Here I sit at my computer, a grandma, in a little fishing village on the Bay of Fundy, in Nova Scotia watching your big day, your country's big day. I wish you well, I wish your family well and I wish your country well.
There are ties, even strong family ties, that have bonded us together for over two hundred years.We are the same people yet different. Our nationhood emerged in a far different way. In a land of great cold, community was not an option, but a necessity.
Our country seems to be moving against the will of many citizens into becoming a less inclusive, less compassionate country. Our practical compassion for all our people and all the people of the world is being thwarted by our leader.
Many of us are striving to return to a more generous time.
My hope is that your "We the people" are all people, not only the people within your borders. The people of our countries need to embrace the reality that all people everywhere are created equal.
You see my two daughters are now women with children of there own. Sometimes I think we are running out of time to make good on the promises we made for our children and the promises we make for our grandchildren, and for all the people's children and grandchildren yet to come.
Let's hope that together all nations can come together to fulfill our obligations to posterity.
Tuesday 22 January 2013
Tuesday 15 January 2013
Good Bye to the Little White Church on the Cliff
To everything there is a season. A church is the people. The little white church on the cliff no longer has people and it is sad.
The one roomed building needs so much care and there are no longer the people to care for it. One by one the shingles fly off in the magnificent winds. The foundations crack as the land shifts. The edge of the cliff moves imperceptibly closer. The walls need paint, the old oil burner is no longer legal and the outside privy has been neglected for years.
Almost all of the people who gave life to this church are gone.
For over one hundred and fifty years the church served the community and so many people served the church.
The church in its simplicity remains beautiful inside. The hard, straight backed pews were built by and for the hardworking, no nonsense Methodist people of a time gone by and have changed little from that time.
When I first arrived in Harbourville, the small, devoted congregation included many for whom the church had always been part of their lives. They had a fierce loyalty to the place. To a certain extent the matriarchs spoke and there will was done. This was not an oppressive situation. There was a sense that this was as it should have been. Those matriarchs are gone now and there are not others to take their place.
As someone from a different time and a different place I cannot speak with their voice, but a piece of my heart will remain with this church. No one else seems to claim the voice.
Throughout the years, the church has filled on Christmas Eve. The building gets this one night to remember what it was to be filled. One night is not enough.
We few are too few.
Others will make the decisions on what the future will hold in the seasons to come.
........ to be continued
The one roomed building needs so much care and there are no longer the people to care for it. One by one the shingles fly off in the magnificent winds. The foundations crack as the land shifts. The edge of the cliff moves imperceptibly closer. The walls need paint, the old oil burner is no longer legal and the outside privy has been neglected for years.
Almost all of the people who gave life to this church are gone.
For over one hundred and fifty years the church served the community and so many people served the church.
The church in its simplicity remains beautiful inside. The hard, straight backed pews were built by and for the hardworking, no nonsense Methodist people of a time gone by and have changed little from that time.
When I first arrived in Harbourville, the small, devoted congregation included many for whom the church had always been part of their lives. They had a fierce loyalty to the place. To a certain extent the matriarchs spoke and there will was done. This was not an oppressive situation. There was a sense that this was as it should have been. Those matriarchs are gone now and there are not others to take their place.
As someone from a different time and a different place I cannot speak with their voice, but a piece of my heart will remain with this church. No one else seems to claim the voice.
Throughout the years, the church has filled on Christmas Eve. The building gets this one night to remember what it was to be filled. One night is not enough.
We few are too few.
Others will make the decisions on what the future will hold in the seasons to come.
........ to be continued
Saturday 12 January 2013
Moses Goes for an Overnight
Moses and I were invited, as weekend guests, to friends home on the South Shore. The truth is this was my dog, Moe's, first invitation, anywhere.
I figured the same road that took us there could always take us home again, if all did not go well.
All went well.
We were greeted at the farm, by five cats, five horses, one small dog with attitude, and two wonderful human beings. Given the option of sleeping in an apartment, in the horse barn or a bedroom in the house, I chose the barn for us. I was thinking thoughts of Mickey Rooney's bed in National Velvet, or my long ago Scots ancestors in the crofts of the Highlands. Perhaps I was thinking of a re-enactment of the Christmas Story, Moses having the starring role.
It was no surprise that our accommodations were most gracious. It was also clear that we were sleeping in a barn. On a cold winters night, as we snuggled in a cozy bed, the horses stamped their feet, rattled chains and made impressive horse noises. Although I am nervous around big animals without strong boundaries between us, I slept comfortably in their nearby presence. Moses to my surprise didn't acknowledge the sounds of their presence.
