Human Endeavors

While I was in Zermatt,I was repeatedly reminded of the scale of human endeavor through history. Like many, I have forgotten much of what I learned in school. When I saw the Alps, fragments of school learning came back to me. In particular, I recalled that Hannibal had crossed the Alps on an elephant. As an eighth grader, I simply memorized the fact and didn't consider its implications. Two weeks ago, when I first thought of Hannibal and the distances and terrain that an elephant would have had to travel, I was astounded by the implications. What vision could have foreseen that the steady lumbering gait of an elephant could provide footing in the mountains? How were the animals fed? What other logistics were involved? I struggle to imagine elephants crossing the Alps now in 2007 when helicopters ferry goods from base to peak. How could elephants and an army have crossed the Alps roughly 200 years B.C. during the Second Punic War?

Historians still debate Hannibal's actual route across the Pyrenees and Alps. It seems clear, however, that the elephants originated in North Africa and the army is speculated to have included 38,000 infantry, 8,000 cavalry and 37 war elephants. No wonder Hannibal is attributed with the famous quote " We will either find a way or make one."

I visited the Matterhorn museum in Zermatt, expecting to learn more about the 20th century climbers who scaled its peak. I did learn about them but I also learned that in 1985, the glacier released the remains of an armed man dating back to the 16th century. Even with modern footwear and oxygen canisters, the glaciers and peaks near the Matterhorn are treacherous. Yet, 500 years ago men sought to traverse the mountain peaks. Their legacy was captured in glacial ice and now their iron weapons remain.

A display featured pictures of a more modern man. Ulrich Inderbiner qualified as a mountain guide at the age of 25 and actively worked until he was 95. He stood on the peak of the Matterhorn more than 370 times between 1925 and 1995. He died at the age of 104. He wrote: "I live how I climb a mountain, my walk and rhythm is slow and deliberate, steady and determined".

What amazing things we humans can achieve.

"To be more human"

I'm back from skiing in Zermatt. I love mountains and have traveled through many North American ranges. I've been in the Canadian Rockies, the American Rockies, the Sierra Nevada, the Appalachians, the Alleghenies, and even the Ozarks. The Rockies are magnificent. When I drive into one of the National Parks in Alberta (Jasper, Banff, Lake Louise, Waterton or Yoho), I am transported from my everyday life into a more meaningful connection to nature. I feel close to the heavens in these mountains. There is a spirit and strength in the mountains which inspires me. I was curious to see how I felt in the Swiss Alps.

My first impression of the Matterhorn and the narrow valley in which Zermatt nestles was conditioned by childhood reading and Disney. The Matterhorn is iconic. Anyone who has visited Disneyworld or Disneyland knows what it looks like, and the Alps were as I envisaged as a child. My first impression was shattered once I rode the tram and gondolas to the top of Matterhorn Glacier Paradise. At 3883 meters, I was the highest I've ever been on earth. To my right, were some climbers roped together walking over the glacier. As a skier, I walked through a tunnel, put on my boots and skis, and emerged onto a glacier populated by many nations. We were Swiss, French, Canadian, Russian, Moldavian, Italian, Japanese, Norwegian, Swedish, Dutch all united in a passion for skiing. At the end of the first day, I took an elevator through the mountain to a lookout and climbed steps to go even higher.

I felt like I was above the heavens. I was definitely above the cloud cover and as I looked around, I felt infinitesmal. I was just a speck in vast and complicated mountainscape. There was a crucifix on the lookout with words in French, German and English. The translations were not identical but the English words were " To be more human". If being more human means feeling vulnerable while striving forward, feeling small while appreciating nature and God's grandeur, feeling grateful to be alive then I took a small step that day to being more human. But, I may not have understood at all what it means to be more human. All I know is that this was the first of many times during my two weeks in Zermatt, when tears came to my eyes, words failed me, and I felt overwhelmed by the beauty of life, the power of the mountains, and the courage of those who live and die in them.

Peace,
Ginny

Gone Skiing

I'm putting up the "Gone Skiing" sign on my blog. I'm leaving tomorrow for Switzerland and will be skiing for two weeks. I plan on unplugging so I don't expect to post a new entry until my return.

I am so excited about this ski trip. I love the feel of the wind against my face, the smell of the evergreens as I ride the chairlift, the quiet hush of snow falling. I love the little quiver of adrenalin that I feel before launching onto a hard run and the satisfaction when I’ve done it. I love the freedom of movement. I love the sense of being close to out of control but in control when I ski moguls (Oh, no, oh no, oh no… oh I’ve done it!) I love laughing when I’ve fallen in the snow and am wiping the wet stuff off everywhere. I love looking at the mountain cirques and the sky and clouds. I even like it when my toes freeze just enough that they no longer hurt. So, one of the reasons that I'm excited is that I just plain love to ski.

