Simple Suggestion #282 -- Use the Waste Wise app

As I mentioned a few posts back, Edmontonians are undertaking new ways to handle our waste this Spring in the form of a black cart for garbage, and a green cart for food scraps. But what about all those things that don't seem to fit in either cart? Like branches pruned from my backyard tree? Aluminum pie plates? Clothing?

There's an app for that! It's called the Waste Wise app and can be downloaded from your favourite app provider. Not only will it help you determine "What Goes Where" when it comes to waste and recyclables, but it also offers a "Waste Wizard" where you can input the name of an item that you're unsure about and it will give you suggestions about how to dispose of it. There's also a handy reminder feature so no one has to miss their garbage collection day, and there's a fun little waste sorting game for the kids where they send items to the proper waste disposal situation (Ecostation, Food Scraps or Garbage Bin or Blue Bag) and choose features for their own park. 

If apps are not your thing and you're not sure how to dispose of something, it's always worth checking the City of Edmonton Garbage and Recycling webpage. If you have things that are "gently used," the City's Reuse Directory can help find a home for them. There are also dozens of "Marketplace" or Buy Nothing pages, not to mention Kijiji... but I've gotten a bit off track here.

Waste is truly a waste of our earth's resources, and while it helps to know how to dispose of it, even better yet is not creating it in the first place if you can come up with lower-waste solutions, some of which can be found under the Simple Suggestions found here. And if you have any more Waste Wise suggestions, I'm all ears!

Learning from Indigenous Canada

Just last week, I finished a free online course from the University of Alberta called Indigenous Canada. I've been working at it since February, one or two modules a week, and it has been an excellent experience and a real eye opener. 

We all know that history is written from the perspective of the winners -- and that our tendency as human beings is to see people in binary terms of being winners or losers. When I took Canadian History 210 at the University of Alberta all those years ago, there was passing reference to the Algonquin, Iroquis and Mohawk communities encountered by the French and English colonizers, and a brief lesson on Louis Riel and the Metis Rebellion -- but everything else was about the colonists and their glorious settlement of Canada. The so-called winners got all the press.

But North America's first name was actually Turtle Island, and there's a lot more to our country's history than what European settlers (my ancestors included) brought to it. When Columbus arrived in 1492, people had already been living here for thousands of years, and had established a way of life that included gatherings, trade routes, and territories that supplied them with all that they needed to live happy lives. They were wise about the land and how to work with it through all seasons.

It makes me wonder -- where did Europeans ever come up with the idea that the Original Peoples weren't civilized? According to what I learned from Indigenous Canada, their ways of sharing the land, handling conflict, respecting nature, and raising children into responsible and caring adults involved healthy cooperation rather than nasty cycles of competition and punishment. They only took from nature what they needed, and operated out of a deep sense of appreciation and generosity rather than hoarding and one-upmanship. Whenever conflict arose, they came together to make peace treaties, covenants, with one another.

Thanks to the course, it's crystal clear to me now that a clash of world views is one of the main reasons for our need for reconciliation with Indigenous peoples. Had Europeans arrived in North America with a willingness to work with its inhabitants rather than a desire to exploit the New World, the U of A course I just finished would not have modules called "Trick or Treaty," "New Rules, New Game," or "Killing the Indian in the Child." 

Had Champlain come with a spirit of cooperation back in the 1600s, I suspect we would now have better conservation practices, fewer Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, lower crime rates, a restorative rather than retributive justice system, and a richer overall culture that welcomes simplicity and diversity over consumerism and homogeneity. There were points in the course where I cried for the things Original Peoples have been put through by our government and by our "settler" apathy toward them, and for all that our society has lost because of it.

But crying over broken history is not the point. The point is to listen, to learn, and to make positive changes. The resilience of Indigenous people is really incredible -- they are the fastest growing demographic in Canada, and are forging new paths in spite of the many injustices they've been forced to deal with.

I highly recommend this course to all Canadians. It is free to anyone with computer access, and all you have to do is watch a series of videos each week for about 12 weeks. If you don't want to do the quizzes at the end of each module, no one will raise a fuss. There's an online discussion option that I barely explored, but would also be interesting if you have the time for it. And if you like, you can receive a certificate at the end of the course for a pittance (in comparison to the cost of a regular university course!)

It's a free opportunity for a deeper understanding, and one worth taking!

Click here!

Cleaning out the greenhouse

Last fall, struggling with that low-grade covid fatigue that many of us carry, I never bothered to clean up our little greenhouse. That made it rather challenging to start seedlings last month without tripping over pots and tracking dirt around. 

Now that all my babies are thriving and it's warm enough to move them outside for short periods, I cleaned up and took a picture of the plantlings set out on our cold frame. They look so happy, and I'm excited about the coming gardening season.

So far, I've got 76 tomatoes of different varieties, a dozen pepper plants (four kinds), four trays of different onions, petunias, geraniums, marigolds, amaryllises, dahlias, calla or canna lilies (or maybe both?) and herbs.

In a month's time, everything will be lanky and more than ready to be planted in garden beds and boxes, but for now, I'm just enjoying these stocky little ones. Life is tenacious, and worth celebrating after a long winter!

I'm F.I.N.E., how are you?

I could almost wear this as a t-shirt...

When Canadian murder-mystery novelist Louise Penny began her Chief Inspector Gamache series of 16 books in 2007 (excellent novels listed if you click here), I'm sure she had no inkling of this pandemic we are moving through. But the character of her mad poet, Ruth Zardo, wrote a slim book of poetry called "I'm F.I.N.E." Which, the reader learns, stands for F**ked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Egotistical.

And who among us hasn't felt all of those things in the 390-some days that we have been living under pandemic restrictions of one kind or another? 

