Tag Archives: risk

What We Carry: Messages From Canada

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The Canadian Flag
Banff National Park, Alberta, CA

Do you ever get the feeling that someone is trying to tell you something? Maybe it’s the voice of the universe; maybe God is trying to get your attention, or maybe it’s just a shout from the wee small voice inside yourself trying to wake you up. The message is right there in front of you, staring you in the face, but you totally miss it. You don’t see it, understand it, or recognize its significance until finally, like a smack to the forehead…you suddenly get it, and it seems so obvious you wonder how you didn’t see it in the first place.

Let me tell you about the recent tap on the noggin I received from Canada.

Crossing Into Canada
Port Huron to Sarnia…Michigan to Ontario
photographer unknown

Crossing the Bluewater Bridge from Michigan into Ontario, I chose the shortest lane for customs and immigration, eased my car into the line, and waited for my turn.  Moments later, I politely handed my passport to the official and answered all the necessary questions.

“Have a safe trip,” he said with a smile, as he returned my document.

“Thank you, “ I replied. With a lump in my throat, but without much thought or hesitation, I added, “And…I’m sorry about Donald Trump.”

“Oh,” he responded in a sympathetic tone.  “We know who’s to blame. We know it’s not you. That is not your burden to bear. Put it down. Don’t carry that.  It’s not yours.”

As I pulled away from the booth, unbidden tears began to stream down my cheeks. I was touched by the kindness of this stranger who could obviously feel my pain.  In our brief interaction, in very few words, he had done what he could to lift the guilt I was carrying from my shoulders, giving me the peace and courage to carry on.  

I believe that everyone we meet is bearing something. We just don’t know what the person beside us is carrying. Sometimes what we are schlepping around fits easily into a tiny, nylon, nano bag; at other times, we could stuff an 80-pound backpack. Sometimes, we are dragging so much through life that we need a full-blown steamer trunk. The problems, worries, and burdens are uniquely our own, often weighing us down, at times making it difficult to go forward…or…even move at all.

Some months later, on a trip to the Canadian Rockies, I arrived in Calgary a day and a half before the rest of the tour group. I had plenty of time to wander the city exploring on my own. I found myself in the new library… a truly amazing space, by the way…where I came upon an interactive art display. It was a large white bird nearly as big as me, with outstretched wings sculpted from bent wire. Next to the framework was a table with pencils and slips of paper bearing the outline of a feather. The instructions read: These feathers are for the public to leave affirmations or positive thoughts and encouragement for the community.

“Eagle Sculpture 2026″…Darren Weaslechild…Indigenous Artist in Residence

I approached the sculpture intending to read what people had left for others to discover. As I got closer, a single paper feather fell from the bird and landed at my feet. As I collected the slip from the floor, I was astonished by what I read. How did someone I’ll never meet know just what I needed to read, and of all the paper feathers, why did this particular one fall at the very moment I approached? Serendipity…the universe..a message from above? Written boldly in pencil, a combination of print and cursive were these words: Ask yourself if what weighs you down is your to carry. OX.

A Personal Message from The Universe
Calgary Library… Calgary, Alberta, CA

Was I being weighed down by things that weren’t really mine to carry? Did I really have to concern myself with everything? All the time? I’ve been struggling like so many these days; I am feeling the oppression of the world in addition to the personal struggles of self and family. That simple paper feather prompted me to pay attention and take a hard look. Was it really necessary for me to carry such burdens? If indeed it turned out that they were mine, was I required to shoulder them constantly? Do you suppose someone could help me lift some of the heaviest ones? To give myself time to rest and regroup, could I simply put them down and walk away for a while?

The next morning, I took an Uber across town to the UU church. It was one of those Sundays when I knew I was right where I was supposed to be. The pulpit was filled by a First Nations Elder. Her words and singing touched my heart. So when it was time to light candles or place stones in the bowl for joys and concerns, I comfortably joined the others and offered my prayers alongside theirs. To conclude this part of the service, rather than “Spirit of Life,” which is usually the go-to song with UUs, the words of a song that I didn’t yet know were projected on the wall.

Loosen, Loosen, Baby.  
You don't have to carry the weight of the world in your muscles and bones. 
Let go. Let go. Let go. 
Holy breath and Holy name 
Will you help me ease this pain?

