Barriers

I keep hitting this wall,
It's never gonna fall...
oh, too many barriers
-David Archuleta, "Barriers"


Yesterday I wrote about going to yoga at the North Saskatchewan Independent Living Centre.  I also wanted to write about the lovely necklace they gave me just for showing up!  It is silver and has a turquoise and purple stylized flower on the pendant; on the other side of that pendant are the words, "Living without Barriers," a positive message about the things they hope to accomplish with their centre (You can purchase them for $10 and they are made in Canada).  In fact, they gave me 2 - one for me, and one for my seven-year-old, Chelsea.  I had planned to write about how cool I thought these necklaces were today, but my writing plans were averted when last night, Saskatchewan, and indeed, many other parts of Canada, experienced a snowstorm that one might expect in January - blowing snow, 70+ km/hr winds - causing highways to close, accidents to occur, and buses to stop running.  In the morning, I kept my seven-year-old home home from school for a while in the hopes that the wind would die down, but when it was clear that it would not, and when I was assured the streets were safe to drive on, she and I decided to try and go.


It was a poor decision.  We opened the garage door to find 4 inches of snow on the driveway.   Chelsea grabbed a shovel, but she could not move any of the snow because the wind had blown it into a hard-like-concrete sheet.  I took a sharp shovel and tried to chip away the snow so she could move some of it, but every time I lifted that shovel, it felt like I was being stabbed in my right shoulder and my still-recovering wrists were burning.  With the windchill making it feel like a biting -20 degrees, we abandoned our shovels and Chelsea then grabbed my chair and pulled me toward the van.  I opened the door, took out the control for the lift, only to discover that it would not move.  Even in my frustration, I had to wonder if the lift was smarter than me.  At least it knew when to stay inside.


I don't know if it was the pain I put myself through, the guilt over not getting Chelsea to school, the fact that yesterday was supposed to be the start of Spring, or how ridiculously long this winter has been, but when we entered our safe, warm house I started to cry.  Sob, really.


Chelsea put her arms around me.  She pulled out the necklace I had given her yesterday and attached it around my neck. She was already wearing hers.  She said, "Sometimes there are unfair barriers.  I know you are frustrated, but we just have to take a break and try again later."


She helped me take a monumentally frustrating moment and make it small, shifting my perspective, changing my mind.  Beauty when I least expected it.  Here we are in that moment, tears dried, noses wiped, cheeks flushed, and wearing our necklaces.


Spring is coming.  I promise.


wishing you the beauty of perspective,
hk

Breathe

"Breathe in, and breathe out."
Mumford & Sons, "Lover of the Light"

I practice yoga.  Yes, really.  I almost always get curiously raised eyebrows when I tell someone I do yoga because many think that it belongs to the fit and healthy, to those who can stand on their heads and who fill out those ubiquitous black Lululemon pants so well.  Although it is no doubt trendy, and has been for some time now, yoga is as old as dirt, with a fundamental belief that it is about connecting our spirit, our breath, and our bodies.  Furthermore, because for me yoga is about 90% breath and 10% form, I believe it is for everyone, for all bodies. 

This belief has taken time to develop, and it hasn't been without barriers.  I had been curious about yoga for a long time, and so about 10+ years ago, I dropped in at a "learn-to yoga" class offered by Leisure Services through our city.  Because I had a sports background, and considerable experience in conscious breath-watching, I thought I could probably adapt poses.  I wheeled myself into the classroom, past all the other participants who were seated on their mats, and found myself a little corner at the back.  No one seemed to mind at all that I was there, in fact, I exchanged many smiles around the room.  However, it was about 5 minutes prior to class when the instructor saw me and asked me to step out of the room to talk.  First, she asked me if I knew what class this was, and I assured her that I did.  She then said, "I don't think this is the right class for you." 

With my brain buzzing with the shock of her disrespect, she went on to explain how the class would run, and I gathered my wits about me, and explained how I thought I could adapt. Then to drive home her belief that this class was not right for me, she said, "I don't think it would be fair to the other participants because you would be a distraction." 

