Simple Suggestion #155... Support human dignity

Lent is the time of year when the Canadian Catholic Organization for Development and Peace invites us to live in solidarity with our sisters and brothers in the global south -- or the developing world, if you prefer. As someone who does her best to practice Voluntary Simplicity, I see this as an objective that is right in line with simple living. Life in the developed world has become so materially consumptive that we could learn a lot from the simplicity with which people in the developing world live.

That's not to say that life in the global south is an ideal we want to emulate in all respects. There is so much hardship, disease, and difficulty in some places that I'm sure I wouldn't know how to cope. But in many of those places, there is also a stronger sense of community than we experience in most North American cities. We tend to think of our wealthy lifestyles as having much to offer the poor, but I suspect the poor have more things of value to teach us than we have to teach them when it comes to looking after each other.

So this weekend, our family is taking part in a Development and Peace ThinkFast, a 25 hour period of fasting (no food) that is packed with activities and education about life in the developing world. We will fast in support of D&P's partnerships with programs that promote human dignity in countries in the global south, we will raise funds for those programs, and we will learn about the needs of different communities in different places across the globe.

I really love D&P's emphasis on Human Dignity this year. I had never thought about it before, but for as long as I remember, I don't recall seeing a forlorn or impoverished-looking person in their advertising, posters, and brochures. Unlike some agencies that try to guilt people into giving by presenting pitiful pictures of the needy, D&P prefers to promote their cause with the joyful faces of people whose human dignity has been served by partnerships between people in the developed world and people in the global south who are working to lift themselves, their families and their communities out of poverty. Look at the gorgeous girls above, and you'll see what I mean. They are an example of what happens when a development organization provides assistance by working with a community rather than parachuting in to do 'for,' and flying out again without being sure that their assistance has made a lasting difference.

Even if Lent has no meaning in your life, perhaps now is a good time to give some thought to supporting an organization that works for positive change from the grassroots, or to learn about a community in the developing world and what you can do to strengthen it. Even contributing to an agency that helps local homeless people would be an excellent choice, simply because an important part of Voluntary Simplicity is showing solidarity with those who have less than we do, and offering our friendship in whatever way we can. Most of us in North America have more than enough to share during Lent... and the rest of the year, too.

What's your favourite way to support human dignity in the global south -- or nearby?

For more information about Development and Peace and its initiatives, click here.

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

A half hour's excitement

A dear friend of mine has often commented that what the Church and the world need is a new St. Francis of Assisi, someone who is simple and holy and sees the essential.

Having been a lifelong fan of that particular Francis, I was quite excited when the new pope's name was announced, thinking that anyone who would take the name of Francis of Assisi would be the reformer the Church and the world need in this era. Yess!!

But then the shoe dropped -- the pope-elect chose the name, OF COURSE, of one of the founders of his Jesuit community, St. Francis Xavier...

We don't know much about Pope Francis yet, but it seems that he's a man who favours simplicity, and he has some pastoral sense if he's telling his priest to baptize infants even if their parents haven't been married. I mean, it's not the child's fault that his parents didn't see the necessity.

So I'm going to reserve judgment, and just say, God bless Pope Francis.

And, come, Holy Spirit!

Happy Birthday to a creative kid

When I came home from some errands on Saturday, I looked out my bedroom window and saw this. Can you see what it says? "I had to look really hard for the E," I was told.

Our youngest daughter being creative again. Being a fair bit younger and more childlike than her mid- and late-teen sisters, she's grown up playing alone more than they did, and because of it, she seems to come up with these little inventive creative projects that often amaze me. See the sea serpent below? I can't figure out how she did that without making any deep tracks in Saturday afternoon's soft snow.

While her older sisters have high school and post-secondary stuff on their minds, the youngest is still enjoying Lego (soooo excited about the Lego Store coming to Southgate!), loves paper cut outs, and prefers to be read to at bedtime (we just finished a collection of three stories by E. L. Konigsburg, our favourite one being The View from Saturday -- a wonderful story of developing friendships).

