encouraged me.

She was dedicated to giving service to her family. Cooking, cleaning and caring for us. Life in relation to these things was much different in the 60s - wringer washers, clotheslines, no microwaves or dishwashers, paste wax for the linoleum floors that could only put on by hand. Everything was more work. We had wonderful, wholesome food. Nothing but homemade bread - everything made from scratch. Sunday dinner was an event every week with homemade buns, apple pie, garden grown vegetables and of course roast beef we had raised.

My mother showed perfect loyalty and love to her husband. Her advice to me when I got married was to never say anything negative about my husband. That certainly had been her example and my father was not always easy to live with. She supported him in whatever he needed - her time, her love and affection, and doing work with animals. She was pretty timid around animals. I never saw her ride a horse. She had fallen off one and had another run away with her. On round-up, she was always in the pick-up truck or walking. One big rangy yearling Holstein steer who we had fed on the bucket the year before recognized her and started to try to follow her. I can remember her trying to get away and telling "Ferdinand" (the name we had given him) to get away. As far as he was concerned, she was his mother.

When I was little, she read me stories, provided me with a wealth of dress-up clothes and books to read and catered to my many opinions - fluorescent socks, purple dresses, and bright red lipstick and ear rings. She saved whole milk for just me - I hated skim. She cooked other meals for me when we had liver or pea soup. She made me bowls of sugar and butter to eat and did her best to get me where I needed to be when the roads and weather were bad.

I never saw my mother perform but as a young girl she was skilled and talented at "elocution" something I greatly enjoy. She played basketball and was athletic. She told me not to stop using my talents because she regretted letting some of her talents go, disappear she thought. This had happened because of her focus on her husband and family. When I left home she had cared for children for 35 years. Her comment is about balance - a constant challenge for all women. How much do we give to others? How much to ourselves? When does giving to others have us lose ourselves? How long do we postpone our own talent development? These are still questions I struggle with.

Tomorrow, I wish I could sit down with my mother and talk to her and tell her how much I love her. I would tell her how much I appreciate the loving example she lived and the path she set me on. I have a happy family, a close and intimate relationship with my husband, deep and close relationships with other wonderful and spiritual women, confidence in myself and my abilities, career success, many rewarding talents and most important of all things, a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I have these many blessings, very much because of what I learned from my mother. The older I become, the more I realize this and have come to appreciate how very much she sacrificed for me and how very, very fortunate I am.

Transitions

2007-03-27T14:01:00.000-07:00

I like to run in the morning when the world is just turning from night to day. On a day not too long ago, I was having such a run and there was also the feeling of misting just before a rain. The air was fresh and clean and it had the wonderful feeling of spring – the first day of spring. Ah March – a time a wonderful transition. It made me reflect on the many important transitions that had occurred for me in March and caused me to think about the nature of transitions.

Some are wonderful, some not so wonderful. Some are planned and predictable – changes that you invite, marriage for example. Others are not. They come as a surprise or as a part of circumstances that you can’t control, like a move or an illness. Some like a child going on a mission are predictable in the event but unpredictable in our response to it. When some are happening, you know something is happening and it is important but it is not until after – sometimes years after, that you recognize how whatever it was that changed, changed your life. It is about these that I will focus on.

My first big March transition happened when I was eight. My family moved from living in Lethbridge to living in Scandia. I had adjusted well to Lethbridge. I was taking ballet and piano lessons. I was good at both and had won an award for the most promising dancer. I went swimming in the outdoor pool and skated in the indoor arena or on Henderson lake. I had learned how to ride an adult sized bicycle and could ride by myself to Gordies Grocery and buy 1cent bubble dubble bubble gum. I could go to movies Saturday afternoon, riding the city bus and could enjoy the only building that had air conditioning.

I had lots of Mormon friends and I loved going to Primary. The chapel was new and spacious. I got an award for being the best student in Sunday School class. I was baptized with about 20 other kids. It was the baby boom and I was in Mormon southern Alberta. My school was a brand new school where the desks matched the floor tiles (pink and green or yellow and grey). My teacher, Mrs Leonard, was young and beautiful and I felt that she liked me especially. The most important thing was that I felt like my friends really liked me and that I was kind of the centre of any threesome that happened.

