Humble Pie Sometimes Tastes Okay

Humble (chicken pot) pie

I tend to get caught up in things...overly caught up in things, to be sure. I'm a worrier by nature and love (LOVE!) to take things on that are completely out of my control. (The US election for example.)

I worry about our future, what the Canadian dollar will do, how I'll get my work out in when I have a sore back and pinched sciatic nerve. It can get pretty overwhelming. (Again...the whole US election thing...what does it mean? How will it affect Canada? Will our neighbours to the south reconcile and if so how? Why why why.) Sorry for the scary little peak inside my head, but I'm fairly certain that my thoughts aren't unique. 

To descend or not???

Not all that long ago we were invited to lunch at an Ecuadorian family's home. They actually fed us two meals and showed us proudly around their home.We spent about four hours (maybe 5) there and learned a lot about middle class life in Ecuador, enjoyed their sizable country/suburban house and arrived home...exhausted...operating in a second language for that amount of time is tiring. Fast forward to last Sunday. 

Setting up the kitchen

We felt it was important to reciprocate so we invited all five family members to come to lunch at our house. Now, some of you already know that the Ecuadorian palate is beautiful, but simple. I went with basics...a good old fashioned late afternoon Sunday dinner of roasted chicken, potatoes and veg. I also made a salad, fresh dressing and a strawberry rhubarb pie. (Even using the Spanish word for rhubarb they were unfamiliar with it.) It turned out pretty well. I was also worried that our house might seem ostentatious or pretentious. (Is there actually a difference?)  Would the artwork be offensive. Did it seem like we were showing off? On the less hoity-toity side, our place isn't that big. They actually quite liked our place, art and view. They didn't shy away from asking about the meaning of our painting with skeletons in it and didn't seem shocked by the naked sculptures everywhere. We sat down and enjoyed the meal and talked of inconsequential things.

The journey of life

The mom offered to help us with the dishes and we explained that we had a dishwasher. Now, they'd admired our refrigerator (their youngest daughter couldn't believe that it made ice!), large oven and five burner stove, but they hadn't noticed the dishwasher. They were completely fascinated. They oohed and aahed over the detergent tablets, marveled at how much we could put in and that the dishes would come out clean. This was humbling in it's own way. I don't know if they realize that it's cheaper to buy a machine than to hire an employee and that's how middle class folks in North America get by. For the most part, they think that we (meaning gringos) are "rich" and that means all the trappings that come with it. Of course, they do their own dishes by hand, like we used to do, back in the good old days.

With all the craziness going on, this moment made me grateful. Grateful to have friends of different stripes, grateful for being blessed enough to have a dishwasher and grateful to be in a place where I can learn such lessons.

I Choose Love

A flower is a flower, not matter its colour.

It was a close thing. I almost succumbed to despair. With all the news lately of mass shootings, bombing, hateful rhetoric, seemingly intelligent people spewing nonsense, it's easy to buckle under the weight. Perhaps, it also is an echo of post vacation blues, I don't know, but both Ron and I were feeling it.

The anger and hate that is floating around is like a miasma; poisoning our hearts and souls. It's palpable and cancerous. It can cut you off at your knees.

We lost a friend recently. He had the amazing gift of being able to hold onto his childlike wonder. He loved to travel and see places both new and ancient, but got the same joy from a custom made Magnum bar or bubble wand. I was thinking about what I wanted to write on his memorial page. It is hard to sum up a person in a few words. They never seem enough, but it was his wonder that got me. That's when it struck me. All of the grey that had been clouding my emotions was due to lack of wonder. Even knowing that that's what all those hate-filled and hate-fueled people wanted, I was choosing to let them win. No more. I'm taking the high road and the hard road.

I choose to stand up for equality, acceptance and understanding. I choose light over dark.. I will not sit quiet and listen to untruths, hate-mongering and self-pity; not even from myself. I choose wonder for this amazing world that we live in; for the people that populate it. I do it for those who have come before and fought the hard fight, for present and future generations, so that they can know that I wasn't weak, sad or despairing; that I live in hope.

Above all else: I choose LOVE.