Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving to our American family and friends. It’s important that we all take the time to realize the good things in our lives and be grateful for them. Verbalizing some quick gratitude thoughts in the morning can turn around a bad start to the day — it seems to rewire our emotions. If you don’t believe me, try it. Wherever you are, dear readers, I hope that you have things in your lives that you can be genuinely grateful for. If you’re of a mind to share some, please do in the Comments.

All the best, Erica

Label removal

I hate labels. As soon as I get a new item home, whether its a piece of clothing or new towels, I cut off the label — it’s a tacked-on piece of cloth, or worse, plastic, that just annoys the heck out of me.

Yesterday I saw the title of an article on the BBC website, my daily news source, that produced a similar feeling: Emma Watson: ‘I’m happy to be single, I call it being self-partnered, and it really struck me as a ridiculous concept. No disrespect to Emma, it’s the idea that we have to label ourselves as something. Why can’t we just ‘be’?

Why should it matter to society what status we have? Whether we’re in a relationship or not, have children or not, what age we are, what our sexual orientation is – none of that should matter or be anyone else’s concern.

We live in a society of both oversharing and judginess. People feel the need to be validated by the opinions of thousands of people they don’t actually know, while internet trolls seem to take great pleasure in being mean about it.

Having grown up in the post-war era, when wealthy families were rare and most people were just working quietly away to make ends meet, people were just themselves, without connotations attached. I went to a high school where we dressed in uniforms, which really did democratize the student body. It also removed any anxiety about what you were going to wear the next day. We were aware of who the wealthier students were, but that never manifested in a way that made students from lower-income families feel threatened. I was one of the latter. My parents didn’t have a lot of money, and I understood that, and appreciated when they were able to splurge on something special.

There were a couple of cliques of students who thought they were cool, but – and maybe our class was singular in this – everyone had plenty of people to hang out with, regardless of their interests, and I never saw anyone get bullied or shunned.

Now ostentatious wealth seems to be the norm – massive homes that flaunt their size and expense, wealthy people spending ridiculous amounts that could feed a family for several years on art or memorabilia, or on luxury travel where everything must transpire perfectly or the trip isn’t worth taking.

My hubby and I were on safari in Botswana a number of years ago to celebrate a milestone anniversary. We chose a mobile camping safari that you could perhaps call early glamping – the camp staff transported and set up our tents in each location, cooked our food, etc., so all we had to do was show up and enjoy the experience – but we used communal toilet tents, slept on cots and fell asleep to the sounds of hippos grunting down by the river. We loved it and had an absolute blast being so immersed in the African bush.

In our final game reserve in the Chobe region of northern Botswana, one day our group passed a safari vehicle from the most exclusive (and expensive) lodge in the area, and all the guests looked bored.

How sad, that these people apparently had so much money that they couldn’t appreciate the remarkable experience of being in the middle of Africa, surrounded by prowling lions and noisy baboons and big herds of elephants thudding down to the river’s edge to bathe – an experience that many people will never get to have. What a waste!

Everyone seems to feel the need to label themselves publicly, urged on by the media, who thrive on drama. A recent trend I’ve seen is for business signatures to include what your preferred pronouns are, e.g. “she/her/hers”. If we’re to be truly inclusive someday, we shouldn’t even have to specify.

Labelling people tends to create an awful ‘us vs them’ mentality. I’m married, you’re not; I’m straight, you’re not; I’m wealthy, you’re not; I’m xxx religion and you’re not so you’ll be going straight to Hell… So many troubles have arisen from a separation of identity, when we should all just be creatures sharing the same beautiful planet, and acknowledging the importance of every creature on this planet. Maybe then we’ll take better care of it.

Do you remember when…?

I love the smell of fallen leaves in the morning.

It’s straight out of my childhood. I always looked forward to the return to school, Thanksgiving turkey, and, best of all, Halloween!

As an adult I only have Thanksgiving turkey and Halloween in my life, but I have a great deal of nostalgia around all of them.

People seem to either love or despise nostalgia — I know people who feel it’s just indulging in sentimentality — but psychologists have done studies around it, and results have shown that there are benefits to spending some time in pleasant reminiscing:

  • The boost to your mood when recalling a positive experience. My hubby and I often find ourselves laughing at something from our travels that happens comes to mind from something that’s just occurred. It’s really special to us that we’ve shared those experiences together, and those memories have on occasion been a bulwark against something stressful that’s happening in the present.
  • Researchers found a strong social component, where people experiencing nostalgia were more motivated to connect with other people. It may be for the often communal aspect of the shared memories.
  • When we’re reminiscing, it’s akin to reading or watching a good story, but better because it’s from our own lives and actually happened to us.
  • For the elderly, who can suffer from feelings of isolation, it may inspire them to share their experiences and the wisdom they’ve gained.

