Cussing and Cursing

I was driving home from my office the other night and realized I had (yet again) forgotten my lunch bag at work. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't lost. It would be there in the morning. Right where I left it. 

But it still caused me to immediately drop an F-bomb in the confines of my car. Because "F*ck Me!" seemed the only appropriate thing to say (loudly and with tremendous feeling) at that moment.

Which is not all that unusual.

The difference this time is that I then immediately thought: "Hmmmm. That was really satisfying. I mean, reaaaaalllly satisfying."

Leading to a flash of insight - sometimes I just really like to curse! It makes me happy. It makes me whole.  It makes me feel real. 

So I was pretty stoked when I saw this article (and this one)

Turns out that cursing is NOT a sign of a redneck upbringing. Nor of a stunted vocabulary.  Quite the contrary...

It is, in fact, a sign of intelligence... of a 'healthy verbal ability' (not sure if that relates to being able to use the word 'f#ck' as an adjective, adverb, noun and verb, or whether it's deeper than that. Why don't you read the study and let me know?)

So here's a favourite cussing-related story: 

Many years ago, I had a really great boss and a pretty fabulous group of peers. We were all together at an off-site meeting in NY state, having dinner at a swish American country club (back when the company had money for those sorts of things).  

A couple of our gang were pretty good at getting their point across without any cursing at all (not yours truly, obviously) so they challenged those of us of the 'potty-mouth' persuasion to try to hold our tongue. We put a 'Curse Jar' on the table (proceeds to charity) and  had to throw in $1 every time we got caught swearing. A few bucks here, a few bucks there... but as the night wore on, and the wine flowed, more and more dollars were being plunked into the jar. My own USD cash supply was starting to run dangerously low. 

Finally, after our boss was called out yet one more time (which was somewhat surprising because he was a very respectful, old-school Pennsylvanian), he pulled out a hundred dollar bill, stuffed it in the jar and announced "F%ck it, I'm paying for everybody for the rest of the night!" 

And then we retired on to the patio with cigars and nightcaps. (Truth be told, we probably used up all of that $100 before the night was half done.)

So, yes, there are times when we need to be calm and professional and tempered. Times when we need to hold those outbursts deep inside.

But there are definitely other times when a well-placed expletive (said loudly and with tremendous feeling) is the best and only option. To give us satisfaction. And happiness. And inner peace (at least for yours truly.) 

Merry F^cking Christmas.
From our family to yours.

(Yeah!)

Deliberately and Relentlessly Positive

We've all seen stories about how Facebook may be ruining lives and feeding insecurities, because people feel inadequate when they compare themselves to the charmed selves and magical lives of their friends / acquaintances / celebrities on Facebook and other social media.

This got me to thinking... is this blog setting up a false picture of continuous happiness and light in my life?  Am I guilty of social media sanitizing?

Cold, cold peaks and  dark, foreboding skies.

I hope not.  Certainly it's not my intent. Because my life is far from being happiness and light every day.  There are:

• Hurdles, big and seemingly bigger 
• Emotions, torrid and occasionally desperate
• Slights, real and well, sometimes actually real... (sigh)

However, I will admit that I have tried to focus this blog, including my Facebook updates, on the positive parts of my life as much as possible.  Deliberately and relentlessly so. 

Why, you ask? (PS, thanks for asking)  

The personal reason is that I've been a cynical, glass-half-empty, expect-the-worst kind of gal for most of my life. TBH, turns out it's not a great mindset to have. So I've been deliberately and relentlessly working to change that. 

The broader reason is that negativity, adversity and vitriol push themselves into our faces every waking hour of every freaking day. And we have to find a way, every day, to deal with it. It can be very tiring.

My Forest Refuge 
(see, that's me on the chair)

...Sometimes it's just nice to have a refuge. 

So I love to read all the positive posts from my friends on Facebook. I love their pretty pictures. It makes me happy to see them find joy in the details of life. In puppies, kitties, horsies... even in humans (who knew?!) 

