Aurora

The world is reeling from the news of the massacre at a movie theatre in Aurora, Colorado.  The senseless death of twelve innocent people and the injuries of dozens more, all of whom were simply out to enjoy a movie, is almost beyond comprehension.   The fact, as we are now learning, that the killer must have planned this evil act for months and knew that many people would die by his actions is horrifying.  He left booby-traps behind in his apartment, putting at risk the lives of the police officers he knew would be entering his home.  The horror is intensified because this murderer apparently lived a normal life, had a university education, in fact excelled at college and was at the top of his class, and because he came from a middle-class family -  just like so many people we know and grew up with.  How is it possible for one person to hurt so many people in a calm and planned manner?

 Out of the ashes of this great tragedy, stories are emerging of ordinary people performing heroic actions.  We are hearing stories of people, true heroes, who risked or even gave up their lives to save another’s.  We already know of two men who threw themselves on their girlfriends to protect them, and lost their lives but saved that of their loved ones.  Mothers risked their lives to protect their children.  Total strangers helped each other as the horror played out all around them.  Ordinary people became super heroes.  The strength and compassion of the human soul was in great evidence that night.  That is the important element of this tragedy which we need to remember.  It was not “each man for himself”, people helped each other and in some cases put themselves in harm’s way to do so.  In the aftermath, the world has put a collective arm around the families who lost a loved one, have offered compassion and prayers for those who were injured and have given support to those who witnessed the terror and survived.  Each time another horrific assault like this one occurs, dozens of unlikely and ordinary heroes emerge.  Theirs are the stories we need to remember.

 Rather than lose faith and hope in mankind because of the cruel act of one man, let us marvel at the bravery and unselfish acts of those in that theatre, and at the compassion of so many others all over the world who offer prayers, support and love.  Finding hope, friendship and love in the face of great horror . . . it’s a good thing!

 

The Attic

I was asked recently where my favorite place to go as a child was.  I was instantly transported back to my grandparents’ house and their wonderful attic.  I spent many long summer afternoons in that attic, rummaging through trunks in search of precious (in my mind, at least) treasures I knew I would find.

            Each summer, I would spend a week or two at my grandparents’ house.  It is no wonder I loved going there.  I had the total attention of Grandma and Grandpa all to myself and did not have to compete for that attention with anyone.  There would be wonderful shopping trips into the city where Grandma and I would shop for clothes for me.  I loved spending time with Grandpa in his garden.  What I enjoyed most, however, was climbing up the stairs to their attic to see what I would find that day.

            Their attic was filled with objects gathered over their lifetime, and had many trunks, boxes and containers.  There was one trunk filled with souvenirs from France brought back by Grandma on her many trips there.  There were pictures of Grandma and Grandpa in their younger days.  I found an entire photo album of pictures of Mom and her sister, of cousins and relatives.  The album was an old-fashioned scrap book with black pages and the pictures were held in place with little golden inserts on each corner.  One day, in yet another truck, I found a pair of fur hand warmers which, Grandma later explained, woman would use to keep their hand warms when riding in open sleighs.  I loved the feel of the deep, soft fur and there, in that hot summer attic, I was in a sleigh racing over snow keeping my hands warm.   I came across old passports belonging to my grandparents.  As I held them in my hand, I imagined it was my name on the passport and that I, too, had travelled the world (or at least a good part of it).  I sat on an old rocking chair with the passports in my hand, trying to make out the different names stamped there.  I loved looking through the boxes of postcards my Grandma had collected over the years, mostly from France.  I found notebooks which had belonged to my Mom, the penmanship perfect as was expected from teachers then.  I found many treasures there and my imagination grew with each new discovery.  The items I loved the best, I would take downstairs at suppertime to “show” Grandma, knowing full well she would tell me to keep my cache.  I still have many of those treasures Grandma let me keep and they mean as much to me today as they did back then.

            I loved looking out of the window in the attic.  It looked down on the front yard.  When I heard a car pull in, I would look down from the window and watch the activity below me.  I felt like a queen looking down on her subjects and loved the fact that no one could see me, but I could see them. 

            In a twist of fate, my sister now lives in the same town my grandparents lived in and my grandparents’ old home is within view of my sister’s house.  Each time I visit her, as I drive into her driveway, I look over to the old house and check out the attic window.  It never fails to make me smile as I think of the hours I spent in that wonderful attic and how I watched over my kingdom from that window.  Having a favourite place to remember . . . it's a good thing!

A Healthy Cup Of Java

I love my coffee. Until recently, coffee was considered a guilty pleasure and we were advised to cut back on the amount of coffee we drank (something, by the way, I never did). Well, now experts tell us that caffeine is actually good for us!

Some time ago, I wrote in my column about the health benefits of drinking a glass of wine a few times a week. Now I find there is a great deal of research which proves coffee is also good for our health.