I should have told her to step off.  But I didn't.  Instead I said I would stay at the back and not bother anyone, and that as a tax-paying citizen of Saskatoon, that I had every right to attend this class.  She shrugged me off, and I went back into the room, albeit, flustered.  The woman nearest me, leaned over and whispered, "We are glad you are saying.  You should know that her mic was on and that all of us heard every word.  Welcome to yoga."

Despite this first negative encounter, I stayed intrigued by yoga.  It was almost 2 years ago that another class offering caught my attention, posted as a summer class at my son's karate school.  And my then 14-year-old son, who did not think it was weird or uncool whatsoever to take a yoga class with his paraplegic mother, thought taking it together would be fun (have I mentioned I really love my son?).  This time, my teacher was Joanne.  She didn't know about teaching yoga to a wheelchair user either, but her mind was open and we worked together.  We figured things out together.  And ta-da, I had an adapted program.  The poses are definitely beneficial for not just my worn-out shoulders, elbows, and wrists, but for the parts of me like my hips, legs, and lower back, that even though I can't feel because of my paralysis, are still a part of me, and deserve to be touched and stretched, and therefore honoured. 

I practiced on and off, on my own, and with Joanne and other people in chairs (I even taught others for a short time) until surgeries and snow got in the way.   Then yesterday I was invited to take part in a free adaptive yoga class at the North Saskatchewan Independent Living Centre here in downtown Saskatoon and it was being taught by Joanne.  I found I had missed doing yoga with other people.  Listening to the ocean-like sounds of breath come from me and from others around me is a beautiful thing.  There is still one more class, so if you have a disability and are interested, give them a shout, 665-5508.  I can not guarantee it, but maybe there is room for a couple more.

wishing you the beauty that comes from watching your breath go in and out,
hk

Since he died almost 3 years ago, I find that although I think about my Dad many times throughout every day, there are some days where the gap he left in my life just can not be filled.  These days, I just wish I could call him and talk about how Chris Hadfield, has become the first Canadian astronaut to command the International Space Station. Dad had many roles in life, one of which was a farmer, which he told me, whether it was while he was combining or hauling grain, was the kind of job that gave him a lot of opportunity and time to think about the state of the Universe.   He was interested in many things, too many to mention here: from history to science fiction, to mythology to anything about animals and nature and how the earth works.  And when I was a little girl, he would sit with me on the front steps of our house at night and teach me about the constellations, the planets, and the milky way.  He thought the Universe was mysterious and magnificent and magical beyond what we could imagine and if he were here, he would have been keenly interested in what Chris Hadfield was doing way up there. 

From what I read, Commander Hadfield is a really busy guy and yet, he takes any spare moment he has to tweet photos and stories about what space is like, allowing us to get a glimpse into how beautiful this world is, from way up there.  While he has had an amazing career, even for an astronaut, (he has been the first Canadian astronaut to float freely in space and operate the Canadarm in orbit), what is arguably an even bigger deal, is how he is sharing this experience with us, the kids sitting on their front steps with their dads, looking up.  I know I have written before about how much I love the Internet.  This is one of the reasons why.

Here is one place you can check out some of those pictures:
http://www.ctvnews.ca/photo-galleries/chris-hadfield-s-view-of-earth-from-space-1.1099966

My friend, Kara Exner, is a professional coach, trainer, and facilitator, and a friend my Dad once told me was too important to ever let go.  In her belief that we all have a role to play in leaving the world in better shape than we found it, she has created The Changemaker Project, a project that delves into the perspectives of people who are making successful and positive change in our world.  She has recently highlighted Commander Hadfield's FAQ link where he answers questions about what life is like in space.  Kara is brilliant; everyone should know her.   You really should check out her facebook page:  https://www.facebook.com/TheChangemakersProject?ref=ts&fref=ts

On this gloomy, snowy day in Saskatoon when most of us wonder if Spring will ever come, I am lucky enough to be right back on that front step of my memory, looking up at the stars with the first big thinker I ever knew.  And tonight, I will not be sitting on the step with my own children (too cold), but we will be talking about Commander Hadfield, looking at pictures he has shared with us, and widening our imaginations on what it is like way up there. 

wishing you beauty and wonder,
hk

Something has been bugging me for a while now and I simply must get it off my chest.