I never assume that their lives are perfect and that there is nothing but happiness and light in their days. And I don't think they're sanitizing their lives and overstating their successes to make others feel inadequate. I expect they / you / we all face similar challenges - the size and breadth of which doesn't really matter. Because it's not a contest. Hurdles are hurdles. 

If someone wants to share experiences about the hurdles (theirs or mine), I'd like to do that in a conversation, rather than a Facebook post. But feel free to post away, if that's how you want to communicate your hurdles (not judging here.)

As for the negativity and vitriol, occasionally you'll see that I get mad about something and might furiously Share or Comment on a post, and you'll know I REALLY, REALLY MEAN IT when I do.

But most of the time, I'll keep trying to pull light out of darkness and will sometimes post some pretty pictures. 

I'll be Deliberately and Relentlessly Positive.

I'll keep my eyes fixed on the sun...

How about you?

Instagram Me

Instagram is awesome.

 

Let me list the reasons why:

1.   I am a visual person who has to spend a lot of time dealing with a lot of words. Instagram satisfies my craving for the visual.

2.   Sooo many people are now out there taking sooo many photos and sharing their view of the world, I can see things I'd never otherwise see. Manitoba, Minnesota, South Carolina, the Crimea.

3.   The best ones have thoughtful captions that evoke a feeling or a mood, or make you think.

4.   A smartphone, a scrolling finger and a cup of coffee is a great way to start a Saturday morning. 

5.   Most importantly, if I ever need to sign up for Match.com, I can just tweak my Instagram profile ("love sunsets, dogs, forests ...")

But I am definitely a beginner at this. Haven't quite figured out to #hashtag my way to glory.  Or do I just need to take better photos?! (sad face)

Not sure, but I have only 47 followers and am following just 150. Seems a bit Instagrammishly scant. 

Sometimes I worry about that. I wonder if I should be researching more to learn the 'proven techniques' to expand my Instagram network. There are lots of people out there who are willing to tell you how to do it right (certainly for a price!)

But most times I just think "Whatever.... it's not a contest".  It's just another way to express myself, to share the visuals and the selected words that matter most to me.  And that's good. Even if no one is watching. 

Be Zen.  Be Midzen...
Ohmmmmm.

But, of course, if you do want to follow me (whoo hoo, maybe I can hit 50 followers!!), here's the link to my stuff. 

You'll see dogs, sunsets, sky, forests and the occasional crow.  

I'm not much of one to do selfies (just one so far, and I was in costume), so you'll be spared that, for the most part.  

And if you're an instagrammer yourself, let me know, as I'd love to see your passions too! 

Summer Road Trippin #2 - Stevens Family Reunion

I've already talked about the wonders of a family reunion in this post.

The Stevens reunion (aka 'Hooknosers' - due to a prominent family feature) was the second in our series of summer weekends this year - no time to plan, just get 'er done. Which involved a borrowed tent, poor planning for our travel arrangements (many hours spent at the ferry terminal) and necessities left at home (hard to survive without a coffee cup!).  Plus an abrupt and unwelcome realization that I haven't slept outside in 30 years - for a reason.

When I wrote the earlier post, I was still basking in the glow of the actual event. But the additional benefit has been an ever-expanding network, using Facebook to keep in touch with people who were there and even those who weren't able to make it. It's pretty awesome, really, to get a little insight into everyone's lives.

So just a couple of stories from the reunion that haven't yet been shared:

1. Maple Bay

Dry and parched. (But on the upside, we had gorgeous sunsets!)

It was a very hot, very sticky weekend. We were on a beautiful farm, but the heat had taken its toll and everything was dry and parched. The awnings and pockets under trees helped, to a certain point.

Yet by the afternoon of the first full day at the reunion (Saturday), we were melting into puddles of sweat and smell.

So a plan was hatched to head down to Maple Bay, just a few minutes away. Ocean water never looked more inviting than when we looked down the grassy hill to the beach below. Who cared that it was not the clearest of clear by that point in the summer? Who dared to think what the sailboats nearby were dropping into the water? Or the many dogs? Certainly not us. Ignorance is most definitely bliss.

We had water. Water that would coat our chafing bodies. Water that would relieve us from the heat, however fleeting that might be.