Our girl is a marvel, to be sure, and today is her last day as a twelve-year-old. She's independent enough that she doesn't seem to feel pressured to 'fit in' with the girlie girl tweens at school -- as she puts it, "Mom, everyone is an oddball in grade seven whether they think so or not."

I hope and pray that her teen years treat her well, and that she never loses her creative spirit and energy!

Happy Birthday, Julia.

(She had to prove she fit in the kennel that is awaiting her birthday present...)

I love you, too.
Mom

Sister Joan Chittister for Pope!

So now you see plainly -- I've really gone off the deep end -- or perhaps I have gained some sanity. But with so much news coverage these days pointing to this...

I'm feeling rather put off by all the hype. Especially since I suspect the cardinals will ensure that the Church continues along in its present narrow ways of thinking rather than engaging with the world and all its people (including the female 50%). I just hope the Holy Spirit proves that suspicion wrong!!

Instead of pope hype, I find I'm much more interested in this kind of thinking...

My girlfriend and I have been reading In Search of Belief, a book in which Joan Chittister looks at the Creed and delves into its meaning. Sister Joan is an intelligent, practical person, one who is strong in her faith and wise about its deepest meaning being more than definitions created by an all-male hierarchy. She speaks to my heart more than Pope Benedict ever could. 

In the tradition of the Church, the pope-elect is not required to be a cardinal (though he probably will be.) Popes can be chosen from among people outside the Sistine Chapel, too. If I could choose the next pope, I'd pick someone with Joan's inclusive outlook on life. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a pope who hasn't lived in an ivory tower for ages and ages???

Simple Suggestion #154... Go fragrance-free

Anyone out there remember Avon's Sweet Honesty perfume? It was my first foray into the world of scents. My mom's friend was the town Avon Lady, and she gave my sisters and me some perfume samples in little tiny vials. I didn't really 'wear' them, but I loved to smell them... until the day Sweet Honesty spilled... I can't remember where -- on a rug? In the corner of a dresser? No matter. I just remember how the lingering, overpowering fragrance made my stomach turn ever after. I outgrew Sweet Honesty in a hurry! But it didn't last...

I grew up to love fragrances of all kinds, and used to wear perfumes frequently. I had my favourites, and stocked up on them when there were sales, enjoying a stroll through the cosmetic department to test new fragrances just for fun.

And then I fell in love with a man for whom perfume is something like torture. My poor hubby reacts to fragrance the way some people react to paying taxes, except he also gets itchy eyes, scratchy throat, and headaches (yes, I know, paying taxes gives a lot of people headaches!). For most of the years of marriage, my perfume has been hidden away in a dresser drawer, and our household has gone fragrance-free (except for our teen daughters' bedrooms).

What's really interesting is that since I've stopped wearing scent, I've developed something of a sensitivity to it myself, and can't stay near perfumed people very long. Last week I was waiting in a doctor's office when a woman sat beside me. She was wearing a lovely fragrance -- gentle, not overpowering at all -- but all of a sudden, I had a tickle in my throat and started to cough. By the time she left the area, I had a headache. And it was, as I said, a pleasant fragrance. Since then I've been doing little experiments with my own neglected cache of perfumes... just putting a tiny bit on  my wrist in the mornings (so it's gone by the time my man comes home from work)... and I've discovered that my own favourite fragrances also give me headaches. What gives?

In snooping around on the internet, it seems that, in the past, perfumes were made mainly of plant extracts. Unfortunately, as technology has advanced, chemical compounds that are not naturally occurring have been added into the mix. And fragrances have been added to everything! Even as air fresheners and scented candles have cornered a huge market, fragrance-free products are slowly claiming their own shelf space, but perhaps not enough of it. Our human love affair with parfumeries from Armani to Yves seems to have created more sensitivities and allergies (some even say perfume related asthmas) in the general population. Have you noticed an increase in the number of shops and public places that bear signs saying 'Be "scent"-sitive' or 'This is a fragrance free workplace'?

