LEARN TO LISTEN WELL . . . FIRST A NEWSFLASH: IT IS NOT ONLY ABOUT SPOKEN WORDS

I have always been sensitive to the issue of being a good listener.  Giving undivided attention to the other party during a conversation, in my mind, shows interest and respect.  On the other hand, body language always tells me when I am not being listened to and I am left feeling that what I am saying is not important and is lacking in some way.  Listening, truly listening, impacts many aspects of our lives and at so many different levels.  The following article is the best that I have ever read on this subject.

Do you think you're a good listener? Do you feel really listened to most of the time? I've been teaching extraordinary listening for 25 years and I still fall down on the job. And I've noticed that listening poorly has become pandemic. The problem is that people have forgotten how to really listen. Our survival in ancient times depended on listening to survive, so all senses were acute. Nowadays, we've created a shield around us so we don't have to sense much anymore. With so much noise pollution, we've become numb. With virtual communication, we don't have to listen. Our eardrums may just become obsolete from lack of use.

If listening is taken for granted, how important could it be? The experience of listening poorly and listening well is the difference between eating the white pith of an orange and really savoring the burst of the sweet juice. When you're not listening well, you're not fully present. You miss what's behind the words, the deep truth that's coming from a person. It's not about hearing the words spoken per se; it's about connecting with the heart.

Listening like it matters is especially important with kids. Adults rarely listen to kids, ask them what they think about things or truly engage them. We fail to do this because we're so wrapped up in training them and taking care of their needs. We create generations of children that aren't listened to. This habit gets passed on from generation to generation and is the source of all kinds of societal ills that change when we are deeply listened to at an early age. When he was a small child, my nephew would put his hands on your cheeks, turn your face to him and say "You're not listening to me!" Wouldn't it just be great if everyone did that?

We don't listen much to adults, either. In many families, there is someone who talks on and on because no one listens to them. They don't listen to themselves, either. When I was trying to find a copyright attorney for CTI, I went to five people before anyone asked me one question about my needs, concerns, budget or even my business. They just talked at me.

There seem to be two types of failing to listen well: First, in times of conflict where there is tension or disagreement. Personally, there are so many times when I have been arguing with someone that I realize that we have not been listening to each other. We're both being "right" about our point of view. Usually, after the third time I've repeated something, it dawns on me that listening isn't present. When people know they are not being really listened to, they tend to repeat themselves.  When one us  truly starts to listen to the other person's experience, intimacy deepens. The space relaxes. We reconnect.

It's important to remember that listening well isn't about agreeing. By really listening to the other, you're not voting in favor of their ideas. It's just listening and understanding the other person's experience. This offers the opportunity to "take a space ship" to another person's world... to really inhabit their experience.

Deeper understanding and connection are almost always an outcome, along with an opening for conversation that is more creative and that can result in a "third way" -- not your way or my way, but a magical and creative solution that is even better than one of those things.

We are trained to listen to the content or for the problem that needs to be solved rather than to the person speaking, so communication doesn't really happen. When we think we've got it, we stop listening. But the other person is attempting to connect with us, not just convey info. Or we listen just enough so we can simultaneously formulate the response we want to make. That doesn't help us increase intimacy or allow us to truly utilize and create from each other.

Secondly, there's the day-to-day numbness that comes from being preoccupied with the task and forgetting about the people. This happens all the time in the business world, in offices and boardrooms, even in my own workshops. I have to remind myself sometimes that people come first, tasks second.

So, the first kind of listening poorly (in times of conflict) is actually an opportunity to wake up and come out of the daze of the second kind (in numbness) because conflict is so stimulating and it really gets our attention. What if every time we found ourselves in conflict or tension, we realized we had stopped listening and started doing so consciously? We need to learn to listen to the person, not the problem. Sometimes action needs to be taken, but mostly it's just about understanding each other. I think that level of understanding would change the world.

How to listen well:

1. Let go of multitasking. Take a breath and put your attention over on the person speaking. Let them be the most important thing in the world for bit.

2. Let go of judgment and your need to problem-solve. Put your attention on the person speaking, not the problem, and just listen.

3. If you are having trouble concentrating, repeat the words the other person is saying silently in your mind as they are saying them. This really helps to bring focus.

4. It's not just about listening with your ears. We need to listen for the space between words. We teach this to the coaches we train. Think of an antenna pointed towards another human. The heart, spirit and mind are listening too. Not just to the words coming across. But listening into them.

5. Ask curious, open-ended questions. What about that was important to you? What's next?Learn to use powerful questions to facilitate dialogue, thinking and listening.

6. When they're done, say "Thanks for sharing that with me."

Deep listening is transformative for both parties. It connects us. We feel really held and known, seen, we feel that we belong, can breathe, relax. It doesn't matter what someone says back to me, if I'm upset, if they listen to me well, it makes me feel like what I say matters, and that means the world to me. Listening well is about being in a good relationship with each other. You can meditate for ten years or you can just listen to the people in your life.

Karen Kimsey-House, MFA, CPCC, MCC, is the Co-founder and CEO of The Coaches Training Institute (CTI), the oldest and largest in-person coach training school in the world, and the co-author of the best-selling Co-Active Coaching: Changing Business, Transforming Lives. Karen was one of four pioneers of the coaching profession, and in honor of its 20th birthday this year, she is sharing her insights about human transformation in a ten-part HuffPost series,"Disrupt Your Life in a Good Way".

GOOD OR BAD, MOODS ARE CATCHING

I read something this morning that really made me think. Happy people do not always automatically make other people happy too.  Nor can miserable people instantly cast a spell of sorrow over everyone they come in contact with although, more often than not, they do a good job of it.

There has to be a degree of susceptibility on the part of the potential recipient, however. It also helps greatly if the person who is feeling the mood has a genuine desire to inflict it on someone else.

I think that we all would do well to consider what we would most like to receive and then do our best to become the giver of that very thing.  Who was it that said "we get exactly what we give", or something to that effect?

POST SURGERY EUPHORIA A HAPPY DISCOVERY

It is not my intention to bore readers with talk about my recent total hip replacement surgery, but...something funny and most unusual has happened to me. I feel psychologically lighter, emotionally energized and mentally positive. I have renewed intellectual curiosity, physical stamina and overall happiness, almost like a new person. Kind of scary, in a way.

I seem to be enjoying things in general at lot more. I have more tolerance. I do not sweat the small stuff that used to get under my skin. I find myself smelling the roses more than in the past.

While still in hospital people were saying how good I looked and how well I was doing. Twenty-two days after surgery I am sailing through my physio sessions and I'm now walking with only one crutch. There are times when I strike out walking and after a dozen steps remember that I have left my crutch behind.

After coming home from hospital I had difficulty focusing and was not interested in reading the newspaper or working at the computer. With mobility severely reduced, I felt like an invalid -- helpless and dependent on others.  I slept a lot. But after a few days all that began to change. It was as if I was being overcome by an unexplained state of euphoria.