The University of California has done research which proves that drinking coffee can reduce the risk of developing diabetes by 60%! The researchers found this applied to people with normal levels of blood sugar as well as those who have been diagnosed as pre-diabetic. The researchers studies 910 adults over an average of 8 years. How much coffee are they talking? Well, about four cups a day. OK, so I drink a little more than that each day, but at least I don’t have to feel guilty about those first four cups. Studies at the Harvard School of Public Health and in Sweden and Finland all came to same conclusion that drinking coffee can drastically reduce your risk of developing diabetes.

The National Cancer Centre in Tokyo conducted a study of 90,000 Japanese. They found that people who consumed one to four cups of coffee each day had half the liver cancer risk than those who drank no coffee.

Recent studies have resulted in other surprising findings: indulging in your daily java can actually be a healthy habit. It has been shown to enhance athletic performance, increase mental alertness and protect again diseases such as Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s and colon cancer.

I know it sounds too good to be true, but I’m not making this up! Scientists and researchers all over the world are changing their views on coffee. Toxicologist and food-safety expert, Dr. Eileen Madden, told a symposium on coffee and health at the New York Academy of Sciences, “Coffee consumption fits into a very healthy diet, and if anything, may have a beneficial effect” (Who knew there was even such a thing as symposium on coffee and health?).

I love it when something I like to consume is found – by scientists, no less – to be good for you (ok – in moderation, but still).

Drinking wine and coffee because it’s good for you . . . it’s a good thing!

Life's Colours

 

I am a “colour” person and am influenced by colours. I first became aware this was true in one of my very first classes at university.  The class was for first year students to learn how to study. We were taught different ways in which to study, with the idea that we should find the way that worked best for us.  We were told that if we were “colour” people, our study notes would be more effective if each topic or section was written in different coloured ink. In order to decide if we were or were not colour people, the instructor asked us to think how we feel about colours. Do we buy things like notebooks and pens in certain colours because they “make us feel good” or do we just buy these items in whatever colour we happen to grab first? Do certain colours make us feel happy or do colours have no effect on us at all? I knew after answering those two questions that I am a colour person. I definitely bought notebooks, pens, pencils, pencil-cases, and rulers in colors I enjoyed looking at.  It does make me feel good to see colours I like.

I used the “coloured ink” system for my notes and it worked very well for me. By dividing my notes by category and giving each category a specific colour, my brain more easily remembered what I needed to know.  I found that studying for exams was easier when things were divided by colour.  I also noticed that, without realizing it, I used colours I liked on the subjects or sections I enjoyed and that on those I didn’t enjoy so much, I used colours I liked less.   I still find I am influenced by colour today.  Even at work, the items I use everyday are usually in colours I like. For example, I will go out of my way to buy a journal for work with pink cover rather than a blue or black one.

Now, I find there has recently been actual scientific research completed to back up the “colour person” theory. A survey of 600 people was done in which their pill-taking habits were examined. Over 75% of those studied were more likely to take pills if they liked the colour! They also found people were less likely to forget to take their pills if the colour pleased them. When I think back to my own pill-taking experiences, I realize that I too am more likely to remember to take a pill or a vitamin if I like the colour.

So, go ahead and enjoy the colours in your life.  Surrounding yourself with colours that make you happy. . . .it's a good thing!

Father's Day

As I watched my boys with their Dad on Sunday, Father’s Day, I realized once again how important fathers are to their children.  No matter what our age is and whether or not they are still with us, a father’s influence remains throughout our lives.  Even if, like mine, your Dad has been gone a long time, they are never far from our thoughts.  There are often occasions when something happens which I know Dad would have enjoyed hearing about and I think of him in that moment.   I often miss that father’s steady hand, strong love and advice – yes, even unsolicited advice.

            I note that many of my Facebook friends have uploaded pictures of their dad in honour of Father’s Day.  Many daughters have written something about their dad in their status.  There is a special bond between dads and daughters.  You may have your own children and a husband, yet Father’s Day is a little lonely without your own Dad to share it with.  I think part of the reason for that special bond is because to a father, their daughter is always “their little girl”.  No one else loves you in that way.  Sometimes, even if you are all grown up and have your own family, it is nice to just be a little girl and enjoy the love that comes with it.   I think the most poignant symbol of that special love is when a father dances with his daughter as her wedding.  She is a woman, but she is still his little girl.  

            I don’t think I realized how important each Father’s Day was when Dad and I shared his special day.  At the time, I just assumed he would always be here on Father’s Day and I never really thought about that day without a dad.   From making gifts as a child to purchasing gifts as an adult, the years flew by.  Life, it seems, often gets in the way.  It’s good there are birthdays and Father’s Day which cause you to take time to sit back and appreciate the people in your life.  It is important that we acknowledge those people and spend time with them.  Those special celebrations with special people create the memories that comfort you when things change.