It is "Love you."  This phrase frustrates the hell out of me.  Oh, part of me knows love expressed in whatever form is a beautiful, wonderful, blessed thing.  The best thing in the world.  I know I should be more open to this, more accepting of how many of the things we say and write these days have been shortened up:  cu later, wtf, ttyl, @, lol, and so on.  Don't worry, those bug me too, but I can probably let them go.  Probably.

But I just can't let "love you" go.  I can not let it go because I personally can not let the people I love wonder, even for less than the time it takes their heart to beat, if I really, truly, deeply mean it.  I know that to put the "I" back in requires us to add one more second to our time (maybe less, how long does it exactly take to say "I"?) and it requires one more keystroke (or 2 if you count the space in between "I" and "love") and one more little line if we are writing it by hand.  I am pretty sure if I have that kind of time, so do you.

I am being facetious of course.   What it really comes down to is being brave.  Brave enough to say "I" am in this relationship, as in "I am brave enough to tell you this even though doing so makes me a bit uncomfortable, a little squirmy, and a little more "out there" than I normally like to be."  Putting the "I" in risks getting hurt, and if you take the "I" out, it feels a little safer, a little better protected, a little less of a personal investment.  Putting the "I" in requires you to be present on the moment, giving honoured attention to how you really feel.  I say, "Take a deep breath, be brave, and own that I!"  It can be so hard, but oh so rewarding.

Try putting the "I" in, folks.  Even just once in a while. 

wishing you the beauty that comes from bravery,
hk

It is a soup day.  The thermometer reads -24 with the wind chill.  Like many Canadians, I am tired of the cold weather and I am tired of complaining about it.  Soup will somehow make it better.

Soup makes a lot of things better.  It is comforting, happy, and delicious.  However, for me, one of the best things about soup is that you start with nothing but you end up with something really special.  Because you don't need a recipe to make soup!  On the contrary, in my experience, the best soups are not made using a recipe.  The best soups evolve organically.

There is comfort in that, I think.  Like a metaphor for hope, soup starts with nothing but the most humble of ingredients - in my kitchen, an onion, some bones, and water - and with some time, care, and a little help from other ingredients that you have on hand, something wonderful can happen. 

To my delight, I learned last week, as I happened upon the story of the Soup Sisters and Broth Brothers on CBC radio, that there are people who have taken this idea of soup as a metaphor for hope to an inspiring level.  The following is straight from their website. http://www.soupsisters.org

"Soup Sisters and Broth Brothers is a non-profit charitable social enterprise dedicated to providing comfort to women, children and youth through the making, sharing and donating of soup.


The concept is simple. Soup Sisters and Broth Brothers are year-round programs where participants pay a $50 registration fee to participate in a soup-making event at a local professional kitchen under the guidance of a chef facilitator. Each event produces approximately 150-200 servings of nourishing soup that are delivered fresh to a local shelter. Events are social evenings with lively conversation, chopping, laughter and warm kitchen camaraderie that culminate in a simple, sit-down supper of soup, salad, bread and wine for all participants.

Soup Sisters and Broth Brothers was founded in 2009 by Calgarian Sharon Hapton who had a very simple belief in the power of soup as a nurturing and nourishing gesture that could make a tangible difference. Hapton believed that two of societies most prevalent issues, domestic abuse and youth homelessness would benefit from the care and warmth that comes in a bowl of soup. A powerful message that says 'we care' is now being delivered to over 20 residential shelters across the country through home-made delicious soup made with the finest ingredients.

Hundreds of community people are coming together across the country to produce over 8000 servings of fresh and delicious soups for women, children and youth each month. Since March of 2009, over 100,000 containers of soup have been delivered to shelters from East to West, and there is a growing network of over 7500 Soup Sisters and Broth Brothers participants across the country."

Wow.  I encourage you to check this organization out.  It is a cold day, but there are warm and beautiful people making it better.

wishing you a warm day with the beauty only hope can bring,
hk

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When I was in Grade 7, my English teacher assigned our class the task of writing an essay on our favourite song lyrics. Heavily influenced by my sister-in-law’s Beatles obsession, I chose “Woman” an anthem to Yoko Ono by John Lennon.  I chose it because it is a beautiful song and lovely to sing to, but also because the lyrics fascinated me. 

