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Wednesday, March 29, 2023

If you're in the neighbourhood...

Please consider this an invitation to join us for these two in-person Good Friday events, the first since the pandemic began: 

The Outdoor Way of the Cross is an ecumenical prayer event marking the suffering and death of Jesus. It is a time to reflect on how the gospel values of Jesus apply to individual and public life today. This year's theme is based on Micah 6:8 -- "And what does God require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." 

People of all faith traditions are welcome. The 2 km walk is reasonable for most ages and ability levels. Free street parking is available near the start location. Light refreshments will be provided at Hope Mission after the final station. 

For more information, search "Good Friday Outdoor Way of the Cross Edmonton," or use this link.

Good Friday Prayer Around the Cross is an ecumenical and musical evening of meditation with scripture, silence, and the songs of the Taizé Community, much like what happens in the Church of Reconciliation in Taizé, France, every Friday evening. It's an opportunity to allow beautiful, meditative music to wash over us and bring us to peace, to remember that Christ knows what it is to be human, and to understand that God accompanies each of us in our own struggles as we look forward to resurrection for ourselves and all of creation.

See https://www.facebook.com/events/1329978891255015

These are two of my favourite events of the year. I hope you can join us! Bring friends.

Monday, March 27, 2023

Monday Music Appreciation #6 -- You're Amazing!

For this Music Appreciation Monday, here's something completely different. Martin Kerr is a local guy. And he's pretty amazing himself. He performed this at the Winspear about a year before I started working there.

Unfortunately, I'm away from my computer and my smartphone isn't smart enough to let me embed the video like I usually do, but trust me, the link below is worth a look, and I'll be sure to fix things when I get home from a wee mountain break with my sisters.

This is a song and video that I really like, and Martin was recently tagged in a video of a carload of folks bopping along to this tune somewhere in Kenya, so you might say it has universal appeal!

 Enjoy! 


Sunday, March 26, 2023

Lazarus again

It's my favourite Sunday of Lent, Lazarus Sunday. But this year, as I think about Lazarus, who, for me, is forever linked to my friend Richard from L'Arche, the story is even more poignant.  

Richard (whose pseudonym was Harry in my other Lazarus Sunday posts) died unexpectedly a few months ago, leaving a gaping hole for those of us who loved him, but most especially for Hiro, our Japanese assistant who was Richard's most faithful and best friend. 

I spoke with Hiro recently, and he's still grieving, a sure sign of his love for Richard.

So today's repost of the L'Arche version of the Lazarus story is for Hiro. When Hiro reaches Resurrection and leaves his tomb, Richard will rush to meet him, unbind him from his sorrows, and they will both go free.

Please click here to revisit the story of Lazarus as some people in L'Arche know it. Many thanks to my friend, Carmel, for bringing it to my attention some years ago.

Blessings on this Lazarus Sunday.

Thursday, March 23, 2023

An uncomplicated friendship -- a tribute to Mr. Ski

Mr. Ski explains a game
Mr. Ski was a one-of-a-kind friend in my life, for many reasons. His nickname among his students was an apt moniker for a Phys. Ed. and Grade 5 teacher. He was the only male teacher in St. A's elementary school when I was there, and a guy that the kids really looked up to. Though he didn't say it in so many words, he loved his students, and they knew it, which is how a teacher truly makes a difference in the lives of those entrusted to him.

I looked up to Arthur (his real name), too. When I began my teaching career in small town Alberta, Art was the guy who thought to check up on me during my second week in the classroom. He punched me on the arm, asking, "Are you gonna make it, Rookie?" and when my eyes filled with tears because of his empathy and kindness, he immediately gave me the fatherly bear hug that I needed. "You Prediger kids are huggy sorts," he joked. That was the moment when I realized that he was a kindred spirit.

When my grandpa died unexpectedly a couple of weeks later and the phone call came to me at school just before my students arrived, Art found me in my classroom to listen to a different set of tears. He hugged me again, and shared about how he'd lost his dad when he was young. I appreciated his words more than he knew. 

Art had 11 years of teaching experience beyond mine, and became the person I turned to for advice and help. He taught my Grade 3 or 4 Phys. Ed. classes and I taught his Grade 5 Religion program. He sat on the couch in the staff room during recesses and lunch time, and I sat with him, as it was in close proximity to the fridge and my mid-morning diabetic snack. Once I asked him why he chose to sit there instead of at the long staff table, and he said, "To avoid the politics." 