It certainly seemed that I was being sent a message from somebody.

I was so tired when I arrived in Vermont after my adventures in Canada; it was midnight. Two days before the end of the trip, my wallet had been stolen or, more probably, lost. I no longer had a credit card and was concerned about how I’d be able to free my car from the parking garage. I spent several minutes sorting out how to pay for parking with cash. Pretty easy as it turned out, but when I went to the luggage carousel, all the bags had arrived…alas…mine was not there. There was a suitcase similar to mine…but…it wasn’t mine.

It was then that I noticed an older woman sitting with what looked a lot like my bag.

“Excuse me, “ I said. “I think you might have my bag.”

“Oh, no,” she replied confidently. “My husband just brought this to me. It’s my bag.”

“Would you mind if we unzipped one of the pockets to check?”

“Sure. That’s fine,” she responded as she began to open the pocket.

“See,” she said. “There are my shoes.”

With only the soles of the shoes visible, I was fairly certain that those worn out tennies were mine.

“Em, I think those are my shoes. Let’s open another pocket.”

We slid the zipper over, revealing my medicine case and my socks.  “See, this is my bag. I think yours is over there on the carousel.”

“Well,” she said, “That one looks…kinda beat up.”

“I’m sorry, but that one’s yours.”

Be Sure It’s Yours
You Can Always Just Let it Circle the Carousel
Photo by Dimitri Karastelev on Unsplash

So…ask yourself whether what weighs you down really is yours to carry, or if you can just leave it circling the carousel as you exit the terminal. On the other hand…sometimes…whether we like it or not…we have to face the fact that, beat-up or not, that baggage is ours.

Originally part of an evening chapel service on Star Island.

Footprints on Our Hearts:

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“Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some people move our souls to dance. They awaken us to a new understanding with the passing whisper of their wisdom. Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon. They stay in our lives for awhile, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same.” 

Flavia Weedn
From the Back Deck Montpelier, VT
October 2022

I recently came across an old DVD…Mom and Dad’s 50th Wedding Anniversary, 1996. Later, watching it alone in my room, I found myself on the rollercoaster between laughter and tears. The video was funny, heartbreaking, silly, uplifting, loud, poignant, and full of love. The longer I watched, the more I became aware of how many of the main characters had left the stage. Eight people died, two left via divorce, and five little children grew up! Not many of the original cast members remain.

I have reached the phase of life where more and more people leave every year…family, friends, and people I used to see in the neighborhood, at church, or in the movies. This time of losing eventually reaches everyone and is on the invoice for a long life. However, if we’re lucky and willing to take a chance, we can continue to add new players to the cast and create space for unexpected plot twists and extraordinary storylines that will surprise, delight, and inspire us.

Embarking on unexplored paths with new companions requires us to be vulnerable, trusting, and open to the mystery of unfolding adventures. Oh, sure, on our journey, we could find ourselves stuck axle-deep in mud with three flat tires and a GPS that says we’ve reached our destination, but we could also find ourselves on a mountaintop of amazement. You never know what lies around the bend. And so, what the heck…there’s not that much on TV anyway…might as well take the leap!

Autumn Leaves on the Forest Floor
October 2020
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives
For a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led to those
Who help us most to grow if we let them
And we help them in return.

"For Good" from Wicked

I didn’t hear his car drive up, but I watched from my kitchen window as he walked across the driveway toward my tiny condo, with an air of casual confidence.

He was of medium build, clad in blue jeans and a t-shirt. His hair was pulled back neatly and secured at the nape of his neck in a short ponytail, accentuating his beautifully lush, carefully trimmed, salt and pepper beard. As I opened the door, he greeted me with sparkling eyes, a warm, pleasant smile, and a confident, friendly manner that instantly put me at ease.

He was a good-looking man…charming, funny, and interesting. It was easy to be attracted to him, but…for God’s sake, he was my electrician and I was his client. At the recommendation of our local electrical supply store, “Call him first. He’s a really nice guy,” he had literally come to light up my life by adding two new overhead lights. At the time, I had no idea that he would bring more light than just that in the ceiling.