            If you still have your Dad, I hope you enjoyed a wonderful Father’s Day with him.  If he is no longer here, I hope your memories of him warmed the day and brought a smile to your face.  Enjoying Father's Day with your dad . . . it's a good thing!

Father's Day Refections

They were cracked and dirty, out-of-shape, and usually had one or two holes. My dad’s work gloves were as much a part of him as were his hands and his laughter. Under the dirt and grease, soot and blood, you could just make out their original yellow colour. They were everywhere: in his truck, in his garage, on the bale stack and in his coat pocket – everywhere he worked. The stains told the story of his labour: dirt from the field, grease from his tractor, soot from the branding fires and blood from dehorning cattle. The rips and tears were created when mending fence. Life for the farmer was one chore after another, and Dad’s gloves were his constant companion. All the years I was growing up, I don’t remember ever seeing a new pair, although surely there must have been.

Some time ago, I saw a picture someone had taken of her dad’s old, worn-out work gloves sitting on a wood pile. She had enlarged and framed this picture. The photographer said this was her best memory of her Dad and that she had taken this picture of his gloves shortly after he had died. I don’t know what happened to Dad’s work gloves. I wish I had thought of taking a picture like that. It’s funny which memories stay with you and how they become identified with that person.

The other day it occurred to me that my son has gloves everywhere as well. He has a pair in his bedroom, in his vehicle and in the garage. I find pairs of gloves by the back door, and out on the deck. His gloves tell of a different kind of labour, but, like his grandfather, he wears them whenever he works. Like his grandfather’s gloves, the stains tell the story of his chores – motorcycle oil, grass stains, and paint and saw dust from his many projects. Although only two when his grandfather died, he has developed the same habit of always having several pairs of work gloves at his disposal. And perhaps, some day - far into the future - when he marries and has children, his daughter will savour that special memory of her dad and his work gloves. Maybe she’ll think to save a pair of gloves and take a picture of them.

If your Dad is still with you to share Father’s Day, enjoy the day and savour every moment. If he, like my Dad, is no longer with us, remember what it was that made your Dad special. Take time to reflect on what it is you remember most about him, even if it is something as simple as cracked and dirty work gloves.  Celebrating your dad . . . it's a good thing!

Bittersweet Day

Last week, I attended my niece’s graduation.  There were twenty-seven graduates and so, as is typical in a small town, the ceremony was a true celebration of each graduate’s accomplishments and each student has his or her moment in the spot light.

The event took place in the same gym where my own high school graduation was held       (more years ago than I care to think about).  As I sat watching the program, I couldn’t help but peel back the years to when it was I on that stage,  and to reflect on who I was then and who I have become.   I remember how excited and nervous we were, my classmates and I.  I also remember that unique mixture of happiness and sadness:  happiness at finishing one chapter of our lives and anxiously walking into our future, and yet sadness at leaving the people we had grown up with and with whom we had spend twelve years in a classroom.  We were a little terrified at setting out on our journey without our paretns beside us.  For all of us, the page was a clean slate and we were convinced that our lives would be exciting, successful and that we would change the world.  I don’t think we actually did change the world, at least not to the extent we envisioned, but I believe that each of us changed our little part of it and that perhaps it is a little bit better because of us.

Looking at this year’s graduates, faces flush with excitement and eyes sparkling, the girls in beautiful gowns and the guys in their suits,  I have no dobut they were feeling the same emotions my classmates felt so many years ago.  As each graduate was introduced and their career plans revealed, I know they felt that same happiness and sadness all wrapped up in one tight sensation.   

This is also always a bittersweet day for parents.  Nothing will be the same again.  Their children are grown up and ready to take on the world.  The relationship between parent and child begins a slow shift at this point which will continue to change and mature over the next years.  It is difficult to let go of the child they’ve protected since birth and to  release them into the world where they are no longer under their control and watchful eye. They feel pride in the young adult their child has become, yet yearn for the small child who counted on them for everything.  This is probably one of the most difficult days as parents. 

There is so much emotion on graduation day.  The graduates themselves and their families are all a little apprehensive about the future, even as they boldly make their plans and chart their course.  The students know their lives are changing and they are leaving everything that is familiar to them and going into unknown territory.  Younger siblings also feel a loss as someone who has been with them their entire lives is now leaving home.  The years of bickering are quickly forgotten as their own world is changing as well. 

I hope nothing takes away the pride and confidence of my niece and all the graduates this year.  I hope all their dreams come through.  My wish for them is that when they look back on their graduation night ten, twenty, thirty or even forty years from now, they will be content in the knowledge that they had a good life and the best of their dreams became reality.

Dreaming of your future and reflecting on your past .. .  it's a good thing!