A cure for January blues

January is a strange month. It's the start of something new... and a time when many are blue.
Christmas has passed, the decorations are down, and our spirits sometimes go that direction too.

It didn't help that this work week began with news from five of my colleagues who had lost a friend or relative over the weekend. I've heard it said many times that people often hold on through the Christmas season for one last celebration with loved ones, and then succumb to illness or old age once all the feasting and festival is over. I'm not sure that's really the case with all the deaths I've been hearing about this week, but I know that it's made for a more sombre atmosphere at work. We are saddened by our friends' sorrow.

So this morning, our L'Arche Day Program decided to do something to lighten the burden a bit. We were all invited to join our core members to pray for those who had died and for those who are grieving. And it's safe to say that the little impromptu prayer service lifted all our spirits a little. I was especially touched when Mariette began her prayer: "I'd like to pray for my wonderful friend, Thomas, and my wonderful friend, Lucy, and my wonderful friend, Sandy, and my wonderful friend, Darren..." and on it went, as she looked around the circle and prayed for all present -- a simple, heartfelt naming of each of us to God.

I wonder, in this strange month of January, how much our spirits might lift if we would simply remember all the people who bless us, day in and day out, by their presence in our lives. Maybe Mariette is on to something -- the real cure for January blues.

"I not grumpy t'day": thoughts on paying attention

My work-at-home life has shifted out of the house for the past two weeks as I've been filling in for L'Arche Edmonton's receptionist, who is away on vacation. I've really enjoyed my mornings in the office in spite of a few frustrations with technology breakdowns, mainly because I get to see my friends at work. There's no human interaction when I'm writing L'Arche history at my kitchen desk.

I also get to see my friend, Thomas, every day, and I've learned something from him again -- my L'Arche friends with intellectual disabilities often cause me to reflect on what's really important.

Last week I discovered that it's essential to notice when Thomas comes into the room, and to say hello, no matter what my computer screen is demanding of me. On Tuesday, I was fighting with an email program that refused to either send or receive what had to be critically important emails (not likely) and was completely focused on it when Thomas arrived. He walked into the room, sat down at the table not far from my desk, and waited for me to notice him, which, unfortunately, I didn't for quite some time. When I finally did look up and say hello, he said, "I not talking t'you," in his angry voice.

Nothing I could say or do made up for the fact that I hadn't greeted him sooner. He sat, arms crossed, glaring at me, and eventually, got up and walked out. When I mentioned this to someone else, she said, "Oh, just be sure to greet Thomas right away, or he gets grumpy."

On Wednesday, when Thomas arrived, I said hello to him and asked how he was as soon as he walked into my room. His immediate, happy response was, "I not grumpy t'day," and I said, "I'm so glad. I like to be with you when you're happy." He spent a good part of the morning at the table near my desk, offering commentary on the falling snow or the situation in the parking lot ("lots of cars"), or in companionable silence. He didn't require a lot of attention, but it seemed important to him that I acknowledge his presence occasionally.

My experience with Thomas has me thinking a lot about these gadgets and gizmos that are always demanding our notice -- computers, TVs, tablets, smart phones and possibly a half-dozen other things that I don't even know about. They compete with our attention for each other, and if we let them win the competition, basic human interaction and courtesy lose out. How could a broken email program ever be more important than Thomas?

And yet everywhere we look there are people sitting together in different places, lost in their separate devices. Not that the devices are always an issue -- it's the lost-ness that is. As a technological society, we've developed the tendency to think that the business on those devices is terribly important. But it's essential -- and only human -- to be aware of those around us and their needs for our attention and care. When our devices start to suck us into unawareness of each other, it must be time to remind ourselves of our true priorities and turn them off.

It might just mean the difference between a "grumpy" or a "good day" for someone we love.

Simple Suggestion # 178... Hold hands

At work the other day, I caught a glimpse of Thomas and Harry walking down the hallway, Harry mumbling away in his usual fashion, and Thomas with his head bent towards his friend, holding his hand and listening to what Harry was saying. It touched me to watch them meandering along, a tall ungainly man and a short, somewhat unsteady one. I marveled at the beauty of that simple gesture of holding some one's hand.

When my children were small, I loved to feel little hands slide into mine, but those days are almost past as my youngest rarely thinks to hold my hand anymore, and my older girls haven't for years. In the last few years with my dizziness issues, I've spent a lot more time holding the hands of people with whom I walk. The comfort of a steady presence isn't something we're often aware of when we're young and strong, but my vertigo (worse again in these busy harvest days) has made me more appreciative of the simplicity of having a hand to hold when life gets a little topsy-turvy.

So, this week's mission? Find a hand to hold, if only for a few minutes. You might not need that kind of support, but maybe you have a friend who will appreciate knowing that you're there for them, just to listen, just to care.

P.S. Looking for more Simple Suggestions? Click here.

Lunch at L'Arche

 Last week, my neighbour, Shelley, and I went to the L'Arche Friday Hot Lunch. Every Friday, the Day Program invites friends to come and share lunch, and Shelley was invited as guest and took me along with her. It had been a long time since I joined my friends in Day Program for lunch, as I don't usually work on Fridays.

Other times that I've attended, I've ended up sitting at table with friends both with and without disabilities, and the conversation is usually dominated by the latter. Conversation at hot lunch is usually quite lively, with plenty of good natured teasing going on... but on Friday, Lucy* invited me to sit at her table along with three others with disabilities. Lucy, Mariette, Leanne and Thomas didn't have much to say over their lasagna and Caesar salads, so I had lots of opportunity to sit back and observe all the things I wouldn't have noticed had I been engaged in lengthy conversation:

-- Darren, getting up and going to the fridge for his favourite condiment, ketchup, and Kana quietly putting it on his lasagna for him.

-- Thomas, suddenly getting angry about something. I tried to find out what was wrong, but he muttered, "Not talking to you." He got up and left the room muttering angrily, though I'm pretty sure that only our table saw his outburst...

-- Harry, being mischievous, and tucking a squished-up serviette down the back of Carmel's shirt... which of course, led to more napkin wars.

-- ... Leanne, being concerned about Thomas each time he showed up at the door and turned away again, still angry for reasons unknown...

-- Glen, in earnest conversation with another guest at another table, and later, gleefully victorious at arm-wrestling.

-- Alice, the Day Program coordinator, quietly making sure everyone had enough to eat.

... But the best part of the whole hour was when Leanne, our tiniest core member, decided to bring Thomas, our biggest core member, back to the table. Thomas was still looking rather disgruntled, but he had peeked around the doorway, and she waved to him and said, "Thomas, come sit." But Thomas was holding back, so she got up and marched over to him. Taking him by the hand, she talked him all the way back to our table and made him sit down. Then she gestured to his empty plate. "Hungry?" she asked. He nodded. She took his plate to the serving table and loaded it with another piece of lasagna and more salad, brought it back to him, and asked if he wanted more juice. He nodded again, and she went and refilled his glass.

Thomas forgot what he was angry about, and happily ate his meal. Tickle wars broke out on the other side of the room (Harry again) and soon spread to our table. Leanne and I tickled Thomas, and he tickled us... and when the meal was over, I found myself reflecting on the fact that I would have missed Leanne's tender care for Thomas had I gotten caught up in a table conversation. Leanne made our meal a celebration through her acceptance of Thomas, and her gentle way of coaxing him from loneliness to belonging.

On our way home from Hot Lunch, Shelley commented, "It's so easy to forget what's really important. But whenever I come to L'Arche, I remember."

Amen, sister.

*I use pseudonyms online for all my L'Arche friends.