I have since learned that what I am experiencing is a neurochemical high because my endorphins had been in overdrive for so long. It could have been the agonizing journey through grocery and departmental stores; the pain of walking behind a lawn mower or simple things like getting in and out of a car, settling into bed at night or walking up and down steps, that played a role in wearing me down. It hurt in more ways than one to catch a reflection of a struggling, limping figure in a window or mirror and realize that it was me.  No light at the end of the tunnel was, likewise, another negative contribution.

Chronic pain drains your battery, and leaches color from everyday life in so many ways. When every step hurts, you dread literally everything. It also drains you mentally — something I had not considered, so automatic had it become — as you constantly calculate how much it is going to hurt before doing even the simplest things.

Remarkably, since my four days in the hospital, I’ve needed only one dose of major painkiller and a couple of Tylenol 111. Unlike most others I talked to in hospital who had THR along with me, at no time did I feel the need for narcotics. The old pain and ache in my hip, groin and thigh is gone, replaced only by a certain stiffness and diminishing tenderness surrounding my new artificial joint.

I have even started to lose a little weight and feel my stomach muscles tightening as a result of the prescribed exercise regimen and using arms and upper body while walking with the aid of crutches.

Contributing perhaps to my recovery and the remarkable high that I am feeling, has been the support of family and friends (you know who your friends are at times like this). It is assuring to know that people care about your welfare. Little acts of kindness can mean so much. Thanks due, also, to a wonderfully talented young orthopedic surgeon and caring nurses and therapists who went out of their way to give me personal attention.

I have a way to go physically before getting back to my old active self, but every day I notice subtle improvement. I have no idea how long my post surgery state of euphoria will last. I'll just take it and make the most of it for as long as I can. It is one of life's unexpected discoveries and a real blessing.

And to think that I had trepidation about all of this in the beginning...

Thought I'd share some happy news with you guys today!

COLORFUL CEREMONY LAUNCHES NEW BOOK

Author Herman Roote (right) leads a dance of honour.

We in white society have little appreciation for the heritage of our First Nations people.  Brief news stories of what goes on in Canadian Indian reserves are more often than not negative and given a short shift by readers. I think that is a shame.  We miss out on some wonderful and colorful traditions.


For instance, Saugeen Ojibway Nation (SON), located a few thousand yards north of Southampton, this past week celebrated the launch of a book at the Saugeen First Nation Amphitheatre with a ceremony complete with singing, drumming and dancing as depicted in the accompanying photographs.  It was a celebration truly fit for a celebrated author and respected elder who is one of their own. 

Vernon Roote, former chief of Saugeen First Nation and Council member, shares his personal teachings and how they apply to men today through his new book M'daa Kendaaswin - To Look for Knowledge.


Roote not only relates personal stories in the book, but explains how many men grow up without fathers in their lives.  He also speaks to those boys and men who are searching for advice on "how to be a good man". "I wanted this to be a simple teaching of how men should grow and support their families," says Roote, also a talented nature photographer.

The forward to Roote's book was written by Wab Kinew, a CBC radio producer and host who exemplifies what it means to be multicultural.  He holds a Bachelor or Arts degree in Traditional Medicine Training and is also a recipient of the Adrienne Clarkson RTNDS Award. In the forward to Roote's book he wrote:

"There are many problems facing the First Nation people today.  Yet for all of the problems in our community, there is one solution: to raise a new generation of people who know they are important enough to be healthy, feel good about themselves enough to achieve, and who are strong enough to keep going even when the chips are down.  We have the power to conquer all of the obstacles we face.  We can do it together.  But it starts with you."


The book is available through Ningwakwe Learning Press in Owen Sound and is well worth reading.

WITH THANKS TO THE SAUGEEN TIMES

SOME THOUGHTS ON CANADA DAY WEEKEND

We Canadians are a nation blessed with a rare, precious and distinct advantage. We have an egalitarian worldview woven into the very fabric of our social, cultural and legislative institutions.

In contrast to the radical individualism that defines neighbors to the south, our Canadian worldview emphasizes social justice: the protection of the weak by the strong, the frail by the healthy, the impoverished by the wealthy.  This “just society”, combined with our natural wealth, our work ethic, our public education and health systems, and our multicultural civility gives us a real shot at being the best place in the world to live a good, if not lavish, life –- at peace with ourselves, and our neighbors near and far.

A year-round fixture on my
front porch.

So is it really true that we can’t have the society we want because we can’t afford it – or is it because we have allowed too much political influence over it?

It cannot be denied that our Canadian society has been steered in the direction of the republic south of our border. That’s an economy that tolerates sharper divisions between rich and poor, and what we perceive as injustices in the distribution of social benefits to the wounded, sick, unemployed and elderly. It’s a culture with a large segment of the media environment that celebrates what we see as intolerance.

It’s a society whose democratic institutions have become even more corroded than ours, by political attack ads, hyper-partisan tactics, and systematic voter suppression. And it is a population with higher rates of fear and incarceration, where (as so vividly illustrated in the so-called “stand your ground” law and the Trayvon Martin case) social order is descending into bloodshed, not just in spite of the law, but because of it.

To the extent that Canadians have a different experience than Americans, that experience rests, in no small part, on decades of federal policies and budgets that institutionalized priorities reflecting the centre of the Canadian political perspective. And as Paul Martin showed, it is difficult, but possible, to rein in spending without discarding those priorities.

Back to my original question: I sense a determined governmental march in our proud land that communicates a central, false assumption that our treasured “just society” – that geopolitically distinctive aspect of our values and national identity – is unaffordable.  

There is an alternative view though, and that is, if we are to have the Canada we want, we cannot afford to give so much power to government. What we cannot afford is ... a government with priorities which are wildly out of line with the priorities of the vast majority of Canadians. What we cannot afford is ... any government which is prepared to run roughshod over what should be two traditional, non-negotiable Canadian ideals: unswerving respect for democracy, and the pursuit of a just society.

I believe that Canada is resilient enough to survive the aforementioned dangerous influences of a march in a southerly direction, providing that enough of us remember what it means to be "Canadian” and to maintain "the Canadian way" that is just (and affordable) for all.

Only in Canada, you say?...You're damn right!  And we need to keep it here.

Make no mistake about it, governments do not necessarily make countries great.  It is the will of the people that ultimately deserves all the credit.  Rank and file Canadians hold the power and we should never forget that fact.  Our collective voice counts and we should express it loudly and clearly, especially when carefully marking our "X" on the election ballot.

On this weekend, above all others, we need to sing "O Canada, we stand on guard for thee..." with as much ghusto as we can muster so that it resonates in every corner of this unique and wonderful country of ours -- province to province, the Atlantic to the Pacific.

HI EVERYBODY!...BACK HOME WITH MY NEW HIP AND DOING JUST FINE.