We thought we'd found a slice of heaven.

Until the next day, when we really did.

2. Cheakamus River

Through conversation with others after the Maple Bay adventure, we discovered that there was also a river in the vicinity. A longer drive than the Bay, but fresh, moving water as the reward. So a new plan was hatched for Sunday afternoon.

Someone got some directions (although more vague than I'd thought...) and assumed the role as the leader. At the appointed time later in the afternoon, a convoy was launched.

We were second in line. In a VW Jetta. On a forest service road. Pretty interesting.  My sister Anne was valiant in her efforts and kept the car on track, despite the ruts and rocks.

We noticed there were a fair number of vehicles coming the opposite direction on this very long dead-end road. And then we noticed some of those vehicles looked kind of official, were driving with hazard lights blinking, were full of guys in khakis with badges on their shoulders, and maybe, just maybe, were trying to flag us over.

But we were oblivious and doggedly continued on our way. When we finally arrived at our destination, there were fewer cars than we'd expected and the people there were packing up to go.

Why, you ask? Well, we asked too.

Turns out there was a forest fire nearby, and forest service guys had told everyone to evacuate.

But dammit, we'd driven a long way. We were hotter and stickier than ever. We couldn't just turn around, defeated.

So we parked. And we wound our way down the trail to the river. A whole bunch of Stevens' trompling down the path, not to be denied the bounty we had come for.

And what a bounty it was. Absolutely f...'g gorgeous. Beautiful clear water, eddies and ripples, a lazy curve in the river, even a gentle waterfall. We could almost ignore the sounds of waterbombers and helicopters overhead.

Almost... although when it seemed we could feel our hair pulled into the rotors as they passed over us, we thought it might be best to leave.

Of course, leaving is not the same as being out of danger. We still had to bounce our way back along that one-way forest road, surrounded by tinder-dry trees that could explode in fire at any minute!

I spent the whole time imagining the headlines:

• "Tragic End to Family Reunion" 
• "15 Family Members Perish in Forest Fire"
• "Relatives Mourn as Fire Overtakes Kin"

Or more likely,

• "Clan Engulfed by Flames After Ignoring Evacuation Order"

Or even more likely,

• "Stevens Family Win 2015 Darwin Awards (by a Hooknose)"

Now imagine if half of these people were no longer in the photo...

Summer Road Trippin' - #1 Powell River Wedding

This summer resulted in a series of weekend road trips.  So no big 'week away' but a succession of events to attend.

I approached it with some trepidation. Oh my, so much to organize. So much to decide.
Until I thought... nah, let's just do it. Let the chips fall where they may. As long as we have somewhere to sleep, surely we can get by.

So this is Road Trip #1: Niece's wedding in Powell River.

Booked the early ferry out of Horseshoe Bay. That's at 7:30 in the morning. Which somehow meant getting up at about 4:30am.
... on a Saturday.

Not really my happy place.

Eeewww. What's she doing with her toes?!

Despite the odds, got ourselves and the kids up and out the door. Picked up the nephew (meaning yours truly was sitting in the back of the car... in the middle seat. Gosh, what mothers do for their kids!) and made it to the ferry.

This is a two-ferry event. Have to drive up the Sunshine Coast for the next one. Lots of time there, so a nice snack at the cafe.  Not a great day yet - some clouds and drizzle. But gave us time to focus on our grooming. The girl painted my nails (manicure/pedicure is not my strong suit), then her own. (Some funny looks her way with that!) Nephew kept up commentary about how he'd like his wife to get one of those BC Ferries jobs, so they'd be set for life. Amusing travel up.

Powell River is a cool place. Original mill town, but the jobs disappeared as the industry automated. The whole town seems to be built on a slope towards the water. All these fabulous bungalows with great water views, for next to nothing (by Vancouver standards.)  If you can find a way to make a living there, and you don't care about being close to a city, it's lovely.

Checked into our room, changed into our finery and made it to the ceremony at the golf course in plenty of time. The wedding gods had smiled upon them and it was sunny and bright (and kinda hot!) by that time. Martin found blackberry bushes while we were waiting for the formalities to begin, so he was especially happy.

