Winter's backpack

I cleaned out my backpack this morning. I've been using it nearly every day since October. It went to Switzerland with me. It went to Rabbit Hill every weekday since the beginning of December, and it has been to the mountains nearly every weekend. I knew there was stuff in it that I hadn't seen in while but was surprised by what I did find. (Thankfully, there were no month-old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but there was a three-day old tupperware with Friday's lunch residue - yuck but not super yuck.)

I found:
Three pairs of ski mittens
Three pairs of socks
A pair of earrings
My helmet and goggles
My goggles case
A small round tupperware container
A pair of jeans
An extra fleece
A neckwarmer
The electrodes from my boot heaters
My boot heater's batteries
Ski straps
some bits of Christmas wrap
loose change
a pencil
A CD of My Swiss Trip

Cleaning this backpack marks a transition. I no longer need it on a daily basis. I will need it only for the next few weekends and then it will either retire until next Fall or re-purpose into a climbing backpack. I am trying not to feel sad but another part of me says that I should allow myself to feel sad. I hope that part wins. I love winter and I love spring, summer, and fall. It's just that in April, spring really isn't here yet. The snow is melted except dirty clumps clinging to the shade. Brown evergreen needles, bits of garbage windblown through the city, dirt laid down on roads for traction are all uncovered and not yet cleaned by spring rains.

There are signs of spring. If I pull back the withered leaves of last year, I see new Iris shoots emerging from the damp soil. Huddled next to foundations, grass is beginning to green. Children are outside on scooters and trikes.

Winter is the heaviest season. We do need to carry more with us. It is time to shed my backpack and to take down my "Let it Snow" banner. Spring is a time of birth and growth and potential. I look forward to it and being part of it. Begone layers of socks and boot heaters. I will be walking barefoot in green grass soon.

Shoes are poetry

I was at a Hawksley Workman concert this past weekend, and I think he introduced a particularly poignant song with the words "Shoes are poetry". I may not have heard quite right but the song was about shoes, the sad shoes of a shoeshine boy. I think Hawksley is right. Here's my take on shoes as poetry:

Green and brown herringbone Adidas trying to be cool. Jive man, but not quite
Smelly sandals, redolent of summer sand and surf
Pointed stilettos, pointed toes, black and red, what's the image? Nice girl. No
White Keds. Motherhood. Apple Pie
Patterned Keds. Celebrity sources. Advertising at its best(?)
Kids shoes that light up. They know the way.
Black leather boots - whose? They vary so much
Brands, brands, brands
Vans, Diesel, Etnie
Worn at the heel, open-tongued
Polished with spit, covered in mud
Shoes are poetry

So, what does this have to do with living a better life, with turning fear into fun? The point is that shoes are part of how we communicate who we are to the world. Sometimes, our choice of shoes is conscious. We choose to match our outfit, our mood, our clique, our sport. Sometimes we don't have choices. We have one pair without holes in the bottom so we wear them. Sometimes, we wear the shoes even with the holes.

Shoes are only part of how we show ourselves. Marketing convention suggests that the reasons a person chooses a BMW do not relate just to the tangible attributes of the vehicle but also to the psychological benefits. Television programs such as "What not to Wear" play into this aspect. This is all fine and well. My concern is that we not judge each other based on the shortcuts of shoes, clothes, car. Take off the shoes, take off the clothes, strip away regional accents and we are all people. People with the same basic needs. We need food and water, shelter and clothing. We need love and hope and respect.

Over the past week, I have seen numerous people judge each other based on superficial cues. One of the joys of life is meeting people who seem very different from you and then finding connection with them. Heart to heart. Sole to soul.

Labels

I taught a beginner class of skiers yesterday. As I started to move away from the Snow School sign with the group, an adult pulled me aside. "Two of the children are special needs, and lack balance. My husband will stay with the group and help them". I asked "Are you their mother?" She replied, "No, their aide". Walking with skis on for the first time is a challenge for most children. The skis are like big long sticks attached to their feet, and their feet are encased in plastic shells. Many comment that it feels like they are walking on the moon. One of the special children looked up at me as she walked away from the sign with skis on for the first time. "I'm going to have fun today", she confided. I answered, "Yes, you will".

She did have fun and I did too. There was enthusiasm and encouragement for the whole class. On a mere hiccup of a hill, the children practiced sliding their feet into a wedge in order to stop. They listened to instruction and came down in an orderly fashion (or at least as orderly as a beginner class can - there were the expected veers toward the right and the sit down slides to avoid hitting friends). After a bit of practice, we headed to the rope tow on the bunny hill. I provided the usual explanation. "Stand with your skis pointing uphill, put one hand over the rope; then other, letting the rope go through your hands. Hear the buzzing of the rope in your hands and then gently squeeze the rope like you are squeezing toothpaste and let it pull you up the hill".