HOSPITAL STAY WILL HAVE A SIDE BENEFIT

10:34 p.m., Sunday, June 17:  In exactly 10 hours time I will be going under the knife (saw?) in the OR at the Owen Sound Hospital.  I don't know why, but I feel the odd-ball urge to report in to my Wrights Lane readers for the final time before a recovery hiatus of a couple of weeks at home.

Going into this hip replacement ordeal I had no idea of the pre-surgery preparation that would be necessary.  It started with an all-day pre-op screening and test session at the hospital last week.  Since then I had  to purchase a toilet riser seat, a bath stool, two reacher grips, a three-foot long shoe horn, new pyjamas and special stockings, all of which put a sizeable hole in a $200 bill.

On Friday I was visited by an occupational therapist who assessed my mobility, the layout of our home and left me with some useful post-operative suggestions.  She also inspected and gave a green light to a stop-and-go walker and a set crutches left over from ankle surgery seven years ago.  Friday night was devoted to posting several items on two of the web sites that I manage for other people and updating an extensive mailing list for one of my clients, leaving the coast clear for me until I get out of hospital on Wednesday or Thursday of next week.

The real work, however began this weekend.  My daughter Debbie has taken time off work in Brampton to be with us and to help get me over the hump for a week or two.  We purchased a new bed and mattress for her which had to be set up in our spare bedroom, but not before cleaning the house from stem to stern, biting the bullet and struggling to mow the lawn one last time, pulling a few weeds, washing the car (inside and out), purchasing a full tank of gas for the several trips Debbie and Rosanne will be taking to the hospital next week, taking time to do some banking, purchasing groceries to get Debbie and Rosanne through the week, picking up several drug prescriptions for both Rosanne and I, leaving explicit instructions for Rosanne on how to do certain chores like making her coffee (I always make it) and how to prepare her morning fruit smoothie with her prescribed dose of Metamucil (I always make that for her too), replacing light bulbs in the house, doing several loads of laundry, preparing garbage bags and sticker tags for regular Tuesday morning pickup, preparing a beef stew for an easy supper this evening and... I know that I am leaving out several chores at least, but you get the picture -- all things that I will be restricted from doing for a while.

I said to Rosanne last night:  "I'm actually looking forward to going into hospital.  I need the rest!"

Gotta hit the hay now...4:45 a.m. will come early!

SEE YOU ANON

Hip replacement surgery date of June 18 coming up fast. Wrights Lane will be closed down for a while as I prepare for pre and post- op priorities.

NOTHING WRONG WITH CHILDLIKE IMPULSES

Technically and officially, most of us are grown up adults.  We are not little children.  We are responsible, for better or worse, for our actions and choices.  Ideally, we benefit from the wisdom of maturity.  Strange, however, that on occasion a series of strong childlike impulses and urges are awakened within us -- one moment feeling mischievous and playful and the next inclined towards petulant protest.  What's wrong with that?

We all could use a good dose of lightening up at times.  The world is full of people who take life (and themselves) far too seriously.  Let's allow ourselves a little more time for fun and smelling the roses that grow in all our gardens.

Life, after all, is a precious journey -- and short.

OUT OF THE MOUTH OF A BABE...TRUTH

Cindy and Madi

My daughter Cindy posted the following on her Facebook page today.  (Madison is my seven-year-old grand daughter.)  I thought this was priceless.

"This morning Madi said to me, 'Mommy, I like to put on make-up to look older and you put it on to look younger.'  As a mom her wisdom impresses me.  As a woman her observation depresses me!"

AN EARLIER POST AND A SURPRISE RESPONSE

Over the course of the next week I will be wrapping up a few web site loose ends before entering hospital in Owen Sound for hip replacement surgery.  Hence a repeat and update on one of my earliest posts on Wrights Lane that received wide-spread attention.  It hardly seems like it was four years ago that I wrote the following "Easy to Kiss, Easy to Forget" item which also appears in one of my books.

I hesitated to publish the piece originally because of the personal and sensitive nature of the subject matter but in the end, I am glad that I did.  This was a story about a young lady that I met while playing baseball in Florida in 1956 and who left a lasting impression on me.  To make a long story short, quite remarkably the story eventually came to "Sylvia's" attention in Norman, Oklahoma, and she graciously responded (see her comment below, including a few factual corrections) several months later.  Sylvia, as it turns out, would meet and eventually marry Bob (her husband of 50 years) while working at the Cape Canaveral Space Centre.  Bob (not the football-playing Bob in my story) was one of the early "space pioneers" working in research and development and responsible for launching America's first attempt to land a small instrumental payload on the moon.  For the past 35 years he has headed his own company, Bio-Cide International, in Norman.  Sylvia meanwhile completed her masters degree in music at the University of Oklahoma, served on the national board of the American Red Cross, and is a Paul Harris Fellowship award recipient.  She and Bob have two sons and several grandchildren.  They have done very well for themselves.

Here's my original story, just in case you may have missed it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15 JULY, 2008

Easy to kiss, easy to forget

...courtesy of a first Love's mom?

A lot of what I write is for the benefit of my grandchildren, four being teenagers. Of course, as unbelievable as it may seem, we all were teens at one time, struggling to find identity and a niche in life, living each new experience with unbridled intensity and emotion. 

The setting for this story is Cocoa, Florida, where I attended a baseball rookie training camp in the early months of 1956. Talk about "wet behind the ears", I was all of that and more. It was difficult enough trying to make the grade in professional baseball at 18 years of age but I also had to hopelessly fall in love for the first time, just to complicate matters.

"The face of an angel," I gasped as my eyes fell on a breathtaking countenance engulfed by a sea of church choir members. The worship service on that Sunday morning at St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church in Cocoa was a blur. That face in the choir was my sole focus. I was feeling something strange in the pit of my stomach.

As I left the sanctuary following the service I was startled by a tap on the shoulder. My heart jumped into my throat as I turned to see that face on a tall and statuesque body, standing in front of me. "Hi, my name is Sylvia. I saw you in the congregation and I just wanted to welcome you. Are you a ball player?" We chatted at length, exchanging information about ourselves on the church steps that unforgettable Sunday morning in the warm Florida sun. For a kid from small town Dresden, Ontario, this was the stuff of which dreams are made.

I learned that Sylvia was also 18 years of age and soon to graduate from high school. She played clarinet in the school band. Her mother was director of the church choir and her father was Chief of the nearby Cape Canaveral Police Force (later to become Cape Kennedy). I don't remember what I told Sylvia about myself, but I must have divulged the name of the lady who owned the home where I had been billeted. "I'd better get going. My mother has been waiting," exclaimed "that face" as we parted company. The four block walk that followed was as if I was floating on a cloud. My feet must have hit the sidewalk at some point, but it didn't feel like it.