Not a selfie person

A selfie person

After the ceremony and some fun family photos, we had time to kill at the hotel room. Bought some 'effervescent' (= cheap) rose, which we shared, and did some hotel selfies before the reception.

Gangsta posing in the Town Centre Inn

I guess the dress slides down...

The happy couple

The reception was wonderful! Venue was a hall in the old town with beautiful pane glass windows. Food was a local caterer - tasty, warm and real. Desserts were cool (on a stick, in jars... super fun). Drinks were cheap.


There was dancing. The whole family danced, to varying degrees of success. We took the shuttle bus back to the hotel, dropped into bed and slept until the last possible moment the next morning.

Found the Magpie Cafe for a fabulous breakfast. Chose Eggs Benedict with Ukrainian Sausage - perfect eggs, silky hollandaise (in just the right quantity) with the slight saltiness and chewiness of the sausage providing a perfect contrast. Quite bliss-inducing. My goal when eating at a restaurant is to pick something that I would not make at home.  And I definitely would not, could not make THAT at home.

Snake Kids 2015

More ferry rides home. Lots of waiting around in parking lots. Some of our car passengers got a bit antsy and ended up doing 'Snake Kids' in the back seat (look closely - there are 2 children in this mashup.)

We survived. More than that, we enjoyed. We were family.
(and, as I always say, if there are no police incidents, it's a success!)

No Police Incidents - WHEW!

The Best Summer Ever (?)

I own a convertible. It features prominently in an early blog post "My Ride" and I still feel a remarkable kinship with it (after all, like my car, I am sophisticated, sporty and charmingly impractical, right?)

When I drove it back from NY some years ago, I had to wait 5 months before I could put the top down. Because it rained. And it rained. And it rained some more.

Very frustrating. And the repetitive tune in my head was "What kind of idiot owns a convertible in Raincouver?!" (to which I could only answer, "this kind of idiot"...)

At the 5 month mark came the very first break in the unrelenting rain. Although I was only a few minutes from home, I immediately pulled over, lovingly caressed and gently pulled the toggle to put the top down, enjoying the feel of the wind (damp-ish as it was) as it tousled my hair and sent the candy wrappers from the floor swirling around my legs. I even took a few extra laps around the neighbourhood to get the full effect.  (A good thing, because it rained for 3 more continuous months after that.)

Sunset in the rear view mirror

So what kind of idiot owns a convertible in Raincouver anyways?

Well, 5 years later, I thought I had been vindicated. Aha! 'This kind of idiot' is an idiot no more. In fact, I might just have been ahead of my time. Like Gallileo.

Because the weather, from the month of May forward, had been incredibly dry.
WARM. SUNNY. LOVELY.

The Audi's top had rarely closed to cover my head. I reveled in it. I had sunglasses and ball caps always at the ready. It was glorious. 

Until it wasn't so glorious anymore. The lovely dry weather became:

HOT. SCORCHING. ALARMING. 

Days are dusty, nights are hot. Slow burn in the sky

Endlessly so.  To the point where a longer journey forced me to close the top because I was in danger of sunstroke otherwise. "What kind of idiot drives around in a convertible on a sunny day with the top up?!"  Ummmm, this kind of idiot.

Was I really ahead of my time when I bought that convertible? Did my reptile brain somehow intuit that Beautiful BC was going to turn into Hotel California (and we ALL remember that line "...but you can never leave...")

Dogs in fur coats looking for relief

Or is it just that the change in our weather has accelerated so quickly that the curiosities (convertibles in Vancouver) are becoming common-place.





Will southern BC be the new southern Cali?

After all, the similarities don't stop at the weather... we also have:

1. bloated, unaffordable luxury homes (more every minute);
2. local droughts, water restrictions and snappy catchphrases ('brown is the new green');
3. raging wildfires that consume homes and livelihoods on the outskirts of town;

and most importantly, we finally have:

4. Nordstrom's (because everyone needs a cocktail bar in their department store.)

I was starting to feel a bit worried about it all. Global warming is such a downer.