As someone with Type I diabetes, my turn for a vaccine came up on Tuesday, and I was online with Alberta Health Services at the crack of 8 a.m., lucky to secure my first immunization against covid for that afternoon. I stood in a socially-distanced line with hundreds of other Albertans (some from out of town, I learned) and thanked heaven for getting me there, keeping me safe from the virus for well over a year, when my own nephew was stuck in a covid hotel. (Thankfully, he has recovered and was released from his quarantine just yesterday.)

In my F.I.N.E. state over the past 13 months, I've managed to mostly keep my equilibrium, but the feelings of being messed with, insecure, neurotic and egotistical made regular appearances -- as I felt spring and fall allergies in my throat, watched anti-mask rallies held by people who have little regard for the common good, second-guessed whether the health officials were doing enough or not enough, experienced the churning mind and high anxiety of 2 a.m. insomnia that never did allow for sleep, and when I think of all those people who can't protect themselves very easily because they are deemed essential workers while I am safe at home...

Now that I have been vaccinated, it's a bit better. I'm fine -- better than fine because I don't feel like my diabetes combined with covid will be my death sentence -- but still F.I.N.E. by Louise Penny's standards... worried for everyone who hasn't been vaccinated (especially those in countries that aren't receiving vaccine while we are so fortunate!) and those anti-maskers and anti-vaxxers who refuse to accept the science for the sake of world health. How do we convince them?

Of course, there is a way around being F.I.N.E. -- and that is, to forget myself and step out to do things for others... which is something I have been somewhat hesitant to do because our health officials keep telling us to stay home so that our hospitals don't overflow. 

So for the next two weeks at the very least, I am still sheltering in place. I expect that our presently cresting third wave will keep us all from being out and about much until we bend the curve down again. After that, as more and more of us are vaccinated, I'm hopeful that we can be more fine than F.I.N.E.

How are you?

Olga's Easter bread (Paska)

It's the most wonderful dough... of the year... (sing it with me...)

When my elderly Ukrainian neighbour, Olga, who has since moved to seniors' housing, typed up her Paska and Babka recipes for me after Easter some years ago, I didn't realize what a treasure she had shared. Since then I've been delighted with the Paska process and results. I've shared it before, but here's this year's efforts from yesterday to illustrate in case any of my readers would like to try to make their own beautiful Easter bread:

Olga's Paska 

2 c (500 mL) lukewarm water

2 tbsp (30 mL) sugar

3 tbsp (45 mL) active dry yeast

Mix them together and let stand about ten minutes. (I usually do this about halfway through making the "sponge" for the bread as it's a longer process than ten minutes).

2 c (500 mL) scalded milk (warmed to 180 degrees, then allowed to cool -- scalded milk helps the flour gluten's smoothness and gives any flavouring you might like to add extra oomph) 

6 whole eggs 

6 egg yolks (Easter macarons from the whites, anyone? I made a delicious omelette for supper)

1 c (250 mL) sugar -- or a bit less

1/2 c (125 mL) butter or margarine, melted

1/2 c (125 mL) vegetable oil

1 tbsp (15 mL) salt

1 tsp lemon flavouring (almond or vanilla are nice, too, and darn, I forgot to add any flavouring this year!)

12-13 c flour... more if the dough is too sticky.

Add the sugar, salt and melted butter to the scalded milk. Mix in oil and flavouring. Beat eggs until light and add them, along with 4 cups of flour. 

Add the yeast mixture and mix well to make the "sponge," then add it to the remaining 8-9 cups of flour, or more, depending on the stickiness of the dough (different flours have different moisture content). Knead it until smooth and satiny.

Put the dough into a large bowl, cover and let rise until doubled. Punch down and let rise again til doubled.

Divide the dough into as many loaves as you like. If you have round cake pans, they are ideal for nice rounded, flat bottomed loaves (filling about 1/3 of the pan's center). Use half (or less) of a loaf's dough for decorations -- braids, twists, ropes, rosettes, etc. I put my loaves on cookie sheets, and they expanded into each other so they're not quite as pretty as they could be where they baked together...

Flatten the bottom of the loaf and moisten where you want to set the decorations. Cover with a damp towel and let rise until double in size. (Don't let the tops of the loaves get too dry or they crack and spoil the decorative designs -- I'm speaking from experience, here.)

Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes, but keep an eye on them -- if they are getting too brown, cover them with moistened brown paper. Then turn the oven down to 300 degrees and bake another ten minutes while you mix up the glaze:

1 beaten egg

3 tbsp (45 mL) water

1 tsp (5 mL) sugar

Brush the bread with well-beaten glaze and bake for another 10 minutes at 300 degrees.

See the butterfly and snails on the bottom loaf? Roses elsewhere...

This year, I divided my dough into eight loaves, and Suzanna and I had fun decorating. We are quite delighted with the results, and we'll be sharing the loaves among family members for Easter. Unfortunately, my nephew is far from his parents and stuck in a covid hotel not far from here for this Easter -- so this morning, I dropped one off for him. The beauty of the recipe is that it makes plenty for sharing. Maybe next year I'll try the babka recipe instead...

Happy Easter baking! 

Special Good Friday observances during a pandemic

This second Holy Week during pandemic times seems a bit more organized than last year's. The world community has a better sense of how the corona virus spreads, and with vaccinations becoming more available, it feels like we are moving one step at a time toward the bright end of the tunnel. But we still can't gather together for Easter events like we used to, and I don't think AHS will allow anyone in our churches to sing the Exsultet Proclamation -- the wonderful song exulting in Christ's triumph over death. Not yet, especially with variant cases on the rise.

But I fully intend to sing and celebrate this weekend, even if it's only at home. And I invite you to join me in the two usual ecumenical Good Friday opportunities I like to share each year.

The first is the 41st Annual Edmonton Outdoor Way of the Cross, my favourite ecumenical event of the year. Last year, it was hurriedly switched from outdoor walk to video format when health restrictions came into effect. The organizing committee learned many things about making socially distanced videos on busy streets in the inner city, not least of which was that the video camera microphone picked up city noise more easily than the voices of the presenters! 