Several hours later I was in the process of composing a letter to my mother when I heard the downstairs telephone ring. "Just one moment. I'll get him for you...Dick, it's a call for you!" came my landlady's voice from the foot of the stairs. "It's a girl," she said with a wide grin and a wink as she passed the receiver over to me.

To my disbelief it was Sylvia on the other end of the line, asking me if I had been to the ocean yet. I hadn't and she invited me to take a trip to the beach after baseball the next day -- "if I liked to". Needless to say, I liked to and we did. She picked me up in her parents' black 1955 Mercury and if this was a dream I didn't want to wake up. We had a glorious few hours ocean side, capped by an invitation to be her escort for the Cocoa District High School's annual Valentine's Ball. Adding to the honor of it all was the fact that Sylvia just happened to be a prime candidate for Queen of the Ball. I was also flabbergasted to learn that her up-to-then boy friend, a school basketball and football star named Bob, was also a shoe-in for King of the Ball. Needless to say, news that the potential Queen of the Ball would be escorted by an out of town baseball player and not the King-in-waiting, caused quite a stir in the school community.

Sylvia arranged for us to accompany two other couples, one of which would provide a car. Good thing too because I not only did not have access to a vehicle, I did not yet even have a driver's licence. Sylvia met me at her front door on the evening of the grand occasion and introduced me to her parents as I presented her with a break-the-bank orchid corsage. Another more uncomfortable introduction awaited me an hour later in the school auditorium.

"Bob, I want you to meet Dick Wright," Sylvia enthused to the hulking six foot plus, 200 pound figure looming large in front of me. As we shook hands, I got the distinct impression that Bob was not all that impressed. I was certainly not one of his favorite people at that particular juncture in time and undoubtedly there was potential for someone else to be "crowned" that evening. I would have liked to know Bob better but something seemed to tell me that it would be advisable for me to stay clear of him for the duration of my stay in Cocoa.

The evening was an unqualified success. As expected, Sylvia and Bob were crowned Queen and King and I was overcome with apprehension as the Ball drew to a close. That apprehension was altered somewhat when Sylvia gently rested her head on my shoulder on our way home and softly whispered: "I don't want us to kiss tonight. My mother kept saying over and over today 'easy to kiss, easy to forget' and I don't want you to ever forget me." On one hand I understood but on the other I was let down just a bit. I don't remember anything about the brief balance of the evening. The words "easy to kiss, easy to forget" resonated in my ears -- still do to this day. When I got back to my rooming house that night I noticed a slight smudge of lipstick on the lapel of my suit coat, left there by Sylvia when she snuggled close to utter those six mood altering words. I wore the suit for several years after that but could never quite bring myself to have the coat dry cleaned.

Shortly thereafter I signed a contract and shipped out to join my new team in Georgia. My heart was broken and I cried a lot for a few days. I was happy to have the opportunity to continue playing baseball in the states but I was reluctant to leave Sylvia and all that she had come to mean to me. I never told her, but I was truly in love for the first time. I never knew that love could hurt so much. "I'll come back some day," I tried to assure myself. As it turned out I never again saw Sylvia. We exchanged letters for several months but eventually we stopped corresponding. I don't know why. Long distance relationships are sometimes like that, especially when you are young with so much more to experience.

Sylvia's mother was probably right about that damn "easy to kiss, easy to forget" expression. I'm sure she would be pleased to know that I never did get to kiss her daughter. Likewise, I never forgot the face that so captured my fancy all those years ago. I wonder if her daughter remembers the kid from Canada that she never got to kiss!?

ON USING THE POWER OF THOUGHT

“Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.” – Albert Einstein

Thoughts create everything. But here’s the problem. Most people spend their time thinking about what they don’t want, and they wonder why it shows up over and over again. This is often referred to as the “don’t want” epidemic. When people think, speak, act and focus on what they don’t want, they keep it alive.

"You can free yourself of this epidemic by thinking and speaking about what you do want. Your thoughts not only matter, they create matter," says author, visionary and self-help guru John Assaraf. "Thought is where everything comes from. And your thoughts are where your business comes from. Consciousness is what the universe is made of; matter and energy are just two of the forms that consciousness takes."

So, what are we saying here, that everything is made of thought? That thought creates the physical world? Yes, that is exactly what we are saying. In a nutshell, here is the conclusion so far of humanity’s epic quest to understand the world:

1. Everything in the physical world is made out of atoms.
2. Atoms are made out of energy.
3. Energy is made out of consciousness.

If all of this seems difficult to grasp or accept, imagine what it must have seemed like to the people of Galileo’s time when they were asked to consider the proposition that the earth travels through space around the sun. Or the idea of a spherical earth to pre-Socratic philosophers. The truth is, we don’t see what is there. We see what we are prepared to see, what we are conditioned to see.

Once we know that everything is energy—that there is no absolute distinction between matter and energy—then the boundaries between the physical world and the world of our thoughts start to disappear as well.

You’ve heard the old expression, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” But that’s not really how it is. The truth is more like this: “You’ll see it when you believe it.”


I know this to be true.  I have applied  the theory many times and it has worked for me, almost without fail.  Why then do I still harbor negative thoughts and often give the down side more consideration than I do the up side?  Why do some of us so easily accept mediocrity in spite of  the thought power we all possess yet choose to ignore?


Sometimes human nature gets in the way of our imagination and ability to achieve.  We would all do well to be more consistently in tune with our consciousness.


It's all about energy.  Some of us are blessed with an abundance of it while others have to look hard for it in their lives.  But look we must...See what is there.  And believe!


POST NOTE
I am a self-proclaimed second-guesser, frequently questioning events in my past life, but I came across a statement this morning that really made me stop and reconsider this overwhelming tendency.  "How can you see the future clearly, if you are forever looking back at the past?"


Message to self: "Stop it!"

A 110-YEAR-OLD LETTER THAT LIVES FOR ME

What follows is a new post that I have added to my "Dresden: Father and Son Turn Back the Clock" web site.  I thought I would share it with readers of Wrights Lane too, because it is a favorite piece of family heritage that I occasionally dig out of a 100-year-old strong box, just to read and to let my imagination wander to the point of communion with a grandfather and grandmother that I never knew.  I keep hoping that I will find answers to nagging questions, but know full well that I never will.  Still, it is a precious partial link that draws me close.

   

QUESTIONS THAT WILL NEVER BE ANSWERED

Here is a letter dated July 30, 1902 that was written by grandfather Wesley Wright to grandmother Louise Wright.  It was post-marked "St. Paul's, Minn."  The brief 110-year-old letter posses some obvious questions: 1) What was Wes doing in the State of Minnesota? and 2) Who accompanied him?  Was this a business or pleasure trip?  Documentation from the period shows him as being a farmer and/or a yeoman but he was also a financier of sorts, loaning money privately, holding township and Huron & Erie debentures and investing in numerous mortgages on properties in the Kent County area and Township of Sandwich East.  The source of his capital remains a mystery.  Chances of me ever having answers to these questions are quite remote as I am now the sole survivor of this branch of the Wright family.  My father passed away when I was only 13 years old and never got around to telling me much about my grandparents' affairs.