So I'm going to make myself feel better. I'll be heading downtown tomorrow to find me a pair of $1400 bejeweled Jimmy Choo flats. I'm pretty sure that will work to blow all that angst away.

Just like a hot, hot wind.

Wanna join me?

Endings become Beginnings

I'm a visual person.
I think in pictures. I remember in pictures. I feel in pictures.

In the past couple of months, there were a few milestones to be marked. Two endings and I beginning.
Which I tried to capture in pictures.

The first was a family event on Vancouver Island. A sad occasion, but with much laughter and love (and Mai Tais!)

On the Celebration - seemed fitting. 

Began with a beautiful ferry ride under sunny skis (orcas included).
Then an adventure on local transit through lovely areas (one extra-helpful driver, one not so much!) and final arrival at an awesome location at the edge of the Victoria International Airport.

Super-retro spot, literally by the edge of the runway. There was a double-wide band of small private planes between all of us on the lawn and commercial planes taxiing in, up close and personal. Almost thought I could see the bored looks on the faces of the United Airlines attendants through the windows!

Skies turned a bit moody while we were there. Probably fitting, as our generation said good-bye to the last of our parents' generation. They had been a large group - 12 siblings, plus their spouses. With even just a fraction of our cousins able to attend, there was much to think about, to remember, to feel.

The second was a sweet good-bye to the Pink Palace in West Vancouver. An icon on the North Shore shoreline with forever views (so you can forgive the tired interiors.) Martin's mom had moved into a residential home and it was time to say good-bye to the Palace.

It was an awesome, bright evening. The apartment was empty, the colours were sharp, the shadows were crisp. The breeze through the window slats was teasing the sheer curtain and made me wish I'd worn a hat and gloves to the farewell.

Post-pizza. Basking in the glorious light

Admittedly, Martin and I went a little more low-brow than that. Pizza from a box on the deck. Paper napkins to wipe off the sauce. Water from the tap.

Nonetheless, we considered ourselves lucky. We were able to enjoy the clarity and the sparkle, just one day before a haze descended upon Vancouver and choked it for a week with smoke from the many wildfires in the vicinity.

Those were the endings.

But from endings come beginnings...

As an offshoot of a collective good-bye to one of the original 12, a plot was hatched to hold a family reunion. It had been many years (too many years) since the last one. The memorial services for the 12 had been our proxies for the real thing, but they were always a bit too sad. It was time to stake a claim, to go with happiness and light and family.

One cousin family stepped up to organize, another quickly offered to host us on their farm on Vancouver Island. The plan was in play. In their capable hands, execution was assured.

And so we - the next-gen, plus offspring, plus offspring of offspring - spent a wonderful weekend at Maple Bay Farm on the August long weekend. Remembering, reminiscing, reconnecting (and yes, some drinking was involved.  We are Stevens', after all)

The weather was spectacular - the company even more so. There was an Amazing Race, a Softball Game, an impromptu water-balloon toss.

There's a turkey in there somewhere

Plus the food - deep-fried turkey, Chilliwack corn, burgers and dogs, excellent coffee ("Serious Coffee" courtesy of our hosts, Jeannette and Rob Humphreys) and home-baked treats.

We had about 60 or so people there (including our Saskatchewan voyagers, who always make the trek.) Amazingly,  that's only a fraction of our total reach.  I'm the youngest of the 50 cousins and we are all 'of an age' where our Next Gen Plus must total 170 or more, on a conservative estimate.

Dinner gathering under the canopies

It was wonderful, it was beautiful, it was family. And we plan to do it again in a few years. I can hardly wait!

Beautiful sky in a beautiful place. Maple Bay Farm, near Duncan BC. 

Look! (This applies to you)

I like to traverse the trails in my local forest. Usually with trusty T-Dog in tow.

Depending on the season, there will be a few others on the trails. Or even fewer others during the quieter seasons. I avoid the busier sections as best I can - there's an abundance of beauty no matter where you go.  And T-Dog, frankly, could care less, as long as there are squirrels (or even just the possibility of squirrels.)

