Summer Work

I have just returned from the Canadian Theological Society's AGM in Victoria.  It is included as part of the Congress of the Humanities and Social Sciences, which meant being at UVic for one of the largest academic conferences in Canada, surrounded by scholars working within a wide variety of fields, not just theology.  I had a chance to sit and chat (ok, sit and share a few drinks) with a group of Applied Linguists from UNB, and had a terrific conversation on the bus with an ethnographer from Ontario as well. 

What struck me most though was how very at-home I felt in the midst of this group, even despite my "shock and awe" at being at my first really acad3emic conference.  I kept introducing myself as the 'lowly Master's student' surrounded by PhD's and PhD candidates, but after the initial smirk, was very much encouraged for being there and participating in the discussions.  Too few Masters level students attend, and the experience of being a part of that, and a part of the dialogue is certainly valuable.  It is certainly a confidence booster to eb able to take part, ask questions and engage, and not feel as though I were completely over my head.  I also was able to really pin down my place in the larger field of theological/divinity schools, as firmly falling into theology (and prancing happily on the line of ethics.)  I have returned with new avenues of research such as space theory, and new contacts across Canada (and even one overseas). 

In short, it was very affirming.

My summer then has been one of relative ease, at least from my perspective.  Currently I am working two days a week in a yarn store, and picking up pulpit supply where I can.  I am also trying to work on research and learning that I have not been doing in class, improving my Greek, learning the basics of Philosophy of Religion, and working with ritual studies.  I am reading voraciously.  Admittedly, I also need the money so am looking for another part time job of a day or two a week (so, you know, if you know anyone....)  It is however proving to be utterly refreshing.

Where home smells like spring in Provence

Here the air smells like lavender, mixed with a hint of sage, the scent drifting up off a candle-diffuser sitting in the windowsill.  I am finally wrapped up in clean clothing that smells like my own detergent instead of my mother's.  I can sit at my own desk once more, surrounded by books cherished like the good friends they have been to me, with familiar mountains out my window and a cup of my favourite tea, as my cat plays hide and seek in the roll top of my new desk.  In short, I am home.  In short, it is wonderful.

Room by room, and bag by bag I unpack and tuck away the evidence of the holidays spent in Edmonton with friends and family, a city that does not feel like home, and hasn't since I left, but is filled with people I miss dearly.  While there, I had thought that maybe I wouldn't mind going back, but I also realised that as much as I miss them all, my life is here now, and I have faith that this is where I am meant to be at this point in my life.  

I came back with suitcases laden with merino, alpaca, and silk yarns, and the cutest little knitting snowman I think I have ever seen. I had wine from my father, food from my mother (who was cleaning out her cupboards, and I think occasionally forgets just how far away I live.) I had some clothing from boxing day sales, and linen tea towels from my stocking that clean glassware just perfectly.  I am grateful for all of this, and even moreso for all the laughter and smiles shared with everyone (especially my nieces and nephew who could not be more adorable if they tried!)  Yet all of these things get tucked away, bit by bit, piece by piece, until they blend seamlessly with my space and my memories, and so be it.  

Christmas is over, and the New Year dawns, small as that may be.  It is not the liturgical new year, already a month gone, or the academic new year, already a full semester done, but the new year nonetheless, so now, as I pack up and put away the remnants now past, I plan and look ahead to what becomes of them, and me, and this life I lead in this flat that smells of lavender and sage, and this city that weeps grey rain over green grass and blue sea.

Too Caught up To Start

I have been stressed lately - too stressed.  I am a firm believer that there is such a thing as a healthy amount of stress, you know, just enough to keep you motivated, but not so much that it wears at your heart?  That little push that comes from knowing a deadline is upcoming, but which ebbs and flows with period of higher stress (the few days before that paper is due, or that big meeting will happen), and period of lower stress (when you can, without any guilt whatsover, devote an entire day to lounging about and reading some fiction.)  The problem for me is that I've been having far too much of the former and never enough of the latter.  It shows too.  My nails have been bitten to the quick (after growing so long and lovely!), I'm getting snappy, and when I did end up (unintentionally) taking most of a day to myself, well, I felt terrible as soon as I had realised how much time had passed. 

