Tournament of Hearts

There was a lot of energy in the air - pulsating, and alive - at the recent Scotties Tournament of Hearts that was hosted in Calgary, and we had second row seats, close enough to smell the ice and occasionally, hear comments from the players. Curlers are generally a gregarious lot, and when I sat down, I naturally greeted the woman beside me. I was surprised with her annoyance - she seemed offended by having someone sit beside her. You could feel a cold wall being raised between us. No conversation, no sharing, no opportunity for commarotary. 

That’s probably a good thing because I don’t think I could have resisted asking her about her rings: her bright blue metallic nails could not detract from the multiple rings she was wearing - at least one on each finger, even her left thumb. I wanted to ask her their significance, the story associated with each - she obviously valued them, showcased them. Unlike her, they were all delicate and whimsical, many having a variety of small stones accentuated by diamond chips, piled haphazardly, twisted, the flesh cushioning them like they were never removed making her fingers look even thicker. No engagement ring. A lifetime of stories and events for all to observe and I want to hear them all.

Instead, I focused on the games - four sheets of ice, four games, one being televised and projected on the big screen.  I discovered that I could watch three games - not the far sheet unless it was the one being televised, but it was possible to watch three simultaneously, and I found it riveting. Regardless of the woman beside me, I was with a community of curlers and we were unapologetically committed and enthusiastic, moaning and groaning with missed shots, and exclaiming appreciation and applause for the good ones, of which there were many. 

Hockey may be the official winter sport in Canada, but curling has a place in the Canadian psyche - in our hearts. Having grown up in an age when girls weren’t allowed to play hockey - hard to believe the objections that justified it - I don’t have the same appreciation or love for hockey. While it is a fast paced game with hard hits, curling is a battle of patience - a tight tension between strategy and execution on an ever changing ice surface. Curling is a sport of contrasts: the elegance of the delivery juxtaposed with the brute force required in the brushing. It’s a sport of intense but polite competition - no jeering - where you get to throw rocks, yell - sometimes scream - but in the end you shake hands, and win or lose, you get a drink. A very civilized sport. 

But curling is also compelling because of its aesthetics - granite and ice are a beautiful pairing. Just saying “ice” mimics its qualities: hard, cold, ancient, with its subtle yet distinctive smell, and the sound it makes whether it is underfoot, or under a skate’s blade, or best of all, the slow and melodious harmonies of granite traveling over it. It’s not a mere sound but more of a song, slow and complex, and when curling rocks hit, collide with force, they emit a resounding crescendo - a roar. 

Perhaps the ancient caveman part of my brain recognizes that roar because it certainly responds to it, recognizing the sound of ice pulverizing granite as the great ice sheets retreated. It resonates with me: ice and rock, rock and trees, trees and sky, sky and stars. Connection. Simple connection, primal and perpetual. 

And curling is a reminder of this connection, a connection that pulls at our hearts, making this event truly a tournament of hearts.

Never underestimate the power of a good pair of boots

The moving truck was a beast with a steering wheel so large that it made me feel like a child. I could see over it — barely. My toes could reach the brake and accelerator, not the floor. 

The rain fell in sheets. Oh the joys of parenthood.

When my husband’s job was relocated to Calgary, our child was entering her second year at U Ottawa. “She’s not being left behind. It’s a five-hour flight instead of a five-hour drive,” my husband reminded me. 

“I’m good, Mum. After this year, I’ll be doing co-op jobs in the summer. I’ve got this.”

We made a commitment to her: “If you want to come home, we’ll fly you. If you need us, we’ll come to you.”

To demonstrate this, I booked plane tickets as soon as I heard she planned to move apartments. Though, if I'm being honest, it was as much to ease the ache in my own heart as to help her.

It was a complicated move: the kids had to vacate their apartment at the end of the month, but couldn’t move into their new apartment until the next day. 

The plan: load the truck, park it overnight and move in the next day. They saved $40 by picking up the truck at 5:00 pm. Why pay a full day’s rental when they could load in the evening? 

I bit my tongue and reminded myself not to be a critical mother, but I was concerned. Things can go wrong.  

And they did. When we showed up to the rental office, there was no truck. It had not been returned. No smaller truck, not even a minivan was available. One option was offered: “I can give you a 26 foot truck right now. It’s yours if you want it.”  

I hesitated. There was a distant rumble of thunder. 

“You drove a tractor as a kid…” my daughter reminded me.

