I’m Happy to Visit, but I Don’t Want to Stay

800px-Pink_BowA while back Drew and I were talking about weekend plans. The thing we were planning on doing required much more travel time than we normally commit to on weekends, and as we discussed it I felt my stomach tense up. I really didn’t want to tie up an entire day with this particular get-together. It’s the sort of event that can be over in 15 minutes or stretched out for hours, and right now I’m at a place in life where I really don’t like spending so much extra time on something that can be wrapped up quickly.

But I also don’t want to disappoint anyone. I simply had and have a strong preference for spending our days together in other ways. There was a time in my life when I would have quietly gone along with the flow even though I really didn’t like it.

I’m very slowly changing, though.

Instead of agreeing to spend an indeterminate amount of time on it, I said, “I’m happy to visit, but I don’t want to stay as long as we did last time.” And then I gave a rough estimate of how much time I was willing to spend on it. We came to agreement and made a plan.

While it was scary to say exactly what I did and did not want to do, it was also incredibly freeing.

I’d love to hear your stories. What have you said no (or yes!) to lately?

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iDiots

If the embedded video in this post doesn’t show up, click here.

I actually use Apple products exclusively, but I still think this is humorous.

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After the Storm: Part Thirty-Two

Picture by Jože Gorjup.

Picture by Jože Gorjup.

Just tuning in? Start here.

“Guarantee me at least another decade and I’ll go peacefully with you at the end of it.”

If Death still had the muscles necessary to cock his (non-existent) eyebrows Paige would have immediately known what he thought of this deal. He rubbed the nearly invisible line on his clavicle as she finished her argument. It had long since healed, but the thought of it snapping in two again aggravated nerves that really shouldn’t exist in a skeleton.

“I want to see the girl grow up. Once she no longer needs me you can have me.” Malachi had lost just as much as his sister had in their short lifetimes, but somehow the idea of Wilma growing up without any memories of her parents, grandmother, or great-grandmother seemed unfair. Paige wanted both of her descendants to remember where they came from, especially if they were going to grow up around a woman like Daphne.

“Fair enough. Do you want to pick the day, or should I?”

“Make it the first unbearably hot day of summer. No one expects the very old to survive that time of year anyway.”

“I will.”

“Would you like a cup of tea before you go?”

“Yes.”

Lemon whined as Paige began heating up the water and rummaging around in all but bare cupboards for clean cups and the last of the tea. The table smelled like sour milk, but he couldn’t see who or what the oldest member of the household was talking to. She patted his head as she poured out the tea and began an animated conversation with the empty chair on the other side of the table.

The children had been left more or less to their own devices while Daphne and her sons were gone. Paige fed them their daily meal, but other than that Wilma and Malachi slept when and where they pleased and wandered as far away from the house as their legs would carry them. Her hip was bothering her more than it had even a week or two earlier, and she had trouble keeping up with even the lightest chores.  Yet if she stopped to rest it was hard to do so without falling asleep or sinking so deeply into her thoughts that she lost track of what was happening around her.

It was not surprising, then, that she didn’t hear Daphne walking into a house full of air that smelled like unwashed dishes, smoke, and old sweat long after Lemon had gone to investigate what the smallest humans were doing in the other rooms of the house. For once it was too rainy outside for them to explore.

A strange smell snagged Lemon’s attention. There was a creature standing outside in the courtyard he’d never seen before. Daphne grabbed him before he could greet his newest friend, but Lemon barked a celebratory hello anyway to make sure the creature took notice his presence.

“I thought we’d have to swim our way home,” Ephraim said with a wry grin as he shook the water out of his hair and onto everyone near him. Isaac grabbed the harness and lead the mule to their shed. It was really too small for such a large beast, but he wasn’t sure if it was safe to leave the animal out in the rain and cold all night. His brother followed him to help make room, and once the source of his newest reason for excitement was out of sight Lemon curled up near his favourite human’s feet.

“I have to see if I can make this work again,” Daphne said to no one in particular after she’d washed her hands. “Sometimes there are new messages.” Paige watched Daphne carefully as the younger woman took a tablet out of her knapsack and set it on the table. She frowned but said nothing. It was a good thing Death left just after the young folks arrived back home.  The light flickered a little more dimly as the strange contraption slowly turned on.