Part of the problem is that I'm terribly guilty of what Alison May has called Lifestyle Accumulation Disorder.  I have gathered so many things and ideas about what I should be doing, and intend on doing, and never enough time actually doing it.  There are those hobbies that sounded like a terrific idea but never seem to last, or the books that I know I will never read.  These are the intentions about how I should live, complete with books and methods with thirty days to transform myself into something else, make myself happier, be a better knitter, learn astronomy, or somehow or another make myself just a little closer to "perfect". 

While I can always get rid of things around my house, and find paring down far easier than most, these are the things I struggle to let go of.  They are not material objects, though they may be exhibited in the form of material objects such as paint pots and electronic files; instead, they are dreams.  They are dreams of how life could be better, would be better, if only I managed to master this or that, or made myself into some strange combination of perfect housekeeper, erudite parish minister and theologian, have read all the great books of the Western Canon and then some (after all i am a lady-scholar), an artist of unknowable talent and depth, and all those things that Jane Austen says are required for a truly accomplished lady.  In between all of this, of course, I am also a sexy wife for my husband, take care of my body with perfect nutrition and exercise, a terrific friend, and a treasure to all of my family.  Oh, and somehow manage to turn myself into the most perfect, and selfless Christian, who turns all her influence over to the terrible injustices of the world.  Of course, I cannot be all of these things at once, and there are things I know I will never be that terrific at. 

Right now, I am trying to pare down though.  I am trying to make concessions and acknowledge the things I will never be, and the talents and skills that I will not have any time in the near future.  My expectations for myself are high, and only rise, and I am fine with that, after all I do believe that I should expect more from myself than I do from anyone else, after all, this body and mind are the only ones in my own control.  My expectations though need to be just a bit more reasonable.  The truth is, I am not just plain old getting rid of things that I am not currently using.  I am; however, letting go of the expectation that I'll do them all at once.  I can keep my piano (which I have only about a grade one education in), and my piano books, knowing that after grad school this is something I genuinely want to study again.  I can keep the craft supplies, but admit that while I knit all the time, sewing is less frequent.  I can accept that I like to paint, but am frustrated at my lack of skill, and just go for it when I feel like it.  And I absolutely can accept that while I do enjoy these things, I do not have to feel guilty about my lack of training or practice, and that's just fine.  I can give away the books I know I will never get around to reading, and keep the ones I cherish, and actually want to read at some point. 

Too much, too soon

I have a cold.  I have the kind of cold that dwells like a worry at the back of my throat and is working its way up into my sinuses causing me havoc in more ways than I can count.  It's not just a "common cold" as if that exists, but a clearly definable bacterial infection causing head-cold like symptoms.  If I am lucky, the judicious use of a neti pot will keep it from turning into a full blown, and very painful, sinus infection. 

See I haven't really had a cold since learning I have Coeliac's Disease.  I had a couple days of flue which were really rather nasty, but never "just" a cold.  My immune system was no longer so busy fighting off the invading gluten that ti could actually concentrate on the other invaders.  My digestive system was actually providing me the nourishment my body needed from the foods that I ate.  I had actually forgotten what it was like to just get a cold even though it has been less than a year since my diagnosis. I had forgotten just how fragile a human bdy can be.

The thing is, I needed reminding.  I have been pushing myself, body and mind, harder these last two weeks than I have in quite some time.  Between the long hours at school and associated stress of September, the work at church and nervousness that comes with new responsibilities, a steady stream of stress due to my volunteer work, and then long nights spent chatting at parties, socialising, and generally chilling with good people (I know better than to drink too much on nights like these), I have simply been expecting my body to do too much.  I thought an evening off for exercise, and then brunch the next morning would be enough to recharge and then get right back into it. Not true.  There was a birthday party and not enough sleep in between.  There was the reality that, though I am confident that parkour classes will ultimately be excellent stress relief, and a life-enhancing practice (somersaults!  squee!) I pushed too hard that first class.  I tried to keep up with people in far better shape than I am.  And I felt it for three days afterwards.  I ached in muscles I had long forgotten existed, and even more in ones I knew about.  It hurt to stand up or sit down, and I dreaded such basic activities as climbing a set of stairs.  Note to self: When starting a new exercise regime, start slow, and not on a week when you are already too busy.