I smiled at her weakly. Parenting her has been a joy, and a challenge. I called her my Border Collie kid: if we kept her busy she was wonderful. If not, she chewed the furniture.

She has always kept me on my toes, but she’s 19 years old now. I sighed and thought, “I’m getting too old for this.” 

But parenting is about being a role model, overcoming fear. Like a recent birthday card I got: “Sometimes you’ve got to put on your big girl boots and prove that you can use the pointy end.” 

So I agreed. I was going to kick that beast of a truck to the curb and tame it. How could I expect my daughter to manage, if I couldn’t step up? I’m an Albertan now, so let’s “giddy up.” 

But as I hauled myself up into that beast, I noted that 26 feet was bigger than I realized - wider than her street. The rain started. I checked my mirrors, turned to my daughter and quietly said, “Fuckin’ hell, Eliyah.”  

So much for being a good role model. She looked over and grinned.

Five hours later, we were wet, tired and hungry. But my adrenaline was running high. 

The loading was the hard part. I managed to back into the driveway — a 10-point turn — only to discover the grade was too steep for the truck. Everything had to be carried to the street. My daughter and her roommates did it without complaint even as the rain intensified. 

In the downpour, we unloaded again at the new place in 30 minutes. These young women were impressive. 

One test remained: the truck needed to be topped up with gas. Those concrete barriers really do protect the pumps! No damage, and no F-bomb.

As I drop off the rental keys through the night slot, relief washes over me. I didn’t fail her. My ache is gone.

It’s evident that my role is changing, and this is merely the next phase of parenting. We may have our bumps, blind spots, and a few ten-point turns, but we will maneuver it. We have a truck-load of memories, experiences and love. The rear-view mirrors show a parent-child relationship, but in the road ahead we’re adults. 

A road of discovery: she’s figuring out her future and so am I. On the days that I’m overwhelmed and scared with this unexpected life change, I remind myself that I need to be a strong her her sake, as well as my own.

Thankfully, I have “big girl boots” - it’s evident that my daughter also has a pair. I’m sure she will show me a few fancy steps. And on challenging days, we’ll both prove that we can use the pointy end. 

Mum’s eulogy

I noted Mum’s passing but didn’t include her eulogy. I used some of the ideas shared when she passed, and did my best to honour her.  Jane Kops shared the quote at the end in her card to me. It seemed to resonate with people.

Mum’s eulogy - Shirley Christine Robertson

I introduced myself, Melanie Southern, the youngest, the baby of the family. A term I hated but it doesn’t sound so bad now…

I’m here to day to celebrate with you the life of Shirley Christine Dustow, nee Robertson. A woman of who found solace and strength in her faith. 
A woman who had many roles and relationships - wife, mother, sister, teacher, grandmother, great grandmother to name a few.
And a complex woman who had many facets, and an abundance of talents.
A woman to be admired.

Mum was born in 1931 - in the depths of the Great Depression - The Dirty Thirties. 

The Depression years were terrible by all accounts and the stories of deprivations and want are horrific. And although Mum would reference want and scarcity - she desperately wanted a doll with real hair for example, she chose, as a whole, to share with us the happy times. We heard such stories as, 

- grandma Robertson never having points on her scissors because the kids used the tips of the scissors to shimmy open some garret door where the walnuts were stored. They spent many a happy hour cracking nuts and eating them. 

- Mum had a kitten that she fed with a bottle.

- She had piano lessons and loved to play. She and Aunt Emma had singing lessons and they would sing together - and I imagine they were good!

She had fun: she would well up with tears of laughter as she retold a particularly intense spit-ball fight. This shocked me - my mother shot spit balls?
and kick the can. There were a number of tall tales related to this beloved game. And Crokinole. She loved games - you get in honestly, Teresa.  And Mum was a very good winner.

And intertwined within these stories and reminiscences, it was evident that she showed resilience and fortitude - she had a fun childhood regardless of the economic situation. 
And Mum turned into a very fetching teenager. 

One photograph in particular is quite memorable - she is wearing a cute outfit that I thought was a summer short outfit only to be told that it was her swim suit. And then there is the winter photo of her in a skirt  and the little ankle booties - great legs. 

She loved clothes, didn’t she? And she could sew… she made beautiful outfits for herself and her daughters. The hours she spent pouring over pattern books and fabric whether at Schaefer’s or Dutlers in London!