Two years ago, the David Suzuki Foundation listed parfum as one of the dirty dozen toxic ingredients in personal care products -- the problem with it being that 'parfum' is a blanket term that can be used to cover all sorts of chemical cocktails that are now added to fragrances. Somewhere online I read that up to a third of the population is affected by those cocktails that often end up going down our drains, and that the related allergies can be very debilitating.

I also can't help but wonder about the effect that all those perfumes are having on our environment. I mean, when we wash our bodies, our clothes, our dishes, and our homes, the fragrances in the cleaning products we use get mixed into our water systems. In our developed world, we've got water treatment plants to filter them out, but I feel for people in the developing world where water often isn't treated. If you've ever tried to drink from a container that was once used for something fragrant, you know that water tastes better with no odors of any kind. So wouldn't it make sense to refrain from polluting water in the first place?

When you really think about it, perfumes are another one of those non-essential things that consumer culture has conditioned us to believe essential. A hundred years ago, fragrance wasn't such a big deal -- as it usually only occurred naturally (except for great grandma's rose water). Now, when I think about those people for whom fragrance causes health problems, I really feel for them. It must be terrible to have to limit your time in public just because someone is wearing perfume.

These days, it's pretty much impossible to go places without running into someone who smells terrific -- or terrible to a person with allergies. My husband and I enjoyed our last play at the Citadel Theatre, except for the fragrant lady sitting in front of him whose perfume gave him a headache. Fortunately, the effects he experiences are mild, but some people can hardly breathe...

So today's simple suggestion is to put yourself in the shoes of someone who can't handle perfumes, and cut down on the use of products that carry fragrance. We've been refilling our laundry detergent containers at Earth's General Store, which carries all sorts of unscented products for personal care and cleaning. It's worth making the effort, and not just because of my hubby's sensitivities. Why not try it? It's not likely that anyone will notice or thank you if you go fragrance-free, but there's probably someone you'll meet today who will unknowingly appreciate your efforts toward air they can breathe without concern. Think of it as a random act of kindness!

P.S. For more Simple Suggestions, look here.

So much for a simple life...

Our youngest daughter has always wanted a dog. As long as I can remember. Or maybe she wanted a cat at some point, but when she realized that you can't get hypo-allergenic cats, she switched to wanting a dog because it was an option she was more likely to succeed at attaining.

We had many reasons NOT to get a dog. An allergic auntie, our efforts to raise our own food (without a dog digging it up), a budgie who ran the house, a desire to keep things simple, and Julia's own tendencies towards allergy symptoms. But now that she's older, her old symptoms seem to be dissipating, her sisters are playing with her less, and she's been pushing for a puppy more. She's proved that she's willing to pick up after a dog (she's pooper-scooped for our friends' dog on a walk), she's been doing a lot of research into different breeds, and she's even gone through allergy tests, though she was terrified of that whole thing. When our friends' dog came for a visit and totally ignored Pebbles the Budgie, Julia decided that our argument against having a dog because we have a budgie no longer holds. She's determined.

For the last few months, dogs have been discussed daily. When the school put on a production of The Wiz in December, and the vice principal's dog played Toto, Julia took care of him one evening between his appearances on stage, and fell head over heels in love. "I want a dog just like him," she decided on the spot. She got the details about the breeder from Mme Vice Principal, and sent emails to find out about puppy availability.

Julia has been reading Dog Training for Dummies and taking copious notes, and has finally convinced her family (for the most part) that a dog would be a good addition to the family. We've paid two visits to the breeder, and on Saturday, Julia picked her little animal. We also bought her some puppy paraphernalia for her lucky birthday next week. Little nameless pooch (Julia figures we have to bring him home and see his personality before she'll know what to call him) is just four weeks old, so we won't actually collect him until Spring Break. Then she'll have to put her 'dog training for dummies' into practice... as will we all.

Life is going to change. Besides figuring out how to house train a tiny pooch, we'll have to doggie-proof the house, find a vet, figure out grooming, get up at hours to which we're unaccustomed, and learn to understand a non-verbal family member's cues. It seems almost as overwhelming as having a baby, but without the worries of labour.