“Woman, I will try to express

My inner feelings and thankfulness

For showing me the meaning of success

Woman I know you understand

The little child inside of the man

Please remember my life is in your hands” (Lennon, 1980).  

Perhaps it was this song that lit a spark for the interest I would later take in feminism, but as best as I can remember, deeply listening to this song was the first time I had heard any kind of message that hinted that women were strong and influential and that men could be vulnerable and need help. 

I had so many questions then, some of those questions I still ask.  What did it mean to be a woman? Would I ever be seen as a woman?  Was I capable of being a woman?  As a six year old girl with a disability, I lived with a decidedly different set of developmental, social and biological expectations than non-disabled girls my age seemed to experi­ence as they grew up. Among other things, it was assumed that I would always need someone to look after me; that I would not live independently; that I would not finish high school, go to University, find a job, date, marry; and certainly not have a sexual relationship, have children, and be able to look after those children.  This typical asexual status, often attributed to people with disabilities comes from a belief that we must not have the same quality of life as people without disabilities.  And if you do not have physical or mental competence and no quality of life, it is believed then that you are not a whole person, and in my case, a whole woman.  

I can tell you that it is incredibly difficult to live without that sexual identity.  As a child, I was seen and treated as maybe a “cute kid” but not as a “pretty girl.”  As a teenager, I struggled to feel like a “real” girl and looked to dresses and long hair and for the attention of boys to make me feel like I was female.  As an adult woman, I still sometimes question my femininity, my womanhood.  Even now, with two children as testimony to my reproductive skills and a partner who has loved me for over twenty years, I still feel a twinge of displacement when I enter a lingerie store or ask my hairdresser to make my hair look pretty or put on lipstick.  And it makes sense that I still sometimes feel like an imposter sometimes because it is not a man or children; it is not lingerie or pretty hair that makes a woman.

So what does then?  What does make a strong woman?  Well, I think of my mother, who gathered strength and courage to raise a disabled child without a role model for either herself or me; who questioned the doctor who prescribed me valium at the age of 8 for my spastic legs, and then after doing her own research into the effects, flushed the entire contents of the pill bottle down the toilet, and held me when I went into withdrawl;  my mother, who acted as my advocate more times than I probably am even aware of; and who now, almost 3 years after my Dad’s death, demonstrates every day how being strong means both being tough and resilient and adaptable, but also vulnerable and fragile and sad sometimes.  And arguably most significantly, her strength to me is how she is learning every day how to live in the world and in her home without the man she loved deeply, and who loved her back, for most of her life.

I think of my paternal grandmother, who just turned 102, and is as sharp and funny as ever.  And I think of my maternal grandmother, who was the smartest and most gifted woman I ever knew, and who I still think about all the time.

I think of my fellow girlfriends with various disabilities, who although they are living very different lives, are in their own ways making great and positive changes in the ways the world sees disability.

I think of my cousins and friends living with breast cancer; my sister-in-law who is working out how to parent her son who has autism; and my great-nieces who are just beginning to understand what potentials this life has for them. 

I think of other women in my life, those struggling with divorce, single parenthood, being single, making career changes, starting businesses, going to University, getting their degree, learning how to be a step mom, caring for their aging mothers, earning their black belts, adopting a child, adopting a dog, learning a new language, adjusting to a new country, training in their sport, dealing with depression, finding time to volunteer, finding God, growing old; growing up; recovering from surgery, recovering from violence, coping with a sick sister, learning to play the guitar, dealing with being laid off, raising great children, and balancing work and home.

I think of someone else too: my daughter, who is my favourite woman.  I used parts of this blog entry in a speech I gave for International Women’s Day 2 years ago.  She was five then, and when asked me what I was writing about, she said, “What about me?  I am a strong woman!”  I smiled and said, “Yes, you are.  What makes you strong?”

Her hair like a lion’s mane around her head, and wearing an outfit that makes me want to place a badge on her chest that says, “I dressed myself!” she crossed her arms and said quite seriously, “Can I say whatever I want?”

“Yes.”

“I am strong because I have my own power and I can do what I choose.”

Wishing you a Happy International Women’s Day that is as beautiful as you are,
hk