Autumn is my favourite season, and Halloween my favourite ‘holiday’, dating back to my childhood and a time when as kids we were innocently and fully free to enjoy it. It was the one night where we were allowed to prowl the streets without a parent in tow, and we made the most of it.

My neighbourhood was lined with trees, and as the air got cooler and the beautiful red and gold leaves began to drift to the ground, shuffling through them on the way to school every day, breathing in the earthy smell and crunching them underfoot, became an annual fall ritual. I would often pick up an especially ‘perfect’ leaf to press between book pages and keep in my room.

The scent of grapes would also fill the air – a lot of people had grapevines in their yards at the time, so it’s an aroma that instantly takes me back to childhood, although it’s increasingly rare.

Each grade at school always put on a Halloween party, and, at least for me, weeks of planning went into my costume. My mom had a trunk full of old clothes, which she readily helped me transform into a variety of outfits.

Anticipation on October 31st was intense – the daylight hours couldn’t pass fast enough. We would put our costumes on and wait feverishly for dusk to fall – it was an unwritten rule to not start trick-or-treating before dark! – and for jack-o-lanterns to come to life on front porches as the streetlights came on. As soon as that happened, our parents would let us out the door for a night of adventure.

We always made a beeline to any places giving out candied apples or popcorn balls, and then, in the mysterious darkness that could be concealing who knew what unearthly creatures and the chill breezes that felt like the tap of the grave on our shoulder, we would go up and down the streets, deciding which houses looked welcoming.

There were always a few houses whose inhabitants were either not kid-friendly, or (to us children) downright creepy. If the former, we didn’t bother visiting them, but if the latter and there was a pumpkin out, we would have a discussion as to whether we felt safe going up to the front door; sometimes we did, with some trepidation, but sometimes the risk outweighed the possibility of more loot.

Once we’d completed our circuit, and usually with a full pillowcase of candy, we’d head toward our respective homes to dump out the contents onto a table and see what goodies we’d accumulated. It was always a great night, and I regret strongly that children now can’t have the same thrill.

My nostalgia for those experiences has been a strong influence on creating a spooky effect for the kids that come to our door trick-or-treating. They all seem to enjoy getting a little scared, and their parents get a kick out of it as well. I didn’t realize how much the children enjoyed the creepy contact lenses I’ve worn with certain costumes until a parent commented once that his kids look forward to it every year.

My hubby helps me decorate our front entrance but allows me to do the dressing-up and hand out the candies. He’s invariably lurking in the background, though, to watch the kids react. We’ve put out a variety of decorations, including some large stone gargoyles that we added glowing red eyes to, and there’s usually fog swirling through the bushes and along the ground. Our house has a split entryway, and the kids have even commented on the interior Halloween décor that they can see behind me as I’m putting treats in their bags.

Halloween allows us to experience some chills in a safe way, and allows both children and adults to step out of our normal lives and become something entirely different for a night. It doesn’t have the emotional baggage or responsibilities of Christmas, and it gives us an opportunity for some good, silly fun.

The proliferation of Halloween-themed cooking contests on the Food Network have instituted a new annual tradition for me, and I now have a well-decorated Halloween tree on our dining-room buffet, but you might still sometimes catch me romping through a pile of raked autumn leaves, to my hubby’s combined dismay and amusement. Enjoy your autumn, and I hope you get as big a kick out of Halloween next week as I do.

The search for peace

I remember exactly what I was doing on September 11, 2001. I imagine that most people do. Some events are so impactful on a global scale that they are forever etched in our collective memories.

I was sitting at my desk in a common area at our local college, working away, when someone came out of an office and said, “There’s something going on in New York.”

The internet was still in its early days as a news source, but several of us crowded around our colleague’s live stream to watch, stunned, as events unfolded. I can recall watching the second plane fly into a tower; it was so surreal that it was hard to absorb.

Word spread quickly and I think most work ground to a halt as the Library set up a big TV screen in the lobby. No one knew what to do. This horrific event was unfolding before our very eyes, and all we could do was watch.

The 9/11 tragedy had ripples for a long time afterward.

The skies were eerily quiet for days while a no-fly rule was in effect. Friends with relatives in New York City were glued to their television sets. Everyone wondered how the aftermath would play out.

I live in a community close to the Canadian-US border, with hydroelectric plants and a number of big factories, so most people that I knew experienced some anxiety over the possibility of our own attack – although I suspect that scenario was on most people’s minds in North America.

In the height of irony, astronauts on the International Space Station, a cooperative venture bringing nations together far above us, could see the smoke plumes and struggled with their own sense of helplessness – you can read their poignant point of view in an article on Space.com.

Six years later, when my hubby and I went on our first African safari, airlines still had considerable restrictions on what travelers could bring on board, and we became very creative at packing economically.