When we moved to Scandia everything changed. The first day of school made that clear. Jenny Lind School had four rooms with grades from 1-12. I was in the 1-3 grade class. My teacher, Mrs Narum was old and her first comment to me that I remember was about my report card. With my classmates standing around she said how terrible it was to give a child so many high marks on a report card. Three students were my age. I don’t remember very much except being surrounded by them on the Monday of the second week and challenged about the fact that I didn’t go to church. I said I did and they said I didn’t. You see they went to three different churches – Lutheran, United and Catholic and I wasn’t at any of them. I told them I was Mormon and I had gone to church. It was clear to me that I was different and I had to figure out how to fit in.

There was no roads to ride bikes on, no easy circle of friends, no swimming pool and church was in the school in Rainier. Luckily there was one other girl at church – Merle Caldwell. The following year three communities amalgamated their schools and Merle and I went to school together. Years later when my manager at Alberta found out that I was Mormon, he thought that it must have been good training for being a consultant because I must be used to being on the outside of every group. He was pretty much right. Our family was pretty much on the outside because of being Mormon.

The next big March transition happened when I was 16. It was the month that my mother had her first and very serious heart attack. It was classic – 5 years after menopause. She was 55 years of age. I was going to High School in Brooks and was very very busy. I was on student’s council, on the Social Committee. We were responsible for planning dances and the fashion show. I was on the Intramural Council and intramurals were big – some kind of activity every day and often on week ends. I was the Stoney house league leader and we won the participation award at the end of the year for the most people participating. I had learned really well how to drag people out to things. I was in drama, on the volley ball, badminton and track teams and had one boyfriend after another. I had figured out flirting. I stayed in town frequently with all of my activities including once a week for Young Women’s (MIA or Mutual). I didn’t do much homework but I pretty much only took what was easy for me anyway.

My Father had spent a couple of weeks in the hospital in Lethbridge getting the tendon in his thumb reattached. It had been severed while castrating a calf the summer before. Herb was at home but Mom did a lot of the chores that Dad had done. She lifted bales and carried 12 , 5 gallon buckets of grain to feed the animals. I have no memory of what happened about her actual attack. Either I have blocked it out or it was not something that anyone talked about and I was wasn’t home. In fact I have no memory of her hospital stay.

When she came home of course, she was to do nothing but rest. That was so hard on my mother – work had been what she did and who she was. She had taken care of us all. No one asked me, but I could see that the house was up to me now. Week-ends were hard work – washing the clothes in a wringer washer and hanging them on a line. Cleaning the whole house including the stove and washing and waxing the floor on hands and knees. There was ironing on Sunday and making Sunday dinner. I wanted to take care of everything I could so that Mom wouldn’t feel so bad. She was so sick and getting up to eat often made her cry. I didn’t know what else to do but do the work to show her I loved her. Now I wish I would have taken some time to talk to her or read to her but then I didn’t know about doing those kinds of things.

It was a hard time and things never really went back to how they had been. She was always sick – always did too much and got sicker. Her quality of life just continued to deteriorate until her final heart attack 12 years later. She never did adjust to a limited capacity and all I could do was try to work faster and harder so she would have less to do. I saw how sick she would be after my sisters and their families came to visit. After I was married, I would try so hard to make our visits as easy as possible on her – making the meals, cleaning the house etc.

The next March transition that I want to talk about was the move to Calgary from Edmonton. Financially we were in serious trouble. My consulting business was flat after two fairly abundant years. Andy had moved to a job in the non profit sector that he enjoyed but pay was not covering the mortgage. We had marriages, missions and university to help pay for. In short there was a lot more money going out than was coming in and we needed out.

A job sort of fell from heaven but it meant moving from Edmonton. We had to leave our beautiful big wonderful house on the park. I had to leave my very very good and close friends – Ruth, Laura, Brenda and Sue. As painful as this all was, the worst part was we had to leave family. Sam and Gillian had already left home, on missions. Gillian was married. It was leaving Greg that was almost unbearably difficult. He was my baby boy and was still in High School. He had been the one who had taken care of me when I was sick with Anne. The bond with him was different and emotional and he wasn’t ready to leave. He wasn’t moving on to begin his life as an adult at school or on a mission. It just wasn’t the right time but there was nothing to be done. We had to go and it is impossible to describe how hard this was. And Calgary.... Well everything was different. That is what change is about. Of course it is different.