He became a mentor, big brother, and best friend, though I didn't notice it happening at the time. I credit him now with keeping me on an even keel through a particularly tough second year of teaching. He always seemed to know when I needed to get some frustration or other out of my system, leaning on the doorframe of my classroom, encouraging me. He picked up on the times when an invitation to hang out with his wife, Jan, and their young kids, would be most appreciated. He consistently modelled how to treat students with love.

At the end of my tough second year of teaching, Art told me that he was planning to take a year's sabbatical to be Kindergarten Dad for his youngest, and I was suddenly faced with an even tougher third school year without him. That's when I began to realize how much his friendship/mentorship meant to me, and my teaching journal from those days is filled with reflections about how much I would miss him in the year ahead. The students that were coming to me were going to be challenging, to put it mildly, and Art wouldn't be there to crack jokes to distract from ongoing staff politics.

The summer solstice evening just before Art's sabbatical is imprinted in my memory. I was ending the school year with a terrible case of laryngitis, and stayed in my classroom quite late to finish report cards. Art was cleaning out his room for his sabbatical leave. Somehow, we ended up walking from the school to the local 7-11 for throat lozenges, report card stickers and two cans of diet coke, and ended up taking a long walk in the dusky evening, discussing my recent engagement and long distance relationship, and those ever present staffroom politics. By the time we got back to school, we'd set the world straight. Art was that kind of friend.

The next day, I was still voiceless, tired and somewhat tearful, wondering how I would manage without Art at school for the next year. That's when he surprised me by telling me that we were kindred spirits in more ways than I knew. Well, he didn't exactly tell me, but for the next day or two he kept throwing hints my way, his eyes twinkling and his grin mischievous... until, on his last day at St. A's, I turned to him in shock as it finally dawned on me -- "You have Type 1 diabetes too??!!!!"

Two years of sitting together eating our recess snacks on the staff room couch, and it never once dawned on me. He ate healthy, but probably cheated on his diet as much as I did, without commenting on my misbehaviour. I do remember him pouring me some of his own fridge-stored apple juice one day when I complained of low blood sugars and feeling shaky. I wasn't the only one who didn't realize that he had Type 1 diabetes -- he never told anyone on staff because he'd had enough of being stigmatized when he was a kid. I'm not sure anyone but his family ever really knew.

But his "sweet secret" was also mine, and became a special bond of sorts between us. From then on we compared notes about our diabetes care. I survived my third year of teaching (though I'll admit, without Art there, I got sucked into staff politics and student misbehaviour and felt pretty burnt out by the end of the year). At the end of that year, I moved back to the city and got married, and somehow never did return to teaching. I had fun dancing with Art's kids at my wedding, and he took one of my favourite wedding pictures from that day.

Through the years, my friendship with Art continued, though phone calls were irregular and visits scarce, mostly because of distance. When he had his first heart attack, I learned about it from a mutual friend, and called Art. He got even more serious about looking after his diabetes then, and encouraged me to do the same, suggesting that I look into the "Edmonton Protocol" Islet Transplant Program at the University of Alberta. He applied, but didn't qualify, perhaps because he'd had diabetes too long, and they were looking for younger patients. He thought I should go for it, but I didn't want to jump through so many hoops, and the idea of taking anti-rejection drugs for the rest of my life held no appeal.

The last time I saw Art, he came for coffee and we had a really great visit about how he was spending his retirement, what his kids and mine were up to, an uncomplicated and loving conversation between two old friends. During these covid years, Lee and I have driven the road past Art and Jan's acreage a few times, but somehow I couldn't recognize the turn off. I thought of Art often, happy to imagine him kibbitzing with friends and neighbours, out on the golf course, or just hanging out with his wife, kids, and grandkids. I wish I'd phoned.

When I sent my New Year's letter this year, I certainly didn't expect Jan's response, telling me that she was sorry to realize that I hadn't heard that Art died last July. It was a shock to the system -- I wept on and off for the rest of the day. I'm broken-hearted that I missed his funeral, but more broken-hearted that I wasn't in touch more often in the last few years, and that such a wonderful friend who shared my "sweet secret" is gone from this world.

But believing in the "sweet hereafter," where I will see Art again, and expecting a joyous reunion when I get there, helps a lot. It's the only thing that does right now.

Art, you were a true gem, and ours was one of the most uncomplicated and loving friendships I never expected. Your warmth and kindness lives on in the hearts of all who knew you. I'm pretty sure there are dozens of kids for whom you were the closest thing they ever had to a loving dad, and that's huge! Thank you for the hugs, for being a kindred spirit, mentor, big brother, and best Ponoka friend. I will miss you until we meet again.

Monday, March 20, 2023

Monday Music Appreciation #5 -- Nimrod?

Have I mentioned that I love my job? Here comes more good music that I heard because of it.