So much for living simply... at least until we get into a routine. If my moodling becomes intermittent in the next few months, the dog may be to blame. If you like images of small black dogs, watch this space -- I'm sure our puppy will be making a few appearances now and again. And if you have any tips on how to welcome a new pet, I'm all ears!

Yearning, longing, nostalgia, and HOPE on a Sunday

I'm in the mood for some great music this Sunday afternoon, and I've always loved this piece. I learned it when I was travelling with a performing group in Europe -- we sang it in Italy and always received a very warm response from our audiences. At the time, I thought it beautiful, but didn't really think about why it was so well-loved by the Italian people.

25 years later, I understand the essence of the "Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves" (as it's called in English) much better. It was written by Giuseppi Verdi for an opera called Nabucco, and it's based on Psalm 137, a psalm of yearning for a lost country, longing to return from exile, and remembering the beauty of home.

Lately, I've been feeling those kinds of nostalgic feelings about the Church that has been home to me for my whole life, a life which has been lived against the backdrop of the Church's struggle to implement the changes recommended by the Second Vatican Council. Having grown up working in my parents' church supplies store, I was exposed to all the new thoughts and hopes and dreams that came from the Council, ideas like inclusive language, ecumenism, more contemporary liturgical music, a new understanding of original blessing rather than original sin, and the empowerment of the laity in the life of the Church. Since then, it seems, the Church has had a change of heart -- or perhaps it's afraid of further change because it can be so unpredictable -- and now its leadership seems to be taking the Church back to 'safe' old ways, retreating to what it once knew, even though that old knowledge is far out of step with our present times.

As the Church retreats away from the world and into itself, though, it leaves me feeling like the Hebrew slaves in exile, longingly singing for what has recently been lost. O membranza, si cara e fatal -- my heart breaks when I remember some of the positive changes that were made because of Vatican II -- that have now been unmade -- and the many improvements the Council suggested, that have died on the books. Arpa d'ora dei fatidici vati, perche muta dal salice pendi? The harp of the prophets hangs mute upon the willows... and why?? Even as I mourn, I know that if the Church doesn't change soon, it will collapse in upon itself -- and something new will have to rise up from the grassroots.

As part of those grassroots, today I sing along with the Hebrew slaves, but not with their desolate spirit. The melody of their sadness is being transformed into a melody of hope in my heart. Over the weeks since Pope Benedict announced his retirement, hope has risen and many voices have begun to converge, calling once again for positive change -- for deeper inclusivity, openness, transparency, and faithfulness to the Gospels rather than a blind clinging to the tired old doctrines, dogmas, and ways that no longer work -- and I join those voices to sing a melody of hope. Va pensiero sull'ali dorate, fly, golden thoughts, on the wings of the Holy Spirit, and help change to happen...

Simple Suggestion #153... Be something of a 'best before' date skeptic

'Best before' dates are in the news here lately. I guess a lady in Leduc picked up some lobster paté at a Walmart and didn't look at the date on the can. She took it home, spread it on some crackers, and ate it, not realizing that it had been in its tin since long before July, 2011. Yikes!

I'm guessing all the local grocery stores are checking their inventory this week and tossing out stuff that's really old. But being a bit of a 'best before' date skeptic who hates to see anything wasted, I just hope they aren't taking those little dates TOO SERIOUSLY.

Even before the story about the lobster paté broke earlier in the week, I was thinking a lot about product expiry dating, and how much wastage it can cause. Back in January, Joel Salatin, organic farmer extraordinaire came to town, and he got me thinking. Michael at Earth's General Store asked Joel to speak to interested friends of EGS about his efforts to grow good organic food of all types at Polyface Farm, and provide some food security in his region of Virginia. He said many interesting things, but this really struck me:

The world, for all of our technology and refrigeration and plastic bags and vacuum-sealing and transportation and all of that, has never thrown away more human edible food than we do right now, today. Planet wide, we are losing roughly 50% of all the human edible food in all the world.... We have, in the developed world, incredible snootiness about what is edible...