The temptation to grab the rope and use it for balance while skis are still sideways to the hill is strong. Yet, yesterday, the children resisted the temptation. Some fell during their first try but because they were startled that they riding the tow, not because they were yanked suddenly. I stood behind the boy with special needs. His aide told me that he doesn't have much core strength. I asked if it was okay if I poked his back (which I have learned causes kids to pull in with their abs and stand with strength.) I was told it was okay. I stood directly behind him, with my longer skis parallel to his. If necessary, I would hold on to him as we went up the rope. It wasn't necessary the whole way. I got him started and then gradually slid away from him until he was riding the tow on his own. The aide, her husband, and a parent started to cheer. The boy smiled and said "this is fun". I felt good and felt peace and connectedness. The rest of the class progressed well with all the children learning to slide to a stop and to ride the tow with confidence.

Today I taught another class of beginners. Some elementary schools choose not to identify students with special needs. This is the school's prerogative and I respect it. As soon as we started to move away from the Snow School, I realized that today's class also had several children with special needs. One parent followed us to the bunny hill and observed from a distance. Without the help of aides or parent volunteers, the children waited while I gave the individual attention that was necessary to keep them safe. Some of the children lacked gross motor skills and were not able to line their foot up with the ski to put them on. Progress was slow and, to be honest, my patience waned. I love teaching skiing to children, especially to children who do not often get to be outside and who do not feel the joy and freedom of sliding and the wind in their face. And to be honest, I don't think the children felt the joy and freedom of sliding today. An aide or volunteer or the smaller class size that we would have assigned to me had we known in advance, would have made a difference in the quality of the lesson and enjoyment of the lesson.

Labels can be damaging but they can also be inhibiting. I believe with every fibre of my heart in treating every person I meet with respect and that every person I meet has a role to play in my life. I really felt it was a privilege to witness the children's excitement yesterday when they skied independently. I felt sad today that I was unable to give the same experience to children capable of even more. If differences were accepted, then labels wouldn't matter. Children with autism, children with brain injuries, children with spina bifada, children with two parents, children with no parents, children of the world. Children are children.

Playing chess

I was playing chess with a friend of mine last week, and he asked "how did I learn to play chess?" I really don't remember. I do recall my father teaching me backgammon but it seems that I have always known how a knight moves versus a pawn, king or queen. My friend's interest in how I learned to play chess intrigued me, so I did some research on the internet about women and chess.

Men and boys do predominate the game. Only 1% of chess grandmasters are women and, according to the Chess Museum, "today only a small percentage of players in organized chess are women". Women have played chess since the 19th century and why few girls play and fewer women is the subject of much debate on the internet (which I will not go into here).

Chess is an ancient game. The most widely accepted theory is that chess appeared in India around 600 A.D., played in Persia in 700 A.D. and adopted in Arab culture a hundred years later. There are a lot of variants of chess. The chess that I play is sometimes called Western chess or International chess. Some of the language that we commonly use is derived from chess. The phrase "endgame" reflects the last part of a chess game when relatively few pieces remain on the board.

I associate chess with war tactics. My association has some roots in history. During the middle ages and Renaissance, chess was used to teach young nobles war strategy. Certainly, some war tactics are used in playing a game. I recently used an encirclement strategy while my opponent outflanked me and won.

The learnings from chess are not just about strategy and tactics. Benjamin Franklin wrote an article on the "Morals of Chess" in 1750. In it, he emphasized that chess teaches:

" 1st, Foresight, which looks a little into futurity, and considers the consequences that may attend an action…
2nd, Circumspection, which surveys the whole Chess-board, or scene of action: - the relation of the several Pieces, and their situations…
3rd, Caution, not to make our moves too hastily"

During the game that I played with my friend, I commented that I play chess the way I play golf, which is well, until I lose focus. When I lose focus, I do tend to make moves too hastily. This is exactly what happens to me in golf, in chess, in skiing and in life. So, yet again, I am learning to be in the moment, take time, and take action when the time is right. I enjoy chess more now than when I was a child. Slowly but surely, I am learning and the learning is fun. Vitae Discae.

Changing Seasons

It is March in Alberta and the temperatures are above normal. The snow is melting and the sun is warm. There are only a few weeks left at the ski area where I teach, though mountain skiing will remain open through May. North Americans moved to Daylight Savings this past weekend. The season is changing from winter to spring.

Though I love to ski and have written much about skiing this past winter, I welcome spring. As I walked Bode this afternoon, it was not just his nose that twitched. Mine did too. I smelled spring. Underneath the melting snow, is earth. Pungent, moist. The smells bring me back to childhood, playing near the river where I grew up. The smell is pleasant and evokes the magic of new growth. I noticed tiny buds emerging on shrubs. The grass is still matted and dull brown but no matter, it will green up soon enough. Spring is on its way.