When we went up to the house, his behaviour was exemplary. He behaved in a most respectful manner with the cats. To be honest, he was a little intimidated by the sweet things. The little dog's proprietary rights were respected and he even ate a big, bloody bone on the sheet provided.
While exploring the great outdoors, he found himself in a paddock, as the horses were entering it from the barn. A very large grey didn't want him there and took off after him in a most ungracious way. Moses fled into the woods. I was with him in the paddock and was just about as welcome. Thinking, "don't run, don't run, don't run", I made haste to the closest exit.
In time Moses returned from the woods, as we called him with our sweet voices offering all sorts of delights.
When our visit was over, before he fell fast asleep in the back seat of the car, the big old dog let me know he would be happy to come back; but, was there anything they could do about the horses?
I figured the same road that took us there could always take us home again, if all did not go well.
All went well.
We were greeted at the farm, by five cats, five horses, one small dog with attitude, and two wonderful human beings. Given the option of sleeping in an apartment, in the horse barn or a bedroom in the house, I chose the barn for us. I was thinking thoughts of Mickey Rooney's bed in National Velvet, or my long ago Scots ancestors in the crofts of the Highlands. Perhaps I was thinking of a re-enactment of the Christmas Story, Moses having the starring role.
It was no surprise that our accommodations were most gracious. It was also clear that we were sleeping in a barn. On a cold winters night, as we snuggled in a cozy bed, the horses stamped their feet, rattled chains and made impressive horse noises. Although I am nervous around big animals without strong boundaries between us, I slept comfortably in their nearby presence. Moses to my surprise didn't acknowledge the sounds of their presence.
When we went up to the house, his behaviour was exemplary. He behaved in a most respectful manner with the cats. To be honest, he was a little intimidated by the sweet things. The little dog's proprietary rights were respected and he even ate a big, bloody bone on the sheet provided.
While exploring the great outdoors, he found himself in a paddock, as the horses were entering it from the barn. A very large grey didn't want him there and took off after him in a most ungracious way. Moses fled into the woods. I was with him in the paddock and was just about as welcome. Thinking, "don't run, don't run, don't run", I made haste to the closest exit.
In time Moses returned from the woods, as we called him with our sweet voices offering all sorts of delights.
When our visit was over, before he fell fast asleep in the back seat of the car, the big old dog let me know he would be happy to come back; but, was there anything they could do about the horses?
Wednesday 9 January 2013
Another Christmas Slips Away
There was no Christmas Tree to de-decorate this year. The Christmas Spirit came quietly and slowly, asking no fuss or bother of me. What a wonderful gift !
Of course, Christmas was welcome. The Christmas dishes filled the kitchen cupboards throughout December. Christmas packages were unhurriedly wrapped. The parcels sent to far away places were mailed days before the post office deadline. For the first time in ages I mailed Christmas cards and even enjoyed it. The sparkly wreath hung on the door and a child's sleigh, bedecked with a great big red bow, until a strong wind blew it away, hung from a porch pillar.
Unexpected snow lightly covered the ground. Others busied themselves with preparations for a Christmas Eve Service, in the little white clapboard church on the cliff.
My cousin and I were off to a new Christmas in the city, at my daughter's and her husband's house. What a treat it was to have a merry little elf about, taking in the magic with his big brown eyes.
The stockings were hung on the bannister with care, and indeed at some moment St. Nick was there.
We woke to a morning of the fun of enough, without the burden of too much.
My daughter entertains with simple elegance. Next year if she wants, she can have a chance not to be Mrs. Christmas. It sure suited me this year.
Perhaps differing Christmases are the new norm.
Of course, Christmas was welcome. The Christmas dishes filled the kitchen cupboards throughout December. Christmas packages were unhurriedly wrapped. The parcels sent to far away places were mailed days before the post office deadline. For the first time in ages I mailed Christmas cards and even enjoyed it. The sparkly wreath hung on the door and a child's sleigh, bedecked with a great big red bow, until a strong wind blew it away, hung from a porch pillar.
Unexpected snow lightly covered the ground. Others busied themselves with preparations for a Christmas Eve Service, in the little white clapboard church on the cliff.
My cousin and I were off to a new Christmas in the city, at my daughter's and her husband's house. What a treat it was to have a merry little elf about, taking in the magic with his big brown eyes.
The stockings were hung on the bannister with care, and indeed at some moment St. Nick was there.
We woke to a morning of the fun of enough, without the burden of too much.
My daughter entertains with simple elegance. Next year if she wants, she can have a chance not to be Mrs. Christmas. It sure suited me this year.
Perhaps differing Christmases are the new norm.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)