I used to have a professor who would stand at the top of the stairs in his house with his pile of essays and throw them. Whatever landed at the bottom got an A. If the essay landed at his feet… well that would be an F my friend, a very sad and short fall into failure.


This is not how I make decisions… or is it? I sometimes am a planner, do research, check out everything, as many sides of the issue as I possibly can before I take a decision…. But then sometimes I am impulsive and don’t spend time at all thinking too much about it. An example of a planned decision? Hmmm for a second there I couldn’t think of a decision that I had planned out but I am sure that there is one. I have lots of on the fly decisions that I have made – like doing NaNoWriMo – that is my latest impulsive, not planning decision…. Why not write a novel when you are in the middle of one of the busier months at work and heading into Christmas and are already doing two other writing projects, not to mention all the other projects that are on the go – my inner critic was ranting when that happened. I heard ‘what are you fonting nuts or what?” a lot. Sigh.

But you know, doing the novel has been a really great experience. In fact the vast majority of decisions that I have made like that – trusting my instincts rather than thinking too much about something, have turned out be pretty great experiences, even if sometimes hard ones.

So, I guess I am more like my old prof than I wanted to admit. The good stuff that falls to the bottom – where my toes land… that is how I make my decisions to do anything.

Xo
la

It has been quite awhile it seems since I last sat down to write an entry here (or anywhere)… it hasn’t been that long in terms of days, but long enough to seem like there has been a gap in the kind of writing that I promised myself I would try to keep up. I am failing miserably at it!

A lot has been happening since my past entry – drove to Nova Scotia and back again for what was probably one of the best holidays I can ever remember having. I came home feeling energized and filled with purpose – heavy on the feeling energized part. November 1st I jumped into the National Novel Writing Competition along with 20 or so others from Diving Deeper. The competition involves writing from November 1st to 30th with the goal of having 50,000 words by the 30th. Much to my surprise, ten days later, I arrived at 50,000 words and the better part of my first novel written.  The story that I wrote isn’t entirely finished, some characters keep jumping up and wanting to say something more…. But when it is finished, then I will begin the editing process, and see where that all will go. It has been a very interesting and enjoyable process so far – much more so than I ever anticipated! Here is a brief synopsis of the story:

Unfolding The Butterfly is a story of transformation that looks at crucial intersections in a person's life - the events that shake and change people.

Quinlan is having dinner in a restaurant with his sister, Lola. He just finishes telling her that he has been transferred to a small Southwestern Ontario town by his company. He asked to be transferred because he felt he could no longer live in the city. Then they witness a horrific crime outside the window of the restaurant just feet from their table. A man is killed in cold blood on the street. The killer sees Quinlan and Lola through the window, and tries to kill them as well before the police arrive. By the grace of God, the killer misses, and flees.

Quinlan convinces his sister to come with him to Port Glasgow to hide until the police capture the killer. Reluctantly, Lola agrees. They make the trip down, confident that they are safe, until Lola sees the killer watching the house. Lola runs. She disappears. Quinlan is convinced that it is the shadowy killer he saw in Toronto. Quinlan tries desperately to find her after getting an interrupted cell phone call. He thinks he sees her lying in the street, but when he goes to her, he discovers young woman who was badly beaten. He takes her to the local hospital to get medical help. The unknown woman presses a wadded message into his hand before being rushed into surgery. The letter holds a clue to where the killer took Lola - the only clue Quinlan has that will lead him to his sister. He has no choice but to follow the message to find Lola. His quest leads him Isla who is the key to the entire mystery.

What does it take to truly transform a life? Learning the art of unfolding the butterfly.
~

Now, I am about to embark on another big project for the next week…It actually has been an on going one since the beginning of September, but next week is when the big winter coat giveaway happens at work. I have already mentioned that mountain recently…. It is going to be a very special, if not exhausting week.

Needless to say, my mind has been a bit busy with everything… it’s a good kind of busy. I am loving it!

la

At the moment, I am working on several projects- the biggest of which is our annual winter coat drive for children called Koats for Kids at work. We have been doing this coat program for about 8 years now. We collect gently used and new coats to give to families in need of winter clothing for their children. Last year, we gave away 8, 000 coats. The year before, we gave away 6, 000 coats. This year, we will be giving the coats out on November 17th to the 21st. We already have a large number of coats donated ( as well as snow pants, hats and mitts, sweaters, boots and other winter apparel) and I expect we will get a lot more as the end of November approaches. This is my fifth year working on this – the fourth coordinating it.  Each year I am always blown away by the generosity and compassion of the community – our common goal is to make sure that no child goes cold this winter. There are very special groups of people who spend all year making hand knit hats, scarves and mittens to give away to the kids. I call them the Knitting Nannies. There are about 50 grandmothers , who work independently and with their small circles of friends and families and the knit all year. One grandmother made a hundred pairs of mittens and a hundred hats. All different sizes. Another grandmother and her daughter made a hundred mittens. They never ask to be recognized, most don’t even leave their name when they make the donation. I think they are angels for doing what they do. There is love in every stitch. During a Canadian winter – love, warm hats and mittens, boots, snow pants and a good winter coat go a long way.

Another big project I am working on is our Christmas program. The Twelve Days of Christmas program is aimed at providing 1200 children and youth Christmas dinner. This is our second year of doing this program. A lot of the children and youth that we serve, and their families do not have the ability to have a traditional holiday meal. A large turkey does not always fit into their food budget, and some children go without food at all. Our nutrition programs during the year makes dinners available to the kids every night and the Twelve Days of Christmas is a special part of it. In addition to the meal, the children will all get a small gift – a fun pre-holiday surprise. My job is to coordinate the donations, to ensure that we can continue it again next year and the years to come. I also get to be on hand one of the nights with my family to serve the kids dinner and sit down with everyone. It’s a really fun evening.