Another reason is that I will be skiing in Switzerland. Ever since I read Heidi as a child, I've been fascinated by Switzerland and the Alps. I love mountains, and Zermatt, where I'm going, is at the foot of the Matterhorn. To make Zermatt even better, there are no cars in town. You take the rail there and then walk, bike or ski (depending on the season). Since Zermatt is at altitude, there is year-round glacier skiing. In October, snow will be falling at the higher altitudes while warm autumn afternoons are still a possibility in town. By going to Switzerland to ski, I am fulfilling a childhood dream.

And, I am excited because I am pursuing another goal - to take my Canadian Ski Instructor Level 3 course and exams (which is an internationally recognized standard). I had planned to take the course last year but wasn't able to finish.

Last winter, I was teaching two university courses and teaching skiing in between classes , and didn’t feel right asking for time off to ski for week so I arranged my year to take the Level 3 course after classes had finished in April. In March, my mother, whose physical condition was never good and had worsened over the past two years, got significantly worse. I initially planned to go see her in the interval between classes ending and my Level 3 course starting, but my brother convinced me it was urgent.. Travel from Edmonton to Florida takes a full day so I went to see her in the first weekend in April, cancelling class on Friday. She was under hospice care but seemed to have several months left to my eye. She was confused sometimes and needed a cane or walker but she dressed for dinner and we went out. My daughters went to see her the following week and she went to the beach club with them on April 5.

I was hopeful, then, that she would last past my course. On Friday April 13, I left the house to pick up another instructor who was taking the course which began on Monday April 16. As I was driving to his house, I received a call from my brother who was on holiday in Florida about two hours south of where my mother lived. He told me that the nurses didn’t expect Mom to survive the weekend.

I skied that weekend and was in constant touch by cell phone. I spoke to my mother on Saturday morning before she fell into a coma. I talked regularly with my brother who had driven up to be with her. He returned to his family on Sunday morning. I headed off to the course on Monday planning to take things one day at a time. We had just started the indoor portion, when my phone rang. My mother had developed a fever and had worsened again. I skied that day, glad to be at Lake Louise, glad to be with others who love life. That Monday night my mother died. My brother said that the funeral would be on Friday and that the family would be arriving in her town on Wednesday.

I told the ski instructor that I was sharing a condo with and no one else on the course. We had driven from Edmonton to Lake Louise in my car, so he arranged for his wife to meet us halfway on Tuesday night so he could have his car and then I would drive his wife back to Edmonton in my car. I participated in the course on Tuesday but my thoughts kept going to my mother. I cried for her when I was alone on a poma tow called “Top of the World” which takes you to the peak of Lake Louise Ski Resort. The view from the top is panoramic and world famous but the tow ride is a bit desolate.

That afternoon, when the course conductor had completed his wind–up, I told my classmates that I would not be able to continue the course with them, that my mother had died and I needed to go. They understood and were supportive and said kind words. I drove home back to Edmonton, caught flights to Florida and joined my family at the funeral. Shortly afterwards, I went back to Florida for a third time to clean out her apartment. Obviously, I was grieving my mother but I also felt the loss of the opportunity to take the Level 3 course.

I was home for two days after cleaning out her apartment when I received an e-mail from the Canadian Ski Instructors Alliance. They were planning a trip to Switzerland to ski in October. It was perfect. One of the things that I have learned through life coaching is that when you experience a loss, you mourn or try to replace what is gone. I mourned my mother but this trip is an opportunity, to not only replace the loss of the course, but, to better it. I have always wanted to ski in Switzerland and the Level 3 course and exams are being given. And so, I am going to Switzerland to ski and there is no doubt that my skiing will be more free, less burdened than it was last April. I am not concerned whether I pass or fail my exams. I love to ski and I love to teach skiing. This is an opportunity to refine my skills in a setting that epitomizes alpine skiing. I will have fun skiing, I will eat pasta on the Italian side of the mountain every day for lunch, I will drink a little bit of wine, I will eat chocolate, I will make new friends. I am happy and grateful for this opportunity. And I'll share my feelings with you when I am back.

Namaste,
Ginny

Musings on musings

I have lots of thoughts today and they seem unrelated, so I'll see what I type as I type.