As I drove to the ski hill earlier in the day, I reflected on how I am feeling this year relative to last year. I am happier. There is no doubt. Much has happened in my life since last year but the change is not in the events. The change is in me. I am more accepting of who I am. I realized about ten years ago that I either lived in the past or in future imagining. While I have aspired to live in the moment, it has taken many seasons of change to help me to this point. My happiness is in me. It is not because I am looking forward to a vacation overseas. It is not because my hair is blond, red, or brown. It is not because I am getting a promotion at work.

My happiness is because I now write. I write this blog. I write in a journal. I even write poems. My happiness is because I take risks and pursue challenges and find them both easy and hard. My happiness is because I spend time with myself and time with others. My happiness is because I am active with too many options to do them all. My happiness is because I am alive. Alive to feel the wind on my face, the sun on my arms. Alive to inhale the scent of lemons, cinnamon, and fresh grass. (Alive to be allergic to freshly mown grass). Alive to feel the tightness of an overworked muscle. I am happy in this moment, in this liminal time between winter and spring.

Being. Thinking. Doing.

I've written a fair bit over the past months about being in the moment, and how over-thinking impedes me. I've also written how movement (doing) helps me be, so I was interested to learn a catch phrase of Deepak Chopra while watching PBS. Deepak Chopra kept saying "We are human beings, not human thinkings, not human doings". I really like that. I am a human being, not a human doing, and certainly not a human thinking.

In contrast to the presentation of eastern philosophy by Deepak Chopra, I was given a newspaper article this week that describes a similar way of being, but from a very different perspective. The article is from a rural weekly newspaper (I have a clipping and am looking for the author in order to give credit) and describes a six year boy's response to his dog's death. The adults were wondering about the fact that many animal lives are shorter than human lives. The six year old piped up that "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life - like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right? Well dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."

Okay, so this doesn't explain an elephant's lifespan but it does get at the point of animals being and doing, not thinking. The article went on to describe the lessons we might learn from a dog. I was surprised to see how many of them describe how I want to live my life (my comments are in italics).

• When loved ones come home, always run to greet them (I do the running part not so often, but it's almost always in my head to do so)
• Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride (Even with a broad definition of joyride, I admit to letting many opportunities pass by)
• Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy (YUP!!! It's why I love skiing and sailing so much)
• Take naps (Yes - I especially like them in late winter when the sun shines in and warms my legs)
• Stretch before rising (Does yoga count? Actually, I did stretch my legs and arms straight this morning before getting out of bed)
• Run, romp, and play daily (especially in ski season)
• Thrive on attention and let people touch you (Nope, but I am learning to appreciate attention rather than retreat from it)
• Avoid biting when a simple growl will do (I'm not sure how to answer this one)
• One warm days, stop to lie on our back on the grass (I really like doing this, especially in early spring and early autumn)
• When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body (sports are my way of dancing and wagging)
• Delight in the simple joy of a long walk (Yes, but not always, though more and more often)
• Eat with gusto and enthusiasm. Stop when you have had enough. (Most of the time)
• Be loyal. Never pretend to be something you're not (This is my quest to just be and on-going
• Be always grateful for each new day. (This is also an on-going quest)

A dog is not a human being, but can teach me how to be. I have learned from books and through my thoughts how to be. I am learning through doing how to be. Part of being is learning for life, through life. Vitae Discae. Pace.

Found poetry

Poetry. The mere word evokes rhythm and emotion. Sensuous, frivolous, silly, strong, captivating. Poetry is part of life and not often read. Yet, I have found myself looking for poetry in the unexpected. For the past few months, I have looked for poetry in road signs, in journals, in newspaper headlines and in e-mails. And, I have found that poetry does appear where least expected. Just last weekend, I found a bulletin board full of actual poems outside a public washroom. Some of the poems were serious; others were limericks.

I believe that I am looking for poetry, without picking up a book, because poetry implies flow. Mihaly Csíkszentmihályi writes about flow in stern almost academic prose. His writing is not poetry but his ideas about flow are. In an interview, Csíkszentmihályi described flow as "being completely involved in an activity for its own sake. The ego falls away. Time flies. Every action, movement, and thought follows inevitably from the previous one, like playing jazz. Your whole being is involved, and you're using your skills to the utmost." To achieve a flow state, a balance must be struck between the challenge of the task and the skill of the performer. If the task is too easy or too difficult, flow cannot occur."

That every action, movement and thought follows from the previous one is the appeal of found poetry to me. Not all poems have flow but many words and thoughts printed in ordinary prose become poetic when flow is present. The melody is there, and resonance, and message. Poetry is individual and authentic. It is part of life. Poetry helps communicate and define emotion: joy, catharsis, anger, fear, love. Language alone is not a bridge to channel feelings from one person to another. Language, turned to poetry, is the bridge. For poetry to flow, the challenge for the writer is the careful selection of words and the challenge for the reader is skillful interpretation.

I am looking for poetry because I am looking for truth and beauty. Finding poetry, where unintended, requires me to use my my aptitude for language to my utmost. Finding poetry is part of my path.