Love Song

...Everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin's bow
which draws one voice out of two separate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Happy birthday, John.

On conversation

Right now I'm in a little 12 seater prop engine, somewhere over northern Manitoba, thinking about the last two days.  And the power of conversation.

When we first met Sally and Ben yesterday morning, we knew that we were going to be earning every penny of our fees.  After meeting with both of them privately it was clear that they were miles apart in their perspectives and totally at odds in terms of their respective assessments of the root cause of the difficulties between them.  They were unwaveringly convinced of each others' spiteful motivations.  They were unable to allow for the possibility that another, equally valid perspective or experience could exist beside their own.

But things in the workplace had to change.  Morale in the unit was as an all time low, with the tension between Sally and Ben leaking out and poisoning the work team.  Staff were bickering and gossiping.  Some staff were threatening to quit.  Ben and Sally were openly accusing one another of disrespectful behaviour.  Sally said Ben was undermining her authority as manager.  Ben said Sally was a bully.

Yesterday afternoon, we risked a conversation.  No.  They risked a conversation.

With our help, they spent the rest of the afternoon and most of today talking about several moments from the past year, examples of experiences when things did not go well between them.  Much of it was difficult, confused and angry.  But they did their best to listen to each other, trying to suspend the knee jerk response to call the other a liar.  Or worse.

We heard from Ben that the straw that broke the camel's back of their relationship, for him, was something that had happened 6 months ago.  It was the thing that ignited the flame of action in him, compelling him to begin filing critical incident reports regarding Sally's behaviour and sending them over her head to senior management without her knowledge.  New, state of the art technology had just been set up in the unit, a real feather in the cap for this small town office.  Sally was enthusiastically extolling its various bells and whistles to a small group of staff who had gathered around the machine.  Comments were made about how all of the accessibility features would hopefully make life easier.  Now, Ben had an invisible disability that he was extremely sensitive about.  When he heard Sally's comments about life being easier, he felt that like he had just been sucker punched below the belt.  That Sally was "calling him out" and making a spectacle of his disability.  He felt disrespected and totally humiliated.

Sally, hearing this for the first time yesterday, was utterly shocked.  She said she had no idea that Ben had ever dealt with any challenges whatsoever and that this was totally new information to her.  Ben had a very difficult time accepting that this could even remotely be true.  He had lived for the last 6 months, believing in his soul that Sally had been intentionally seeking to humiliate him in the hopes that he would finally quit.  Sally was appalled and angry that he would ever imagine that she could possibly be so cruel.  The tension of their opposing narratives and the uncertainty of no longer understanding what was true was acute.

Sally eventually disclosed to Ben that her grandson also struggled with a disability (a fact unbeknown to us).  If anyone would ever say something malicious to him about it she would <insert choice of torture here>.

And gradually the conversation shifted.  After some dialogue, Ben was able to begin the process of letting go the long held belief that Sally was intentionally out to get him.  Sally was able to offer an apology for saying something (however harmless the intent) that was really hurtful and humiliating for Ben.

And then they made a plan for managing their relationship going forward.  They put in place the nuts and bolts for how to have conversations related to performance management issues, for how to manage their extremely different communication styles.  They came up with a long list of agreements and through them, committed to work at rebuilding the trust that had been destroyed.

I am convinced that, left unattended, the relationship between Sally and Ben was headed for utter disaster.  They never would have been able to have the kind of conversation that happened yesterday and today on their own.  Even if HR would have called them both to the carpet and insisted on some basic behavioural agreements, and even if those agreements looked very similar to the list that the two of them came up with today, that wouldn't have resolved a thing.

The surprise connection that Ben and Sally made after she shared about her grandson's experience was what turned the corner for them in our conversations.  That's not to say that things will be easy for them; I'm sure they will continue to have struggles in their relationship. But they both have a little more good will today than they had yesterday.  And this is why we left their community a few hours ago feeling positive about their capacity to make things work.

Every person has the potential within themselves to transform conflicted relationships.  But sometimes that potential is so fragile and so naked that it would never risk coming out of hiding unless it knows it has a safe container in which it can expose itself to be seen and shaped by the other.  That is what the process of mediation offers.  That is the power of facilitated conversation.

Contrast

The antithesis of the human experience has been undeniably exposed these last few weeks in the news media.  The joy of the miners' rescue, a global fete to be sure, in juxtaposition with images and excerpts of horrific crimes - torture and death relived by the already mourning.