Musing One
I said yesterday that I want to climb a tree again. I really do. I also said yesterday, that when I was in that tree, I would shout out like Mortimer "clang,clang, rattle- bittle-bing-bang, I'm going to make my noise all day". I really do wish that were true but it isn't. I am an inhibited, shy sort and shouting out isn't something that I do often or do well. I will probably be self conscious enough being up in a tree that the best I'll do is whisper the phrase, but who knows? If the sun is bright, I might speak, shout, whisper, or be silent. I will be happy to be in a tree.

Musing Two
One of my daughters told me yesterday that she has never climbed a tree. That makes me feel very sad. But, when I reflect, it also makes me happy. Think of the new found joy she will experience when she climbs her first tree at the ripe old age of twenty-something.


Musing Three
My dog, Bode, has learned to open the cupboard door to where I keep the garbage. I spent a large part of yesterday and most of the hour that I have been home today, saying "Uh, Uh - No!" and turning my back for an instant to find leftover lasagne on the floor, or a chewed up milk carton, or a broken egg shredded, or slimy lettuce bits. I'm glad that he is learning (just not what he his learning) but I wonder what I am supposed to be learning from this?


Musing Four
Sharing what worries you can make other people laugh. Last week I booked my own flights to Switzerland. Travelocity very clearly stated that I would need to transfer from Heathrow to London City Airport and the transfer didn't cause me to bat an eye as I chose my flights. Once I confirmed my flights, worry set in and to assuage it, I decided to investigate. I googled London City Airport and discovered that it takes between 60 and 90 minutes to get there from Heathrow. No problem, I have 4 1/2 hours between flights. I also learned that London City Airport largely serves the financial district in short hop European flights. A new worry set in. I would be carrying skis, a big duffle bag, and a backpack. Not exactly what the blue pinstripe financial set brings as luggage. Would my skis fit on the plane? Would the check in personnel have the facilities to deal with my duffle bag? So, I called Swiss Air and asked the agent if the plane could handle my skis? I could hear her almost muffle her giggle, but then she couldn't help it, she had to laugh. Of course Swiss Air allows skis on its planes. At least, I asked and now I have one less worry and know that I made at least one person laugh that day.

Climbing trees

At 62, Robert Munsch still climbs trees. This makes me happy. Why? Because anybody who climbs trees knows how to play and I care about playing, and anybody who climbs trees past the age of 12 has retained a sense of child, a sense of their essential self. Plus, Robert Munsch is one of my favorite children's authors, having written I'll Love You Forever, The Paperbag Princess, Thomas' Snowsuit, Mortimer, and many others. So, it is good to know that someone I admire in one respect, I can admire in another respect (and I believe the two are related).

I read that Robert Munsch still climbs trees in an article in The Globe and Mail. The article also states that he likes to cycle and walk his dogs. He says "The good thing is, I have to walk the dogs every day. Once I'm out there I do the rest of the stuff. I've been climbing trees since I was a little kid. I just never stopped. Climbing trees is like climbing mountains, except it's less expensive and they're closer."

Which got me thinking about climbing trees and climbing other things. As a child, I loved to climb trees. We didn't just climb; we made up games about climbing. One of the trees that we climbed tilted precariously toward the south, its trunk was void of branches and there was a crack from the ground to where the branches finally spread. We would time each other as we put our hands in the loamy crack, brace our feet against the tree and scamper up to the branches. Another game could only be played in the spring when the crab apple blossoms were in full bloom. The game was to nestle and hide into a spot entirely covered in the fragrant white blossoms. There would be five or six of us at once in the tree. One person would not climb but would stand a distance from the tree and try to spot us. The last one spotted won.

I recall once when we were playing this game, my brother climbed high into the tree and couldn't (wouldn't?) climb down. I think it was just the two of us playing that day, and as his older sister, I walked away in disgust, sure that as soon as I turned my back, he would climb down. He didn't and started to yell, "Help, help". I ignored his cries. I was embarassed a few minutes later when a fire truck pulled up and firemen helped him out of the tree. We lived by a river and his cries for help carried. A well-meaning neighbor heard the cries, thought someone was drowning in the river, and called emergency services. I was even more mortified a day later when a newspaper article appeared with the headline "What goes up, must come down". I remember this so vividly probably because I felt guilty and embarrassed but I've never thought to ask my brother what his memory of this incident is like.

I miss climbing trees. The trees in Alberta are not suited to climbing the way they are in other places. I haven't seen a child in a tree in a long time. Reminiscing about climbing trees has inspired me to a new goal. The next time I see a climb-able tree, I will climb it. It will be fun looking out at trees to determine a suitable one and it will be fun seeing where I next am when I finally climb a tree again. And when I'm in that tree, I will think of Robert Munsch and Mortimer, one of the characters he created, and will shout out like Mortimer would. "Clang, clang, rattle-bittle-bing-bang, I'm going to make my noise all day".