She always had a sewing project on the go. Susan reminded me of the risk you took walking across the living room carpet. It was like navigating a mine field. You never knew when you would step on a pin or needle. 

As I said, Mum was fetching and stylish and it was no surprise that she caught Dad’s eye at a plowing match.  But that attraction had some help. Supposedly, Grandma Dustow had a birthday party for Dad and invited uncle George with the instruction to bring his younger sister Shirley along. Some birthday party.
Mum and Dad were married in 1951 - on Halloween, no less. I was incredulous as a kid when I asked Mum how they could have married on one of the highlights of a child’s annual calendar of celebrations. I mean, Halloween was close to Christmas in a child’s celebratory scale.

Yes, they were married on a Wednesday, Halloween and immediately drove to Florida for their honeymoon. They got out just in time, as a huge snowstorm descended upon Goderich the very next day.  Not many people went to Florida in those days, and it was certainly a remarkable honeymoon, and an early indicator of Mum and Dad’s love to travel.

As a new bride, Mom liked to tell the story of her first harvest as a married woman. She was making a meal for all the men. Grandma Robertson came to help and brought along an Aunt much to Mum’s dismay. Mum made a roast beef - for lunch no less, and had an array of food and pies made and at the ready. She was 20 years old - maybe 21. 

The women were in the kitchen and the back kitchen, if you remember the farm house, was set up with tables to feed the gang.

The story goes that all was going well, the roast was done to perfection, and the kitchen was overflowing with food - so much so that the pies had to be stationed on a bench.

I’m sure Mum was feeling a sense of pride as she lifted the roast out of the roasting pan. 

This pride turned to dismay as the roasting pan with all its drippings and gravy crashed to the floor. 
Grandma didn’t miss a beat. She quickly began to scoop up the gelatinous mess and stated, “Your floors look clean.” 

Laughter ensured.

In fact, it was so uproarious, that Grandma so overcome with laughter, she had to sit down. 
On the bench. 
On the pies…

There was one less pie served that day, and in Mum’s retelling of this story, she noted that a knowing look passed between Mum and Dad as she asked him with a smirk, “Would you like some gravy, Gerald?”

She showed grace and resilience at a young age.

I’m sure she mourned that pie because I’m sure it was a thing of beauty AND Mum loved sweets. 
In her mind, Dinner was something that you had to get through in order to get to dessert.  In her younger days, Mum made desserts with abandonment! Gingerbread houses, chocolates, Bundt cakes, squares, tarts and pie, to name a few. 

I remember in particular her pride and the care she took in making meringue. Her lemon meringue pies were a thing of beauty. Do you remember the meringue drop cookies she made with peanuts that still had their skins on?

One Christmas, she made a Pavlova that was a thing of beauty. I didn’t fully appreciative it as a kid. I remember being disappointed as I’m not a big fan of meringue, but I did appreciate how impressive this cloud of a dessert looked. 

And while I don’t care that much for meringue, I did love her pies. Her shredded apple pie with a strudel topping was one of her favourites to make. Her rhubarb pie was tart but Fred loved them… On occasion, she would make a pecan pie. 

But I believe Mum’s favourite dessert was ice cream. She often said that whoever invented ice cream deserved a place in heaven. Both Mum and Dad loved ice-cream. There was always ice cream in the freezer growing up, and we had a lot of it. It was sometimes plain, or between waffles, fresh strawberries and ice-cream in June, and ice cream floats all year round.

Now here is the secret for making a good float that I don’t want to be lost with Mum: 
Mum showed us that you need to cram the glass full of ice cream so you could only add a little bit of pop at a time. When you ran out of pop, you added some more. It was a delicious and rewarding process.

I’m sure Mum gave the person who invented ice cream a big hug in heaven. 

They should have bought shares in Baskin Robbins. I remember one visit there in particular - I was in school studying in London, and they invited me out for ice cream. Of course, I was directed to order first, and while I ordered a single scoop, they ordered banana splits and triple scoop sundaes. I felt so foolish with my little stinking scoop of ice-cream. What was I thinking? 

Yes, they lived large. No single scoop would suffice for them in life.

Nothing was done in half measures when it came to their dreams and goals. When they travelled for example, they made sure it included whipped cream, sprinkles and a cherry on top. And they travelled far and wide. 

I wished they had added some sprinkles to their day-to-day life but you can’t have ice cream sundaes and banana splits every day. 