When I compare the three stories there is much to reflect on. I have learned a lot from all three situations. I think I am a stronger and more sensitive person because I experienced the injustice of discrimination as a child. I had responsibilities in our branch of the church at a very early age that strengthened by testimony and my understanding of consecration. I experienced the freedom of rural life and the simple pleasures that are a part of that.

I certainly was under no delusion of what it meant to be a wife and mother when I got married, as a result of my mother’s illness. I grew up at a young age in relation to that learning. I can’t say that all of my learning about taking so much responsibility has been an entirely good thing however, for myself or others. The process of unlearning some of this has been hard and will likely last the rest of my life.

The last transition feels like the hardest. I could reason that so much was lost – family, house, traditions, and even identity. I think there is more to it than that, though. The older we get, the more we get locked into expectations and build a comfortable world for ourselves. Change brings crisis and the requirement for new ways of seeing things, new ways of being. When we have worked hard to build the best life possible, this seems so unnecessary and unfair.

The very nature of transition is that we are in a “neutral zone” as William Bridges says. We don’t really know what will be different and how it will all turn out in the end. The simple directive is to walk by faith. That is very difficult when so much of our experience as adults is that it is up to us. How do we balance faith with our own responsibility? How do we keep our selves open to change at the same time we are trying to get some stability. Perhaps that is just all about the paradox - like the more I know the less I know or the "last shall be first and the first shall be last". There are no easy answers just always more questions and with the speed of change there will be more and more opportunities to test hypotheses.

Work at Play or Play at Work

2007-03-04T19:43:00.000-08:00

Holidays are very important to me. Being able to have lots of them is one of the main reasons I have my own business. I have been employed by an organization full time, just twice. Both times, just about the worst thing was having to ask permission to take days off. Its the one thing that I think I share with GenXers - the notion that holidays are a right.

On a recent holiday I did have cause to consider an aspect of holidays that seem to be very important, that is the idea of having fun - of playing. It seems like we have holidays so that we can escape from work and do what we call play. Work is the necessary thing and play is the enjoyable thing.

Well on this particular two day holiday, my husband, 12 year old daughter and I went skiing. The first day, at Sunshine. Sunshine brags about the amount of snow that it has, guaranteeing knee deep powder. I have never really thought about why they named the mountain "Sunshine" before but since 4 days out of last 5 visits were almost total whiteouts, I think it is to create an irrational but positive view of the ski experience there. Our last day was a typical "Sunshine" experience. Wind, snow, and cold that made us shiver and cover our bodies, including our faces with as many layers as possible. We huddled on the lift, tripped in the drifts of snow, and generally felt like Arctic explorers on some of the runs.

It must be remembered that I am 54 years old, my husband is 58 and we are skiing with a highly competitive risk taker whose only desire is to whizz at great speed down every run. Stopping to rest down an arduous run, with the wind cutting my face, and watching a lot of other skiers over bundled like myself, a question occurred to me. Is this fun? It must be or at the very least we all must have an incredible sense of hope that it will be fun. You could argue that when we all bought our $60 tickets for $5.00 off in Calgary that we didn't really know what the conditions WOULD be. We did however know what they COULD be and we still made the choice to go.

The second day at Lake Louise, the weather was much better. Lake Louise has more snow this year than they have had for years. It was only cold some of the time which only meant that we skied like crazy people. Run after run after run until my legs were screaming and I again considered the question. Was this fun or was it just some kind of mild to mad torture? Was this play? If we had more money, more time - were less committed to work and church would we actually choose to do this more?

Okay change the thought. What about work? There are times when work is by far more fun than skiing. When I am with a group, teaching something, considering some difficult problem and I am on a roll..... coming up with ideas, stories, examples - making them think, laugh, feel deeply....That is fun like no other thing that I experience. It feels so much like "play". I have a book called "Flow:The Psychology of Optimal Experience by Mihaly Csikzentmihaly(I defy you to pronounce the author's name)that talks about the nature of the experience rather than labelling it as play or work. It is about finding joy in what we do. Cool.