A grook

I've been getting interesting reactions to my blog from family and friends. Some see it as a way of staying connected to me, even though we are many miles apart. Some see it as a way of getting to know me better and some see it as proof that I'm "losing my mind". After all, I write about the difficulty of feeling what I am feeling. And so, I dedicate this grook written by Piet Hein over 30 years ago to those who don't get how hard it is to really feel:

We are taught to live,
we are
taught to feel.
We are taught to conform and conceal.

We are taught so well
what we
ought to feel
that we cannot feel what we feel.

P.S. Once you start really feeling, you feel quite easily. It is getting past what we are taught so well that is challenging. And calling the poem a grook isn't a sign that I am losing my mind. A grook is from the danish "gruk' , a short aphoristic poem. The term was invented by the Danish poet, mathematician, and scientist, Piet Hein. As an additional piece of trivia, Piet Hein also invented games like Hex, Tangloids, TacTix and the Soma Cube.

Walking the dog

My dog needs to be walked every day. He is energetic and likes to chew, so without a daily walk, I run the risk of seeing something I care about being shaken and bitten. I was busy this week and it was a challenge to carve out the time to take him for a walk. I managed every day to get him out on one or the other of the circuits around the house, but, for me, the walk was something to check off on my to-do list.

Strange as it sounds, I think Bode knew this. We were both business-like on those walks, striding purposefully and not sniffing the grass (one of his favourite things to do, not mine). Today I had time and Bode seemed to bide his as well. We woke in the morning and sat at the top of the stairs. I petted him and talked to him. We went downstairs. He ate and I ate. I let him into the backyard and he was scratching to get back in within minutes. I read the newspapers and talked on the phone while he found patches of sunlight to lie in. I went rock climbing and he napped.

When I came home from climbing, I expected Bode to be full of energy and bounding through the house. He was calm and just followed wherever I went. I did a few household chores with the plan to take Bode on a long walk once done. As I neared the end of my tasks, Bode began to demonstrate his anxiousness for his walk. He looked longingly at the window. If I walked toward the closet, he would jump, hoping that I was heading toward his leash.

Soon enough, we went for a walk. I took a path I never have before. October light streamed through the trees, the leaves on the ground were redolent with the smell of fall, and we crunched our way through the river valley. I felt peaceful and composed - a far cry from the jittery self I was just a few days earlier. I felt happy, and as I walked, I noticed small tears at the sides of my eyes. I've noticed this before when I walk the dog and usually attribute the tears to the wind. But, there was no wind today. I believe they were tears of joy. And I felt joy because I had time to reflect while I was walking the dog. Those moments of just being with myself were enough and I am glad that Bode needs to be walked everyday. The walks are just as much for me as they are for him.

A roller coaster day

Yesterday was a roller coaster of a day. My stomach sank and I was down when I realized that my flights to Switzerland were not booked. I was rattled (it was a shaky old roller coaster) when I was booking my flights. I actually made reservations to the wrong city. I plummeted downward again when I realized my mistake but started a slow ascent once I got a refund and the correct tickets issued.

There were two high points and another low. One peak , when I realized how in-depth and customized to me, my ski training in Switzerland will be, and a second , in the evening when I successfully completed two routes in the rock gym that had stymied me for months. I hit another trough when I came home and discovered an incident with my car. I was glad to get off the roller coaster and into bed.

Today I am reflecting on how I felt during that ride. I am recalling, not my emotions, but the actual sensations I experienced in my body. When I got the news about my flights not being booked, stress flooded me. My jaw clenched and my stomach tightened. I was poised to fight. I was aware of those feelings and took conscious action to release them. I thought I had shaken the fear and stress out of my body but I now believe that I was faking it.

I'm good at faking that I'm okay. For years, whenever I felt overwhelmed, anxious, or on an emotional roller coaster, my response was to mask my feelings and carry on. That's what I did yesterday. I know this because I am no longer frozen and I do recall what I felt. When I made my mistake booking flights, my core felt jittery almost as if it were breaking apart. I didn't like the feeling and rushed, wanting to get the problem solved. The jittery feeling should have been a cue to slow down, not speed up, but I ignored it. I wasn't centered and I believe the mistake I made is related to the disconnection between my mind and my body.

"Pull yourself together" is a phrase used, usually somewhat cold-heartedly, when someone is emotional. I know that I can pull myself together, connect my mind and body through vigorous physical activity. I was anticipating that going to the rock climbing gym would be a good end to the day. I had fun, but the gym was especially stimulating last night. I was with friends, there was good music playing, groups of teens practising for a competition, and a pervasive high energy. While I was at the gym, my energy built instead of releasing. I had that jittery coffee-high feeling again.