To be accurate, Mum’s double scoop ice cream sundaes came in the form of her children and in particular, her grandchildren. They were her joy that surpassed anything Baskin Robbins could scoop up. 

In summary, Mum is to be admired.

She was born in the Depression - at a terrible time in history 
She was born in a terrible time for woman, in my opinion. Yes, woman were considered “persons” in that they could vote (thank you Fab Five), but opportunities for women were so narrow and restrictive.   
In 1951, the expectation was for a woman to have a clean house, look good and have well behaved children.  On the farm, women were expected to manage the hen money, and manage it well. 

But by the 60s, that ideal was blown out of the water, and by the 70s women were ordered to burn their bras, and get out of the kitchen. 

Well, Mum was already out of the house - knee deep into managing the farm and the pig operation by that time. She managed something like 200 sows and the farrowing aspect of the operation. Hen money be damned, she was a business woman.

What is remarkable, is that she had to navigate these different eras with all their conflicting expectations with few role models or supports. I mean, Gloria Steinman, although admirable, was not particularly relatable on the farm. 

I believe societal expectations grated on Mum. She had so many talents and interests and abilities that being boxed into one category or another were too limiting for her. She was an independent thinker, and had strong opinions. No one was going to define her. 

I saw in my mother, the soul of an artist and with that came a heightened sensitivity and passion. You cannot play a piano liked she played without being finely tuned yourself. 

Remember the great care she took in creating her music worksheets for the school children? 
Yes, she had 6 children and taught music - at one point she taught 2-3 days a week -
Yet she spent hours creating beautiful worksheets for her students. They were filled with elves carrying half notes to the staff, or the work sheets were embellished with all kinds of flowers and embellishments. 

I already mentioned here artistic endeavours baking, and sewing but she made flower arrangements and Christmas center pieces using greenery and candles that were stunning to say the least… She dried flowers and spent hours in the garden. She gave great thought to decorating  and went to great lengths to add beauty to her world. 

Janet reminded me that Mum was ahead of her time. She cut out the flowers to make a live edge… 50 years ahead of her time… 

And with all the demands and work on her time, I admire that she still found moments to nurture her inner artist - her essence.

Like everyone of us, she had her strength and weaknesses, quirks and flaws and idiosyncrasies 
but look what she lived through.  

Look what she accomplished. 

So many memories and the impact she has made on us and lives of many others.  

Mum lived large. Mum and Dad lived large. As noted, they didn’t limit themselves to a single scoop in life. They went for the ice cream sundae banana split extravaganza in many aspects of their life.  
So, if you have been single scooping as of late, I encourage you to embrace Shirley and Gerald. Dream big. Plan and strategize to make those dreams and aspirations come true. And when life derails you, dust yourself off, evaluate and make adjustments as needed. 

But keep dreaming, keep planning, keep curious and what ever happens, keep nurturing your inner essence.  

You have a good role model in Shirley. 

So I bid adieu to Gerald and Shirley.  And end of an era, so to speak. How do you put that into words? 
I’m going to use the words of Canadian author Anne-Marie MacDonald from her book, As the Crow Flies. Here is her perspective:

"When a parent dies, a planet disappears, and the night sky will never look the same again.  It doesn't matter how grown up we are when we lose one.   And when both are gone it's as though we are permanently without a kind of roof  - invisible shield, first line of defence between ourselves and our mortality, gone."

A real Canadian winter

Happy New Year. What will 2023 hold… For the short term, it’s going to hold winter and I plan to embrace it regardless of the change in latitude and altitude.

I’ve always tended to enjoy winter - a snowy landscape is beautiful and from my perspective, if you’re going to have months and months of winter, you might as well embrace it. In grade 8, for example, I bought my first pair of cross-country skills from Canadian Tire with my own money.  In some respects, it was a rebellious act. My parents hated winter with a passion, and I remember that I was half supported and half ridiculed when I bought those skis.  My parents didn’t stop me from buying them, but they were filled with disbelief. Let’s face it, they worked outdoors and in my memory, they didn’t invest in good winter wear. Dad had thermal underwear but he wore rubber boots year round. In the winter, you simply wore wool socks, added a felt layer to the bottom of the rubber boots and wore layers.

But to fully embrace winter, you need good outer wear. I love a good winter coat and feel it is a good investment. It is the one thing people will see when you are out. You could be wearing PJs underneath, but who cares if you have a good coat. 