One routine route is Cleveland Dam / Capilano canyon. Once you're past the Dam and as long as you're not hanging by the salmon hatchery, the trails are relatively quiet. Not empty, but quiet.

However, there has been a 2+ year project to improve the municipal waterworks, with a fair amount of construction going on, usually Monday to Friday during work hours. I hadn't thought too much about it, because I'm rarely there during those times.

Until, one damp spring day, I came across this:










So of course I had to follow the arrow, to this:











Hmmmm, apparently, not all of the routine trekkers at Capilano had been paying attention to the restrictions. So someone official-ish with a can of bright spray paint made a bold move.  (My guess is that he/she probably wanted to write "LOOK IDIOTS" but thought better of it.)

Being someone with an overdeveloped sense of justice, I would never have thought about disobeying the restrictions. But then again, maybe without a big orange "LOOK" spray-painted on the ground, I wouldn't have seen the sign either.

But it's now summer and I understand that this project is done.
Whew! What an inconvenience that was... glad to put it all behind us...

Wait, what do you mean they're going to be closing Capilano Road and re-routing traffic through our narrow neighbourhood streets?! Wait, that's going to last for how long exactly?!

I see a can of bright orange spray paint in my future. And maybe a reflective vest - so I look all official-ish as I make some bold moves of my own on my neighbourhood streets.

Our Chrysalis

We bought a hammock.
A really big one.
It's called "family size".
It's a really pretty green (evergreen... it's a theme!)

Having acquired this hammock, much thinking and planning and measuring had to be done before we could successfully string it up for use.

Much arguing and name-calling and foul language had to be uttered before we could successfully string it up for use.

But string it up we did!

And it's quite marvelous.

A bit of a challenge to navigate at first, mind you: 

Yet, in succession, each of the four of us tried it. Without fail, each of the four of us had the same instinctive move once we clambered into it.

We cocooned.

We wrapped ourselves up tightly in the effervescent greenness of it. We pulled the pretty mesh all the way around our bodies and disappeared within it. We were embraced by it. We could see the towering trees and vast sky above, but felt hidden and cozy and safe.

Because it was "family size", we tried putting more than one family member in it at a time.

Success!

(Although maybe next time we can wrestle the device out of the boy's hands. Not much peace in obsessively checking your instagram and facebook feeds... )

But once we figured out how to get in and how to relax, we got this...
the view from the hammock.

And after a few minutes ensconced, we emerged from our personal chrysalis, refreshed.

With a renewed appreciation for the beauty in our own backyard.

Because Crows

I remember many years ago driving on Highway 1 approaching the Willingdon exit in Vancouver/Burnaby.  We may have been coming from Mom's at Cultus Lake which means that was more than a decade ago. 

It was dusk  and I was struck by the sight of a sky full of crows coming from all directions. More striking yet was realizing that they were all converging on the same place. It was a stand of tall trees near the highway's edge. I could see each crow's singular intent to get to that stand of trees.  I could also see that the trees were already filled with crows. With ever more coming. It was fantastic. 

Sometime after that I read an article that talked about this phenomenon. For reasons I now don't remember, crows throughout Greater Vancouver gathered together each night. For reasons no one seemed to know, they had chosen this particular stand of trees as their night-time home.

Every evening, they would leave the place where they'd spent their day, poking and pecking and causing a ruckus, to fly back to this stand of trees. It was fascinating.

Yet, at that time and for many years later, I was annoyed by crows. They were loud, they were aggressive, they were impolite. (So were Steller's Jays, mind you, but with their bright blue plumage, they seemed so much prettier than crows.)

But I'm not annoyed by crows any more. On the contrary, I now have a deep appreciation for crows.

So what changed? 
It started about two years ago, I was driving up a local street towards home. It was pouring rain. Miserable, cold, winter rain in Vancouver. I passed a construction fence and saw a pair of crows huddled together on the bridge of the fence. One of them was protecting the other. Not just two crows. A couple.

That made me watch crows much more closely. 

I noticed more crow couples. 

I noticed how clever they were... 

I saw that, every week, my neighbours would set out their garbage can and firmly place the lid on it. But every week we'd all experience the results... food and other aromatic stuff strewn across our road. The crows would magically pull things out and make a mess. 