Contents of the letter, however, tell something of my grandfather's personality and character.  A throwback entrepreneur, he was no doubt a quiet man who was not all that comfortable expressing his emotions.  Judging from the sentence structure and spelling in his letter, he was not an overly educated man.  Here's the letter as he wrote it:

July 30

Dear love  Just a few liens (lines)  I was glad to hear from you  I have visited a good many places around here  it is very nice but I am tired of it  their (there is) no place like home  I leve (leave) the first for Dulugh (Duluth) then take the boat Saturday August the 2

I will tell more when I get home  we are both well  

I hope this will find you all well  love to all and a big share to your self

Yours truly

Wes

(P.S.) poor little kenith (son Kenneth who would have been three-years-of-age at the time) I which (wish) I was sleeping with him to night

Note: Both Wesley (1920) and Louise (1932) were deceased by the time I was born.  I which...oops, sorry..."wish" that I had known them -- and they me. 

PROMISED LAND PROJECT WILL IMPACT HISTORY

Like the subject of its research, The Promised Land Project that has been underway in the Chatham-Kent area for the past five years, has been low-key and largely under the radar of public scrutiny.  That is not to say that the project is deserving of well-kept secret status -- quite the contrary.  It is the work of a number of enterprising university students, associates and devoted community volunteers whose reward will be in how the public eventually views Black history in this tight-knit corner of Southern Ontario.  I encourage my handful of Kent County readers, Dresden friends in particular, to support an initiate that will impact community heritage as we know it.  And, that will be a good thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An award winning and international best-selling Canadian author will be in Chatham-Kent, June 15, to share his experiences about writing and researching Black history in Canada.  Lawrence Hill will be the keynote speaker for the fifth annual Promised Land Symposium held at the old Capitol Theatre in Chatham, June 14-16.

The Promised Land Project is a five-year, $1 million research endeavour funded by the Social Science and Humanities Research Council (involving several universities and community groups) to study the early black settlements in Chatham-Kent, including "Uncle Tom" Josiah Henson's historic Dawn Settlement that would ultimately incorporate the early beginnings of my hometown of Dresden and other small neighboring villages and hamlets.

Over the course of the five-year period which began in the summer of 2007, the PLP’s focus is to study the role and evolution of the early black settlements in the Chatham-Kent area. Their freedom experience has been a largely uncelebrated contribution to Canadian society.  The accurate but limited and limiting description of such communities as the “final stop on the underground railroad” points to an overarching historical ideology suggesting that this extraordinary heritage is just an ending to the story rather than viewing it as the birthplace of something significant and unique.

Project literature, for instance, points out that it is not widely known that when Canada became a country in 1867, the sixth-largest population group consisted of people of African descent. The prevailing Canadian national history still terms these citizens as “fugitive slaves” even though they had a profound effect on the fight to end slavery in the United States, on the implementation of civil rights in modern Canada, and on the social, cultural and economic development of this region.

"The Promised Land Project will begin by working to preserve the historical materials documenting the experience of blacks in the Chatham-Kent area.  The research team and dedicated community partners will create a comprehensive database of letters, tax records, journals, photographs, oral histories, family narratives, newspapers, and other important primary sources.  This catalogue will cover the period in history beginning with the American Revolution, when this Southern Ontario area first began opening up to settlers in Canada, through to the birth of the modern Civil Rights Movement in Kent, and ending with an assessment of the contemporary black communities.

"The PLP will then facilitate the integration of these materials and fresh insight within a common body of knowledge created through the interaction of community and academic partners.  From this body of knowledge, the PLP team and community partners will develop new educational materials, create new community projects in the arts and in public history, further the debates on historical and contemporary manifestations of diversity in Canada and encourage new scholarship and teaching.  The overall aim is to highlight the historical importance of the Promised Land communities as an unrecognized yet pivotal story in Canada’s past, and draw attention to its current relevance as a model of multiculturalism predating the current discourse of multiculturalism in the global age."

As I have stated before, it is regrettable that the history that has been taught in schools over the course of the last century has been void of any reference to a period that was such an important and interesting part of our Canadian heritage.  Hopefully, the Promised Land Project will rectify much of that.  It is indeed a commendable exercise that will in time lend itself to enhanced understanding, appreciation and respect.

I look forward to reports and project papers that are not too scholarly for the average person's consumption, yet truly reflective of the time period; balanced, non-prejudicial, unemotional and unbiased -- precedent setting...The stuff of which ideally innovative Grade 10 texts will be made in the future.  Hopefully, Lawrence Hill will underline most of that in his keynote presentation to a representative cross-section symposium audience.

TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION COMMISSION: A NATIONAL MEETING WE SHOULD BE AWARE OF

I have previously written on this subject and feel that it is time to renew it once again in Wrights Lane.  The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada will host its fourth National Event in Saskatoon at Prairieland Park next month, June 21-24. This is an opportunity for all Canadians, both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal, to learn more about and bear witness to the 150-year legacy of the residential school system.

Over the course of a century and a half and several generations, 150,000 Inuit, Métis and First Nations children were placed in Indian residential schools in an attempt to assimilate Aboriginal peoples. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) was established as a result of the 2007 Indian Residential Schools Settlement Agreement. Its mandate is to inform all Canadians about what happened in residential schools, and guide and inspire a process of reconciliation and renewed relationships based on mutual understanding and respect.

As parties to the agreement, and to their credit, the Anglican, United, Roman Catholic, and Presbyterian churches are actively supporting the work of the TRC.  Worship services in my St. Andrew's Presbyterian church in Southampton which neighbors the Saugeen First Nations Reserve, will be devoted to the healing and reconciliation process for the next couple of Sundays leading up to the meeting in Saskatoon.

This National Event will help to unveil the unique experiences of residential school survivors from Saskatchewan in particular. Survivors, both direct and inter-generational, former school staff and others affected by the schools have been invited to come forward and provide private and/or public statements about the impact of residential schools on their lives, that of their families and of their communities.

All members of the public are invited to observe the proceedings as witnesses. The role of a witness is to observe or account for the significance of the event. Bearing witness to the thought provoking statements of residential school survivors and others helps to validate the survivor experience and brings us on a path towards reconciliation.

A number of churches and the Canadian government were involved in the residential school system for Aboriginal children, and therefore it is critical for all of us (churches and the Canadian public in general) to be aware of, if not involved in, the process of truth-telling, healing, and reconciliation which is the aim of the TRC.

Besides schools in Saskatchewan, churches operated the Birtle school in Winnipeg, Manitoba, and the Cecilia Jeffrey school near Kenora in Ontario. These schools, which had opened in 1883 and 1902 respectively, continued to operate until the 1970s.