The only new message was from Tara. The epidemic had grown so serious that it was actually referenced in their local paper. A small article appeared on the fourth page warning citizens to wash their hands, avoid contact with the sick, and continue taking their vitamins. Once again Daphne stumbled over words that she’d never read before, but she wondered how terrible the situation really was in the capital if even the official spokespeople were beginning to acknowledge it.

“I saw one of those things once,” Paige said.

“What?”

“When I was a girl I saw a box that acted like that thing. It had words in it that would disappear if you shook it. My Ma thought it was evil, though, dug a very big hole, and buried it.” Daphne didn’t know how to react to this revelation. She knew Paige had lived a very long time, but she had heard very little about the older woman’s childhood.

“Who gave it to you? Where did it come from?”

“I don’t know,” Paige said. “Dad was a trader so he might have brought it back on one of his missions, but until things got really bad there were always a few families that had an odd item or two. Most of them didn’t light up, but they did do things that no one could explain or were made of materials I’ve never seen anywhere else.”

“What happened to them?”

“We got rid of them in The Purge.” A virulent disease had shaken the valley many years before, killing many times more people than had died this past summer. To stop the deaths the ombudsmen had burned, buried, or shipped out everything that was suspected of harbouring evil spirits. To even mention their names risked summoning them, and very few families were willing to hold onto trinkets that no longer held any real purpose.

Once again Daphne wished she had been born in Mingus instead of being awkwardly transplanted there as a child. There was still so much she didn’t know about her adopted community.

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Suggestion Saturday: November 16, 2013

Here is this week’s list of blog posts and other tidbits from my favourite corners of the web.

Confessions of a Funeral Director. Imagine pallbearers accidentally dropping a casket in the middle of an ice storm. What happens next is something you’ll have to read for yourself.

God and Death Play Cards While They Wait for an Old Man to Die. There’s more going on in this painting that meets the eye. Can you spot what’s really happening?

Two Different Ways to Be a Good Person. I don’t think life is quite this simple, but do see value in teasing out the difference between thinking you’re a good person and seeing yourself someone who occasionally/regularly/often does good things.

Buddha Spirit via WilSenior. This article is about the connection between therapy, Buddhist meditation, and awakening your compassion for yourself as well as other people. I have a very tough time getting my mind to shut down when I occasionally try to meditate, but maybe I should give it another shot.

One Man’s Epic Quest to Visit Every Former Slave Dwelling in the United States. Historical reenactments aren’t just for wars. I would have never guessed that some slave quarters are still standing, much less that at least some of them are structurally sound enough to sleep in for a night or two. This is the kind of history that piques my interest. It’s easy to reconstruct how extremely wealthy and powerful people lived, but I find it much more interesting to learn about the lives of individuals who lived and died without those privileges. I think you can tell far more about any society from how it treats it’s most vulnerable members than in how caters to the top 1%.

10 Things You Should Never Say to Yourself via DearAnnMarie. I tend to be a little suspicious of the self-help market in general, but this is wonderful advice.

From The Hand That Feeds You:

After working at the farmers’ market, I’ve come to love fresh local food—and hate the people who buy it.

Every Saturday before dawn, I traveled from deep within Brooklyn to the northern tip of Manhattan to welcome a truck fresh from the fertile Hudson Valley loaded with fist-sized beets, shaggy bunches of kale, quarts of yogurt, loaves of organic spelt breads, and almost all the staples of a pesticide-free fridge.


Last week my friend Heather recommended the author Connie Willis to me. The first book of hers I read is Fire Watch, a fantastic collection of scifi/fantasy short stories. Most of them are hard science fiction, a subgenre that I haven’t spent as much time reading as I have other types of speculative fiction.

I would highly recommend this book to anyone who prefers character-driven plots. The scifi elements of this book are interesting, but the characters are what kept me reading. Each one is sketched out in such great detail that it felt as if they were moving through full-length stories instead of the much shorter works they actually occupied.