The holidays are a time of giving for a great number of people – and I am fortunate enough to be able to coordinate a Christmas gift program for the kids and their families. Traditionally we are able to help over 1000 families with gifts for the children and youth each year through the generosity of the community, and the Sears Tree of Wishes campaign. One of the most touching stories I heard last year was of a couple going to a Sears store and buying toys for every star on the Tree of Wishes tree – and donating all of the toys anonymously. Times are tough for people – and tougher for people who began the year with a lower income or are living below the poverty line. These gifts, like the dinner just are a small injection of the holiday spirit, the hope of the season and reaches deeper than just the physical toy itself.

I am also working on editing/ co-writing a book. I am excited about this project. I am happy to be able to help a friend by doing this. I am hoping to have the next draft finished by December - I am already a quarter of the way done.

I am also getting ready to spend the month of November writing a novel for NaNoWriMo and National Novel Writing Month. I am very excited about this too.



There are a lot of other things going on – smaller projects, plans for January and the spring but this is what I am working on right now. :-)

xo
la

Oh I don't keep Busy - Busy just finds me. If I could keep Busy then my days would be emptier. I would spend the empty, extra moments tending to Busy probably, perhaps have tea with Busy, or share some chocolate treats, or write Busy poetry, or sing Busy a song, or paint Busy a portrait to be remembered by. Busy instead rides in on a rusted old bicycle, with a horn that sounds like a goat being squeezed, and not in a good way. Last time Busy arrived, my sunflowers got mashed because the bike fell on top of the garden. I think Busy gets lonely sometimes, and that's why Busy is always coming around and wanting to interrupt whatever is going on that day. it's getting colder outside now, and I was thinking that I should really knit Busy a sweater because sooner or later, even when the road is thick with snow, Busy will come tearing down the lane, wanting my attention. I wouldn't want Busy to catch cold. Now that would not be good.

By just being me. The next meeting, the next moment is always the unknown. There was a time when I put a great deal of energy into preparing for the unknown… preparing for all of the ‘unknowns’. When I was a little girl, I grew up as a part of the Girl Guide movement (the comparable movement in the US was girls scouts) I was a brownie, a girl guide and a pathfinder. I learned a great deal by being part of this group – really it was the first exposure I had to the concept of preparedness. In fact, the motto was ‘be prepared’. I have dedicated myself to a certain extent to being prepared. I remember the anxiety of Y2K. I stocked the pantry with food and water – just in case. I have trained in a variety of wilderness and survival skills (not to mention emergency preparedness)  – just in case. I even taught (at one point) others how to survive in the wild – to live off the land if they were lost – how to assemble a tent if blindfolded – how to track the trail if necessary – I studied it, breathed it, taught it and lived i t - why? Because of the unknown.

 

I don’t remember the pivotal moment when I realized that – no matter what kind of preparation is done – there are moments that no amount of preparation is enough and it doesn’t change what is unknown. It wasn’t until I read the Three Pillars of Zen by Phillip Kapleau that the unknown staredt to become crystallized for me. The unknown is always a breath away… This is not to say that a degree of prep isn’t important (or prudent) where the unknown is concerned, but gee… panta rei…. Everything changes. Everything. So for me, the only necessary preparation for the unknown is the practise of flexibility and openness… whatever arrives, does.

 

xo

la

 

Coincidently, I have been thinking a lot about letters lately - the topic is coming up repeatedly  in interesting places, which makes me think more about it of course. I have always loved to write letters - I often write long letters to a few close friends, and to my family, who is spread out all across the world at the moment.  He pointed out to me that my letters to him were like a conversation - that it felt as though I were sitting in the room talking to him not just him reading the letter that I had sent. He also pointed out to me that my letters were sometimes a conversation that I was having with myself - the ideas, thoughts etc that are top of mind, and that need to be articulated, witnessed and heard - not just by the person who the letter is to, but by me as well... to understand myself a little better. I often think back to eight years ago, before I had a computer and access to the internet, and how letters were the main, and in some cases only means of communicating with certain people in my life (and if I think about it, the main way that I used to communicate with myself). Recently, I set an exercise along these very lines for the Diving Deeper writing workshop and the writing as spiritual practise board. The exercise was simple - keeping in mind the idea that the letter can be a conversation with your higher self, write a letter to yourself or to your higher self  (or from your higher self, God, The Universe or whatever/ whoever inspires you) - just write whatever comes up. The idea for the exercise is to become open, go deeper into the idea of communication with yourself and the Self... This was the last letter that I wrote. A letter to God, from me.  The next day, by the way, I learned that I had to send in my laptop to be fixed, and spent the next week writing by hand again - continuing the letter....:-)

I have alot of family stories to draw from - which makes it difficult to choose just one. Not so long ago I wrote about some news that I learned about my grandparents here  I think though some of my fondest memories of my family were the stories that my grandfather shared. I remember stories of him working in the shanty, delivering cheese in Bearbrook, Ontario, and working in the mines in Sudbury. One of the funniest stories I remember is he told me about my father. One Saturday morning, my father was sprawled out, watching cartoons on television. He was maybe 8 or 9 years old at the time. My grandfather was a joker, loved to play pranks and jokes, and was always filled with laughter, even in the most difficult times. On that day, he came out of the kitchen, while his son was deeply engrossed in the televions, and slapped a cold pancake covered with corn syrup on the bottom of my father's barefoot. I can just picture my father's reaction, and I can still hear him laughing his deep laugh remembering what he did to his son. I will always remember that story, and laugh about it too.

Stories are a wonderful way to remember.


xo
la