In September 2007, while the Settlement Agreement was being put into action, the Liberal government brought forward a motion to issue a formal apology for the treatment of children in these schools. The motion passed unanimously. On June 11, 2008, the House of Commons gathered in a solemn ceremony to publicly apologize for the government’s involvement in the residential school system and to acknowledge the widespread impact this system has had among Aboriginal peoples.

The federal government's apology was met with a range of responses. Some people felt that it marked a new era of positive federal government -- Aboriginal relations based on mutual respect, while others felt that the apology was merely symbolic and doubted that it would change the government’s relationship with Aboriginal peoples.

Although the apologies and acknowledgements made by governments and churches are important steps forward in the healing process, Aboriginal leaders have said that such gestures are not enough without supportive action.  Hence, communities and residential school survivor societies are undertaking healing initiatives, both traditional and non-traditional, and providing opportunities for survivors to talk about their experiences and move forward to heal and to create a positive future for themselves, their families, and their communities.

The four-day gathering in Saskatoon will be a major step toward healing and reconciliation, as were the previous three national meetings, but I will be surprised if we read much about it on the front pages of newspapers here in Ontario.  Our national media can, and should be, a major player in the process too.

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In my next Wrights Lane post I will talk about another important initiative in the form of the 5th Annual Symposium, Claiming the Promise. A Retrospective On African Canadian History, which will take place in Chatham, June 14 to 16.  This event is part of "The Promised Land Project", a multi-disciplinary research undertaking funded by the Social Science and Humanities Research Council's Community University Research Alliance.  The focus of the PLP has been to study the role and evolution of early black settlements in the Chatham-Kent area of Southwestern Ontario which includes my hometown of Dresden.  It is another story that deserves wider circulation and the attention of all of us.   

THE PERILS OF LAWN MOWER OWNERSHIP

The starter switch on my three-year-old Tecumseh lawn mower broke down this spring, prompting me to pay a hasty visit to our local lawn and garden centre for necessary repairs. With my grass growing by leaps and bounds, I was greatly relieved  to receive a call the next day from the resident small engine repair guy telling me that the mower was ready for pick up.

When I arrived at the shop, I was greeted at the counter by a rather gruff, slender, no nonsense type of man about my same age.  The tell-tale grease on his hands indicated to me that he was "the guy".

"When you were in yesterday you said that you were having starter problems, but I found a number of other things that needed attention too.  For one thing there was old gas and oil in the engine, so it would not have started even if the starter was working properly.  The blade was also completely worn out...I just couldn't let it go out of the shop that way," he explained with demonstrative concern and nobility.

"You really don't like that mower very much do you?" he continued, thinking perhaps to catch me off guard..  I readily agreed, with tongue-in-cheek, that "yes, the only thing I hate more than the mower itself is having to use the damn thing."

"Well, if you don't take better care of it, you won't have it for very long," he snapped back, ignoring the humor in my remark.

Feeling suddenly very negligent, I sheepishly left the shop taking the mower and  scolding with me, leaving behind a cheque for $85.40 in repairs.

I didn't ask for an itemized invoice, but I assumed the scolding was free of charge.

GAME SHOW IMAGINATION HAS ITS LIMITS

Rosanne lives vicariously through her television game shows -- The Price Is Right, Let's Make a Deal, etc., etc.  When she is otherwise occupied, which is very rare, she even tapes them for later viewing.

She cheerleads the contestants from her reclining lift chair, applauding the winners and shedding tears for the losers.

This morning I heard her excitedly exclaim, "I picked the right one!...I picked the right one!"  "What did you pick," I asked from the other room?

"The number," she proclaimed, adding "and I won a car!"

"Oh, good," I said, trying to mock her enthusiasm..."When can we pick it up?"

"Don't be silly," came her suddenly sober reply.

IS TIME BECOMING JUST ANOTHER APP?

My grandfathers' 100-year-old pocket watches and my wristwatch needing a new battery.  Are they all going the way of the sundail?

Several months ago my wristwatch stopped running.  All it needs is a $10 battery but I have procrastinated on getting a replacement and you know what?...After the first day without it on my wrist, I haven't really missed it.

I was thinking about that earlier today and realized that time just might be running out for "clocks" that we wear.  I spend a lot of time on my computer and it has a digital time display.  My smart phone tells me the time as does our several television sets.  Every room in our house has a digital clock of some kind.  Our kitchen actually has three time-telling devices, including the stove and microwave.  I turn on the ignition in my car and there it is -- the time of day flashing on the controls panel.

It is interesting to note that The Beloit College Mindset List, a much-cited annual index of the rapid pace of cultural drift in the digital age, observes that members of the college class of  2014 are so unfamiliar with the wristwatch that "they've never recognized that pointing to their wrists was a request for the time of day."

Westerners have long been keenly interested in horology, as David Landes, an economic historian, points out in Revolution in Time, a landmark study on the development of timekeeping technology.  "It wasn't the advent of clocks that forced us to fret over the hours; our obsession with time was fully in force when monks first began to say their matins, keeping track of the hours out of strict religious obligations."  By the 18th century, secular time had acquired the pressure of routine that would rule its modern mode.

Generations have indentured themselves to the clock's efficient mastery, welcoming centuries of development of chrono-mechanical technology.  The miniaturization of the clock into the watch was key to early globalization's navigational and communication infrastructure.  The watch was not just jewelry, but a marker of the early 20th century's obsession with making sure that everything -- from steamships and railways to infantry charges -- ran on time.

Now, in turning to mobile electronic devices and the networked time they keep, perhaps a retooling of the unsegmented sense of time makes a degree of sense.  In the 1900s, we told time using a device dedicated to the simple display of the hour, minute and second.  Not so with the watch's networked offspring.  Hundreds of time-related apps (an acronym or abbreviation for "applications, as in software") are available for the iPhone, from old-fashioned clock emulators to kitchen timers or tools to help keep meetings from running overtime.

The advancement has been incredible.  A San Francisco web company has created an iPhone mapping app that lets the user overlay historical photographs of places onto the iPhone's camera view, combining past and present in a single picture.  Everywhere on-line, time comes loose from its moorings:  Google combines books from all eras into one big book, YouTube brings motion pictures from the early 20th century into dialogue with today's viral videos.

Such displays of time on mobile devices go beyond the ticktock of the grandfather clock and the insistent pulse of the wristwatch, no longer pointing at one moment but indicating all the hours at once.  Our lives, too, are more fluid now; our careers move in fits and starts; our childhoods and twilight years are of indeterminate length.  For those of us in today's world it is experience -- of tools, of society, of kids growing up -- that ultimately governs our perception of time.  All of which gives application to the smart phone's broad spectrum of time.