The music below was written by Sir Edward Elgar and is just one piece of his 14 "Enigma variations" that he wrote to honour his wife and friends. The other variations evoke his friends' laughter or mannerisms, and one even tells a humorous story of a particular friend's bulldog falling into the river, climbing out, and shaking himself off, bells on his collar chiming.

But the Nimrod variation, so named for a music publisher friend who gave him valuable advice, is the variation that is probably best known, and loved by many people, myself included. I always thought Nimrod a disparaging name to call someone foolish, but turns out it's actually the name of a man in the bible (Genesis 10) who was a skillful hunter.

Be that as it may, it's also the title of a beautiful adagio! (See the fancy words I'm learning?)

Enjoy!

Monday, March 13, 2023

Monday Music Appreciation #4 -- Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana by Mascagni

Have I mentioned that I love my job?

I've heard this beautiful piece by Mascagni many times, and twice in the last week at a concert called The Power of the Orchestra, curated and conducted by Maestro Michael Stern. He gave a brief synopsis of the opera (which has its share of drama, lust, revenge, violence, and disaster) -- with this gorgeous "Easter Sunday Morning" moment of quiet before everything goes downhill for the characters of Cavalleria Rusticana.

I won't say more than that, I'll just offer Mascagni's Intermezzo as a poignant and heart-breakingly beautiful Monday moment of music appreciation. The power of the orchestra, indeed! Enjoy!

And Happy Birthday to Jay!

Wednesday, March 8, 2023

A tribute to a small black dog

After his gall bladder failed, bringing about a surgery from which recovery was too challenging, my best little walking buddy, Shadow-dog, died peacefully in my arms last night. He leaves a few family members and friends to miss him. He was ten years old.

I am smiling through my tears as I type this. If anyone ever had a good life (except for the last week or so), our "Little Bear" did. Regular readers know I've written dozens of moodlings relating to adventures with Shadow. He was a good boy, and we walked a few thousand kilometers together, through all kinds of weather. He made a lot of friends, too, being as cute as he was.

"Shadow of Zorro" (his pedigree name) was a much-longed-for pet by our youngest, Jay, who did a lot of research into hypoallergenic dogs, found a breeder of Havanese puppies, and wore us down until we agreed to Shadow being Jay's 13th birthday present. We first laid eyes on him when he was a two-week-old "peanut" and brought him home when he was 8 weeks old. 

Shadow proved to be a perfect name for him as he was often underfoot, and hard to see against the black back-entry doormat, where he whined to go outside. We are grateful to Jay for bringing a happy and cuddly little spirit into our life, though he had his occasional curmudgeon days, too.

Shadow, February 3rd
My husband Lee initially didn't want anything to do with our dog, but it didn't take long for Shadow to work his way into Lee's heart. They spent many evenings together in their favourite easy chair, Shadow chewing on pizzle sticks Lee held for him while reading, and Lee became Shadow's #1. 

Shadow loved garden cucumbers and carrots, fresh snow, chasing his tail, making the bed, laying in sunbeams, tearing around on "Accidental Beach" beside the river, picking cheerios out of the air, dancing for his favourite peanut butter pumpkin treats, and walking dirt paths through the river valley. He loved greeting people at the door with a chew stick (though he didn't really expect or want them to accept his "welcome gift"). He made us laugh often.

He never understood the concept of fetch, and often had to be cajoled into going for walks. Once outside, he pranced along happily, often chasing -- to the end of his leash -- after magpies, squirrels, or jack rabbits. He liked barking at the letter carrier and any other dogs passing our large front window. He came and asked to be lifted up to sit between my knees during my daily morning meditation time. 

Special thanks to Dr. Ferrera, who so gently helped us with his final journey last night -- we certainly didn't expect to lose him so soon. The house is too quiet now. The remnants of his belongings and food will be donated to help low-income folks with their pets, and he will be remembered with a small spring ritual, his ashes spread near the backyard cucumber patch and along his best-sniffed coyote trails in our river valley. 

Happy trails to you, dear little Shadow-boy. I will miss being greeted at the door by your joyful barks and waggy tail, and feeling your soft, soft fur when I scratched you under the chin and around the ears. I will always remember you. Go in peace, little friend.

Thursday, March 2, 2023

The start of garden season

It started on about February 7th, as you can see. I planted geraniums, peppers, lobelia, basil, rosemary, and onion seeds, and three-and-a-half weeks'-worth of little plants are growing in my kitchen. In the next week or two I'll open our insulated greenhouse, set up a small thermostat-controlled heater, and move them out. But for now, they're thriving where they are, and I'm happy to watch them grow.