What I need now is radical self-care.  I need to refocus my attention on realistic priorities and what is important here and now: Get healthy.  Stay up to date in readings and assignments.  If not, nothing else will get done  at all.  This means sleep, water, restricting caffeine, eating well, and doing light exercise.  It means taking time out for spiritual practice, and family.  It means making a list, dchoosing priorities, and then taking apart the extras.  I means saying "no."

I hate saying no.

An Open Letter To Parliament

I have just returned from 5 delightful days in Ottawa.  I was  surprised by just how much I enjoyed the city itself, which proved friendly, beautiful, and very walkable (at least in the area I was staying.)  The conference itself was everything that a student conference should be: busy, stimulating, social, and memorable.

There is one thing that is sticking in my mind.  I sat in on Question Period at Parliament on Tuesday, May 15th, and was simply appalled by the behaviour of the MPs that I saw there.  I was prepared for the rhetorical antics, but not for the basic disrespect of parliamentary etiquette, and the flagrant disregard for the seriousness of the task of governance.  I watched as MPs ignored the ruling of the Speaker of the House when he stood for silence, or even the basic rule of not continuing to yell across the floor as one exited, over the ongoing business after the hour had ended.  I think what surprised me most though was that, while I saw poor behaviour from parliamentarians on both sides of the floor, the most egregious offences against the office of the Speaker of the House came from the sitting government who elected him to the post. This showed a disrespect of both the individual and the office.

I couldn’t help but leave feeling let down.  I take government seriously, and though I may not always agree with the choices made by those who govern, and though I may have little personal respect for the individuals in office, I still revere the office itself.   Do note that when I speak of the seriousness of governance, I do not mean sombreness, or sobriety, but importance, - of weight.  That’s a funny word, isn’t it – revere?  Reverence for government and the weight of leadership is sadly lost, and it is no more clearly made visible than in the lack of respect for the etiquette, and rituals of parliament. It is, unfortunately, a cycle that claws away at what is left of reverence on Parliament Hill, as these little rituals, like bowing to the Speaker in acknowledgement when entering or exiting, or waiting to be called to speak, serve to reinforce the seriousness of these offices, and these debates, in the minds and hearts of those who perform them, and the ignorance or mockery of them, results in minds and hearts that believe quite the opposite.

Our personal and professional rituals shape our ability to work and live in those spaces.  We feel more professional in a pair of slacks, or a business suit than we do in our housecoats, and are, as a result, generally more productive after getting dressed.  We sleep more easily in our beds if we have a pre-sleep ritual we observe daily that tells our minds and bodies that now is the time to rest.  Equally, we are on our best behaviour before dignitaries, superiors, and respected family members because we take them seriously, and want to show ourselves at our best as an act of respect.  By obeying the rules of engagement and order set out for Parliament, and respecting the offices held within, a sense of seriousness is upheld, and each individual therein is reminded of that weight.

So, this being said, how can we have faith that our governors are doing their best for Canada, when they cannot even behave with respect for one another’s office in our most public of arenas?  How can we believe that we, as a people, are held important, and respected, when there is no respect on any side of Parliament?  This is not to say they should agree, or that the opposition should acquiesce, but that all must respect the importance of the role of the other, and the voice granted them by the people of Canada.  The sitting government must respect that though they have a majority, they were not elected by a majority in the popular vote.  They must temper themselves accordingly, and leave room to listen to the content of the other voices rather than responding with conscious attention to it, rather than trying to return only to their own agenda.  Sometimes the best answer for all involved, the most honest honest answer, is, "I don't know.  I will have to get back to you."  The opposing parties must respect the voices they represent, which means respecting both the content of their message, and how their behaviour reflects on  their respective parties.  They have the grave duty of ensuring minority voices are not unheard, while maintaining the dignity of those voices.

Finally, if those who are charged with the task of governance do not choose to take it seriously, then how can we, as those governed, ever take them seriously?