He went on to comment about our refusal to eat fruit that has slight bruises, our anxiety and paranoia that our food might harbour dangerous bacteria, and the fact that if we weren't such picky human eaters who equate "safe" with "sterile" we could feed the world's population twice over. (We have more bacteria on and in our bodies than there is in most foods!)

So this week, I'm thinking about those 'best before' dates, and I've done a little research that has made it clear that when a 'best before' date has passed, most food isn't 'bad' yet -- it's just not at its optimum freshness -- which makes me sorry for the times I threw out salad dressings in particular, thinking they had expired, when really, they just weren't at their 'best.' So now, while I definitely wouldn't eat a can of lobster paté from 2011, I don't worry so much about foods that might be a week or two beyond their 'best before' -- like yogurt, milk, or cottage cheese (unless it smells sour). And can a bottled vinaigrette really go bad with all that vinegar in it? Vinegar is a preservative, isn't it?

So the next time you notice a 'best before' date that's passed you by, think about the possibilities. Is it a food that's not likely to harbour dangerous microorganisms? Can it be salvaged in some way? If not, can it be composted?

Just a little food for thought.

And if you've never heard of Joel Salatin and his Polyface Farms, here's a little teaser...

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

Book review: The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry

Last week I ran into a friend at the library "Books to Go -- One Week Loan" shelf. We were both looking for a good read, and each of us found a book that we knew and recommended to the other, but I think Barb made the better recommendation. I took home Rachel Joyce's The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (Random House 2012, ISBN 987-0-385-67769-1) and dove into an amazing, believable piece of fiction.

Harold Fry is a retired brewery employee with a failing marriage and few friends. When he receives an unexpected letter from a friend, hewrites a hasty reply, and heads for the mailbox. And so begins a most unlikely pilgrimage, one that is full of poignant moments that reveal the difficult beauty of life and the ordinary extraordinariness of strangers as friends yet to be met.

Harold leaves home in his regular garb and yachting shoes (which create painful blisters in short order), but when he reaches his usual mailbox, the beauty of the day leads him to decide to walk a little further to the next one. As he walks, he thinks about his friend, whom he hasn't seen in 20 years, and somehow comes to the decision that he needs to walk all the way to the hospice where she's living her final days because somehow that will save her. That wouldn't be a big deal except the hospice is some 500 km to the north.

Harold's magical thinking, his reflections on his past, and his encounters with strangers (not to mention the media) make for an entertaining and thought-provoking read. Rachel Joyce's narrative pulls the reader along the highways and byways of England, where, with Harold, we meet a group of cycling mothers, a Slovakian doctor, a very famous actor, a journalist, a man in a gorilla suit, and so many others who come and go from Harold's life and leave him with very human and often very moving or unnerving stories that have him "trying to find a place within himself in which to keep [them]" (p.171). The pilgrimage transforms Harold and his wife Maureen in unexpected ways, and the reader is left with the sense that life is miraculous, that love is essential, and that even when prospects look dim, hope is somehow always there to carry us forward.

So, next time you run into me at the One Week Loan shelf, I know exactly what I'll put into your hands. Or if you aren't likely to run into me, you might like to sign out a copy of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry for yourself.

A beauty of a weekend

Every so often, Lee and I like to get away, just the two of us, no other distractions. So we left home on Friday afternoon, checked into a hotel, and spent the weekend together.

A dusky view from our dining table on Friday evening, looking toward home...

We ate good food at nice restaurants, saw a play at the Citadel, slept late, did a bit of shopping, bought a picnic lunch, went for a hike around Neon Lake, he did a crossword while I finished reading my latest favourite book (a review is in the works), had a late supper, and watched Lincoln. This morning we grabbed breakfast at Tim's, went to church, and came home to our girls.