There is a very real possibility of the watch as we know it slowly going the way of the sundial, the factory whistle, and other quaint measures.  Time, as they say, marches on...And it may well eventually become just one temporal computation among many.

I suppose that I'll eventually replace the battery in my watch, but it does not now have the urgency it would once have in my life.  I've got nothing but time.  I'm engulfed in it.

GOD'S PROVIDENTIAL CARE SUSTAINS ME

Mention "providential care" to the average person today and they will more than likely think that you are talking about the health care system in the great Province of Ontario. There is a failure to understand that there is only one true providential care in the world today and it is the one inherent in our Christian faith. In essence, we ARE talking about "health" in this case, but it is the kind of health that God has in store for us, should we be of a mind to embrace it.

We really do not know how God works providentially to make things come out the way He wants them to. We know from the Old Testament, however, that He works in "providential ways" -- that is, ways in which He provides for His people. We know from Joseph’s statement in Genesis 50:20 (“But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive.”) that God can sometimes work in ways that are well beyond our understanding and not immediately recognized as being in keeping with His "providential" care. 

"God's eye" or "God's eyes" are symbolic of God's providential care. He is a guiding spirit and gives us counsel while constantly being watchful over us. He is unquestionably aware of our daily activities, our personal circumstances, of what we set our minds to do, and all He asks of us in return is to include Him in our plans and to commit those plans to Him so that He can cause them to succeed and bring us breakthrough and deliverance in our times of need. Proverbs 16:3 says to, "Roll your works upon the Lord [commit and trust them wholly to Him; He will cause your thoughts to become agreeable to His will, and] so shall your plans be established and succeed."

The word "thoughts" in the Greek speaks of our intentions, inventions, calculations of the mind and imaginations. The power of imagination includes the ability to see with insight and foresight. "Insight" is the ability to apprehend the true nature of a thing, especially through intuitive understanding or penetrating mental vision or discernment; the faculty of seeing into inner character or underlying truth. "Foresight" is the ability and power of prevision or knowledge gained through looking forward; a view of the future so to speak. Proverbs 29:18 says, "Where there is no vision [no redemptive revelation of God], the people perish; but he who keeps the law [of God, which includes that of man]--blessed (happy, fortunate, and enviable) is he."

If our vision is blocked or distorted, we lack not only the ability to "see" and to perceive with intelligence, but we also miss out on seeing God in the ecstatic state of worship. Our very spirits were meant to live in a place of ecstasy with God forever in that heavenly place. When our minds are aligned, we see what God sees. We see clearly. We see through God's eyes and we see His providential care, and our hope is restored for the future.

That, in a nutshell it what keeps me alive -- and living as I do.  I call it the good old-fashioned "faith of our fathers", literally.  My parents raised me to trust in the love of our Heavenly Father and to obey His biblical Commandments, and there has been life-long comfort in that for me. I look to God's blessings in life, and they are countless, to sustain me.  It is as simple as that. I look for no profound insights. I ask no special favors of Him, because I know that God's providential care will provide for me in all times and in all ways.  Beauty in all things coupled with God-granted peace and tranquility sufficient to commune with the nature that surrounds all of us, is sustenance enough for my inner-self.

My "faith" is what sustains me!  I pray that my vision never fails and that I have foresight sufficient to follow Christ's example, given my human foibles, shortcomings and failings. I have to continually work at it. I must be forever vigilant, trusting and thankful for all that I "see" and for all that has and will sustain me to the end of this worldly journey.

REGARDLESS OF FORM, CONFESSION IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL AND THE RIGHT THING TO DO

Confession is the acknowledgment of sin or of one's wrong-doing and most commonly is practiced in a number of faith traditions. Pleading guilty to a crime in a court of law is also a form of confession.


They say that "confession is good for the soul" and most of us who have confessed in one form or another over the years can attest to the accuracy of that saying.  Confession coupled with forgiveness enables us to start afresh in life, free of the burden of guilt.  It is fair to say that confession is a very personal concession that can be enacted in a religious/church setting or one-on-one, as in person-to-person.


As mere humans, we have a history of doing wrong and we generally are the first to know when we have erred in word, deed or action.  It is not always easy to admit that we were wrong or misguided and it is doubly difficult to confess to a wronged party(s) and to ask forgiveness.


We often hear the term self-confession being used and there are those who will allude to a certain redundancy.  To me "self-confessed" is an adjective, not a noun, and simply describes an open confession that one makes on one's own without being prodded or interrogated.  It is completely self-motivated and to my way of thinking is most honorable and commendable.


Here is a little exercise that we all can engage in from time to time in the privacy of our own space.  You can either speak the words aloud or you can say them to yourself...Trust me, someone will be listening.  You might be surprised.  The main thing is that you will be acknowledging weaknesses and wrong-doings of everyday living and in the process putting the unpleasantness of associated stress and guilt behind you.  You can substitute the word "we" for "I", it is entirely up to you.  And remember, you do not have to be a particularly religious person.  All you need is a soul, and a heart -- and the ability to know right from wrong as you perceive it.  A degree of honesty doesn't hurt either.


For what it is worth, here is a free-for-nothing confessional template that you can tuck into your pocket.


"Too often we know full well what we should be doing, but we turn away and do the complete opposite.  We make mistakes. We are rebellious.  We are selfish and arrogant.  At times, we feel small and insignificant, so we pity ourselves; or we feel big and arrogant and we puff ourselves up in false pride.


"We close our ears and eyes to the needs of those around us.  We want to hold too tightly to the things of this world, forgetting that we have been given them so that we might help others.


"We engage in conflict and give in to the impulse to get even or to gain the upper hand.  When hurt, we hurt back.  We put conditions on love and forgiveness when we have the capacity for compassion and understanding.


"Down deep, we seek the grace of true repentance so that we may not only confess our wrong-doings in this manner, but also to lament and forsake them with our whole hearts and in the end bear the fruit of righteousness for the balance of our journey."


Is something else laying heavily on your heart?  If so, you can throw that in too, just for good measure.  Take ownership of the words as you release them to the universe!  As I say, it can't hurt.  Think about it, if you will.

TOOTH FAIRY KEEPING UP WITH INFLATION

My daughter Cindy posted the following comment on her Facebook page:

"Madi (almost seven-year-old Madison) lost her first front tooth so the Tooth Fairy made a visit last night and she's had to keep up with inflation.  I told Madi that her tooth must have been very special because when the Tooth Fairy visited me when I was a girl her age I only got quarters and dimes. Madi said, 'I guess 'cause that was the olden days Mom.'  Well, this Tooth Fairy suddenly feels very old."

Welcome to the club Cindy.  Don't feel bad!...Your ancient dad only got nickles and dimes from the Tooth Fairy when he was shedding his baby teeth.  Now, those were truly the olden days.

OTHER WEB SITES I'VE BEEN WORKING ON

Wright's Lane has taken a back seat recently to several other web site interests that I have been developing and facilitating.  If interested, you can check them out.