This year, aware that our ecumenical community still wouldn't be able to gather for the traditional inner city walk, the committee had a bit more time to plan a different approach toward sharing social justice topics of concern and the ways that Christ walks in solidarity with us as we work for change. The 2021 video will premiere at 10 am on Good Friday morning, and its theme is "From Fear and Fatigue to Hope and Action: Take Up Your Cross and Follow Me." It will also be available to watch on the Good Friday Outdoor Way of the Cross Edmonton website and on the Facebook Page, but the video below should work at 10 am on Friday.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wo8IhrqjSkE

The second event is the Ecumenical Good Friday Prayer Around the Cross, a musical and meditative space that will feature scripture, silence, and the songs of the Taizé community. When we were able to gather, this was my other favourite ecumenical event of the year, usually held in the lovely chapel at Providence Renewal Centre with a good-sized crowd. This year's comes to you from my home -- I am very grateful that the Brothers of the Community of Taizé have given me permission to broadcast their music and style of prayer to those who have prayed with our Taizé musicians' group here in Edmonton in the past. The prayer begins at 7 pm April 2nd and will last about an hour. It can be found on the Taizé Prayer in Edmonton and Area Facebook Page, and if you click this link, it should take you directly to the event livestream itself:

 

https://www.facebook.com/events/492609458420002. 

For those unable to participate during the livestream, a video will be made available on the Facebook Page for viewing when the livestream concludes.

All are welcome to both online events, and the beauty of it all is that people with internet access can join us from almost anywhere that internet access is available, so it's not just us locals who get to enjoy them. Feel free to share this post with others and spread the word.

Come, sing and pray with me... and have a blessed Easter!

Crucify him! Crucify him!

Today's reflection is brought to you by 

Mark 15: 12-14.

You know, 
O God, 
that we hear it more often than we realize.

"Lock her up!" Crucify him!

"Addicts don't deserve safe injection sites." Crucify him!

"White lives matter more." Crucify him!

"The trans/gay agenda is a threat to family life." Crucify him!

And we say and think it more often than we realize, 
in different words, 
every time we judge someone else, 
forgetting that they are your image and likeness
and that you love them 

just as much as you love us.

Forgive us and help us to change.

+Amen

Get ready for carts!

I've been falling down on the job when it comes to sharing news about those three important Rs and waste reduction lately... my Master Composter/Recycler hat got put on a shelf for a lot of this past pandemic year as it's hard to get out and volunteer when we're not supposed to be meeting in person... and I haven't been a very motivated moodler, either...

But lately, there's lots happening for Edmontonians when it comes to how we deal with the garbage that our living produces. I'd like to note that even, maybe especially with the changes that are coming, it's still incredibly important that we reduce, reuse and recycle as much as we can, with an emphasis on reducing. 

The pandemic has helped us reduce our waste in many ways because it's more challenging to safely go shopping, and many of us are learning that we can live just as well with less. I'd like to think that once COVID passes us by, we won't be off on a consumerism binge, but will continue to swap, share and keep our waste to a dull roar. Maybe we can go back to refilling our containers, carrying our travel mugs, and using our reusable everything (I've been trying to do those things as much as possible anyway, but it's definitely been more of a challenge thanks to the corona virus).

I'm excited to share a couple of videos today about Edmonton's new Waste Strategy, which is beginning its roll out this month. Our city rested on its laurels a bit too long while some of the municipalities around us already adopted garbage and green carts, but we're finally catching up, and it's a good thing! It means that our waste collectors will be able to use automated trucks rather than having to lift thousands of bags of garbage each day, saving their sore muscles. 

It also means thousands of tons of organic waste can be diverted from the landfill and turned into compost, and I hope it also means that more people will Go Bagless, that is, stop collecting grass clippings and choose to mulch for the sake of healthier lawns. And hey, if home owners are sorting things into their green carts anyway, it only takes a phone call or text for a Master Composter/Recycler volunteer like me to pay a socially-distanced visit and help set up a compost bin with the contents of a green cart. That compost will do wonders for your lawn or garden patches!

It's all good, really, it will just take a bit of getting used to. So if you haven't heard much about the new carts, and would like to learn more, consider attending an online cart rollout session so you know what's up. Have a peek at the short videos below. And if you want some hands-on help or you have questions, don't hesitate to leave a comment in the box below -- I'd be happy to help. That's what Master Composter/Recyclers are for!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVIZNF4WT_4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLmzMNuvF24

11,550 days -- A tribute to Vivien

That's how long I knew her. 11,550 days. I know the date that I met my mother-in-law because it was the same day that I met my life partner. I remember Vivien meeting me at the door of her home with a big smile and a hug, even though she had never seen me before. I didn't expect her to be so tiny, barely reaching my chin, but soon realized that her small frame held vast amounts of energy.

We met because my best friend was marrying Vivien's third son, and Vivien was holding a wedding shower for Sue. As Sue's maid of honour, I was expected to be there to note down the gifts given and to help with hostessing. It was a whirlwind of a weekend, and I don't remember very much about it, other than meeting Vivien, her husband, Louis, and their second son, Lee, who is now the most important person in my life.

Mothers-in-law have some sort of reputation for causing trouble, but somehow she and I connected like magnets on fridges (she had lots of those, to hold up grandkids' art). Mom, as I was soon to call Vivien, had a deep, deep faith in God. She watched morning mass on TV every day that she couldn't attend in person, and surrounded herself with handwritten prayers jotted on small pieces of paper. She cooked up storms of food, shared dozens (if not hundreds) of recipes, usually with copious notes in the margins, and dispensed equal amounts of prayers, hugs, and cookies whenever she and Dad came to visit their kids in Edmonton. 