What have you been reading?

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Who Should Speak for Pastors’ Kids?

How likely is it that preachers’ kids will lose their faith? Is it any different from the general population?

The Barna Group, a Christian polling organization, just published the results of its study of pastors’ children to see whether it was true that ‘those who’ve grown up closest to the church are the quickest to leave it….’

I think it’s important to point out here that all of these results came from telephone conversations with pastors, not their children.

From Why Do Pastors’ Kids Leave the Church? A New Poll Investigates…by Asking the Pastors.

Photo by Richard Melo da Silva.

Photo by Richard Melo da Silva.

The results of this poll aren’t as important as its methodology, but the above links do make for an interesting read if you have a spare 20 minutes.

Longterm readers know that I was a preacher’s kid. I spent all but the last six months of my childhood immersed in subculture that holds pastors and their families to a very different standard than is expected of the average Christian family. Explaining what it’s like to grow up in this environment is like emigrating to a new country as an adult and then attempting to explain your childhood to people who have no personal experience with the culture or history of your home country.

Now imagine someone who grew up elsewhere deciding that they know your life better than you do. When people ask why you emigrated, they start spouting off statistics about the increasing number of polar bear attacks or your chances of drowning in maple syrup.

Yes, sometimes they might actually stumble upon the truth. There are people out there who are sensitive to unspoken assumptions and cultural mores, but the fact still remains that they’re putting words into your mouth. Their experiences are not yours, and as important as it is for them to learn about other points of view being told what something is like is no substitute for actually living through it. Even preacher’s kids from the same family can have very different reactions to their childhoods. I know PKs who are Atheists and devout Christians, straight and gay, traumatized and deeply happy as adults.

Gather 20, 50, 100 of us in the same room and you’ll find 20, 50, 100 different stories. Invite our parents to join us and I have no doubt that in many cases their understandings of where we are now won’t be the same as ours. It doesn’t mean that anyone is lying, only that families are complicated, past experiences colour present expectations, and not everything in life in static.

Ideally there would be no spokespeople. Asking a handful of people to speak for an entire group usually leads to only certain stories being told. Everyone who doesn’t fit a narrow definition of what is acceptable is filtered out during the selection process, and that only leads to more misunderstandings.

But at the very least you should be directly interviewing the subjects of any study. No one who wants to be taken seriously would poll men on what women think, teachers to speak for firefighters, Christians to weigh in on Tibetan Buddhism, or straight people to explain what it’s like to be LGBT.

If anyone from the Barna Group ever reads this, I would be happy to participate in a new poll. I would pester…er, encourage all of the other PKs I know to hop in as well. If you want real data, we can help.

 

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“The Most Beautiful People…”

The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.

 – Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

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After the Storm: Part Thirty-One

From Richard Hammond's Invisible Worlds via the BBC.

From Richard Hammond’s Invisible Worlds via the BBC.

01010100 01111001 01110000 01100101 00100000 01111001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100011 01100101 01100101 01100100 00101110 01000101 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110010 00101110 00100000 01010000 01110010 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01100001 01101110 01111001 00100000 01100010 01110101 01110100 01110100 01101111 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110010 01100101 01110011 01110100 01100001 01110010 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01110100 01101001 01101110 01110101 01100101 00101110 00100000

The strange, flat, glowing rock filled with numbers. As Daphne adjusted her hold on it her left thumb accidentally pressed down on one of the smooth patches.

The surface brightened for a second before shutting off as quickly as it had turned on. In the eerie silence Daphne could hear something whirring inside of it for a few seconds before it, too, grew still.

She shook the rock to see if she could get it to light up again.

Nothing.

Daphne slumped her shoulders and was just about the deposit the stone into her knapsack when the whirring began again.

Slowly the light returned, and then a nonsensical message appeared on the flat side of the rock.

Tap any button to continue. 

She slapped the side of the stone. No response.

Holding it in her left hand, she poked the middle of it with her right index finger. Once again the screen filled with words moving so fast Daphne had no way of absorbing them all. When the display ended a row of two-dimensional boxes lined up on the bottom of the rock. They reminded her a little of the wooden blocks her sons played with as children.