I didn't pull myself together at the gym. So, yesterday was a day in which some of the tools I use to keep myself present and centred didn't work as well as usual. I expected them to work and with 20/20 hindsight realize that I wasn't being completely honest with myself. Lesson learned:don't just rely on the tool or tactic (eg. breathing or exercise), check for the outcome. Aaaagh - that sounds too business-like. Lesson learned: be honest with yourself and don't be hard on yourself.

Namaste

Worrying about the wrong thing

I am learning today (for about the millionth time) that it doesn't make sense to worry. I am leaving in a week to go skiing in Switzerland. I have been looking forward to the trip since June and am going with a group of ski instructors. I paid my money in the three required deposits and anxiously awaited the package of information listing the flight numbers and hotel information. As I have been anticipating the departure, I have been worrying about meeting the other instructors in the Toronto airport, who I will sit with, and how sore my quads will be after the third day of skiing.

I learned today that these were the wrong set of worries. I received my package of information yesterday and there was no flight information, so I called the organizer (who is not a travel agent or tour organizer but a superb ski instructor). He told me that his understanding was that I was booking my own flights using aeropoints. I had a second of panic and wanted to act immediately and blame someone else ( I was going for the fight in fight or flight terms) but then took a breath and went to the trusty Travelocity website and discovered lots of affordable flights from Edmonton or Toronto to Geneva. I then took a bath. So now, I am waiting to hear back from the organizer's travel agent and by evening, the problem will be solved.

My thoughts and behavior today are typical of me. I become anxious and worry when something is changing or new. It is the uncertainty that triggers the anxiety. Once something happens, I am fine. I am especially fine if I remember to breathe and be in the moment. I did that today and the problem no longer seems so big. It is easily solved and as usual (for the millionth time), I wonder why I worried.

P.S. This is not the "shoe dropping" that I worried about in my last post. I am still going skiing in Switzerland and I am still happy. Or...if this is the "shoe dropping", it's not a big deal because I can pick the shoe up and put it back on.

Fear and happiness

I woke this morning feeling uneasy. I am scared, and I don't know why. I've been asking myself why. Is it because I have a day full of meetings tomorrow? Is it because I have essays to grade and I'm worried that I won't have them done when I told the students I would? Is it because I'm leaving on a vacation in ten days and my pattern is to set artificial deadlines, cram a ton of work in, and then be ready and relaxed in advance? Is it because I started to watch a television show last night that brought up ugly memories and associations?

The truth is that I am afraid because I am happy. I am one of those people who don't trust that happiness will last. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. I've been considering this possibility for a week, thinking of the phrase in the William Blake poem,"He who binds himself to a joy, Does the winged life destroy".

I am not one to bind joy but I am one to second guess it. Martha Beck describes someone like me in her book Finding your own North Star:

"Those who grew up in chaotic, unpredictable environments (children of alcoholic parents seem especially vulnerable) aren't comfortable with the peaceful, bountiful steadiness of Square Four. They don't know how to stroll by the still waters, and they often end up destroying their very own promised land"

Martha offers some ideas on how to keep this from happening:

1) Don't hoard your toast - By this, she means don't cling desperately to all the good things that are coming into your life. This isn't a particular challenge for me (with one or two possible exceptions). The image that keeps me from from clinging to joy is that of squeezing toothpaste too hard. Squeeze too hard and splat, the paste is wasted and all over the place. Not a pretty image but it works for me.

2) Be overwhelmed by joy -I hope that I can do this, especially when I am in Switzerland skiing in two weeks. Martha's comments, on why this is hard for some people, ring true for me. "You learned never to show anyone how much you wanted something, or let people see how thrilled you were to get it. Most of us believe that overt demonstrations of either desire or fulfillment are deeply unwise, that they leave us frighteningly vulnerable in both personal and professional settings, that they attract sharks. " She goes on to say "you're going to experience a lot of good things. Celebrate them. Comment on them, frequently. Tell people about your reactions to both success and failure." Phew - I feel less guilty already about some of my posts that describe the fun I am having. And I really do intend to ski with joy.

3) Be here now - This is huge for me. Too often I have "lived" in the past or the future. I am happy now with a tinge of fear. That is all, and that is okay. Even as I write, I become more present and those vestiges of irrational fear evaporate. Martha quotes a version of a Navajo prayer-chant called "Beauty Way" in Finding your own North Star. It helps a lot.

"There is beauty before me, and there is beauty behind me.

There is beauty to my left, and there is beauty to my right.

There is beauty above me, and there is beauty below me.

There is beauty around me, and there is beauty within me. "