Vivien's 65th birthday

Vivien was a wonderful grandma who loved to read to her grandkids, play with playdough and Legos, or help little fingers to decorate cookies and cakes. She organized Easter Egg hunts in her back yard, baked many birthday treats, and never failed to ask, "how are the kids?" when we phoned her. She kept Canada Post in business, never forgetting to send a birthday or anniversary card, enclosing generous monetary gifts. She camped with us and sang with us and loved us well. She was a force of nature, and I'm pretty sure she's already prayed us all into heaven.

Somewhere around her 80th birthday, she tripped off a curb in a grocery store parking lot and fractured her pelvis. (We teased her that the wind had finally managed to blow her over!) After four days in hospital, she checked herself out because her food allergies were causing more problems than the fracture. 

Unfortunately, that was the beginning of a long slow decline -- during which, she still found the capacity to do good. She sponsored a younger sister of one of her home caregivers to come to Canada and assist her full time, with a two year contract leading toward permanent residency. Mom rarely did things for herself unless they helped others, too. Many of our Christmas gifts were purchased from organizations that supported the less fortunate, or came in the form of donations to charities on our behalf. 

Five-year-old Vivien

I probably didn't properly appreciate my mother-in-law until my children grew up and we had more time to chat without their small hands pulling her away to some activity or other. That's when I learned more about Vivien's life -- how she had grown up singing daily Mass in a small Cape Breton town, gone to college to learn "proper" French, and been a Home Economics circuit teacher -- moving every few days to teach at two different rural Cape Breton schools.

In 1959, Vivien's friend, Mary, found a newspaper ad inviting young people to work at the Banff Springs Hotel for the summer, and the two decided to apply for a Western Canada adventure that, for Vivien, lasted the rest of her life. She was thrilled to be working in Banff for Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip's visit that year, proven by a blurry motorcade photograph of the couple, and her lifelong love for the Royals. She never missed the Queen's Christmas message, and if Elizabeth II showed up on TV, Mom always commented on her elegance. 

As a young woman, Vivien herself was very stylish, and people often commented on the sharp outfits she sewed for herself. She loved to tell the story of how she first saw her future husband at a dance, wearing bright orange pants, and how she immediately told Mary that he was the man she was going to marry. Mary replied, "You'd better do something to fix his sense of style!"

Stylish lady

After the couple's first child arrived, Vivien's teaching career ended, and she immersed herself in being a mother (of five, eventually) and a farm wife, teaching herself to keep the books for the family's farm operation. She also designed and oversaw the construction of one of the family's homes. 

One by one, her kids headed to Edmonton for university, and she supported them with her prayers from afar. She was so proud of all her children and grandchildren (and one wee great-grandchild) and always looked forward to having visitors. Living on the prairies, she often commented on how much she missed being around water, and I will always remember how happy she was when we camped together near the shore in Waterton Lakes National Park.

She loved music, especially anything Celtic, and I have fond memories of Mom dancing in the living room with my kids. After receiving a palliative diagnosis in January, she was delighted when two of those grandchildren made a special trip, ukuleles in tow, to sing for Grandma, masks on. At a previous concert, before covid restrictions prevented indoor visits, she had them give their entire performance twice!

Vivien had her share of sorrows and struggles, carrying many of them in silence, turning them over to God daily. During our last visit with her the weekend before she died, she shared them in a whisper, and then fell into a deep sleep, from which it seemed no one could wake her. Not knowing what to do, we played her favourite hymns sung by fellow Nova Scotian, Anne Murray, spoke to her quietly, and shed many tears, thinking she was leaving us. However, after several hours, during my husband's vigil shift, she woke up, looked at him and whispered, "Lee, go to bed! It's late!"

Watching Mom's energy dwindle over the last few years has been a source of sadness for her whole family. With Dad being a man of few words, she was usually the one to carry our long-distance phone conversations, but over the last six months, her voice became weaker and weaker, though she usually managed to at least sign off with her trademark, "Love to you all." 

But at the end of a call the night before she died, she barely managed to whisper, "Love you." We told her we loved her too, as always. The next afternoon, we received the news that she had peacefully slipped away to be with the God in whom she entrusted all her cares. We miss her very much, but we know that she's pulling on God's apron strings for us, the family members and friends she left behind. That, or cooking with God in heaven's big, beautiful kitchen!

Vivien, Mom, you were a good woman, generous and strong, a friend, confidante, and support to many, including me, and a brilliant example of faith, hope and love. I am so blessed that you were my mother-in-law. I have no doubt that you are being celebrated in heaven with all the holy souls, and I look forward to meeting you again. Maybe then we'll finally have time to bake your famous apple turnovers together...

Bloom

Today I am planting peppers and herbs, so this little film that just arrived in my inbox seems like it needs to be shared. Enjoy!

https://vimeo.com/29865151

Skating solo

I can't remember the last time I went skating all by myself. Over the almost 30 years of my marriage, I've always had my partner, my kids, or a friend to go along with me.

And for the last three winters, I don't think I managed to go skating even once. With a dog to walk, and all the trekking of the valleys and ravines of Edmonton we've been doing, we just never seemed to go skating. But this winter I vowed to put my skates to use at least once. 

I suggested heading to Victoria Oval or Hawrylak Lake several times over this wintry season, but no one seemed very keen. Then it got so cold, it felt like there was no point going as there are no warm skate shacks where people can lace up thanks to covid, and I didn't much relish going through the effort for a short skate with frozen toes... I wanted it to be a good long one! Maybe I'm a wimp, but I'm a warm one!

Last night's weather forecast said today would be balmy in comparison to the last two weeks -- above zero! So I made plans to go skating by myself. Since my partner is working from home, I have the car and decided to drive myself to Hawrylak Park to loop the islands on the lake. As I left, I told my daughter I'd be back shortly, after a good skate.