So one day I watched what was happening. I figured out the fatal flaw. Although my neighbours would firmly place the lid on the trash can, they didn't line up the lid handles with the garbage can handles.  As soon as they drove away in the morning, the local crow would fly down, stand on the garbage can handle and flick the lid off. Perfect leverage. Then he'd (she'd?) set about poking and pecking to find the good stuff in the bags inside. It was brilliant. 

I now refer to the local crows as our crows... the 'House Crows', to be exact. I've seen them huddle on the wire over our driveway in the Vancouver rain.  I've seen them build their nest in our neighbour's tree (I just peek through the curtains - they won't go near the nest if they see me watching.)  I've seen them swoop, dive and chase my dog when they thought he was getting too close. 

And yes, I confess, I have fed them from time to time. I'm not sure the dog is happy, because I give them his protein doggie treats. (So maybe they were swooping and diving as a way of rubbing salt in his wounds?)

I love to observe them. I take a few photos from time to time. 

I also love to see how others see crows. And to see the really great photos that others take. For this, I suggest that you do what I do, and follow @Crowtographer on Twitter. 

Why? 
Because crows. And superb images. And empathy and respect.

Sometimes I Just Think

(Warning:  This is a long read, about more serious stuff.  Tried to throw in a few forest photos for a bit of visual interest, but there's not a single dog in it.)

This blog (erratic as it is) is meant to be about a journey. About movement, internal or external. Ultimately with some progress, conclusion, even an occasional epiphany (for me anyways).

And I’d say that I've been fortunate because, in writing it, it has propelled me forward and changed some of my perspectives, all for the better.

But there are some issues that seem intractable.  Incapable of progress.  Leading to thoughts that pile up and swirl around in my head, jumping, jostling, pushing one another, sometimes even smacking each other down.  But to no conclusion at all.

The dialogue around the F-word (Feminism) and women’s place in the world is the intractable issue that most often leads to these thoughts. 

I think.

And I think.

And I think some more.

I get periodically encouraged by what I see, such as Sheryl Sandberg’s #LeanIn or Emma Watson’s #HeForShe.

And I think: Great, this will get some traction. There will be progress.

But then the inevitable backlash comes. Some of it polite. Some of it less so. Some of it threatening. And the ‘important’ numbers (about women on pay scales, in executive positions, on boards) never seem to change much.

The most recent prompt for my thinking was a tweet (by a woman) about women being competitive with each other in business, not supportive at all. The realm was the tech sector but it’s been said about every other business sector. It even has a name: “Queen Bee Syndrome”.

So I thought about that for a while. I do think there’s some truth in it. I've certainly seen it and experienced it. It’s even possible that I've been guilty of it.

So why does it happen?

The answer that kept elbowing and clambering its way to the top of my thought pile was that the competitive scenarios – the standard business scenarios – are the ones where there are very few women. So there are very few ‘spots’ available. (God forbid that women could have all of the spots, or even a proportionate share of them.) If we happen to be in one of those spots, we are ever mindful that another woman can take our spot.  Not any spot. Our spot. One of the women’s spots.

So why do I think this answer might have some truth to it?

Because I've had the better fortune in the last couple of years to operate in different, non-standard business scenarios, in situations where (by accident or design) I am largely surrounded by other women. Some of whom are, in fact, business competitors of mine.

And I've found these to be very supportive environments. We offer advice, time, tools, whatever is needed. Everyone gets credit where credit is due. And even if we have ‘moments’ where we disagree or have some conflict, we seem to recognize that those moments of business discord can be separated and isolated from our usual personal accord.  The former is fleeting, the latter is invigorating.

I guess, fundamentally, we’re making our own spots. And our own business scenarios in which there are no limits on the number of the spots we can have.

Fair to say that these might be considered pretty small enterprises. Flying below the radar of ‘business.’ (I don’t really see a Vancouver Board of Trade honorary breakfast or a trending #VBOT hashtag in our near future.)

But the cool thing is, these enterprises connect with people. Real people. Not shareholders or directors or stakeholders (if I never ever have to use the word ‘stakeholders’ again, I will die a happy woman). Real people.