Notes

Raw Data

Anomalies

Messages

She glanced up at dark clouds scratching the horizon and clicked on messages.

24 August

Tim,

I spoke to my CO. There’s no reason for the trackers to be malfunctioning. Are you sure you’re calibrating them properly before they’re inserted?

This study is a bust anyway. We’re no closer to catching the smugglers and R&D hasn’t been able to identify what makes the rednecks’ immune systems so much more resistant to this strain than we’re seeing in our population. My best guess is that their abysmal diets and total lack of medical care kills off anyone who doesn’t have an iron stomach. Survival of the fittest and all.

At the rate this is going I doubt you’ll still be there at Festivus. The governor isn’t going to keep spending money on a project that hasn’t lead to any breakthroughs.

Keep sending in your reports, though. Gotta cover your ass until the big guns officially decide this is a waste of time.

Tara

The group listened quietly as Daphne started reading the next message. She saw her sons trudging back up the riverbank, two animals in tow. For once Flapjack was walking quietly even with a rope tied around his neck.

25 August 

VICTORY IN MINGUS.

We just received word that our troops have subdued a small settlement called Mingus in the territory formerly known as Arizona. 

While the search continues for Dr. Spring and his associates we apprehended several individuals who lead us to his whereabouts. As soon as we’ve finished restoring order to this community we will be returning to the capital with the accused where they will receive a fair trial in exchange for the immunological data we need in order to finish the vaccine.

More information will be forthcoming as it becomes available. In the meantime your commanding officers will be issuing double rations and a half-day holidays. Please stay tuned to your teleprompters for the governor’s speech that will air at 17:00….

In the corner of her eye Daphne spotted a flash of light at the horizon.

“We won’t make it back to my place in time,” Mariposa said. “But we should get away from the water.” The lightning was erratic so far, but Daphne thought she could hear the faint rumble of thunder. If nothing else the storm would make the banks so muddy that climbing up them with two reluctant animals would be extremely difficult. They’d come back for the body later.

Daphne tucked the stone into her knapsack and walked to the top of the hill with her companions. As she began descending on the other side of it Ephraim noticed a small depression in the rock. It wasn’t quite large enough to shelter one person, but at least they could take turns avoiding some of the storm. He’d noticed his mother limping as they cautiously climbed over the steepest part of the hill and insisted that she take the first turn in the makeshift shelter.

“While we’re here you might as well keep reading,” Sean said. Daphne nodded in agreement, and once she found a place to sit she began combing through the rest of the messages. Official documents were unfailingly positive accounts of breakthroughs just around the corner, but casual messages told a different story. More than once she wished she had her dictionary with her. There were so many words Daphne had never heard of before. Wireless. Election. Plastic. Insurgent. Treason. Commercial.

Embryonic governments had formed and dissolved over and over again. For a time New Texas was so stable that its influence had occasionally reached Mingus before it, too, went silent after a few years of drought. As a young woman Daphne had heard rumours of a queen living in South California, but it had been many years since anyone had sent word or supplies from that kingdom.

A cold raindrop bounced off the end of her nose and onto the stone as she read.  She brushed it off with the cleanest fold in her tunic she could find and scrolled to the next page. A list of names and numbers caught her attention as she browsed.

Aberdeen, Mimi 3139 4002 6566 1091

Acero, Robert 1291 3026 9799 8564

Aden, Anna 9538 5028 3374 0123 DEACTIVATED.

Another word she’d never heard of before.

“Does anyone know what this means?” Daphne read the name aloud as the clouds squeezed out every last drop of moisture from their perch.

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Delayed Post

The next instalment of After the Storm will be published tomorrow. I apologize for the delay.

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Suggestion Saturday: November 9, 2013

Here is this week’s list of blog posts and other tidbits from my favourite corners of the web.

From The Logic of Stupid Poor People:

It took half a day but something about my mother’s performance of respectable black person — her Queen’s English, her Mahogany outfit, her straight bob and pearl earrings — got done what the elderly lady next door had not been able to get done in over a year.