What I had forgotten was that the Silver Skate Festival is happening at the park, and of course, I had to see it all... snow sculptures, snow flowers, the "undersea garden" area, and the new Community League Plaza (which quietly opened during this pandemic), before I skated. 

My early morning timing was perfect -- there weren't too many people around so I didn't need to wear my mask, and the ice was smooth from the flooding and lower numbers of skaters during the cold snap. So I had a lovely two hours looking at art, listening to stories told by Indigenous Elders, and gliding around the two islands in the lake on my skates. I imagine the whole area would be magical at night as it's illuminated with different coloured lights.

It was lovely to be there on my own... usually, I want to really look at things, and it was wonderful to go at my own pace instead of being rushed along by impatient folks! By the time I left, people were arriving by the droves, and I was glad to be heading home before mask wearing became necessary. Those darn masks fog up my glasses!

The Silver Skate Festival runs just two more days, until February 21st. If you're planning to attend, I'd recommend going early in the day, as I expect the crowds who stayed away while we were in the deep freeze will come out by the thousands this weekend. And If you don't plan on going, you can always check out the festival's website... and my photos below.

If the ice doesn't melt too quickly, maybe I'll see you on Victoria oval in the next few weeks. Have a good weekend!

My fave in the snow sculpture competition --
owl and fox in masks!

Snow flowers...

This fellow accompanies an interesting folktale
about envy trolls...

A school of fish. 
Wish I'd gotten pictures of the jelly fish in the pines...

The Community League Plaza
has an interesting display about the
100 years of Edmonton's Community Leagues.

Stories in Indigenous languages can be heard
in the four seasons section of the Silver Skate displays...

This would make for a fun family photo!

A Tribute to Lidia

When the text came this morning, I was surprised by how hard grief hit me. Alfonso, the son of my 85-year-old Italian neighbour, Lidia, texted to let me know that his mom had died.

Lidia was an extraordinary friend, arriving in my life just when I really needed someone like her to make me laugh and to commiserate with me over the difficulties of raising kids. She was balm for my soul at a time when I was finding motherhood particularly challenging. Over the last few years, I spent many mornings in her kitchen -- she didn't have to twist my arm very hard to convince me to come in for coff (coffee, in Lidia's inimitable English) which often turned into lunch before I even realized it. 

Lidia had this knack for pulling food out of thin air, often a homemade minestrone with bread and asiago cheese, or a simple pasta dish with her homemade tomato sauce. And if someone extra showed up, there was always room for one more! Good Italian espresso was ever present, leaving me buzzing a little for the rest of the day. When I told her how much I loved her "coff," she gave me one of her little espresso makers, which I used this morning so that my daughter and I could drink a fitting toast in Lidia's honour. It went well with the last few Bertozzi ciambelline cookies she gave me on one of my last visits with her. Shadow-dog enjoyed a cookie in Lidia's honour, too. Whenever we walked past her house, he would automatically turn up her sidewalk.

Through long chats since her husband of 67 years died almost 18 months ago, I learned a lot about her life. An farm girl whose father died when she was 17, Lidia was married "by proxy" in Italy (an uncle stood in for her husband-to-be, Ralph, who was 27, and already in Canada). Ralph promised to send money back to support her mother and siblings near Cosenza (close to Naples) in exchange for Lidia's hand in marriage, and sponsored many of them to come to Canada in the years following. In the meantime, Lidia arrived in Edmonton at the age of 18, an early Italian immigrant who, to hear her tell it, "lost my papa, and married another papa." I suspect the difference in their ages became less of a factor over time as they grew into love for each other, and that love became clearly visible in their care for each other.

Ralph, who had found a job with one of Canada's railways after the end of World War II, already spoke passable English and knew his way around, but Lidia didn't know the language and stayed alone in their apartment for a time -- with a chair to hold the door shut as there was no lock. Her husband did most of the errands around town, and I don't think Lidia ever learned to drive. But at some point she found work in a Chinese restaurant (which turned her off restaurant food for life when she found a mouse in the soup) then as a cleaner of a large office building, and eventually a seamstress. As the Italian community grew in the 1950s, so did Lidia's circle of friends. She was very happy when one of her sisters came to live nearby.

Lidia's three children, her grandchildren and great-grandchildren were the loves of her life, but she "adopted" me because her own daughter lives "too far" in Hamilton, ON. Whenever I phoned, it made it easier if I began, "Hello, my Italian mama," because she knew exactly who she was talking to, and she would often reply, "My daughter, you been away too long. You sick?" Other Lidia-isms -- "No to Fi'e Guys with Fries! I cooka my own food!" "Dat'sa da life," and "Goooda luck!" used both to exclaim over any kind of news or to wish someone well. How I loved her accent, though it sometimes made it difficult for me to understand her over the phone. She made me wish I could speak Italian!

The last year of Lidia's life was probably her most challenging because she was a social butterfly who loved to share food and stories with everyone she met. It was nearly impossible to visit without Lidia serving some kind of food. After losing Ralph to cancer, she found it hard to be alone -- and then the pandemic hit. Because she was unsteady on her feet, I worried about her, and sure enough, she had a few falls that left her bruised and sore. But she kept on going, determined to live out her life in her family home. 

I tried to check in regularly, usually standing at the door of Lidia's porch, though it took a while and many COVID deaths in her beloved Italy for her to understand why I would no longer come into her kitchen. Through the summer, we managed many visits in her back yard because she and her sons let me plant corn, peppers, tomatoes and a friend's perennials in her garden and greenhouse. 

Whenever I stopped by to water plants, I tried to make sure that Lidia and I sat properly distanced on the patio to chat, though it was always hard to dissuade her from bringing out cookies and coffee. If Shadow was with me, she gave him bits of ciambellini, and if it was late in the day and I complained about not knowing what to make for supper, she often had a perfect idea about what I could do. She gave me my one and only lesson on making gnocchi, and everything I know about cooking with squash blossoms, I learned from her.