We sit, riveted to our screens by images of dramatic heroism and hope, accounts of elation and answered prayers.  And we watch, averting our eyes perhaps, but largely unmoved, in horror, at the retelling of unspeakable acts and images of darkness and depravity, worst nightmares come alive.

I understand why the collective experience of watching the miners' rescue was so compelling.  It's harder for me to understand why I feel drawn to absorb everything I can about things I do not want to know.  This, another stark contrast, became so obvious to me this week, when I was faced with the face of Russell Williams.

The photography world defines contrast as the ratio of light to shadow.  Perhaps it is somehow this idea of contrast that compels me to want to understand how such things can happen in the first place.  And leaves me with a need to understand the light to shadow ratio not only in our world today but in the heart of someone like Russell Williams.

The world we live in

Can I call my mom when we get to your place?  asks Nicholas' friend on the way to our house for an after school play-date.  He looks sad.  Sure, I say.  Is something wrong?  What's going on? 

I need to talk to my mom.  Some kids were telling me today that my family is all weak and dumb.  Because we're black.

He then proceeds to tell me about how this kind of thing has been going on since Kindergarten...

Clearly I must be naive otherwise this would not have shocked me so much.   Now, I'm not so Pollyanna as to think that the world has miraculously become a just and fair place.  I am, however, disturbed and distraught to hear that this sweet little almost-8-year-old boy has already experienced more than his fair share of injustice and hurt because of something so arbitrary as skin colour.  I mean, c'mon! Aren't we all passed this yet?

Clearly not.

When I connect with his mom when we drop him off, she tells me through tears that she is trying to teach her boys to cope with the inevitable pain they will experience in life as a result of being of African descent.  That this is just their reality and she will not allow her kids to grow up to be victims.  That they will need to grow a thick skin, to find and develop the tools within themselves not to bend and break under the pressure of ignorance and mean-spiritedness. 

Today, I am reminded that my boys will never know this particular brand of ignorance and mean-spiritedness.  They will never need to learn how to shake off the kind of hurtful comments that Nicholas' friend regularly receives.  I will never need teach them ways to cope with this kind of pain.

My friend T does.

I think one of the hardest things about parenting is learning over and over again, through the eyes and hearts of our kids, that sometimes the world we live in just sucks.

More Mary Oliver

 The Milkweed










The milkweed now with their many pods are standing
like a country of dry women.
The wind lifts their flat leaves and drops them.
This is not kind, but they retain a certain crisp glamour;
moreover, it’s easy to believe
each one was once young and delicate, also
frightened; also capable
of a certain amount of rough joy.
I wish you would walk with me out into the world.
I wish you could see what has to happen, how
each one crackles like a blessing
over its thin children as they rush away.

Thanksgiving

I exhale as I open the dryer and pull out:  3 bath towels, a pillow case, 3 pairs of underwear, a t-shirt, one sock (!) and 3 dish rags.

This is a true story.  This is how John does the laundry.

What I feel is a unique blend of utter stupefaction and hopeless resignation.  Then comes the inner dialogue:

Me:  What the H?  How can he think that this makes any sense?!
Me:  Remember, though, that he took the initiative to do the laundry this week again, and that is a good thing.
Me:  But he does it all wrong!!!!
Me:  According to whom?
Me:  According to ME!!  And I'm willing to bet all women in the developed world.
Me:  It's not a big deal.  He's making an important contribution.
Me:  Yes, he's contributing to my insanity...

You get the idea.  This conversation goes on for some time.

But eventually, I get tired of hearing my own complaints (yes, that can happen from time to time), and I shift into problem solving mode.  (What a good mediator I am!)

As I look around at the piles of yet-to-be-washed laundry that John had sorted (I use that term loosely, obviously), I am compelled to totally reorganize it all.  Better yet, I should call him down here so I can, once again, explain the basic rules of laundry sorting to him (e.g. you do all the towels together,  the sheets and pillow cases to-geth-er...).

Instead, I smile as I fold the bath towels, the pillow case, the underwear, the t-shirt and the dish rags.  I search for the stray partner of the lonely sock.

I go back upstairs and I thank John for all his help.  And I really mean it.

The Autumn

Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them —
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart...