I never saw my parents have much fun. They relaxed at night watching TV but the certainly didn't play when I was growing up. I was surprised when my father played the harmonica once. I didn't know he knew how. I was amazed when he came swimming once in Radium (on the one holiday I ever remember taking) and he did a cannonball and just about emptied the pool. I was also fascinated with the idea of my mother doing elocution and playing basketball when she was young. Those pastimes were just as it says, in the past time. We played Rook a bit as a family but other than that the "fun" or "play" was pretty individual.

Most of what I considered fun or play had to do with sports. I curled in junior high. I skated on ponds and at the outdoor rink in the winter. Tobogganing on the river hills was kind of like the skiing experience - more like survival. Baseball was huge in school in both elementary and junior high. Training for the track meet was also something that I spent hours and hours doing.

Swimming in irrigation ditches was standard summer fun. My brother Herb taught me how to dog paddle when I was five and considering that only the canal was deep and the current so swift that all you had to do was float with the current pushing you until it was shallow, it was amazing that I learned to swim at all. The smaller ditches had moss covered "drop-boxes" that were like slides, whipping you down into sandy bottomed, though shallow whirlpools.

Waterton picnics brought the opportunity to swim in a heavenly pool with crystal clear, warm, water. And of course the tallest slide on the playground ever. My Dad would push me on the swings sometimes - grabbing my legs when I got really high. Those were the days of ridiculously tall swings where you could be pushed higher than children can even dream of now. The swings had boards for seats so you could stand up and pump to go really high by yourself. There were also giant merry-go-rounds and really big teeter totters.

Sometimes when I am skiing or doing some other sport that now seems to hurt more than please my body, I wonder if I should train more. Perhaps it is just that my body is not up to the challenge as it was. Maybe if I "worked" harder, I could lose myself in the fun of sport again. Perhaps it is just "play" that needs to be relearned. Maybe I have forgotten how. That relearning sounds too much like "work" again doesn't it. On the other hand maybe it is something that is just gone - a something from a past time no long a pastime. Maybe there shouldn't be the distinctions between work and play at all. Maybe it is just about joy and there are no boundaries or definitions that make any sense. In that case I can stop thinking about it and go to bed. Goodnight.

Love Was All Around

2007-02-21T21:00:00.000-08:00

I have a beautiful bouquet of red roses on my living room table. There are 13 to be exact. I am not sure why roses come in "baker's dozens" but this bouquet did. This bouquet was a bit of a surprise but certainly an appreciated one. Both of us have been feeling pretty stressed and overloaded of late. There has not been much time for romantic thoughts or time together. As I was admiring the flowers, I started to think about this whole love and marriage thing and what it has meant to me. Its funny how defining our experiences as a child can be.

My parents certainly gave me the opportunity to learn about love in marriage. When I think of how much they loved each other, one core image is ever present. I see them wrapped in a passionate embrace, (usually in the kitchen, it was where my mother was), sharing a long and deeply romantic kiss.

We had a picture in the family album of them kissing like that. The picture was taken when they were probably in their late 30's or early forties. The picture was black and white and so the tones were muted and soft. They were standing on a hill and there was just a bit of a breeze. You could tell that from Mom's dress and hair. The embrace was perfectly choreographed. My father was lithe and strong. My mother, slender, fitting perfectly in my father's arms as he held her close. The picture of that embrace, that wonderful image of romance and the feeling of deep and abiding love that it brings are forever part of me.

These demonstrations of love were frequent, so much so that my friends could not help but also see them. If not kissing, just holding hands while they watched TV. At least three friends commented on how lucky I was. They had never seen their parents kiss or even sleep in the same room. Another friend just recently said what a difference being in our loving home had made to her. It was the only experience that she had of happy family life as a child. I realized, how I have taken it for granted.

There were other ways that they showed that they loved each other. They were always together. Mom spent very little time in the house or working in the yard. She was so often with Dad - going to town, feeding the cattle, doing the chores. We were frequently left alone since when Dad went to Bull Sales or on other business, Mom always went too. That was okay. It didn't ever bother me that Mom and Dad loved each other more than us.

What a difference it has made to me - this example. I have been blessed to have a wonderful and loving friend and companion for almost 35 years. We too have passionately kissed in the kitchen. We have not been able to work and be always together but have stolen time together whenever we could. Late night shopping at IGA, picking up kids from lessons,Sunday afternoon naps and especially (for me anyway) jogging in the morning.