When the weather got colder and we couldn't sit outside, I phoned each week, just to check in and make sure she was okay, and whenever Lee and I took our evening neighbourhood dog-walk past her house, we would look to be sure the hood light over her oven was on, a sign that all was well. But one evening in early December, only the porch light was on. So I texted Alfonso, and learned that Lidia had a stroke and was in the Glenrose Rehab Hospital, going through tests. About ten days ago, he let me know that she had been diagnosed with a brain tumour, and this morning, he let me know that she had "passed."

I have many reminders of my friend... a few perennials in my yard, my Lidia rose bush, a couple of houseplants she gave me, a couple of embroidered linens she created for her hope chest as a young woman, and the aforementioned espresso pot that has become my "Lidia coff" Sunday morning ritual. 

How I will miss my friend who, in her own words, "spoke English like minestrone," mixing it with her native Italian. I will miss the way she and her boys teased each other in "Lidia's Restaurant -- Please leave a tip" as the sign over her kitchen door announced. Lidia's voice was always the loudest, and her laughter was contagious. 

I will miss Lidia's phone calls and how she sometimes got my phone number mixed up with that of her neighbour next door, who is also named Maria. I will miss the way she could cry one minute and roar with laughter the next, her emotions always close to the surface. I will miss her way of looking at the world with deep faith in God, and optimism in spite of life's sorrows and struggles. 

Lidia, how blessed I was to know you. Thank you for being my friend, and for all your kindness since we met in 2013. I hope you and Ralph have had a joyful reunion! You both have a room in my heart. I have been missing you a lot over the last three months, and I hope that when you see those pink flowers (Lavatera, they’re called) in God’s garden, you’ll remember me, too. I look forward to a cup of espresso together with you and Ralph in heaven. I love you, my friend!

Lent again, sigh

Remember the beginning of Lent last year? When we received ashes on our foreheads instead of having them sprinkled on the crown of our head like this year? Lent began, as it usually does, before the pandemic, and then it went on, and on, and on... as a friend said, The Longest Lent Ever!

In many ways, to me it feels like Lent never ended. In the past, I've spent my Lents fasting from certain things so as to appreciate their Creator more, and to remind myself to be more grateful for the many blessings in my life. But the pandemic means that the thing I value most, being close to family and friends, is replaced by staying away from them indefinitely. Even with the vaccine coming, it still feels like it's going to be a long wait.

So this year, I feel like a two-year-old ready to throw a tantrum. "What, You expect me to do another Forty Days, as if these 344 days of pandemic weren't enough? I don't wanna! Waaaaahhh!"

But then my sad little heart gets up off the floor and says, "Well, okay, Holy Spirit, I guess I can continue with your plan at this time. I can continue to fast from being with the people I love for the sake of the health and well-being of my community. I can spend a bit more time in prayer, fast from a few daily things that I know I've been taking for granted. I can creatively give the alms of my time, talent and treasure by reaching out to those who need the support I can offer from the abundance with which you have blessed me."

And I know that, in the giving of myself, my sad little heart focuses less on its losses and more on the joy it can bring to others. In not taking things for granted, I savour their goodness more. And in spending more time in prayer, my heart shifts from preoccupation with my petty concerns to a deep desire to rest in the heart of the Creator who sustains us all, and to follow the Holy Spirit's inspirations to do her and his will.

And in doing those things, my sad little heart becomes a joyful little heart set on serving others and making Lent worth living, even in pandemic times.

Sunday Reflection: A pandemic's gifts

Today's reflection is brought to you by 

Job 7:1-4,6-7.

These days

it's easy to feel like Job,

that biblical character 

who lost everything.

We complain 

about how hard life is,

the long labours we face

until things are better.

We see the months of emptiness,

the blandness of our days

behind and ahead,

the nights of worry,

the misery all around us

(and especially,

in the news).

Honestly,

though we are body- and soul-weary,

more often than not

it's a relief 

when our nights

give way to morning.

It's like we are 

wishing our lives away

in feeling hopeless,

though we know life is short.

We forget

that

God surrounds us 

with good,

visible 

if only we lift our eyes.

Remind us,

You 

who made all that is,

that Creation

and our puny selves

are held 

in hands 

much gentler

than our own.

Help us 

to let go of our misery

and see you...

and to gentle our own hands

and hearts

to care

where care is needed most.

+Amen.

* * * * * * *

I don't know about you, but lately it feels like there's so much complaining going on that I want to stick my head under a pillow and stay there. 

Yes, all that we have lost because of this pandemic -- our connections, our freedom, our sense of security, our old ways of doing things, our very equilibrium -- is weighing us down, depressing us, shortening our tempers, and trying our patience, if we have any left.

So we might be able to relate to Job, who lost everything dear to him. Have we really lost everything dear to us? Really? I hope we can see that there is always something good that comes, even out of loss. I've been dealing with a rather serious loss for the past couple of years, and though it hurts, it holds gifts in its hands, too. In the end, Job came to understand just Who was in charge, and once he did, when he put his faith and trust in the right place, things dramatically improved for him. As they have for me. Life is about learning to let go.

We don't know when the pandemic will end, but we have to believe that we also will see things improve if we have the patience of Job, and put our faith and trust in the right place. Freaking out about the things we can't control (vaccine shortages, for example) only makes life more miserable. Focusing on "months of emptiness and nights of misery" (Job 7: 4) only dims the light of goodness around us.

Last night, I participated in an online gathering with a dozen girlfriends from High School who hadn't met since a party at my house in 2015. We shared about the things that have changed in our lives and how we are coping with this strange time we are in. With educators, moms, health care professionals, caregivers, an engineer, a librarian and a chef in our group, it was an interesting evening... one that filled me with hope. Though we all face different challenging circumstances, we celebrated our long term friendships and the recent marriage of one of our group, and we listened to and cared for each other even though we were scattered around five cities in two provinces. As one friend laughed through her tears, "Thanks for the therapy," I suspect we all felt the value of our connection. It was better than therapy in my books (and I know therapy)!