Alone in a Crowd and Other Hackneyed Phrases via flirtybloomers. I suspect all creative people feel this way about their work sometimes.

Not the Bad Guys. Rhetoric matters. This is why.

Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire? Take Care via carolynmandache. The less you know about this anecdote going into it the better. Don’t worry, it’s nothing violent or disturbing!

Surreal Photography. There are limitless stories embedded in this photographs. The last one is my favourite because it’s something I always wanted to do as a kid. While this link is work-safe, the rest of the site may not be.

From You Are Not Alone via PetraKidd:

The old lady lay crumpled in her hospital bed.  Her neck bent forward, the tip of her nose almost resting on the swing-across table.  All she’d had was a bite of her sandwich before nodding off.

Someone came and took the sandwich away.  The old lady didn’t notice, she continued to sleep.

Visitors came, gathered around beds, laughed and joked, ate chocolates, fetched and carried for their loved ones.

The old lady roused herself, fluffy white hair dishevelled on her shrunken skull, her eyes made a weary survey of the ward, barely able to keep them open her head slumped forward again.

Daily Mail Ipsum. So you know how the Daily Mail write inflammatory articles in order to rile up their prejudiced readers? Now you can make up your own Daily Mail articles and find brand new issues to form half-baked opinions about. 😛 Just let the magical calculator know how many paragraphs you want to read and release the hounds. Here’s an example:

Lorem ipsum guitarist Brian May launches attack on immigration. Immigration timebomb: Lies that they started a sunlounger. Growing brood… growing curves! Danielle O’Hara shows off her skinny jeans and rapists we can’t afford to evict them.

To be joking! As watchdogs say Tories. Force them to avoid being crowned Miss Wales. Woman, 23, who sneer at all costs. Deport foreign criminals break community service over vile show dies a pet hamster. British institutions at the silent majority.


What do you think of when you hear the word nature? The One and Future World is about how our cultural presuppositions about what the natural world “should” be like have radically altered what it actually looks like. It’s also about how we could go about restoring nature to the way it used to be if we come to the conclusion that this is the best decision.

It’s extremely easy to put nature on a pedestal, especially for people who haven’t grown up around it. Sometimes I thought this book worshipped the idea of nature and natural living a little too much. Natural is not a synonym for safe, helpful, or effective. Some natural things are good for us…others most definitely are not.

With that being said, this is a great story. The author simplifies some concepts in order to appeal to readers who aren’t familiar with certain scientific terms without dumbing down his message.

What have you been reading?

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In Flanders Field and Canadian Patriotism

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields. 

John McCrae, “In Flanders Field.”

Photograph © Andrew Dunn.  http://www.andrewdunnphoto.com/

Photograph © Andrew Dunn. http://www.andrewdunnphoto.com/

I know this post is a few days premature, but I’ve always found the Canadian response to Remembrance Day to be quite interesting. We’re not a particularly patriotic culture during the rest of the year, but at the beginning of each November Canadians soften a little.

About this time of year you start seeing people walking around with artificial poppies pinned to their coats. The money from the sales of these flowers goes to various projects that support former and current soldiers, police officers, Royal Canadian Mounted Police officers, as well as Royal Canadian Air, Army, and Sea cadets. The programs sometime support families members of people working in these positions, too.

It’s amazing to me to see how many people wear those poppies every year. They’re found in every walk of life, from brand new immigrants to people whose ancestors have lived here for many generations. In the midst of an otherwise cheerful holiday season, government buildings and offices shut down on Nov. 11 for a sombre reminder of the cost of war.

The local news channel covers the ceremonies that take place that day, and it always amazes me to see how seriously they take it. World War I happened almost a century ago, yet it feels like something that happened within the lifetimes of the oldest attendees. There is a heaviness in the air through the speeches, anthems, and gun salutes that is hard to describe without falling into tired cliches about the horrors of war.

Do I not remember a similar feeling about Veteran’s Day in the U.S. because of cultural differences between the two countries or because it’s more difficult for children, teens, and young adults to pick up on the gritty community sorrow that clings to even the oldest wars?

I do not know.

What have you noticed?

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