When I left home to go to university, my mother said that she hoped I wasn't offended but that she was looking forward to just being with "Daddy". I wasn't, and as much as I love my children, I look forward to just being with "Daddy" too.

I was just thinking........

2007-02-12T16:24:00.000-08:00

I clearly remember where I was and what I was doing when I first began to think about thinking. I was four years old. I know that because I was sitting on the couch (chesterfield as we called it at home)looking out the window at my Grandmother's house that was across the street. We lived up on the east hill in Cardston, not too far from where my brother in law lives now. It was a windy day and I was thinking about how I would like to go outside and run around the house. I didn't because that would be bad to do. Children who did that got whooping cough. I noticed I had just moved my arm and it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't really know how I had done that. How did I make it move? I had also been recently wondering how my cat Snowball, a big white Persian , could think. She couldn't talk and thinking obviously needed words.

I can remember clearly some of the things my mother would say and wonder what they meant. "I wish these flies were in Halifax" What sort of a magical place was Halifax? "That oatmeal will stick to your ribs" Did it really? Was the inside of me a big empty space where some food stuck and some didn't? " You're a better door than a window." This one really bothered me. I would be dancing in front of the television while the whole family was watching and someone, usually my father or my brother would say this. I had no idea what they meant since I was neither a door nor a window. I just didn't know and it annoyed me. It seemed that everyone around me knew everything. I didn't like not knowing, not understanding.

I asked a lot of questions. Having had a child that fascinated me by asking questions that I had no absolutley no answer for, I can understand somewhat the frustration I must have been. My brother's response was usually the same. I would ask why about something that he was doing and he would say "Oh just something to make little girls ask questions." The worse part was that he never would answer me. If I would ask him the time, he would hold up his watch to my face and say " Its this time." I couldn't yet tell time which leads me to wonder why I cared so much what time it was. I was no older than seven.

The importance of good thinking was more than an under the surface value in our family. It was an explicit standard of performance for all of us kids. When I asked what I should wear to school one day in grade 1, my mother replied that she didn't care. I could wear what I wanted. I replied, stamping my foot,"Daryl's mother tells her what to wear every day". My ranting was to no avail. I had to decide. My Father was not always so pleasant about his encouragement to think. He had more creative ways to compare us to dumb animals when were driving cattle, than I care to remember. We were chided to use our brains not our brawn. When we made mistakes, the feedback on our behaviour was "high IQ, low application".

This emphasis on thinking was also manifest in the lack of instruction on how to do complex tasks. It was a struggle to figure out how to harness my pony Prince to the cart by myself. There were so many buckles and straps. Probably the best example of this, "figure it out for yourself", was learning to drive a standard transmission. In my case it was the farm truck with an on the column shift. I was either 15 or 16 and wanted to be able to drive anything that could ever be available. It was summer time and the truck was parked close to the back door of the house.

Our drive way angled back toward the lane. There were trees on one side and a small irrigation ditch on the other. The driveway curved just a little and if you weren't careful and went straight you would hit the bunkhouse. It was critical to stay on the road because the final challenge was to not hit trees on both sides of the driveway where it entered the lane. Past that point all you had to do was turn and head down the lane. Of course if you didn't manage that, there was the corral to hit.

I knew all of this when I asked if I could learn to drive the truck. My Dad said yes and handed me the keys. I replied," Aren't you going to teach me?" To which my father replied," Hell no, I'm not getting in with you. You've seen me do it before." Well I did manage to find reverse, back up in great jerks and finally got the timing of using the clutch. All pretty stressful though.

So lets see...... Thinking is about using words, making decisions, understanding what others say and figuring out how to do things. The most important thing though to me is that its about figuring out what things mean, knowing the right answer.

Well now I teach thinking. I lead groups of very intelligent people through a learning process that has them become aware of the power of their assumptions. They identify their values and become aware of how their values impact their decisions. They explore their perceptions and how they draw conclusions about what the behaviour of others mean to them. They learn to ask questions of all sorts which incidentally most people find really hard to do. We talk about the power of context - all those factors that are part of the situation or problem. We become more aware of the fact that there is no reality, just perspectives that need exploring.