A Canadian winter however, requires a variety of coats. Here is my breakdown. 

I thing 15 C is a perfect temperature - maybe not for the beach, but it is comfortable and you can do things.  It means you need a jacket but not a winter coat - a trench coat suffices, or a denim jacket. I love layers and a light sweater or a “shacket” (shirt-style jacket) works. 

Winter by degrees:

Once you hit 10 degree C you need some added warmth. My go-to coat is this light boiled-wool coat by Hilary Radler. I like to wear a scarf and sometimes a hat if its windy.  It has a detachable inner layer, but the added layer doesn’t add enough warm so I generally leave this coat at its single layer. Boots tend to be either Fry or Doc Martins. I have a variety of scarves to wear over top, such as this grey mohair option. So simple and easy. 

This coat has served me well but is showing its age. I bought it just before I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, but I can’t give it up yet.

 

Between 5 C and freezing I may switch to this light-weight this puffer coat (Michael Kors). It has an inner and outer zipper. I often wear it with just the inner zipper closed, and only zip up both on colder days. Sometimes I wear it with a silk scarf, or on colder days with this toque and cowl. But it fits easily in a suitcase and is a good option for “just in case” weather.

What I don’t like about this jacket is its lack of a two way zipper on the bottom. Obviously, it was made for people with very long torsos (unlike myself) and if I’m sitting, I would prefer to have it zipped open at the bottom. Add a pair of boots, such as Blundstones, and I’m set. 

Once it gets close to freezing, I don’t hesitate to wear this light parka. This parka has been a bit of a disappointment. I had it made specifically for me and they “upgraded” the cashmere wool to a finer cloth. This was a mistake. The wool is more like a suit jacket weight, and it is not very warm. The hood is wonderful - the two layers and the trim keeps my face well protected . 

Once it is colder than -5 C, I add the puffer jacket underneath or an extra sweater layer. I do love the knee high winter boots that go with it (Goose Prima). After only 5 years, the coat is showing wear. I expect winter coats to last longer than that, but this one will not.

Once it’s -10C I move to the serious parka - my new Moose Knuckle coat. It is an investment but it is warm and very functional and I love its different pocket options.  It is a slim fit and I had to select size L in order to have room for layers underneath so it goes to my knees. And let’s face it, I don’t imagine I’m going to drop significant amount of weight in the future. 

 I also bought of a pair of Wind River winter hiking boots that are pretty amazing. Most of the trails are snow packed and these give me good traction. 

When it’s -15C or colder, I add a snood (Outdoor Research) to keep my face warm with this parka.

Once its colder than -20 (and I recently experienced -34 C) I added snow pants. The dog has his own winter wear! Because rain or shine, freezer temperatures or not, this bundle of energy needs a walk. He may only get one walk instead of his normal two each day, but needs to get out and burn off energy. 

But Canadian winters are unpredictable, and recently, when it was a high of 7 degrees, I simply wore this vest over a sweater and mittens. 

 

It felt freeing!

And then there is the sport specific gear. 

Curling and skiing all have different jacket needs. Below is a well used but very old Columbia jacket and pants. They have served me well, and expect I’ll need an update in the near future. The obligatory Sorel boots are in the car just in case in stuck on the side of the road. 

So in summary, six options for a Canadian winter and I’m still in desperate need of a 7th. My next goal is to get a good wool topper coat for dressier occasions - Ideally in camel. I tried on an alpaca coat many years ago, and still dream about it. It was so light and instantly warm.

So more coats are anticipated in the future… It’s good to have goals, and smart to have winter coat goals so you can easily embrace a Canadian winter.

Happiness - thoughts and actions

Happiness - what is it and how do you enhance it?

I had a good discussion regarding happiness with a friend last night. It has been a topic that I have given a lot of thought to recently. I’m very aware of ensuring my happiness as I’m in a new stage in my life:

• I’m in a new province without a social network. 
• I’m not working outside the home so I don’t have that intellectual engagement and social interaction. 
• And lastly, I’m in mourning - my Mum died last month and I have two sisters who are ill and experiencing significant cognitive decline. 

So I recognize that I need to be conscious of my happiness. Based on my experience, happiness is not a passive outcome. You have to be conscious of what makes you happy and take ownership of your own happiness. No one, no situation will give me a lasting sense of being happy. 

So what actions do I take to create happiness for myself?