Henri Nouwen, one of my favourite spiritual writers says,

Intimacy between people requires closeness as well as distance. It is like dancing. Sometimes we are very close, touching each other or holding each other; sometimes we move away from each other and let the space between us become an area where we can freely move.

To keep the right balance between closeness and distance requires hard work, especially since the needs of the partners may be quite different at a given moment. One might desire closeness while the other wants distance. One might want to be held while the other looks for independence. A perfect balance seldom occurs, but the honest and open search for that balance can give birth to a beautiful dance, worthy to behold.

-- Bread for the Journey, February 22

In my books, this weekend was a beautiful dance. It's good to get away from the usual and just focus on each other once in a while, to remember exactly why we're together for life. I felt God smiling on me all weekend!

Simple Suggestion #152... Use honey, Honey!

I've moodled on this at length before, but that was before I started my Simple Suggestions, and besides that, this is one idea that is worth repeating. Honey is a natural product that has more benefits for health and wellness than I have time to list here. Different things I've read suggest that it's high in anti-oxidants, it's antibacterial, it's an immune system booster, it heals burns and cuts and fights cancer somehow... really, the list is so incredible that I'm not sure how many of the claims I can actually believe.

But there's really something wonderful about the idea of bees converting flower nectar into food for themselves, and food for us, too. We've all heard enough about the evils of highly refined foods, so lately, I'm getting into baking with honey more and more -- my favourite bread recipe these days is a honey whole wheat loaf. Smells fantastic as it bakes!

And, though my family all laugh and roll their eyes at me for this one, honey is a great hair product! I first moodled about how to have healthy spiky hair this back in April of 2011, and it's actually one of my top five moodlings. Read it here, if you like. All those pomades and hair spiking goops on the shelves of our beauty salons and hair care aisles have nothing on honey -- put a little in your hair to spike it up, and you don't have to worry about parabens or other families of chemicals giving you cancer or other strange ailments. And when I rinse the honey out, my hair is so soft!

Being one who appreciates natural, organic solutions, I can't help but ask, with all the things honey has going for it, Honey, why not add a little to your life?

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

A tribute to a faraway friend...

For Micke, and Alfred

When emotions are strong, what can a writer do but write? Today I am paying tribute to my dear, faraway friend, Karin.

Karin and I met in 1987 on a bus in Tucson, Arizona. It was our year to travel and perform with Up With People, and we caught the same bus to go home to our host families after staging days. I had never met anyone from Sweden before I started a conversation with the tall, quiet, blonde girl across from me. We somehow got to chatting about tongue twisters that day, and she decided that I should learn one in Swedish. I think she picked the hardest one! Sju sjösjuka sjömän sköttes av sjutton sköna sjuksköterskor. Something about seasick seamen being cared for by beautiful nurses. I could barely pronounce it, let alone say it five times fast! By contrast, she didn't have any trouble with Peter Piper and his peck of pickled peppers.

The tall Swedish girl and I ended up travelling together for a year in Cast C, and we became fast friends over that silly tongue twister -- even though she was always correcting my pronunciation. I couldn't help but like her -- she was a feisty character who stood up for what she believed and let people know in no uncertain terms what she thought. Her abruptness could rub people the wrong way at times, and I often found myself jumping into conversations to try to soften things she said because I had learned that behind her sometimes prickly-seeming exterior was a beautiful person with a heart of gold. Not only that -- she usually had darn good reason for being prickly! For a while, she was our Lady of the Lost and Found for Cast C, and gathered and kept all the personal items people left behind at different events or show nights. She really got impatient with certain people who couldn't keep track of their own articles of clothing, and honestly, who could blame her? Everyone in the group was over 18, and she just wasn't ready to play nagging mother to 130 people, give or take a few.

One of my favourite memories of Karin is of her holding the tiller on our Trois Rivieres host dad's sailboat as we flew down the fleuve St. Laurent on a perfect autumn day. The wind whipped her hair back, and she smiled the entire time we sailed. She had a great smile, and was the queen of the engaging "show face" -- after performing the same show, more or less, for an entire year, unlike some of us, she never looked bored --  she knew how to turn it on to please a crowd. We were together on microphone groups (backup vocalists, in other words) quite often, singing N'Kosi Sikelel'iAfrika harmonies and making "show faces" at each other. I'll never forget her smile as she stood on a parade float in her international costume on a chilly Sudbury day, waving to the people who lined the street.