*See www.pipersglen.ca

The Links at Piper's Glen Golf Club offers a unique course layout that is a throwback to the original "golf links' found in historic Scotland, reputed to be the birthplace of the grand old game.  The course is a pleasure to play for golfers of any skill level -- challenging yet providing a relaxing, picturesque backdrop.  Fairways that test accuracy, water hazards and Scottish bunkers all add to an unparalleled golfing experience.

 *See http://standrewssouthampton.blogspot.com

The congregation of St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church in Southampton, ON. traces its origins to 1851 when services of worship were conducted in a log cabin church for Presbyterian settlers to the first harbor on Lake Huron shores.  The congregation today is small but extremely active with an outstanding musical ministry, as evidence several special concerts in the month of April.

THANK GOD I AM NOT ALONE...!

Here's a priceless video on "Age-Activated Attention Deficit Disorder" that I can totally relate to.  Maybe some of my readers will too.  Click
http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=6oHBG3ABUJU&vq=medium

MUCH OF OUR GARBAGE WILL OUTLIVE US

I do not know the source of this material on decomposition of garbage,  neither can I confirm accuracy,  but I get the message.  How about you?


Banana Peel- 3-4 weeks
Orange peels- 6 months
Apple Core- 2 months
Paper Bag- 1 month
Cardboard- 2 months

Milk Cartons- 5 years
Newspaper- 6 weeks
Paper Towel- 2-4 weeks
Cotton Glove- 3 months
Tinned Steel Can- 50 years
Aluminum Can- 200-500 years
Disposable Diapers- 550 years
Plastic Bags- 20-1000 years

Glass- 1-2 million years
Cigarette Butts- 10-12 years
Leather shoes- 25-40 years
Rubber-Boot Sole- 50-80 years
Plastic containers- 50-80 years
Monofilament Fishing Line- 600 years
Foamed Plastic Cups- 50 years

Wool Sock- 1-5 years
Plywood- 1-3 years
Plastic Bottles- 450 years

WRITING IS COSTING TIME THAT I CAN ILL AFFORD

People who are much better at mathematics than I have figured out that there are precisely 8766.1536 hours in a year.  By my own rough calculations, in the past three years I have spent an average of 3,000 of those hours per year at the computer writing entries (almost 600 posts) for my various web sites and other  publications (including two books) and projects that I voluntarily contribute to.  That works out to a little better than one-third of my time, or in total a whole year out of the past three.

In all, we're talking about a staggering chunk of my life during which I have neglected a number of normal routine responsibilities, not to mention untold hours of lost sleep -- some nights never going to bed until sun-up because I cannot put subject matter and thoughts on hold.  I have been strangely driven by what possibly has been a delusional, self-created sense of commitment to an unknown ghost audience.

Of course, there is no monetary value connected to any of my web sites and I have yet to break even (and probably never will) on two self-published books.  In retrospect, a price has been paid and that is neither healthy nor fair from a marital standpoint, particularly in a household with health care needs. Certain things domestically and personally have not had my full attention as I poured out my heart and soul over the computer keyboard for hours on end.

What has been gained then, in three years of literary musings?  I have derived personal satisfaction in writing about subjects that interest and inspire me.  I have also gained a few new friends and some faithful web site followers.  On the down-side I have ruffled a few feathers and left myself open to criticism.  In the hope that others might learn from my experience, I have exposed myself in some very personal areas that would normally be taboo for most writers.  Emotional intensity, at times, has been my worst enemy only to be matched recently by the increasing cynicism, irritation and intolerance that seems to come with age and from being around the block a time or three.

I now find myself involved in a personal tug-of-war, pitting on one end of the rope an in-born need to express myself in writing and on the other end the necessity of giving in to the acknowledgement of certain life priorities.  In all honesty, I feel a not-too-subtle change coming over me which I am compelled to give in to.  Values and standards change with the passage of years and so do our interests and motivations.  We gradually move from one phase to another, often without realizing it.

In many respects I have exhausted myself -- physically, mentally and creatively --and I am having to learn to come to grips with that.  I've had a good kick at the can and I'm now prepared to leave it to brighter and younger minds to "save the world".  I need not regret what I am leaving behind or unfinished.  What I DO need to do now, however, is to be openly willing to accept what most assuredly is coming my way...and having the good grace to accept it.

As I have written this post, lyrics from Kenny Rogers' The Gambler -- "...You have to know when to hold them and know when to fold them" -- have been running through my mind.  That pretty well sums things up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

POST SCRIPT:  Before I had a chance to re-read this item and publish it, an anxious voice from an adjoining room interjected unceremoniously: "Dick, what's keeping you?  It's already two hours past supper time.  I have to eat something and my medication is past due.  Lucy also needs to be fed!"  That jolt of reality reminded me that I bought some frozen food from M&Ms earlier this afternoon and it is still sitting on the kitchen table.  Before being overcome with the sudden impulse to pursue this subject at the expense of everything else, I only intended to leave it unrefrigerated for a few minutes.

See what I mean!

AN EASTER GIFT FOR MY READERS: "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" is a Christian Passion hymn based on a Latin text written during the Middle Ages. Paul Gerhardt wrote a German version O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden. Contents [hide] 1 Text 1.1 Original Latin 1.2 German translation 1.3 English translation 2 Melody 3 Lyrics (J.W. Alexander's version, 1830) 4 References 5 External links [edit]Text [edit]Original Latin The hymn is based on a long medieval Latin poem, Salve mundi salutare, with stanzas addressing the various parts of Christ's body hanging on the Cross. The last part of the poem, from which the hymn is taken, is addressed to Christ's head, and begins "Salve caput cruentatum." The poem is often attributed to Bernard of Clairvaux (1091-1153), but is now attributed to the Medieval poet Arnulf of Louvain (died 1250). I hope that by listening to this tape you will feel a special emotion and blessing.

AN ARTIST WHO IS JUST "A CUT" ABOVE

Bobbi Switzer moves with the grace of a dancer as she wields her chain saw and creates her sculptures.

Bobbi Switzer creating another art piece

Switzer and her daughter, Nova, recently demonstrated their art form at the Maple Syrup Festival held at Saugeen Bluffs in Bruce County.

Switzer creates carvings from her own artistic imaginings but also takes commissions for special creations.  From blocks of wood, she creates carvings and has often been commissioned to turn trunks of trees into special lifelike pieces of art.

Today, from her farm at Cherry Hill, Switzer and now her daughter, Nova, continue to create artwork that is currently being sold in galleries through Ontario.  The work is amazing and is starting to show up on properties across the county.

"We attend many events such as this," said Bobbi Switzer, "I'll soon be competing in an international event against some of the world's best carvers and we have been invited to demonstrate the art of carving in many shows throughout the Province.

Bobbi carves as daughter Nova watches intently.

With thanks to the Saugeen Times