Physical activity is very important to me. I did hot yoga last month and now that I’m in a new home surrounded by trails and woods, I’m having some particularly lovely walks with the puppy. These walks are a source of joy. 

I need to enhance my social network. The plan is to join curling as a spare in January and meet a variety of people. Similarly, I’ll join yoga here at the residence centre and look for different activities and learning opportunities where I can meet people. 

That being said, I plan to make a greater effort to connect with loved ones be it through Christmas cards, texts, emails, or social media posts. I’m blessed that I have the means to fly to connect with those I love. I’m using this blog as a means to connect, as well. 

I also need intellectual stimulation to feel happy. I recently read the book, Sapiens: a brief history of humankind by Yuval Noah Harare. It has been very thought provoking and engaging. The premise of the book in three  sentences is below: (full summary follows on this page: https://jamesclear.com/book-summaries/sapiens)

Human history has been shaped by three major revolutions: the Cognitive Revolution (70,000 years ago), the Agricultural Revolution (10,000 years ago), and the Scientific Revolution (500 years ago). These revolutions have empowered humans to do something no other form of life has done, which is to create and connect around ideas that do not physically exist (think religion, capitalism, and politics). These shared “myths” have enabled humans to take over the globe and have put humankind on the verge of overcoming the forces of natural selection.

Sapiens also discusses happiness briefly. It acknowledges and provides scientific studies that illustrate psychological needs that all animals need (including sapients). But the section of biology I found interesting and a perspective I hadn’t given much thought. Biologists believe that our mental and emotional state is governed by biochemical mechanisms shaped by a complex system of nerves, neurones, synapse and various biochemical substances. “Lasting happiness comes only from serotonin, dopamine and oxytocin.”

Furthermore, evolution has moulded us to be neither too miserable nor too happy. Our bodies like consistency and our human biochemistries is compared to an air-conditioning system that keeps the temperature constant. Events might momentarily change the temperature, but our internal systems returns things to the same set point. 

This helps explains why there are the “Eeyore” personalities in our social groups (Winnie the Pooh character). Human happiness systems differ from person to person. Like an air conditioning system, some of us have a high set point and others have a low set point. On a scale from one to ten, some people are born with a cheerful biochemical system that allows their mood to swing between levels of six and ten, stabilizing in time at eight.

Other people (Eeyore) have a gloomy biochemistry that swings between three and seven and stabilizes at five. The book describes this person as remaining depressed even if the person enjoys the support of a tight-knit community, good family supports, doesn’t want for money and has good health:

Indeed, even if our gloomy friends wins $50 M in the morning, discovered the cure for both AIDAS and cancer by noon, makes peace between Israelis and Palestinians that afternoon, and then in the evening reunites with her long-lot child who disappeared years ago — she would still be incapable of experiencing anything beyond level seven happiness. Her brain is simply not build for exhilaration, come what may.

Biologists as not presented as fanatics, thankfully. They maintain that “happiness is determined mainly by biochemistry, but they agree that psychological and sociological factors also have their place.”

But happiness is also paradoxical. Any parent will attest to the moments of drudgery involved in raising a child - diapers, colic, repetitive children’s TV, rebellious teenagers, etc. Yet, children are often our primary source of happiness. I remember being exhausted at the end of the day and then gazing at my baby and feeling thrilled and filled with joy. 

In summary, if happiness is based on pleasurable feelings, then increasing our happiness is a matter of increases biochemical release. If happiness is based on meaning, then increasing our happiness is a matter of deluding ourselves about the meaning of our lives. Perhaps it is one reason why an afterlife is often prevalent in different religions.  If there is an afterlife, it gives meaning to your present life. 

I tend to embrace Nietzsche who noted, “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”

Interestingly, Buddhism has studied happiness for over 2,000 years. Buddhism shares many viewpoints on happiness with modern science. Most notably, that happiness results from processes within the body and not from the outside world.

The Buddhist philosophy of happiness centres around the idea that you are not the events that happen to you, but you are also not the feelings you have. You are not your feelings. They are just feelings. Thus, if you understand this, you can release the needs to keep chasing the need to feel happy or to not feel angry or to not feel sad. In short, you have to understand yourself. 

Again, Sapiens is a wonderful book that is engaging, thought provoking and yet is accessible. 

Where am I now?