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Time to leap

Neither of the boys are real risk takers.  I think this is why I was surprised at the thrill they took from leaping off the hay bales at the farm we visited a couple of weeks ago.





   

As I watched them, I couldn't remember the last time I had a thrill like that.  The kind that makes your stomach jump to your throat.  Climbing the ladder to wash the windows doesn't count.

I'm talking about the kind of leap-with-reckless-abandon you take just for the fun of it.

For no other reason at all.

It's a great day to be alive and I like you

On my walk to church yesterday morning, I varied my usual route and found myself on a new-to-me street.

At first I thought it was hilariously hoakey.  But for whatever reason, the sentiment stenciled on the stranger's mailbox stayed with me all day:

It's a great day to be alive and I like you.

This

My six year old son came home from school yesterday with a girl's phone number. 

Apparently it was an exchange because she called him last night.

I am totally unprepared for this.  Whatever "this" is.

Signs and wonders

Perceptions, recollections and memories are not always real .  And in fact, it may be argued that only rarely, if ever, are they completely factually accurate.  I totally allow this.  And yet.

When I think back to my years as a child (like, let's say pre1985) and my felt perception of our family values, expectations and rules, I recall with what feels like crystal clarity, many things were verboten. 

A few examples:
+  Rock music and/or dancing - I remember getting "caught" dancing to a Beach Boys record (which was, ironically, part of my parents' own vinyl collection)
+  Work on Sundays - including homework and piano (so I didn't really mind this one)
+  Movies - Oh, the devastation when I was not allowed to go see E.T. with my friend Jennifer and her mom!
+  Mini-skirts, nail polish, getting my ears pierced...

The list goes on.................................................................................................................

The bold, blue "Judy for Mayor" placard that sits stiffly on our yard has got me to thinking lately.

Perhaps it was the indoctrination of the public school system, but I always remember being proud to be Canadian.  So proud, in fact, that I was viciously jealous of my neighbour Dawn and the huge Canadian flag that flapped in the wind on her yard.  I thought we should have one too.  After all, we love Canada as much as anyone.

Of course the answer was: No way.

Now, looking back, I can imagine that the "no" was about many things, not the least of which was likely the expense and sheer hassle of putting the pole up in the very first place.  (In some ways, it was a ridiculous request.)

The rationale that was provided at the time, however, came in the form of a small seminar on Church and State.  In summary: As Christians, our only loyalty is to God and the church.  And the church, by its very nature, needs to separate itself from the state to maintain its integrity.  Therefore: no flag.

I suppose this made some sense to me.  It was at least consistent with the other values that I had been taught at home.  It conflicted, though, with the ideas about civic pride that I was learning in other places in my life.  Particularly in a post cold war era.  Canada was the best place on earth and would always be as long as the Soviet nukes didn't explode over us on their way to the US (Nyet nyet Soviet. Da da Canada...). 

In my childhood, this idea of the separation of Church and State felt like a great, unresolved dilemma for me.  While I understood that the evil/sinful influences of "the world" must be resisted (a la Paul: Do not conform to the patterns of your world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind), I also understood that it was only through actual participation that one can affect change (a la Gandhi: Be the change you want to see in the world).

So, I am surprised when a red Liberal poster board appears on my uncle's lawn circa 1987: Vote for Harry Pelissero!  WHAT is going on?!  I am confused.

Another memory from around that same time seems so strange that it must not be true.  I think it's Christmas time, some time in the late 80's.  Singing German carols in the basement of our church with extended family.  And my great grandfather suggests that we sing the national anthem.  And we do.  And it blows my mind.

One of the blessings (and curses too, I suppose) of human interaction is the ability that people, family, communities have to influence one another.  The power of ideas to shape and reshape our thoughts, our opinions, our sense of self, our actions.............................

By the time I get to high school, I'm all about Michael J. Fox and Bryan Adams.  With my parents (albeit tacit) approval, I wear hideously huge earrings, purple eye shadow and always leave my homework to the last possible moment on Sunday night.  I only dream I could ever be as cool as Molly Ringwald.

We never did get a flag pole, but I remember writing letters to politicians and standing with pride beside both of my parents as we march in protest of conservative government policy.

So today, my little "Judy for Mayor" sign proclaims to me something big.  Not just about the power of participation in change (VOTE FOR JUDY!!!) but about the power of ideas and the wonder of human engagement.