My experience with this whole set of skills is unfortunately that it doesn't make life particularly easier. I warn them that after the course they will be more annoyed by poor thinking and that the world will have even more shades of grey. They will make more informed decisions but making the decisions will not be easier. It will likely take more time and be in someways more painful. The worst part is the fact that there will be fewer right answers.

You see, knowledge is tentative,conjecture. It is our best hypothesis in the moment until something about the current context changes. What we can know with reflective effort is our own perspective. This is always value laden, personal and contextually driven.

A recent experience brings this all into very clear focus. My third daughter just had a baby. In the days preceding this event, I read much of book about the history of birthing. It tracked birthing practices from the middle ages up to the present time. I read about my time - the seventies. It spelled out clearly where the context of drugless, "natural" birthing practices had come from. I learned where they fit in history. It was not hard to understand. My mother's generation had been completely sedated for labour and strapped down. They woke up to find out what baby they had.

I don't know that my mother had that experience. "It wasn't something we every discussed." All I know is what I had experienced. All my friends had babies the same way and after each birth experience, we compared the ups and downs and intricacies of our labours. Giving birth was, as one of my daughters described it , initiation into "the club". There was a feeling of understanding and sharing at a visceral level of an experience that is as intense and life changing as no other. Although we couldn't really share the experience or know how it was for someone else there was a kinship in the having been through it.

My own daughters live in a different context. Epidurals are the norm. Pain is possible to remove from the birthing experience entirely. To do otherwise is the oddity. Now armed with this new information about the contextual nature of birthing practice I had a new lens to process the birth of the latest grandchild. I had become over the last few years less willing to judge and interested in this change. What did I think about it? I wasn't sure. I couldn't help wondering whether it really was a good choice. I was a child of the sixties after all. Would it be the same as baby sleeping positions. What was absolutely right in the seventies would become absolutely wrong in the 21st century. Would new research about epidurals eliminate the practice or had the experience of birthing changed forever? I really didn't know.

I was surprised then, when a feeling of absoute sadness swept over me as I learned of the epidural. It was intense and deep and took some time to consider. What was my emotional response about? What did it mean? What did I think? As I considered this I realized at first that it was about not being able to share what was one of the central experiences of my life with someone who mattered a great deal to me. I did not understand the experience that she had had and it felt as though she could not really understand mine. But, it was much more than that.

It was about the sharing of all experience across contexts. It was about the value of my own experience and the nature of wisdom. Wisdom has been something I have cherished and longed to develop. I have long been aware of the paradox," The more I know the less I know". I am even more sure of the truth of that now. In this era of constant and ever increasing change, the shelf life of knowing is very short. Everything must be tentative because the context changes so quickly. What are universal truths and what are out dated prejudices? What are best practices and what are just habits?

I guess things haven't really changed for me. I still want to be better at thinking. I need to be better at identifying the context and understanding its impacts. I need to become faster at understanding how my values are shaping my perspective. I need to be better at sharing my perspective in a way that people understand that I view my perspective as just that, my best guess at the time. I need to be become more skillful at and more open to experiencing vicariously the perspectives of others. The bottom line is that I need to become comfortable with taking action that is not based on knowing but is based on being open to possibilities.

Well thinking is still about using words, making decisions, understanding what others say and figuring out how to do things. But even more than before, it is about figuring out what things mean and considering what the best answer is at the time, knowing that there may not ever be a right answer.

Its all about dress-up

2007-02-11T13:35:00.000-08:00

Today was Sunday and a day to dress-up. Yes , I mean it in both senses of the word. I do mean to put on "dressy" clothes and also in the sense of wearing a costume. I realized that every day of my life (and that is only a mild exageration), I have planned the night before, what I will wear. I remember doing this in earnest in junior high and high school but I am sure the practice began many years earlier. You see I think that what dress-up is, in the Sunday sense of the word, is only a bit removed from the game of dress-up that was my passion as a child.