At Christmas that year, Karin couldn't afford to fly all the way back to Sweden, so she came home with me, and was very disappointed by the fact that Edmonton was having a brown Christmas. We took her to Banff National Park, and there wasn't a lot of snow there either, so we headed up to the top of Sulfur Mountain on the gondola. "Finally, SNOW!" she said, beaming. She met a lot of strange Canadians during her break (we counted how many on the plane trip back to New York -- seems to me that with my Saskatchewan relatives, it was over 250 people), but she didn't complain about any of it -- rather, she enjoyed introducing herself with, "Hello, I'm Karin, Maria's Swedish sister," and seeing the surprised looks on the faces of my friends and family. She'd smile mischievously and say, "Didn't you know?" Her sense of humour caught a lot of people by surprise! My parents took to calling her their Swedish daughter, too.

Karin and I had a few adventures together in Europe that spring. We walked a beach in a peaceful part of Yugoslavia (now Slovenia) and sang Easter songs, she in Swedish to my English, different lyrics but the same melodies. She helped me as a member of Bjorn and the Bagels, also known as the Food Crew, and one evening in Trieste, we and several other volunteers held our own pizza parade, laughing and carrying stacks of pizzas through the streets past puzzled Italians, to the theatre where we would perform that evening. Together on a free day, Karin and I walked all over Lugano, Switzerland, until our feet were sore. And sometimes when we had spare time, she would ask, "Do you remember the tongue twister?" and I would laugh, and she would have to teach me all over again.

When our year in Up With People ended, we went our separate ways, and wrote letters now and then to keep in touch. Karin's mother died, and her relationship with her father and brothers had always been strained, but she held her own. She worked as a lab tech for many years, travelled, had many adventures, and learned German and Esperanto. I was guaranteed a tiny Christmas card every year, and we settled into a routine as faraway friends. I invited her to my wedding, but 7700 km was just a little too far for her to come... until the Spring of 1994, when she decided she wanted to attend a Swedish Reunion in Minnesota, and called to see if she could come to Edmonton for a visit, too!

I was quite excited to have a cast mate come -- being so far north, Edmonton isn't exactly a hub city that's part of peoples' lay-overs, so she's the only cast mate who has actually managed a visit. Lee and I were in the process of renovating our bedroom that June, and wanted to have it done before Karin arrived, but she showed up earlier than we expected, much to our chagrin. Fortunately, the chaos in our home didn't bother Karin. Once we settled her into our guest room, she immediately borrowed my oldest clothing and ball cap, and she and Lee painted while I looked after our six-month-old. Karin stayed for two weeks, and we took her along to Jasper National Park on our own mini-vacation, and to Elk Island National Park to see the bison there. In those two weeks, Karin and I did a lot of hiking, walking around my neighbourhood, and chatting about life.

"I want to bake some bread," she announced one morning. "Do you have any jast?"

It took me a while to determine that jast was yeast, and no, I didn't have any on hand. So we walked to the grocery store, and I took Karin into the baking aisle and showed her the jars of dry, fast-rising yeast.

"No, no, no! That's not it," she said, her face stormy, like a five-year-old wanting her way. "Don't you have any real yeast? Living yeast?"

I didn't know what to do, so I suggested that we talk to the fellow behind the counter in the bakery department.

"I would like some live yeast, please," she said to him.

He looked very confused. "Yeast is in aisle 5," he told her.

"No, no, no! Not dead yeast, live yeast. Don't you use live yeast to bake your bread?" she asked, frowning.

"I've never been asked for live yeast before," he said, flustered.

"Well, I just asked," she said, determined.

The fellow went into the back room and came out with a chunk of baker's yeast, wrapped it in some wax paper and slipped it into a paper bag.