It reminded me that when we reach out to each other and find common ground, hope rises from our brokenness and brings us light to move us forward. Even though this pandemic causes a lot of pain, it has the power to remind us of the goodness in you and me.

In the week ahead, I invite you to connect with a friend you've lost touch with. Perhaps that reconnection can be one of the pandemic's gifts for you.

Mental health practices in a pandemic

What have you done for your mental health lately?

Bell Canada, one of our communications providers, is marking its eleventh annual "Let's Talk" day, focusing on mental health. They post a video (that I'll share below) and donate five cents toward these mental health initiatives each time it's viewed. They'll add another five cents when we use their "Let's Talk" promotional images on social media platforms (for example, a Facebook or Instagram photo frame).

Besides supporting Bell's efforts to assist mental health, I'm giving some thought to my own mental health, and I invite you to do the same. What are you doing to lift your own spirits in these strange days of pandemic? Here's my list, some of which I manage to do daily:

- physio exercises (to repair a sore shoulder) 

- a pot of tea (to keep myself hydrated) 

- morning meditation (trying to let go, let be, be inspired to make a difference)

- Tai chi (to keep my body in shape)

- a walk with Shadow-dog (to keep him from driving us all crazy)

- some cheerful tunes or an amazing symphony (with or without dancing)

- creativity (these moodlings, or maybe some other writing)

- a word puzzle or sudoku (to keep the neurons firing)

- one piece of fair trade chocolate (antioxidants!)

- a video or phone call with people I love (beyond my home)

- a bit of effort to encourage others in some way (my life is not just about me!)

In honour of "Let's Talk" day, I phoned three friends this morning, people who, like me, are hunkered down at home, and struggling with the strangeness of these days. I realize that not everyone is able to live as physically distanced as I do, or able to give much thought and effort toward their mental health on a regular basis. 

But maybe it helps to be aware that our bodies, minds and spirits are so connected that even if we can't invest a lot of time or energy into defined mental health practices, anytime we get up and move, eat something healthy, breathe deeply, hear inspiring music, appreciate beauty, see the face of someone we love, or stroke the fur of a beloved pet, that we are contributing to our overall wellness, which adds to mental health.

And if that's not enough and you are feeling lower than you've ever felt, please, please, talk to someone. Share your struggle. We all need help now and then, and we all need to talk things out with people we trust. I do that at least once a month for my sanity's sake, and daily with my partner. Whatever works for people is what I want to support.

Here's Michael Buble in that lovely little "Let's Talk" video I mentioned earlier.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUY-rizctHA

 

And if that didn't cheer you, here he is again, this time singing a tune that never fails to get me up and dancing, with a big smile on my face... wanna dance with me? Appreciation to Bell Canada for its "Let's Talk" initiative. Be good to yourself and everyone else today!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdRIDS6UmYU

Livestreamed Ecumenical Prayer for 2021

My prayer life during this pandemic has been different, but good. The only thing I am really missing (besides the people with whom I usually share my faith) is the almost monthly gathering of people for ecumenical meditative prayer with scripture, silence, and the songs of Taizé. But I've found a way around it, sort of.

We can't all gather together to sing and pray in these days of pandemic, but I've figured out how to broadcast prayer from my own home via Facebook. I was a bit worried about infringing on music copyrights, so I contacted the Brothers of the Taizé Community, and they don't mind if I use recordings of their music interspersed with readings and prayers during the pandemic. In fact, Brother Jean-Marc wrote, "We are glad to hear about the ecumenical prayer that you hold, and we would certainly encourage you to keep going even if you can only meet online at present."

So I have set up a schedule of nine Sunday evening prayers throughout 2021, and I invite you to join me online via the Taizé Prayer in Edmonton and Area facebook page, which you can find by clicking here. It's not like singing and praying together in one place, but it's still a good opportunity to lift the needs of our world to God. Our first prayer coincides with the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, and incorporates prayers that will be used in other local prayer services as well as prayers from the Taizé Community. 

It almost goes without saying that unity (my word of the year!) is what our world really needs right now, so feel free to invite others to join us, as united hearts are the only thing that can change our human trajectory...

That poem

 For me, the most moving moment of the Inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris was this young woman's impassioned delivery of her poem, The Hill We Climb. Well done, Amanda Gorman... words do this no justice, you've used all the right ones.

st. Father Mike, pray for us

Father Mike -- around
the time I met him.

My heart broke a little when I received a text message from my friend last Tuesday morning telling me that Father Mike had died. I had been praying for him since the previous Sunday, hoping, when I heard that he was in hospital with COVID-19, that he would pull through. But, as Father Mike said in a last video made just before he got sick, "God is always mysterious, that's what makes it exciting." I just wish God had different plans this time around...

I met Father Mike 35 years ago, when my friend Pauline died because of unexpected complications from what was supposed to be a fairly routine heart valve replacement. He was the priest at her parish at the time, and his gentle pastoral presence for Pauline's family and friends helped to ground us at a time when we could barely get our heads around the death of someone so young. She was only 21.

Because Pauline was a student at our local theological college, her funeral was held in the chapel there, and organized and presided over by some of her friends. But Father Mike and his pastoral team were the ones who held the grieving family during and after the funeral, and I remember Pauline's mom speaking very fondly of him every time I visited her in the years that followed.

Not two years after Pauline's death, her dad was killed in a search-and-rescue mission plane crash, and the family was plunged into grief a second time. Again, Father Mike and his team came to offer the family what consolation they could. Mom Plumbtree, as I called Pauline's mom, counted on Father Mike's friendship until he left the parish to become rector at St. Joseph's Basilica downtown, and beyond. She often reported on where he was and what he was doing when I visited, his friend right to the end. He presided at her funeral, too, nine years ago.