Fallen Leaves in the Sunshine
AI Generated

Over the next year, there were several infrequent text exchanges. He’d invite me for coffee or lunch, and I’d find an excuse to decline or postpone. I had been a widow for six years and was finally discovering how to make a life without a partner. Learning to dance with a wooden leg. I was not excited about the lines and wrinkles that were spiderwebbing across my face or the fact that my breasts had been losing territory in the constant battle with gravity. In fifty years, I had only been kissed romantically by two men…my husband and my high school crush at our tenth class reunion. I have never felt completely comfortable around men, especially attractive men, and the last men I was with…other than my husband, with whom I had grown old…were just babies in their twenties. No, I definitely wasn’t looking…as Carly Simon sings…but…somehow he found me.

Yellow Leaves on the Path
Sylvan Solace 2020

After a long drought of messages, he reached out once again. “Would you like to go for coffee? We could talk about Scotland.” It was scary to say yes, but this time, I was ready for the adventure of meeting a man for something other than going over my taxes or my investments. I’d just go for coffee…chai latte, actually. It would be just a practice date, so that in the unlikely event another man asked me to go for coffee, I’d know what to do. Well…it didn’t turn out exactly as I planned. “Oh, I’m in trouble,” I told my sister, later that day. “I really like this guy.”

Our rather unconventional friendship has been such a gift. He has reminded me of things I’d forgotten and inspired me to make changes and discoveries on my own. He is funny, kind, and genuine. He opened doors that I thought had been nailed shut or were so hidden by vines and brush that I didn’t know they still existed. Who knew I’d enjoy the most passionate kisses of my life when I was a senior citizen! My world is larger, brighter, less scary, and more inviting because we traveled the same path together for a while.

None of us knows when or how our stories will end, nor do we know which characters will be with us on the final pages, but I’m enjoying writing this chapter, and I’m looking forward to seeing what’s on the next page. I smile at strangers and speak to people I don’t know, recognizing that just as in an English murder mystery, it quite possibly could be the least likely person who holds the keys to the next grand adventure. 

 And now, whatever way our stories end
I know you have rewritten mine
By being my friend
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But
Because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good.

"For Good," from Wicked
Maple Leaves
Sylvan Solace 2020

I have been changed by each of the people who have come and gone in my life. I’ve known people who made my life miserable, whose main purpose in life seemed to be that of a bad example. Then, too, I have long-time friends I don’t deserve, and young friends who bring excitement, joy, and new perspectives. Our human interactions aren’t always easy or straightforward, but they are completely worth the challenge. Old friends are stability and comfort, just as new friends personify potentiality and possibility. Embrace them both…the new and the old. Welcome the footprints on your heart and be sure to leave a few of your own. 

Reminder: 
You're not done meeting everyone 
who's going to matter to you. 
Some of the best moments of your life haven't happened yet.   

Sara Kuburic

Isn’t that just the best thing you’ve heard all day?!

Two Lovers and a Glass of Wine

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“Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.” 

― William Butler Yeats

As I arrived at my book club meeting, I was met by the evening’s hostess. “Welcome,” smiled Tina. “Would you like a glass of wine? I have Pino, Chardonnay, or a nice Cab.”

When it comes to wine, all the women in my group know much more about it than I do. I know I really enjoy Baco Noir, Malbec, and the occasional glass of chilled Riesling, but the rest are a mystery to me. They might be beautiful in the glass and pleasurable on the tongue, but I’ll admit…I really don’t know one from the other. Many years ago, on a trip to France, my husband, Dave, and I attended a delightfully instructional wine tasting in a local wine cellar. It was fun, but even that didn’t improve my understanding of wine. I remember that the aroma, color, and the way it swirls in the glass are all supposed to add to the enjoyment, but in all honesty, I’m not sure why or how. On the other hand, when the discussion led to the philosophy of terroir, I understood and could easily relate.

Terroir is a French word that translates as land. As I understand it, the soil and environment affect the grape’s development, taste, and quality which are ultimately reflected in the wine. The same grape grown on one hillside may taste entirely different from one produced on an adjacent field.

Grapes Grown for Williamsburg Winery
Virginia 2011

I realize that terroir in this context refers to grapes and perhaps other crops as well, but I think it also may apply to people. Where we are born, raised, and eventually settle affects what we believe and how we behave. It shapes who we are and who we come to be.