9/11 changed our modern landscape, and there has been endless speculation about why it happened. Like most historical events, we may never know all of the truth, but I think we can agree that global peace continues to be a series of forward steps alternating with backward steps.

I believe that the root of conflict is a lack of respect for someone else’s right to hold a different point of view, and I believe that one of the ways we can work toward global peace is to travel.

It’s really difficult to hold another place or culture at arm’s length, to put a psychological wall up, when you’ve been there in person and met the ordinary people who live there, work there, try to provide for their families, laugh, feel pain, feel sorrow. It’s hard to turn away from animals and environments in need when you’ve walked among them.

We have met so many wonderful people on our travels. We have seen the magnificence of places like Africa and the Amazon Jungle, and know how critical they are to life as we know it.

Life thrives in the quiet places of our planet. Beauty and harmony are there. Find those places and their inhabitants, and understand why all the parts matter.

As a counterpoint to the sadness of 9/11, and the many ongoing conflicts in the world, one movement we can embrace is Forest Bathing. The name may sound silly, but bear with me on this.

Forest Bathing is a Japanese practice that promotes wellness by spending mindful time in a forested area. Nature is healing. Buildings, as beautiful as some of our constructions can be, are artificial environments, surrounded by cities that often don’t include much green space. Our increasing urbanization is separating us from the planet that has nurtured us for eons.

September 7th, this past weekend, was International Forest Bathing Day. The practice is really catching on world-wide, and there is likely at least one certified guide within fifty miles of you. Of course, anyone can do forest bathing for themselves, but you need to be able to do it slowly, taking the time to notice all the beauty and enjoy the serenity.

Find your centre, your inner core of peace and connectedness. I’d love to hear about it.

How to take a much-needed break

It’s so easy to be grumpy. I’m not sure why that should be the case, but in our ever-shrinking world, it can be hard to find time and space to decompress. We feel the press of responsibilities, of aches and pains, of unsettling news from around the world.

Add some home renovations into the mix and things start to ramp up. You know that the end result will justify the weeks of toil, but that thought doesn’t really help when you’re twisted into a corner trying to get the last bit of flooring laid and paint applied.

My hubby and I just finished renovating our main bathroom, and it looks great. It was a long haul, though, and we have to turn around almost immediately and empty out plus repaint our bedroom before we take delivery of our new split-king adjustable bed (which we are very excited about).

So, we snuck in a long-weekend getaway to the Muskoka region of Ontario, and it was the best thing we could have done.

Despite battling our way through some heavy highway traffic, the moment we arrived at the pine-scented resort at the edge of sparkling Lake Muskoka, we could feel ourselves starting to relax.

The skies had clouded over and the air held just a hint of fall as we played a round of golf on the resort’s gorgeous golf course. What we love about this course is that it emerges naturally from its forested, granite-strewn landscape, embracing nature at its best rather than a manicured garden.

Evenings were spent peacefully watching the sun set over the lake and the stars come out overhead.

Saturday dawned with a clear blue sky and a fresh breeze. The motorboats beckoned, so we rented one and spent an hour exploring the lake.

There were quite a few people out on the lake, from fellow boaters to kayakers to Sea-doos to SUPers, with a few lake steamers in the mix, and even with the variety of traffic, everyone seemed to be gently enjoying a blissful summer day on the water.

After lunch we decided to explore some of the hiking trails on the resort property.

Studies continue to show how restorative nature is. Staying at a resort so in tune with it, where the outdoors irresistibly beckons in myriad ways, induces a slowing-down of pace that can be hard to manage during our regular lives. Even though this was just a long-weekend getaway, it was amazingly effective.

Even if you can’t manage a longer escape, spending a few days in nature can work magic when you least expect it. Now, we might actually feel ready to do some more painting 🙂

Summer doldrums

Summer is not my favourite season — I often find it enervating. I’m really an autumn person.

Sometimes I just hide inside our house, but the outdoors always beckons. According to a recent article in the NY Times, scientists have quantified how much time spent in nature is optimal for our health (trust scientists to nail an actual figure, I say with amusement because I have a degree in Biology), and it’s 2 hours a week.

I generally manage that much just going out for my weekly round of golf, but a few days ago, on a really hot day with my head aching, I dragged hubby out to Lake Ontario to try to capture photos of a storm over the lake.

The storm never really materialized, but the outdoors still worked its magic. Here are a few shots I did capture. Sometimes summer has its moments.

The startling split sky when we left the house
Monarch butterfly on a milkweed pod along the shore
A cormorant perched on the masting of a wrecked boat
Pair of darners on the water
Summer colours in the harbour
This gorgeous German shepherd pooch was having a great time exploring the dock
Driftwood log having a frolic in the waves
A gull and I share a peaceful moment as the sun begins to set