Father Mike also found the proverbial five minutes of fame when he handled the marriage of Edmonton's most famous hockey player while at the Basilica, and developed a lifelong friendship with the couple. I picked up a signed hockey jersey from Father Mike for a L'Arche fundraiser once -- he had pull with many Edmonton sports heroes.

Father Mike was the kind of man who had a heart for others, who cared enough to spend time and really listen to a person's questions and struggles. He wasn't one to stand on Catholic ceremony or traditions that excluded people. I loved the mischievous twinkle in his eye when he was pulling someone's leg, or they were pulling his. He spoke his heart, even when he disagreed with the official teachings of the church on certain issues, so although he became the Archdiocesan Chancellor for a time, his views probably disqualified him from ever becoming a bishop. He was one of the few priests I ever met who talked about his belief that women should also be priests, never mind the hierarchy's rules. He called women to leadership positions whenever he could, and if I'm not mistaken, my last real conversation with him was at the funeral of my Roman Catholic Woman Priest friend, Ruthie, about how well she carried her vocation.

I've seen him a few times since, as I often walked my dog around the residence where he was living for the last few years of his "retirement" that really wasn't a full retirement -- he kept busy filling in at parishes when priests were away. I always liked his homilies because they were short and to the point, no theological gobbledygook, just sensible, practical Christianity.

In these days of pandemic, it strikes me that we need more wise men like Father Mike, people who cut to the heart of the matter, who call people to honesty, who see the value of every person and exclude no one, who listen deeply, and who celebrate God's mystery among us. Father Mike was a good man, a good priest, and a good friend to many people. And to me, that ranks him with the folks we call saints.

st. Father Mike, pray for us. And please greet Pauline and her parents for me!

His funeral is online January 20th at 11 am at https://www.facebook.com/archedmonton.

The last word on the basement tomato experiment

Last night I dreamed about tomato plants heavy with big, red, juicy fruit, at least a dozen tomatoes per stalk, growing in pots in my very own laundry room. And then I woke up to reality...

Well, we tried. We really did. We grew a few handfuls of tomatoes in our basement this winter... and there are probably a few handfuls left ripening on the vines even now. But overall, I must admit that our "green wall" wasn't really worth the time or electricity required to grow enough tomatoes to garnish a few Christmas salads.

Lee and I had great hopes for our 18 happy little plants at the beginning. They flowered like they meant to produce enough tomatoes to get us through the winter. I pollinated them daily with my little water colour paintbrush, watered from the bottom to try to keep the fungus gnats to a dull roar, and sprayed their leaves with milk solution as often as necessary to try to handle an outbreak of powdery mildew.

But those little plants needed more. It seems they were stressed because they didn't have enough soil to really stretch out their roots, and the soil became nutrient depleted over time. Our grow lights simply weren't strong enough to make up for the lack of true sunlight, the powdery mildew kept spreading, curling and drying previously healthy leaves, and the gnats -- oh, the gnats. We complain about them daily because they've now made homes upstairs in my houseplants, too, and are always flying into our faces.

Five or six salads with lovely red and gold tomatoes and cherry tomatoes have graced our table, and though they do taste like real tomatoes -- as opposed to the cellophane tomatoes from the grocery stores this time of year -- they are nowhere near as sweet, juicy, and delicious as summer-grown tomatoes. 

I guess grow lights, tap water and oscillating fans are no substitute for the sweetness of sun, rainwater and gentle breezes provided by Mother Nature. Which also explains why the flavour of cellophane tomatoes isn't worth their price. They've grown in hothouses, not under Mother Nature's care, and probably lost food value during shipment.

I've also realized that growing tomatoes in my basement is nothing like backyard gardening -- at first, I was enthusiastic, but now I see that I really do need a winter break, a time for catching up on indoor chores, taking a break from dirty broken fingernails, and recovering my enthusiasm for a new season of growth -- outdoors!

I have reconciled myself to the idea that tomato plants are not meant to be grown in pots in basements. I'm also certain that my pioneer grandparents wouldn't have dreamed of a tomato or cucumber in the winter unless it was preserved in jars in a warm August kitchen. 

The fruits and vegetables that we North Americans choose to eat "out of season" are usually shipped huge distances from other parts of the globe this time of year using vast amounts of fossil fuels. Often, the farmers who grow our winter produce are barely paid for it, but by the time it reaches us, our so-called supermarkets get away with charging outrageous prices because we are willing to pay for Chilean Christmas tomatoes... or Venezuelan Valentine's Day strawberries. 

Our seasons -- and our freezers -- have a wisdom all their own. Summer is meant for fresh garden food and for preserving or freezing the abundance we can't eat at the time. Winter is for enjoying those preserves, for quiet evenings, and for dreaming about starting next year's garden. 

So tonight, pasta with pesto, tomato sauce, and last summer's wax beans, all from the freezer. Though I've enjoyed the few tomatoes our basement experiment has yielded, I certainly won't need to repeat it. 

Sunday Reflection: On Being Beloved

Photo by Jude Beck on Unsplash

Today's reflection is brought to you by 

Acts 10:34-38.

You love us all,
O God.

Each one of us 

is your favourite child,

and so is all of creation.

Clearly, 

my heart is not so big as yours.

I only want to love 

the people who do good things,

who care for the oppressed,

who love their neighbours and pray for their enemies,

who love their enemies and pray for their neighbours.

But we are all 

your Beloved,

neighbours and enemies alike.

You are present 

in every single one of us,

and ask us to see 

your presence 

in each other

no matter who we are 

or how we behave.

Clearly, 

my heart is not so big as yours.

Loving our enemies... 

doesn't come easily.

Thank you for loving me, 

Beloved.

Enlarge my heart to love as you love.

+Amen.