Last Fall, I heard an original poem read by a woman who lives part of the year in New England and the other in Florida. Through her writing, she acknowledged that her friends in either place really only know a part of who she really is. Without an understanding of the ethos of New England, those in Florida would only ever know one side of her. Conversely, those in New England could never comprehend the Florida part. Dave and I were born in the midwest…Michigan, to be precise…but we spent most of our married life together in Vermont, so unless our friends had similar backgrounds, they never truly knew us.

A man can be in two different places and he will be two different men. Maybe if you think of more places he will be more men, but two is enough for now. –

Elmore Leonard

As Dave’s mobility decreased, we discussed downsizing from our 1810, four-bedroom house to something more manageable. Once when I asked him what he would do if I died and he was alone…as we age, we think of such things… he responded, “I’d move back to Michigan.” So, when he died, and I was alone and unable to find a suitable place to relocate in Vermont, I sold our big house and moved to a small condo in Michigan near my sisters and within an hour’s drive of women with whom I’ve had decades-long friendships.

Within months of my move, we entered the time of Covid. In the blink of an eye, the world changed for everyone. The life I had anticipated was impossible. Most of my connections with family and friends were virtual. I was living…as were most people…through my computer screen. Church services, family gatherings, chats with my grandchildren, and monthly book club meetings were conducted on Zoom or Facetime. My groceries were delivered outside my door, and I relied on UPS and the US postal system more than I’d like to admit. I enjoyed my little condo with its cozy fireplace, and I spent a good deal of time alone on my deck with the birds and squirrels for company. I walked the city parks and binge-watched several British and Canadian television series. Weekly small group meetings with other solo women and our minister also kept me going. It was a comfortable…yet very lonely…way to weather the storm. When we could meet outside…at a distance of six feet or inside with masks and excellent ventilation…I was able to see my sisters and friends, but we were never close enough to hug…or even touch. It was a strange time but not unique to me. The entire world had been locked down.

My Little Deck and Container Garden
Summer 2021

Each of us has our own pandemic story. Being isolated and alone kept me safe from the virus, but my life was often framed by loneliness. However, my friend, Suzanne, says that adults are responsible for their own good time, and even amid the restrictions of the Covid time, I was able to make memories, share laughter, and enjoy the blessing of time with those I love. However, I slowly realized that I was becoming collateral damage to the pandemic. I was never been able to put down roots or make genuine relationships within the new community in which I found myself.

The plains of central Michigan have their own kind of beauty: the red barns, green fields, and expansive sky; nevertheless, I longed for Vermont’s mountains, streams, and cedar scented air. Although there are many people I love…deeply love…in Michigan, my heart and soul…not to mention my children and grandchildren…was in Vermont. I had to return.

I listed my beloved condo with a realtor in mid-April, and surprisingly…to me anyway… it sold within a week. So I am putting the accumulation of my life in storage and packing my clothes, sundries, computer, and the book I haven’t finished in Andy…my Mini Cooper…and trekking back to all I love in the Green Mountains of Vermont. I’m moving forward in the faith that I’ll be able to find a place to eventually unpack, settle, and successfully revive and nurture the roots that have lain dormant during my time away.

As I wrap my breakables carefully in newsprint, I often have two songs from decades ago playing alternately on a loop in my head. The chorus of the Mary Wells Motown hit…Two Lovers...is regularly on repeat. “Well, I’ve got two lovers, and I ain’t ashamed. I’ve got two lovers, and I love them both the same.” But, perhaps the 70s Pop/Soft Rock recording by Mary MacGregor, Torn Between Two Lovers, with its sensitive lyrics and haunting melody, is closer to expressing the ache of having two intense and conflicting loves. When I exchange the idea of place for the other person in the song, it comes close to articulating my feelings.

Torn between two lovers, feeling like a fool
Loving you both is breaking all the rules
You mustn't think you failed me just because there's someone else
You were the first real love I ever had
And all the things I ever said
I swear they still are true
For no one else can have the part of me I gave to you

I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be completely happy, for I will always be drawn to one place while at the same time missing the other. The people of Vermont and Michigan each possess their own unique terroir, and I have drunk deeply from the rich, sweet wine of both. But, I suppose, in the end, all I can really do is linger over the exquisite glass before me…enjoying the aroma, the color, and the way it swirls in the glass…knowing that I’m not limited to one bottle and can always return and fill my goblet once again from the other.

“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.’

Mirium Adeney