Since I cannot change my biology and its set point, I can ensure that my psychological and sociological factors are managed so I can create/ maintain happiness. So I have two options based on Sapiens: 

1. Seek pleasant experiences  

With this in mind, and my own understanding of myself, I will continue to exercise and try new sports and physical activities (serotonin, dopamine and oxytocin?)

Creativity is an important element in my happiness so I’ll be nurturing those aspects and opportunities, as well. I started knitting again, and goodness knows I have lots of fabric to make a number of quilts. I’m going to keep with the approach of trying new things and I’m looking for new creative outlets. I just have to remember that it is the process that provides the happiness, not necessarily the output.

My home life has always been key to my happiness and we just moved into a lovely house, and I’m in the process of creating a warm and supportive home environment to support me and my family. The puppy is also an element of a happy home and although he takes a lot of effort, he is a wonderful little support too. He gives my days structure and he is a joy - something the entire family shares. It’s much nicer giving my daughter updates on the puppy rather than asking her how her studies are going.   

I now have a beautiful and well appointed kitchen so good food will continue to be a priority and a means of pleasure. I made muffins today. I haven’t made muffins in years!

Learning opportunities will also be a priority. I plan to join a hiking club, and enrolling into an area of study. Mental engagement is key. And I need to write. I plan to continue to add posts, and I also have a series of stories I want to write for Eliyah - more on that on another post. 

2. Create meaning in my life (or as noted in Sapiens, delude myself that my life has meaning) 

I recognize that working in libraries gave my life a degree of meaning. I knew my actions were making life better for the community I served and staff. I took particular pleasure in engaging and supporting staff and creating an environment where people could thrive. 

Generally, I worked with interesting and multi-talented people. I don’t have that anymore now that I’m technically retired, and I’m ok with this. But I also understand that I cannot go from such a demanding mentally engaging job to doing nothing mental.  Writing is one strategy to keep mentally engaged. 

But work was not the only thing that gave my life meaning. I will continue to prioritize my family and relationships. Being a loving and supportive wife, mum, friends, sister, etc. Healthy relationships have given me great joy and support. I want to continue to have a good relationship with my husband and daughter. My extended family dynamics are changing once again - Mum died and two sisters have significant cognitive decline / illness. All family members are now far away. Michael’s parents are declining and I know it weighs heavily on him but I am comforted that his sister lives close by to them. 

Other opportunities to give my life meaning will come up, I’m sure, and in the meantime, I plan to join curling and other activities to increase my social network. I’m blessed with enough money that I can fly and see beloved friends and family — I need to schedule those, not just assume they will spontaneously happen. 

I will look for ways to add to the many different communities that engage me, and develop my why, as noted by Nietzsche.

Butterfly of happiness

And while I say happiness is something that you must create, I also believe that you cannot be in a constant flurry of activity as a means to achieve it. You can’t always be striving for it. You need periods of quiet and calm in order for the “butterfly of happiness to land on your shoulder.”

Many of us can remember moments of peace and quiet so often associated with happiness:

• The utter sense of peace after a significant snow fall. The quiet is a gift
• The peace and joy you can feel in an art gallery. I have my special destinations at the AGO and ROM for example
• Watching a camp fire

Excited about the future

In closing, I’m excited about what the future will hold. I look forward to this new stage in my life. Getting here has been a lot more difficult than anticipated. Change is hard. Michael and I are entering a new stage in our marriage and it’s feeling very good. Our daughter is growing and creating her own life and being part of it, albeit in the peripherals, is exciting and hopeful. I also believe that this may be the most creative period of my life. I’m open for new opportunities and trying new things. 

So here is to happiness - creating it, finding it, enhancing it and sharing it. 

Next post: Winter in Alberta…

Mum’s passing

Mum passed away yesterday. 

I have so many feelings and memories that keep bubbling up since I heard the news that I’m trying to focusing on good memories and things that were quintessentially Mum. Like some of the following:

Mum loved music and received great joy from her piano. 

 

Clothes: Mom liked to look good and appreciated rich fabrics and colours. 

Sweets and desserts of all kinds: Dinner was something that you got through in order to get to dessert.  

In her younger days, she made desserts with abandonment! Gingerbread houses, chocolates, Bundt cakes, squares, tarts and pie, to name a few. I remember in particular her pride and the care she took in making meringue. Her lemon meringue pies were a thing of beauty. Do you remember the meringue drop cookies she made with peanuts that still had their skins on?