"And how much will it cost?" she inquired.

"I don't know," he said, frowning, but he took out a pen and marked "25 cents" on the bag.

Karin beamed. "Thank you," she said. Her smile was contagious, and suddenly he was smiling too, in spite of his unusual customer. When we got home, Karin got to work on the tastiest, heaviest bread I have ever eaten. Lee and I still talk about it to this day.

My Swedish friend stayed in touch with me over the years, though it was often only by Christmas card and the rare email. Then, one August morning in 2009, I was sitting at my computer and a little Skype window popped up, "Maria, is that you?" Within minutes we were chatting over the internet, and she was teaching me my Swedish tongue twister all over again.

Through Skype, I learned that her boyfriend, Micke, had left flowers outside her door on her birthday, that she was taking Latin Dance classes, and learning Danish over the internet... and eventually, that she and Micke were finally expecting a baby after a very long wait. After Alfred was born last March, we visited each other's homes by Skype, and had conversations about the best lullabyes, sending each other YouTube videos of different songs like Byssan Lull and Oh Mother How Pretty, while her little one sat on her lap, perhaps wondering what on earth his mother was doing talking to a computer picture and why it was talking back.

And it was on Skype that I received a cryptic message nearly four months ago, "Maria? Are you there? There has happened a thing." Unfortunately, my Skype was on, but I was elsewhere in the house, and by the time I returned to the computer, Karin wasn't online any more. It was another two days before I learned that she had been suffering severe stomach pains and was diagnosed with cancer. The doctors weren't sure where it was at first, but she was having difficulty eating, and her lungs were filling up with fluid. Not good... She was going back to the hospital for more tests.

I posted her birthday on Facebook on November 9th, and asked her Up With People friends to think of and pray for her because she was going through a rough spot. They sent many good wishes that I turned into a poster and mailed to her. It was almost a whole worried month before I heard from her again, a few typed words of thanks to everyone for the poster. Then Micke skyped with me next day, and told me she was very weak, but hoping to start chemo soon. He skyped again two days later to say that he and Karin had married on the weekend in the hospital, and that Alfred had also been baptized, and he sent some pictures of a very thin but very happy Karin.

The last time I actually spoke with Karin was January 12th. Her chemo had been delayed for a time, but was going ahead in three days. I don't remember what else we spoke about, but we chatted for a half hour, she in her hospital bed, and me in my kitchen. I do recall that Micke, the man who had made her so happy for the last few years, was there with her, silent in the background, putting up with the two of us and our reminiscences. I wish I had asked her to recite that silly Swedish tongue twister one more time...

The last few weeks, it has been Micke who has been in touch, telling me that Karin was weaker, that the chemo had to be discontinued, and that she didn't have long to live. Our skype messages made it clear that he really loved her. When I commented, "she could be so serious, and then get a twinkle in her eye, and laugh, and the world would be fine," he knew exactly what I meant... and more, I'm sure. Last week, I asked him if I could let Karin's Cast C friends know about her situation on Facebook -- and the outpouring of love and prayers from all over North America and Europe has touched Micke deeply. We spoke for 45 minutes on Skype yesterday, and I think he is probably the best part of Karin's life... he, and Alfred.

My dear, faraway friend, Karin, died on February 16, 2013, holding Micke's hand and surrounded by his love. She was 48. Her adorable little boy, Alfred, is not yet a year old. Life just isn't fair sometimes. But I truly believe that love does not end at death, and I suspect Karin believed that, too, and is still holding her little family in love.

Who knew that a Swedish tongue twister was to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship that has lasted only 25 years on this earth? I fully expect Karin will be there to meet me when I reach heaven... and we will both pronounce that impossible (for me) tongue twister without an ounce of difficulty, throw our arms around each other, and laugh. And maybe we'll sing N'Kosi Sikelel'iAfrika and a few Easter songs, in harmony, just for good measure.

Rest in peace, Karin, my Swedish sister. I'll miss you.