Connections

Today is American Thanksgiving. I wrote earlier in the week about the sadness I felt creeping in as the holiday season approached. I let today evolve. I was conscious not to push myself to do something, anything to stay busy. If I had worked non-stop today, I would not have been true to the emotions I feel within me. I needed a day for quiet and a day of connecting to family and special friends.

I had an early morning latte with a friend, and then was quiet most of the morning. I taught at the university but other than that, no television, no radio, no books or magazines, no computer to stimulate me. The quiet soothed me and by mid-afternoon, I felt ready to connect with the world. I picked up the cordless handset and was about to dial one of my brother's number, when the telephone rang in my hand. It was one of my daughters calling to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving. She's been having a good week and it was a pleasure to talk to her unexpectedly during the day.

I then called my brother. He was just finishing his Thanksgiving meal and described in detail how he basted the turkey and how the turnips didn't turn out quite right. He was excited to report that he has new skis. Weirdly, his skis are the same as mine - longer but the same brand and model. If this had happened in childhood, we would probably have argued over who was the better skier. (Actually we did have that debate when we last saw each other in the summer, but didn't go there today. Some childhood frictions are like the Energizer Bunny; they keep going and going. )

My other daughter phoned while I was waiting for the pizza to be delivered. She was also calling to say Happy Thanksgiving and we chatted about the work in her lab and the snow in Ottawa.

I then talked to my other brother. His children had performed in a play last week and he recounted his feelings watching them on stage. THE REMEMBERER tells the true story of Joyce Simmons Cheeka, a Squaxin Indian girl who was chosen as the "rememberer" for her tribe. It was her duty to pass on the stories, history, and wisdom of her people. In 1911, Joyce was forcibly taken from her home and sent away to a government boarding school. The play tells the story of her patience, humor, and curiosity as she forms a bridge between this new world and the world of her ancestors. My niece played Joyce and her older brother played Joyce's grandfather who passes on the role of "rememberer" to her. I spoke to both my niece and nephew and we talked about the play, whether they had read a book called "The Giver" by Lois Lowry, and how their sports (basketball and ski racing) were going.

It has been over six months since I last saw my niece and nephew but I still felt connected to them over the phone. Perhaps, it is because the little I know of the play THE REMEMBERER, reminds me of another holiday when I read "The Giver" for the first time. Neither my niece or my nephew had read the book but they both knew of it.

For me, "The Giver" is a story much like the "Velveteen Rabbit" though it is written more like a parable than a bedtime story. Both describe the pleasures and pains of living a real life. "The Giver" is about a twelve year old boy who is singled out to hold all memories of pain and pleasure, while the rest of the community exists in a grey numbness. A favorite section is when the boy asks "The Giver" for his favorite memory.

Jonas felt the joy of it as soon as the memory began... he could smell things cooking, and he heard soft laughter. A golden haired dog lay sleeping on the floor... a small child went and sat on the lap of the old woman, and she rocked him and rubbed her cheek against his...

Jonas hesitated."I certainly liked the memory...I couldn't quite get a word for the whole feeling of it, the feeling that was so strong in the room."

"Love," the Giver told him.

Jonas repeated it. "Love". It was both a word and concept new to him...

"I liked the feeling of love", he confessed..."I can see that it was a dangerous way to live"

"What do you mean?"

Jonas hesitated. He wasn't certain, really, what he meant. He could feel that there was risk involved but he wasn't sure now. "Well," he said finally, grabbing for an explanation, "They had fire right there in that room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace. And there were candles on a table. I can certainly see why those things were outlawed.

"Still," he said slowly, almost to himself." I did like the light they made. And the warmth".

Not all connections are love; but all love is connection. Whether it is a young Native American building bridges between the past and present, whether it is a story about how life is meant to be lived in colour, with pleasure and pain, whether it is talking to family members daily or much less frequently, we all need connection, and with connection, we stay real. Yes, there is risk in being real. But much can be healed with light and warmth, and as healing as connection is, love brings even more growth. So, I am going to throw another log on the fire and keep the candles burning.