One Christmas, she made a Pavlova that was a thing of beauty. I didn’t fully appreciative it at the time. I was disappointed at the time as I’m not a big fan of meringue, but I did appreciate how impressive this cloud of a dessert looked like. 

And while I don’t care for meringue, I did love her pies. Her shredded apple pie with a strudel topping was one of her favourites to make. Her rhubarb pie was tart but Fred loved them… On occasion, she would make a pecan pie. 

But I believe Mum’s favourite dessert was ice cream. She often said that whoever invented ice cream deserved a place in heaven. Both Mum and Dad loved ice-cream. There was always ice cream in the freezer growing up and we had a lot of ice cream floats.

They should have bought shares in Baskin Robbins. I remember one visit there in particular - I was in school and they invited me out for ice cream. Of course, I was directed to order first, and while I ordered a single scoop, they ordered banana splits and triple scoop sundaes. I felt so foolish with my little scoop. 

Yes, they lived large. No single scoop would suffice for them in life.

Nothing was done in half measures when it came to their dreams and goals. When they travelled for example, they made sure it included whipped cream, sprinkles and a cherry on top. And they travelled far and wide. I wished they had added some sprinkles to their day-to-day life but you can’t have ice cream sundaes and banana splits every day. 

In the end, Mum’s double scoop ice cream sundaes came in the form of her grandchildren and children. They were her joy that surpassed anything Baskin Robbins could scoop up. 

So this evening, I’m having ice cream in Mum’s honour. I cannot have a double scoop - I didn’t inherent her stomach, but I will savour it. And in my mind, I’ll be sitting at the Baskin Robbins table, sharing ice cream with Mum and Dad once again. 

Hot Yoga

In the spirit of trying something new, I joined a hot yoga studio called HotSpot. Going into a hot room - approximately 38-40 degrees Celsius is reported to have inherent benefits including greater flexibility because your body does not have to warm up. 

Going into a hot room never appealed to me in the past, but the studio is right around the corner and as mentioned, I’m embracing change and being open to new things.

Upon entering the hot yoga room, it was immediately evident that “hot yoga” is a misnomer. I would have called it “Sahara hot” as opposed to merely “hot” but the humidity was too high. “Too F-ing hot” also came to mind. I was convinced the room was 130 degrees F and was a bit disappointed that it was 38-40 C. 

At this temperature you sweat. You sweat even when you’re sitting still. When going through the more challenging poses, I swear my eye balls are sweating. I leave with wet clothing. 

Do I like hot yoga? 

Absolutely. I’m going almost daily. My focus has been on the hips class - I want to keep nimble for curling. I also like the “reset” class as a way to stay balanced. I have yet to attend a “flow” class. I’m not sure I could keep up for a full hour of flowing from one move to another, although I successfully completed a flow / reset combo class. The “fire” class terrifies me and I have no intention of checking out that class, but I am working up to a full flow. 

Discoveries?

This practice is very good for my body. I don’t have a new osteopath yet, and I question whether I would have needed monthly treatments if I had been practicing yoga. I feel taller afterwards and more fluid. Tired, as well. Moving and and ongoing change put more stress on my body than I realized. I carry stress in my neck and shoulders and this helps immensely. I had to get new leggings though - the lightest possible, and also a warm coverup for afterwards.

My only criticism with this studio is that they do not offer instruction. I’ve only seen an instructor “adjust” a person’s pose once. In the past, the instructor was always making suggestions and helping people achieve poses. In the past, I reflected on the fact that I had been taking yoga instruction for 3 years, and they continued to adjust and correct my downward dog. 

Another discovery at one of my early classes involved a vivid flashback to my childhood on the farm. It was wintertime and I was bundled up to get to the barn, but upon entering the pig barn, my glasses steamed up and I was assaulted by the heat (and smell). Like hot yoga, it was also humid and you immediately had to start removing clothing due to the heat. So many pigs create a lot of heat and like hot yoga, I’m pretty sure it was 38 to 40  degrees Celsius. 

What’s next?

I’m excited about my home gym in the new house but my vision has changed. Yes, I’ll have my weights and treadmill in the space - I also have secured a bench, but I’m also visualizing doing yoga in this room. It won’t be hot, but I will incorporate subtle lighting with “fake” candles and look for some guided practice. 

So I continue to attest that “hot yoga” is a misnomer, but I don’t have a particularly better name that doesn’t include profanity. It may well be a fad, but I plan to continue to do hot yoga for the foreseeable future.

Namaste