We do our bit for real people. We hang out with real people. We create an environment of like-minded real people (women and men) in which we can grow and keep doing our bit for more and more real people.

So when I get caught up in the frustrations and the backlashes and the sheer lack of visible progress regarding women’s place in the world, when I get way inside my head and…

I think,

And I think,

And I think some more,

I eventually remember that we do have the power and the opportunity to change those business paradigms. We may have to start small, but we can build a model of success where women can have all the spots we might want, where we can create a vision, where we can have a voice and, importantly, where we flourish in a supportive community.

Don’t get me wrong: this ain't no “The meek shall inherit the Earth” kind of play. We won’t be meek.

Actual sisters...

No ma’am (Wouldn't you know it, I started typing ‘No sir’… Changing the paradigm one word at a time!)

We’ll kick ass. We’ll be awesome. We’ll be f*%!g spectacular. We just won’t do it on the backs of our sisters.  

Instead, we’ll do it arm-in-arm with anyone who wants to join us on the journey forward.  All like-minded real people are welcome.

So I started out with swirling thoughts and discontentment, and ended with a feeling of forward movement.

That’s a good day. 

How to Make a Memory Stick

It starts with Harry Potter and an image that sticks in my mind... of Snape or Dumbledore or whomever, expertly wielding a wand in a pool to extract vivid memories that come straight out of someone else's brain. (Admittedly, I'm no expert on Harry Potter lore and that might not be the 'truth' of the story...


That image has been surfacing regularly in my mind in the last few months. Usually as I tromple the local woods, more or less alone (the dog is very handsome but not much of a conversationalist.)



Without the interruptions of daily life and other people, I've been able to let my thoughts wander. To memories from old times, and good times, and even not-so-good times.


In my mind, those memories are vivid and fabulous and true.

And I've wondered... how do we save and share those memories?

• Is there some kind of magic wand we can use to extract them?  Is there a memory stick??
• And if there is no magic wand, what else can we do to make those memories stick? 

So this thought has been bouncing around my head for a few months. Many times, I've really wanted a magic wand / memory stick. I've really wanted to pull those vivid and fabulous and true memories from my head and share them with others.  Thinking that others might find them interesting as 'the record' of the past (old times, good times and not-so-good times.) Just as I would love to pull the vivid and fabulous and true memories from the heads of the people in my circle. I want to know 'the record' of their lives.

Except that there probably is no 'record'.  Yes, there are memories. Yes, they are vivid and they are fabulous.  But true?  Maybe not so much.


I was reminded of this last week. One sister, one brother and I went to visit my eldest sister who has always been the family historian. Her truth has been unassailable. As we shared our vivid and fabulous and true memories of Expo '67 (yes, we were all sentient; yes, we are all that old), we fully expected that we would need some gentle correction from our historian. But we needed much more than 'gentle' correction, as most of our memories were being revealed as wildly inaccurate. We each had indelible images of singular events which NO ONE ELSE could corroborate (certainly not our historian.) In my case, for example, there was (apparently) NO covered dragon slide that went from the inside of the second story of a restaurant down to the ground outside, as I so vividly recall.


One sister, one brother and I kept deferring to the historian... convinced even more that she had the only true memory stick in the family. "Linda, what happened then? Who got lost?! It was you? You and Randy?? Wasn't it me?? What do you mean we didn't have to wear those awful matching shifts every single day?  We had shorts?? I don't remember any shorts!"

And we looked to our eldest sister/historian to correct our apparent memory lapses and give us the truth. Until she slipped... Big Time.  Interestingly, I can't even recall what her slip was. But immediately we knew. One sister, one brother and I realized that even her truth was assailable.

But there was no judgment.  Because, in the end, it didn't really matter what the 'truth' was. Memories aren't truth. They are vivid and they are fabulous. And that can be enough.

Especially when we find ways to share them - either by swapping recollections with those who were 'there'  or telling tales to others in a way that helps them feel what you think you were feeling at the time.

That is how to make a memory stick. (No magic wand required.)