I would have to say that there is nothing that defined me more as a child than dress-up. I wore bright red lipstick to church when I was four and gypsey scarves to school when I six. The latter behaviour must have become an imbedded gene as I had a child who at four wore stretch pants on her head. There was a dress-up room, a never used entrance, in our house at Boundary Creek ranch. There I kept my beautiful curtains that I draped around myself and stored the high heels that made every exotic outfit complete. I dreamed of having high heels that fit. My mother bought me a pair of toy ones ones once. It was a dream come true. They were hard plastic and really just a sole that fit on with elastic straps. They were beautiful with sparkles imbedded in the plastic. Being the '50s, and the plastic industry very new, they were brittle and lasted only for two days before they snapped in two. I was broken hearted.

The dress-up venue changed when we moved to Lethbridge. I had a whole unfinished basement to fix up as a play house. The costumes were consistent, still the curtains although now being taller I could actually use old dresses of my mothers and older sisters. The game expanded to include friends, Laurie Maxwell, Connie Johnson, and Marlene Selman. In Scandia, it became solitary once more with no interested companions and finally was replaced when I went to Junior High, with wardrobe planning.

This brings me back to my original thought, that dressing up is really just about playing dress-up as an adult. This week-end has been a case in point. In mulling over what to wear to church today, I considered the new yellow cotton blouse with a beige and grey hounds tooth skirt and a grey jacket - kind of a country business look. Decided against it. Skirt too uncomfortable and somehow it just wasn't right. The weather is snowy so wearing my new elegant black boots with long toes and high heels with a thick cozy green wool turtle neck would be a relaxed comfortable look and feel. Problem is I didn't feel like being approachable today. I'm in a quiet, reflective, introverted mood so I opted for the highly intimidating black on black look. It was hard core dramatic sophisticated and designed to scare people away. Black jacket, skirt, boots, turtle neck with just a dash of colour - a splashy blue scarf I got from a supplier for Christmas. I figure that if I wanted to soften the impact I could make the first move and smile and talk. Otherwise I would be left alone. I think it worked pretty well.

Friday was the Sweetheart's ball. I opted for Romance. A soft gauzy ruffly almost transparent beige blouse with a sophisticated long black skirt and my gold stiletos. A new look for me. I had rejected the sparkley sophisticated clingy top with a low neck top I had worn last year. Just not what I wanted to be. I considered a gold brocade jacket but it's formality didn't reflect my escapist mood - too much like work or mother of the bride. The blouse was perfect. I felt almost transformed - soft doey eyed, fragile..... .

I now know that really I am still playing dress up. All those nights at Scandia that I spent hours trying on outfits to decide on what to wear the next day were not expressions of insecurity but of escaping into the world of make believe. In front of my mirror I could try on ways of being, exploring what and who I wanted to be. Did I want to be the artist, the professional, the jock, the good morman girl, the trendy Twiggy in a mini. So many possibilities. All I had to do was decide and figure out how to make them work.

The question that I have now is, "why do I have such a limited cast of possible characters". Take the retro look for example. I tried on two retro dresses on my last shopping excursion at a consignment store. One was a pretend early 20s velvet. Interesting but pretty wierd on me. Maybe just too much like a costume. The other a sparkley early 60's shift and jacket. I couldn't help thinking that maybe someone would think I wasn't retro and that I hadn't really left the 60s behind. I have daughters that can pull off all kind of looks from retro to artist,and even high fashion, New York New York really well. I often just feel kind of pathetic. You know how you feel watching a really bad amateur actor that you just feel sorry for because there is nothing really believeable about their performance. That's how some looks seem for me. I just can't believe them.

Maybe its that when you pretend to be something, you have to want to be it. I wanted to be a Gibson Girl for my wedding and it would have worked for me if my hat would have been right. I wanted to be a medieval princess for high school graduation but couldn't find the right kind of tapestry brocade. I settled for the Classic Vogue and felt okay in my beige crepe blouse and long velvet wraparound. No one else had anything close. I can really pretend to be a high powered business woman in a suit. John T Malloy would be proud. I like to pretend to be a cowboy, a runner and a pioneer. I try to pull off being a skiier and I would dearly love to be able to be a mountain woman and a dramatist. I could do those with more money and more places to play the role. I can sometimes feel close to getting it right. I almost always feel pathetic trying to be cool, trendy, and sexy however. Well, maybe, after all, it does take more than wanting it and getting the costume. Maybe I should take that clown course or improv class I've been thinking about and increase my acting skills after all.